BW C142

Chapter 142

Hoeun slowly pushed himself upright. He said quietly that he would go. It didn’t matter if no one escorted him—he would go alone. If no horse was available, he would simply walk on his own two feet.

But before he could stand fully, Gilsang, who sat nearby, reached out and took hold of his elbow. He did not pull or force him to sit; he merely held on. With his characteristic, clean and composed gaze, he looked at Hoeun.

“Just one day. Please hide for just one day—only from now until tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night? No. Absolutely not. I can’t do that.”

One day. It sounded short at a glance, but to someone in pain, it was anything but. Hoeun, who had lived a lifetime of illness, understood that more than anyone. Even suffering a fever alone made a day agonizing—but Taemuk… Taemuk’s entire body had been ripped apart. To leave him unable to eat or sleep for a whole day was too cruel.

Hoeun shook his head again, firmly refusing.

“It’s all for the General’s sake. So please—wait for us.”

An unfamiliar voice answered him. It was Byeonguk, who had been sitting nearby sorting through firewood. His face was expressionless—eerily similar to Taemuk’s own blank, stoic expression.

“…”

Hoeun stared at him. How could he be so calm? How could someone who served Taemuk, who had witnessed the extent of his injuries, claim that restraining Hoeun was somehow for Taemuk’s benefit?

“How can this possibly help the General? I don’t understand at a—”

Hoeun’s protest halted abruptly. His eyes widened. A memory surfaced—words Taemuk had spoken long ago, after the first night they shared a bed, when Hoeun had been bedridden with pain for several days.

‘If I’m ever that badly hurt again, run.’

‘A wounded me isn’t in my right mind. I’m not human then.’

‘Since I’ve already tasted you once, next time I might really devour you like a Shikgoe. Ointment won’t save you from that.’

‘So run. Go hide with Oh Gilsang or someone—anyone.’

‘After a day, when the wounds begin to close halfway, I’ll be better. Then you can return.’

Remembering that low voice, Hoeun collapsed back onto the ground as though his knees had melted.

“This… this was the General’s… order?”

His voice floated hollowly.

“…”

“…”

The soldiers gathered around the fire answered with silence. A silence that meant yes.

“Ah…”

Hoeun shut his eyes tightly. Taemuk had foreseen that he would be grievously wounded again someday—and had prepared for the possibility that he might harm Hoeun in that state.

Dongja blocking Taemuk’s path,

Gilsang dragging Hoeun away,

Seongim and Byeonguk following them—

all of it had been the General’s command.

Taemuk had sent him away.

Because the Taemuk who lost himself to injury might hurt him again.

“…”

Hoeun bit down on his lower lip.

Foolish man.

Why fret about Hoeun being hurt a little? Taemuk was the one bleeding everywhere. His flesh was torn open. And yet—he feared causing Hoeun pain. He intended to endure agony with a clear mind, just so Hoeun wouldn’t suffer.

If this was how things were to be, why seek a guide at all? If Hoeun could not help him, then wasn’t Hoeun no different from being absent?

Why… why make him feel so useless?

Hoeun pressed his lips together tightly. If he didn’t, he would shed tears—shameful tears unbefitting a man.

Just then, something steaming was held out toward him.

“Please drink.”

Byeonguk was holding a round bowl filled with a dark liquid. Hoeun stared instead of taking it. How on earth is there decoction here? he wondered.

“It’s medicine,” Byeonguk clarified, perhaps assuming Hoeun didn’t recognize it.

“Ah… yes.”

Hoeun accepted it belatedly. So that was what Byeonguk had been brewing earlier while crouched near the fire. While they themselves made do with cold potatoes for dinner, he had gone through the trouble of preparing medicine for Hoeun.

Was this also Taemuk’s instruction? Or their own goodwill? Either way, Hoeun felt humbled.

“I’ve never made something like this before, so I’m not sure it tastes right…”

Byeonguk scratched his cheek awkwardly as he sat. The comment made Hoeun chuckle despite himself. As if decoction ever had a “taste”—it was only bitter, less bitter, or unbearably bitter.

“Thank you. I’ll drink it gratefully.”

Hoeun blew on the medicine and sipped. It was as bitter as always, but at least warm enough to slip down easily.

He sipped it slowly, lifting his gaze toward the dozen soldiers gathered around the fire. They must be exhausted and irritated by this abrupt situation, yet none complained. They remained steadfast at their posts. He felt both admiration and guilt.

“I caused so much trouble. You all had to flee with me when it should’ve been only me.”

Hoeun lowered his eyes as he spoke. Byeonguk let out a short laugh.

“Does this look like many?”

“…Pardon?”

“I asked if this looks like a large number.”

“Oh. Yes. It does.”

“Well… it is not small. But even so, if the Captain decides to come, none of it will matter.”

Byeonguk looked toward the spear resting against the tree. His expression suggested he was prepared to fight Taemuk with it if necessary.

“We’ll hold as long as we can,” Gilsang added quietly, brushing a hand over the sword at his side. “He’ll be better once time passes.”

“…”

Hoeun stared at the two of them. They were willing to fight Taemuk—to protect him. All because he was Taemuk’s guide. It was absurd.

He shook his head slowly, confusion filling his gaze.

“I don’t understand. Can’t I simply… hurt instead? Wouldn’t that resolve everything?”

“You said… hurt?” Byeonguk’s brows rose sharply.

Hoeun nodded with simple honesty.

“Yes. My body has been frail since birth, so I’ve lived in pain my entire life. While of course it’s nothing compared to the General’s suffering, I still believe that even if I grow more ill, it wouldn’t be unbearably painful or tragic. Which means that easing the General’s burden—shouldn’t that be the proper thing to do?”

Hoeun spoke softly, voicing his sincere thoughts. He understood why the soldiers and Taemuk worried—he truly was weak. But for Hoeun to hurt more so that Taemuk hurt less—that seemed right to him.

He looked at Byeonguk as if pleading for understanding. Byeonguk’s gaze darted away awkwardly.

“…It may not end with pain alone.”

“…What?”

Hoeun’s eyes widened. He tried to question further, but closed his mouth. He remembered Gilsang’s silence when asked if Taemuk might kill him. Could they truly believe that? Gilsang, Byeonguk, the others here… and Taemuk himself?

Hoeun’s expression darkened.

Byeonguk continued in a measured voice:

“We cannot allow the Captain to return to being a military god without a guide. So we will protect you—even if the one we must protect you from is the Captain.”

“…”

Hoeun parted his lips but found no words. A thin plume of white breath slipped between them.

How strange.

He existed so Taemuk would not die.

Yet to avoid dying by Taemuk, he had to abandon him now.

And these soldiers were protecting Hoeun for Taemuk’s sake—by guarding him from Taemuk.

“Truly… would the General… that is, would he truly do such a thing to me?”

Hoeun scratched lightly at the rim of the bowl, voice trembling. He understood the logic, yet could not accept it emotionally.

After all, lately Taemuk had been… unbearably gentle.

He slept while holding Hoeun each night. He caressed his hair carefully. He worried over his fever. Kissed his forehead. Helped him mount his horse. Fastened his clothing. Draped his cloak around him. Even led thousands of soldiers from the front but still turned back, now and then, to look at him.

How could such a man hurt him—much less kill him? It felt impossible.

But Byeonguk only let out a dry sigh of a laugh.

“You don’t need to understand it. The Captain is… a mysterious man. Born with great power, so everything he bears becomes greater as well.”

“Mysterious…”

Hoeun echoed the word. He had said something similar about himself once.

‘My body is a little mysterious. Even the physicians don’t know what’s wrong.’

Taemuk had grown angry upon hearing about Hoeun’s spontaneous nosebleeds. And now they were both called mysterious. As though they were two halves crafted to match.

Hoeun sat quietly, deep in thought. Then he lifted his gaze again.

“So… this will happen again, won’t it? Whenever the General is gravely wounded, or whenever he uses too much strength—you’ll take me away like this?”

“Yes. We will.”

“Then the General must remain in pain… even though he has a guide.”

“…”

Byeonguk fell silent. So did Gilsang. So did Seongim. The others looked up at the sky or down at the snow. Their silence made Hoeun’s expression twist—not quite laughter, not quite tears.

“So I’m… someone who can’t even do the one thing I’m meant to do.”

He murmured the words as he stared down at the black medicine. Reflected in the firelight, it glowed red—then shifted back to black when tilted. Black, then red again, like the turning of Taemuk’s eyes.