Choi Soobin was born amid the fire and grew up amidst the echoes of military marches and the sound of whips whistling through the air. As the only eldest son of the Choi family—the leading warlord family in the North—he was not allowed to be weak from a young age. While other children were still learning to write their names, Soobin held swords, practiced shooting, and studied strategy under the cold oil lamp of his father's study.

At the age of twenty-three, Soobin was already one of the youngest generals in the empire, leading tens of thousands of soldiers across the eastern border, winning three major battles, forcing the enemy to retreat and not dare to look back. People called him the "Northern Judge"—both a bearer of justice and a cold blade that cut down anyone who disturbed order.

Soobin was tall, his figure as straight as a sword. Every step he took exuded an air of majesty that made others unconsciously give way. His black hair was usually combed neatly at the nape of his neck, and his long, narrow eyes always shone with a coldness like the snow of early winter. Even when he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, he still carried with him a pressure as heavy as the snow on the roof of an ancient pavilion—cold, heavy, and silent.

Soobin’s personality was a combination of iron discipline and deadly silence. He didn’t like to talk much, and he didn’t like flattery even more. He was fair but harsh with his subordinates. He was absolutely merciless with his enemies. And when it came to love—he was completely emotionless. Despite his noble birth, Soobin had never stepped foot in any banquet to choose a wife, nor had he ever let anyone get close enough to see his face clearly on the battlefield.

However, rumors spread like wildfire in the wind. “The reason why my lord doesn’t have a wife is because he has a secret illness.” “Or maybe he doesn’t like women, and even less so men.” “He lives only to kill, not to love.” Those whispers reached the ears of the elders, then the royal family, and finally himself.

Choi Soobin hated disturbances, and he hated baseless words even more. So one winter morning, when the dew had not yet cleared from the camp, he stood in the middle of the line of people begging for food in front of the camp gate, wearing a fur coat, pointing his slender finger at a young man kneeling in the mud. “That person. Bring him back. Marry him.”

No one dared to object. No one dared to ask why.

That person was Choi Yeonjun—a commoner, with no status, no relatives, no achievements, no aspirations. Soobin did not love. He did not like him either. He only needed a name to write on the marriage certificate, to silence public opinion, and continue his path of killing in silence.

He thought that marriage would be like a contract. No love, no loyalty, no responsibility. Just two names placed next to each other to please the world.

He didn't know that the other person's eyes that day, though dirty, still shone with a gentleness that he had never seen before in his life. And he didn't know even more that his heart could be moved—even just a little—by someone who was not in his calculations.