Chapter 1
Cold rain fell as the desolate wind swept across the land.
Argana looked down at the ground, where water had begun to pool—no, she looked at the figure lying there.
The deceitful back, the filthy neck, and the pitifully clasped hands.
She had waited for this moment.
To bring to his knees the one who had once dared to take her life.
She, Argana Kirzis, had endured through another long stretch of time—waiting.
And now?
“Begging for your life?”
Her cold voice rang clear through the downpour.
The man on the ground cried out something in a choked sob.
Argana lifted her face streaked with blood and smiled, baring her white teeth.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Brother.”
Her blade sliced the air, then plunged downward.
Hot crimson blood flowed into the cracks of the stone floor like a stream.
On that night, the first year of Argana Khan began—one that rose by defying death.
*
The Dar Empire.
Founded by the direct descendants of the Aitadars, the Great Dar Empire lived up to its name with its vast territories.
Verdant lands and fertile fields flourished around a massive river running east to west. In the north, deserts of rock and ice yielded an abundance of minerals. To the south lay lakes and open sea, fostering the empire’s prowess in maritime navigation.
Argana was born into the most exalted place in this empire, into noble blood, amidst luxury and blessing.
She was the youngest daughter of the Great Sovereign, Astrahan Khan—the emperor himself—more precious to him than the jewels in his hand.
As handmaidens dressed her, Argana stood silently before a mirror. She glanced at her closest maid, Barta.
“Barta, what day is it today?”
Barta chuckled softly.
“Your Highness, you asked just two days ago. It is the 16th of February, the 32nd year of His Majesty Astrahan Khan’s reign.”
The 16th of February.
That meant it had been exactly ten days since she returned from death.
‘I died on the 2nd of January, just two days before Father’s funeral.’
She had been promised the throne at the age of nineteen—promised to ascend as the next Khan of the empire.
Once the funeral concluded, she would have undergone coronation and claimed that honor.
But that never happened.
“Ghk…!”
She remembered it clearly—her breath cut off, her vision fading to black before she could even scream.
A sensation she never wanted to experience again.
‘It must have been poison.’
She had stayed by her father’s coffin for days, without food or sleep, yet her mind had remained clear.
‘If anyone had approached me, I would have noticed. It must’ve been in the last meal I had… there’s no doubt it was poisoned.’
But fate had granted this noble princess another chance.
After two days of high fever, she awoke in perfect condition—no injuries, no signs of damage—seventeen again.
“Your Highness, please take your medicine.”
The moment a jeweled headband was tied in her hair, Barta raised a white porcelain bowl to eyebrow level and bowed.
“I think I can stop taking it now.”
“That won’t do, Your Highness. His Majesty ordered this specially for your health.”
“It’s too bitter.”
“Medicine that works is always bitter, they say.”
Even just seeing it made her mouth water painfully, but she couldn’t resist in front of the unyielding Barta.
She didn’t want to worry her father either.
Argana drank it in one gulp and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
“Satisfied?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The royal physician said this is the last dose. We are so relieved to see you well.”
“Congratulations, Your Highness.”
The handmaidens bowed in unison, and Argana smiled bitterly inside.
Recovering from a minor illness didn’t seem worthy of this much joy.
If she told them she had died and returned from the past—what would they even say?
“Bring me my pipung-ui. Now that I’m better, I’ll pay my respects to Father.”
They couldn’t possibly refuse.
Barta promptly fetched the pipung-ui cloak and draped it over her shoulders.
“This white wolf pelt pipung-ui never fails to amaze me.”
Another maid who had been arranging flowers chimed in excitedly.
“Wasn’t that wolf hunted by His Majesty himself?”
“Yes. Her Highness was only fourteen then. He ordered the finest silver thread embroidery after handing the pelt to the seamstresses.”
“His Majesty truly treasures our princess!”
Argana gave a soft smile, and Barta quickly added with a knowing look,
“You’ve always been dutiful. That’s why His Majesty is so pleased with you.”
“I’ll go alone. I don’t need an escort. No one is to follow me.”
“But, Your Highness—”
“Don’t worry. I really am fine now.”
“Salutations to Your Highness!”
Before Argana even reached her father’s quarters, the chief eunuch Isun came running to bow deeply.
“Your Highness, what brings you out so early and in the cold? Without escort or attendants? His Majesty will be terribly worried.”
“Then we mustn’t tell him, right, Isun?”
“As you wish. But please don’t do this again.”
She gave a playful smile, patting the middle-aged eunuch’s shoulder as she entered.
Astrahan Khan had just risen from bed, having washed and awaiting breakfast.
Argana placed her fist over her left chest and gave a deep, formal bow—according to imperial custom.
“Father, did you sleep well?”
The fatigue lifted from Astrahan’s face at the sight of her.
When Isun drew aside the curtain, the Khan smiled and gestured her forward.
No one but Argana could witness such a look from him.
“You’re the only one who visits this early to see her old father.”
Argana answered modestly.
“It’s only because I don’t sleep long, Father.”
“And how is your health? You look better.”
“I’m completely recovered. You needn’t worry anymore.”
At her calm reply, the Khan’s lips curled with satisfaction.
When the food was brought in, the two sat together to eat.
Normally, only the Empress—the first wife—was allowed to dine with the Khan. But Argana was the exception.
She quietly watched her father eat.
At first glance, he seemed well. But she noticed the faint tremor in the hand that held his chopsticks.
‘He’s sick. Seriously so. Damn it, I only realized it after dying!’
If she had recognized his illness earlier, he might have lived longer.
She could have secured her position as heir with more time—and more importantly, kept the man she loved alive.
After her mother and brother died, her father was the only true family left in the imperial palace.
She loved him dearly. And Astrahan Khan cherished Argana more than any other child.
She died during his funeral.
In three days, after the ceremonies ended, she was meant to become the next Khan, as per his will.
‘There must be a reason I returned. Especially to this moment—before he fell ill.’
She had to figure it out—quickly.
Had she not been bedridden those first two days, she would’ve already torn through the entire palace in search of answers.
“Come to think of it, Wihwi. That well you designed received high praise.”
‘Wihwi’ was Argana’s childhood name.
Even at seventeen, her father still called her by it.
She was wise and capable enough to manage national affairs, yet still felt so precious in his eyes—like she might shatter if held too tightly.
“That’s good to hear. Water is essential for survival, but it can be a source of disease. If the prototype was successful, please revise all wells across the empire to reduce waterborne illness.”
“Good. I’ll summon the ministers today and relay your suggestions.”
Argana smiled gently.
It made her happy to see her father looking lively, but it also stirred a deep unease.
What if she failed again?
What if she couldn’t save him this time either—and died again, powerless?
“Wihwi.”
Her brooding thoughts cleared in an instant at her father’s firm voice.
“Yes, Father.”
“It fills me with joy to have such a capable child. But all the more reason—you must leave no room for weakness. Understood?”
With golden eyes just like his, Argana answered with a confident smile.
“Yes, Father. I’ll remember that.”
Their exchange confirmed it.
‘He still considers me his successor—the next Khan.’
There was no doubt.
Before her death, she could only guess. But now, it was obvious.
‘I must find the Chief Royal Physician first.’
With that resolve, her expression turned solemn.
After seeing her father off, Argana hurried to the Royal Medical Bureau.
“Her Highness has arrived!”
At the call of a page boy at the entrance, all the physicians inside froze mid-task—some mixing medicine, others organizing herbs.
“Your Highness, what brings you here? Are you still unwell?”
“No. Back to work, all of you. Where is the Chief Physician?”
“At once, Your Highness!”
One of them dashed off and soon returned with Chief Royal Physician Chaihan Tatar.
An elder whose sole duty was to tend the Khan’s health, Chaihan bowed deeply before the precious young princess.
“Your Highness, what urgent business brings you here so early? Is His Majesty unwell?”
“I know you’re busy, but this is urgent. Chaihan, I must speak with you alone.”
Without wasting time, she strode into the private room prepared only for the chief physician.
Chaihan served her a warm herbal tea.
But before she could touch it, Argana turned and lowered her voice.
“Tell me, Chaihan.”
“What would Your Highness have me say?”
“Don’t pretend. My father is ill, isn’t he? And it’s serious, isn’t it?”
Though spoken softly, her icy voice sent a chill down Chaihan’s spine.
His aged eyes trembled.
He blinked, lips parted in disbelief.
“…How did Your Highness find out?”
