*Moonlight Drawn by Clouds* was slated as a Friday-Saturday drama, KBC's ambitious project aimed at revitalizing its drama division, which had been in a slump for three years.
This drama wasn’t just any show; it was one the KBC drama team desperately needed to succeed to secure their positions. Rather than creating a new story from scratch, they decided to adapt a previously popular novel into a drama.
‘You want to turn… my novel into a drama?’
‘Yes. We hope you’ll consider it positively.’
Since adapting a well-loved novel was safer and more assured, they chose a novel that had already proven its popularity.
KBC’s determination didn’t end with the planning phase. They brought in the highly skilled director Jin Gyu-seong and even granted him authority over casting decisions.
That’s why they held the casting audition for the lead role of Yeongwol through an intense sword-fighting scene. In Jin Gyu-seong’s mind, the core of Yeongwol’s character lay in her charisma as a female bodyguard.
“Isn’t it a bit too much to judge swordsmanship and mask work at the same time? Why not use a stunt double—”
“An action scene performed by the lead will surely make waves. And if we’re hunting rabbits, why not go for two?”
No compromises or negotiations were made; the audition proceeded exactly as Jin Gyu-seong had planned.
Using part of the drama set for the audition elevated its quality. The setting looked so complete it could have easily been mistaken for an actual shoot.
But this wasn’t a real shoot, just an audition, and there was a reason for that: the stunt actors were instructed to prioritize the lead actor’s safety.
The actors auditioning for Yeongwol were given only the script; there was no chance to coordinate with the stunt actors in advance.
This was something Jin Gyu-seong was well aware of.
“All of you, just focus on embodying Yeongwol. These stunt actors are experienced professionals, so they’ll adjust accordingly.”
He made it clear that as long as the performance suited Yeongwol’s character, he wouldn’t mind how the sword work was executed. Of course, any clumsy attempts would be halted immediately.
Even so, Jin Gyu-seong had already noted a few actors he was interested in. He could judge their suitability for Yeongwol’s androgynous look even before the audition began.
Ha-eun was on his list. Her sharp gaze and toned body suited a warrior’s look perfectly.
But her age—just eighteen—was a concern. Competing with experienced adult actors in action sequences would not be easy for her.
Most of Ha-eun’s previous roles were restrained, static performances. While Jin Gyu-seong acknowledged her immersive acting, he wasn’t sure if that intensity would carry over into an action role.
‘…It’s a pity. The costume and makeup suit her well.’
Watching Ha-eun struggle slightly with the lightweight prop sword prepared for the actresses, he felt a pang of regret. If she found this light sword difficult, her overall swordsmanship might lack strength.
The audition for the role of Yeongwol finally began. Starting with the first actress, each candidate took turns performing their sword routines.
As each actress completed their scene, they showcased various styles. Then, after the actress right before Ha-eun finished with a slight stumble, it was finally her turn.
“Alright, let’s begin… Action!”
The moment Ha-eun stepped onto the set, which would eventually become the Crown Prince’s palace, the atmosphere shifted.
‘…Wait, something feels…’
Her gaze, her demeanor, her expression—everything about Ha-eun turned cold in an instant, almost hollow.
Even the slight tension she’d shown moments before disappeared, leaving an impression like a lifeless doll.
There was no trace of emotion, presence, or humanity.
And then, just a few seconds later…
A shiver ran through the room.
The aura that had vanished so suddenly returned, now filling Ha-eun’s eyes with a different kind of intensity.
She embodied a figure who was sharp, simmering with anger, standing in the center of the palace set.
“Where do you think you are… daring to intrude here?”
The tip of her sword, which had been parallel to the ground, lowered and touched the palace floor. She took a step forward, dragging the sword along the stone floor, creating a loud, metallic scraping sound that echoed.
“Will you keep hiding in your dens, you cowardly rats?”
Her voice was full of confidence and ferocity, resonating throughout the palace and reaching the assassins lurking in the shadows.
New silhouettes appeared around her. Every gaze was hostile, and the lead assassin’s voice, suggesting surrender to spare her life, was menacing.
However, Yeongwol, unfazed, sneered and even chuckled, showing no sign of fear. Realizing there was no way to avoid confrontation, the assassins drew their swords.
Yeongwol’s shadow, bathed in moonlight, surged forward, her sword rising in a straight, precise arc, slicing downward at the closest assassin’s shoulder.
Then, she quickly adjusted her grip and swung upward toward another attacker right behind her.
Without a moment’s pause, she turned to the side, deflecting a blade aimed at her neck with a heavy clash.
The assassin’s words of surrender were cut short as his sword shattered, and Yeongwol’s next strike killed him instantly.
His lifeless body fell to the ground, and her murderous gaze turned to the last remaining opponent.
From above, from the side, toward the heart, and then to the chin. Yeongwol’s relentless attacks filled the air with powerful, echoing sounds.
The last assassin barely managed to avoid or parry each blow. His tightly clenched jaw and strained expression conveyed his growing panic.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, adding to the tension and giving the scene a heightened sense of realism.
‘…These veteran stunt actors really know how to bring emotion into their expressions.’
The relentless, seamless exchange of blows had everyone on edge, engrossed in the unpredictable rhythm of the fight. No one noticed just how real the sound of clashing swords felt.
As the intensely realistic fight reached its climax…
Yeongwol seized on a momentary lapse in the assassin’s defense, forcing him backward. His shadow, sword locked with hers, was pushed steadily back until—
He collided with the palace wall. In the same instant, Yeongwol’s sword swept toward his neck, stopping just short of slicing his throat.
The assassin, now visibly trembling, finally exhaled the breath he’d been holding.
And Yeongwol’s last words echoed toward him.
“Tell those who sent you…”
Yeongwol’s final line.
“That I, one who has turned her back on destiny, am here to protect the Crown Prince.”
Her sharp gaze glistened beneath her wet, disheveled hair, eyes filled with seething hostility.
Her voice carried a deadly edge. Even after countless clashes, her animosity seemed only to deepen.
Then, with a fierce look, her eyes finally shifted away from the assassin.
Director Jin Gyu-seong, a bit stunned, signaled the end of the scene, and Ha-eun’s performance concluded.
None of the actors who watched her remained unaffected; they couldn’t hide their awe. None had executed such a realistic sword fight like Ha-eun’s.
However, an odd feeling lingered in their minds. The intensity of Ha-eun’s performance and the responsiveness of the stunt actors felt unlike anything they had experienced.
There was something more genuine, deeper about it.
“By any chance… have you had specific training in period drama sword fighting?”
Jin Gyu-seong’s voice was curious yet hesitant. Ha-eun truthfully replied that she’d only been training at an action school for just under a month.
Even so, it was her first time performing with these stunt actors today.
‘The decision is made.’
Among all the candidates for Yeongwol, Ha-eun was undoubtedly the best fit. Director Jin praised the stunt actor, Kwon Jun, whose sweat-drenched face showed how challenging it had been to match Ha-eun’s performance.
“As expected from a veteran. Great work, Kwon Jun.”
However, Kwon Jun, who had given his all, could only think about Ha-eun’s sword.
He hadn’t had a chance to inspect it closely, as a pale-faced staff member had quickly retrieved it as soon as Ha-eun finished. But he was certain that Ha-eun’s sword had been different—heavier and sturdier than the prop swords the other actresses used.
He had even tried to pause the scene at one point. Tried.
But he hadn’t dared to open his mouth, fearing something irreversible might happen if he let his guard down.
‘…I just escaped death…’
Kwon Jun, a veteran stunt actor, found himself chugging cold water to calm his nerves. He had never experienced such an intense performance in his entire career.
While everyone else in the room was absorbed in their thoughts for various reasons…
‘I wonder if I can borrow that sword?’
The source of all their concerns, Ha-eun, was simply focused on the unexpected workout benefits of her intense swordplay. It felt like she’d done a weightlifting session with a heavy dumbbell.