"As self-important as is befitting of your station, my king," Mingyu whispered low, a knife's edge in his voice. He didn't know why it was so hard to forgive Lee Chang for what was not even, by his own account, a real transgression. The man drew venom from him, made it pool like bile in his throat. He could neither tolerate Lee Chang's closeness, nor could he let him go.

"You did not cause the problems here. You did not wake the dead, you did not command them to war. You released one small contingent of undead, by mistake, and they have now slain another contingent of enemy undead. That would happen here regardless of your presence. Perhaps not that specific contingent of undead and that specific group of unfortunates, but this world is a living, moving thing. It is bigger than you, and it could care less whether or not you exist. You are just a man, as you keep saying," Mingyu reminded, voice soft so that Lee Chang would have to lean in to hear it.

"We don't even have a side in this war, just a benefactor. Or have you picked your side already?"