Chapter 165

After establishing their encampment and completing a preliminary sweep of the surrounding area, the Jeokudae formally began their search for the shikgoe’s stronghold. For now, they started by thinning out the shikgoe population, and although they had already tracked and killed them several times, nothing of significance had yet been discovered.

Shikgoe did not carry maps, nor did they leave behind signs of settlement as humans did. And whenever they tried to follow footprints, snow fell too quickly—erasing every trace in moments.

“Hmm…”

Hoeun pressed tension into the corner of his lips before releasing it again, frustration clear on his face. He had expected something—anything—to be different once they came to a place so densely populated with shikgoe. At this rate, finding the stronghold would take far longer than he had assumed.

He sighed, a puff of white breath spilling out—

Khk, khak…

Kaaaaak, kkik, kak!

In the far distance, shikgoe that had been frozen stiff suddenly twisted their bodies with grotesque groans. After Taemuk had killed the antennaed shikgoe earlier, the lesser ones had gone rigid—like broken machines deprived of their commander. Now they seemed to be regaining their senses.

“Young Master, stand behind me.”

Gilsang, who had been guarding Hoeun’s side throughout, unsheathed his sword. Hoeun obediently stepped behind him.

The shikgoe, their heads twitching and jerking as though convulsing, suddenly turned and fled. Not far away, Dongja yanked a spear from a dead shikgoe’s skull-plate and hurled it at another fleeing creature, shouting a hearty battle cry.

“Hup—!”

The spear whistled through the air and crunch!—pierced straight through the back of a shikgoe’s head and out the front of its skull. The force was so great that half the spear emerged on the other side. With a shrill groan, the shikgoe stiffened and fell forward. Its massive body struck the ground with a heavy thud, shaking the earth.

Other Jeokudae soldiers chased down the fleeing shikgoe, thrusting with spears, slashing with blades, cutting and splitting them apart. Among them were some of the unit’s strongest fighters; the shikgoe were quickly hacked, impaled, and reduced to scattered limbs.

Then one shikgoe—its lower jaw shredded and hanging loose—lurched toward Gilsang and Hoeun.

Kkyeeeee! Kek, kek!

Its torn jaw made its cry unnaturally sharp. Gilsang bent slightly forward, preparing to strike, but Hoeun’s soft, polite voice spoke behind him.

“Sergeant, may I… may I take care of that one?”

“Ah, yes, go on.”

Gilsang stepped aside. Hoeun drew the gun at his waist and aimed at the creature charging toward him. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The creature’s front teeth shattered like icicles.

Hoeun exhaled through his nose. He had wanted to finish it as stylishly as Dongja would—one clean shot. But he still lacked the skill to strike the eye on the first attempt.

He inhaled slowly, steadied himself, fixed his gaze on the shikgoe—

Bang!

This time, the left eye burst in a spray of blackish blood. The shikgoe collapsed instantly, its momentum sending its heavy body sliding across the snow, piling a white ridge like a blanket before it.

Hoeun drew in a sharp breath of delight. Did I kill it? Did I really kill it? He craned his neck, peering eagerly at the fallen creature.

“Aigo, Young Master. Another one down today. Well done.”

Mansu approached, a spear slung over his shoulder, trudging across the blood-soaked snow.

“Ah, n-no, it was nothing.”

Hoeun smiled sheepishly. Dongja, Mansu, and Gilsang beside him—he could shoot calmly because they were here. If he were alone, he would have been trembling in fear. Even so, their warm praise filled him with courage.

He approached the dead shikgoe cautiously. Yet this one, too, held no meaningful clue.

“Nothing special here either, is there?”

Gilsang asked as he examined it with him.

“Yes. It seems so.”

Hoeun looked around carefully. Only trees and snow—no buildings, no caves, not even a pit in sight. This forest gave no impression of being any creature’s stronghold.

Another wasted day…

He sighed, gazing at the red-stained corpses scattered across the snow. Then the soldiers, who had been spread out while hunting, began returning one by one. Hoeun studied each familiar face—checking that no one was injured, that no one was missing.

And then he felt the absence.

“It feels… empty without Byeonguk here.”

Byeonguk, who had left for Hanyang to deliver the record sheets, had now been gone for over ten days. Hoeun still wasn’t used to his absence.

“Even with so many lads here, one missing face stands out, don’t it?”

Gilsang nodded knowingly.

“Yes. It truly does.”

“Looks like you’re Jeokudae through-and-through now, Young Master.”

Hoeun blinked wide, startled. Gilsang, flustered by his own words, quickly stammered:

“N-no, I mean, you were part of Jeokudae from the start, of course—just, uh…”

“I know what you meant. Thank you.”

Hoeun smiled, eyes curved into crescents.

To be told he was “one of Jeokudae”—it was the highest praise he could imagine.

When he first left home, he had eaten alone, worried alone, feared alone, wondering whether he’d ever fit in with the soldiers, whether he’d ever become a proper warrior. But now—Gilsang acknowledged him. Truly. As one of them.

Hoeun felt he had achieved something extraordinary.

Gilsang, relieved, smiled back.

At that moment—

“Captain, welcome back.”

A nearby soldier bowed toward someone behind them. Hoeun quickly turned.

Between the trees stood Taemuk, holding the severed head of an antennaed shikgoe.

“Find anything?”

he asked.

Gilsang hurried over, bowed, and said:

“No, sir. Nothing. Only snow everywhere.”

Taemuk clicked his tongue and walked toward Hoeun. Then, as if presenting a gift, he held out the head.

“This bastard has sprout-type antennae.

I was careful when tearing it off—didn’t want to damage them.”

He rotated the head, strings of brain matter dangling from the torn neck, revealing the sprout-shaped antennae.

“……”

Hoeun reflexively leaned back. He had grown accustomed to shikgoe corpses, but not to seeing them this close. The rancid, metallic smell of the blood was far from pleasant.

Yet Taemuk was looking at him with an oddly expectant expression—

as if waiting for praise for his neatly severed trophy.

Hoeun hesitated, then parted his lips slowly.

“I… I see. Well done.

Seeing it up close will… help me draw it more accurately next time.”

Taemuk grinned, baring his teeth.

“Should I tear off just the antennae for you?”

“…Yes.”

Hoeun wanted to refuse, but could not dismiss Taemuk’s earnestness. Gilsang’s nostrils flared as he tried not to laugh, though Taemuk seemed oblivious.

Taemuk tore the antennae from the skull-plate—

brutally.

The wet crack made Hoeun’s shoulders tense and relax involuntarily, a shiver running down his spine.

Taemuk extended the dripping antennae toward him—

like offering a bouquet.

Just as Hoeun reached out reluctantly, Gilsang quickly took them instead.

“I’ll hold onto these.”

“Why you.”

“Blood might splash on the Young Master, sir.”

Taemuk raised an eyebrow, then nodded in agreement. Gilsang walked off, antennae in hand. Taemuk watched him go, then tossed aside the now-useless head.

That was when Hoeun noticed—

and his face tightened.

“General—your hand…”

Taemuk looked down.

A large, thick shikgoe fang was embedded straight through his palm.

Only now did he seem to realize it. He lifted his brow and casually yanked it out.

The fang came free with a wet, sticky schlick.

“It’s nothing.”

He tossed the fang aside. Blood sprayed lightly as he shook his hand; crimson droplets dotted the snow like scattered beads.

“How can that be ‘nothing’?”

Hoeun stepped close, anguish twisting his expression. A dark hole pierced clean through Taemuk’s palm—he could see the scenery behind it. Calling that “nothing” was absurd.

He thrust out his hand.

“Give me your hand.”

Taemuk stepped back.

“No. I’ll get your hand dirty.”

“What does it matter? Give it here.”

Hoeun stepped forward, still holding out his hand stubbornly.

Taemuk stared at it.

Clean, pale, slender—

a hand far too… precious to stain.

He stuck his own hands behind his back like a sulky child.

Hoeun bit down on his lip—

then abruptly stretched both arms forward.

“Then carry me.”

“…Why.”

“So we can wash your hand.

At the stream nearby.”

“What stream.”

“I wouldn’t know. But you would, wouldn’t you? You can hear it.”

Taemuk let out a short incredulous laugh.

Hoeun simply stood there, arms outstretched,

expression clearly saying:

Well? Pick me up already.

Taemuk snorted again—

but bent down

and lifted him into his arms.