And into the final day of his life.

THE SERVANT BOY FOUND the body of the king. It lay facedown in the river, arms spread wide. Only the head was submerged. The rest of the body was on dry land.

There was an area of what appeared to be rust on the back of Siegfried's chain mail. It flaked off when touched. Dried blood.

Closer scrutiny showed a small breach in the armor. Just wide enough for a single knife thrust. Someone had crept up behind the king while he drank from the river and murdered him.

"Was it the work of bandits, O Master?" the servant boy asked, his razor-slit eyes grown wide with wonder.

The man he addressed was the Master of Sinanju. Only once in a generation was a man deemed worthy to hold that title. From the village of Sinanju in the far-off land of Chosun had Master Bal-Mung come. He was a tall man with thick black hair and the flat face of the East. Squatting, he was examining the body of the king.

"No, it was not a true bandit who did this thing," the Master of Sinanju intoned. "Would that it was," he added. And after thus speaking, said no more.

The Master of Sinanju shook his head gravely as he looked down at the body of the slain king. Siegfried might have survived the attack had he not been dressed so foolishly. His ridiculous metal gloves weighed several pounds each. His idiotic iron helmet, with its insanely ornate iron bird, weighed much more.

After the assault from behind, the king had fallen into the water. The battle gear had weighed him down, effectively finishing the killer's job. Due to his absurd choice of wardrobe, great King Siegfried had drowned.

The Master of Sinanju was about to turn away from the scene when something odd caught his eye. There was an object a few feet away from shore, resting amid the slick stones at the bottom of the river. It was obviously man-made. The normal human eye wouldn't have seen it beneath the rapid currents. Indeed, the Master of Sinanju had nearly missed it.