This struggle was far more complex than it looked.

At first glance, it might seem like a simple power struggle between princes.
But beneath that lay a far older conflict—a tug-of-war between the Duke of Silla and the Duke of Baekje for dominance over the southern peninsula.

Even within the Silla faction, there were divisions.
The Crown Prince had the backing of the mainline Silla nobles, while the second prince was seen as the rallying point for the faction’s dissenters.

The Baekje faction had no clear candidate before, so some had sided with the second prince out of convenience.
But now that I’d appeared, the Duke of Baekje and the mainline nobles would no doubt rally behind me.

Of course, those who had already sworn loyalty to the second prince—or doubted my strength—would likely keep one foot in both camps.

That much was what I’d pieced together so far.
And that didn’t even account for others not directly visible in this game: royal relatives, capital nobles, and local lords across the realm.
Each would have their own interests, their own alliances, intertwining endlessly beneath the surface.

Even those who stood within the same faction would constantly check and compete with one another.
Such was the nature of a web woven from too many ambitions.

And in a field so tangled with overlapping interests, there was only one way I could hope to survive.

I had to stay hidden.
Keep exposure to a minimum, and quietly build my strength away from prying eyes.

Some might scoff—how could someone already considered one of the three central figures in this conflict possibly remain unnoticed?
But that didn’t mean it was impossible.

In short, I’d appear as the Baekje faction’s representative and a nominal contender for the throne—then vanish politically.
While the Crown Prince and the second prince tore each other apart in Pyongyang and the southern provinces, I would cultivate a private force of my own on the fringes and return when the time was ripe.

By my estimation, the window was short.
At best, five years.
At worst, a single year.
That was how long the Grand King’s health would likely hold out.
He looked lively yesterday, but age was merciless—one small ailment could send even the strongest man spiraling.

Some might question why I needed to build a private force when I already had the Baekje faction’s support.
But if the leader of a faction truly controlled everything within it, why would the term “figurehead” even exist?

This was still an ancient age—a feudal monarchy where hierarchy and bloodline reigned supreme.
Unlike modern democracies that legitimized power through elections or merit-based systems, status here meant little unless you could justify it.

Holding a title didn’t automatically earn respect or loyalty.
Anyone standing above others had to answer the question:
‘And just who are you, to stand over me?’

Whether the answer came from bloodline, might, or righteousness didn’t matter—
what mattered was proving it.
Fail to do so, and you’d face endless challenges from below.

In my case, the only answer available was strength.
By bloodline, I was far weaker than the Crown Prince, who had been designated heir, and even the second prince.
Both were sons of the First Queen, daughter of the Duke of Silla.
My mother, though a queen in rank, was the Second Queen—the Duke of Baekje’s daughter.
Same status, lesser influence.

Righteous cause? That, too, belonged to the Crown Prince.

All that was left for me was power.
At the very least, I needed to surpass them in strength.

Even setting aside the throne, I still needed my own faction just to function as the Baekje group’s representative.
No matter how high my rank or noble my birth, the Baekje faction ultimately belonged to the Duke of Baekje.
They supported me out of necessity, not loyalty.

If I wanted to avoid becoming their puppet, I needed an independent force loyal only to me.
Enough strength to resist when pressured.
Enough power to crush resistance when necessary.

Without such preparation, even if I did become Grand King one day, nothing would truly change.
This world’s armies didn’t serve the state—they served whoever paid their wages.

In this feudal system, local armies were practically private militias of the lords.
Even the soldiers maintaining order in their territories saw their loyalty as belonging to their liege, not the crown.

They served those who paid them.
Those who pledged themselves to a family were considered loyal and honorable.
But in truth, when their master died, most simply scattered to serve new ones.

A family’s soldiers followed contenders for succession.
A lord’s forces split under rival heirs.
And a kingdom’s armies divided among those vying for the throne.

It was no wonder pre-modern armies were fractured and chaotic.

So now, I had to decide where to go.

I spread out a map before me, considering the requirements.
Where could I find a place that met all my needs?

First, I ruled out the southern provinces.
They were the richest lands in Goryeo—but also the main battleground for the ongoing power struggle.
I needed somewhere quiet, away from the storm.

Next, I eliminated the northern heartlands.
The Daedong River, Yesong River, and Liaodong were royal territories.
Liaodong technically belonged to the Crown Prince, but since he lived in Pyongyang, it was effectively under the Grand King’s control.

The eastern regions were too barren.
Even the few arable areas around Hamheung had small populations and limited resources.

That left the northern frontier.

The lands subdued from northern tribes and incorporated into Goryeo.
Vast in size, poor in yield, and sparsely populated—
a disadvantage for long-term rule, but perfect for raising a private army.

These were lands of great riders.
Even on Earth, the people there were famed for being born in the saddle.

Here, with multiple races, that prowess was amplified.
The north was home to tribes like the centaurian horsemen and steppe-adapted beastfolk.
Their destructive power was on another level.

Just imagine it—
a Mongol horde made entirely of centaur nomads, charging alongside half-farming, half-herding elves who treated horses and the land as kin.

Just the thought of it was terrifying.

Of course, I couldn’t just pick any tribe and expect instant loyalty.
What I needed most was time—time to grow my strength free from central interference.

That ruled out territories too closely tied to the capital.
Of the five northern fiefs, removing the southern ones left only the three at the farthest frontier—those bordering foreign powers directly.

Among them, one stood out.

The Marquisate of Khitan.

Annexed into Goryeo less than a century ago, its ties to the center were weak.
It was close to Mongol lands, filled with horsemen and mixed races, and culturally distinct—making infiltration by outsiders difficult.

It also bordered multiple independent forces, making it the perfect place to act unnoticed by the capital.

With that, my plan was set.
Now came the hard part—making it happen.

Even if the Grand King doted on his youngest son, marching in and asking to be enfeoffed as the Marquis of Khitan would never fly.
But I had another route.

“I wish to pay my respects to my mother.
Send word to ask when she would be willing to receive me.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

After all, when your mother’s father is a duke, a little request like that isn’t too hard to arrange.
In fact, the Baekje faction would probably prefer it—
a figurehead prince tucked away quietly in some distant province, out of their way.

And if they sent a few elite guards along for protection, all the better.

“So, the ungrateful brat who hasn’t shown his face in years suddenly wants to visit me?
What is it you’re scheming now?”

The moment I entered, my dear mother—Her Majesty the Second Queen—greeted me with sharp, venomous words.
Her expression left no doubt: she was furious.

‘Great. Just great. I’m screwed already.’