Chapter 166

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Taemuk continued walking and soon arrived at an unnamed mountain stream. The roar of the rushing water was as loud as thunder.

He set Hoeun down on a rock, then crouched before the stream and began washing his hands. Perhaps because he had carried Hoeun all the way here, the hole in his palm had already healed halfway. There was no blood left. Once again, it was a moment that made one keenly realize just how extraordinary an iin(guide)’s presence truly was.

Hoeun sat neatly on the rock and waited for Taemuk, a handkerchief embroidered with flowers resting in his hands. It was meant for drying Taemuk’s hands.

“Haah…”

As he gazed at the forest blanketed in white, Hoeun let out a sigh. Not long after, he sighed again—then once more. Taemuk frowned and turned back toward him.

“Why do you keep sighing?”

“Well… I was thinking that finding the shikgoe’s stronghold won’t be easy.”

At that, Taemuk gave a short scoff.

“Did you think it would be easy? If it were somewhere easy to find, they’d have been wiped out ages ago.”

“…That’s true.”

It was surely hidden—deeply concealed, somewhere extremely secretive. He understood that well, yet disappointment was unavoidable. He felt impatient, wanting to find it as soon as possible. Even at this very moment, countless people were surely being killed or injured by shikgoe. Only by eradicating the stronghold could the day come when everyone might live freely.

Hoeun lightly kicked at the snow with the tip of his foot, lost in thought over how one might locate the shikgoe’s base.

Shikgoe couldn’t speak, so capturing and torturing them would yield nothing. There were no villages or people nearby to question, since this was an area where shikgoe appeared in unusually large numbers. Antennae only revealed intelligence levels, not the location of a stronghold. Ah… if only it were possible to secretly follow one…

“…Oh.”

Hoeun abruptly lifted his head.

Follow them?

Yes—why not follow them? Their stronghold would be their home. Surely they would return there eventually. For instance… when their lives were in danger, when they were left alone, or when their leader was killed and they lost all control…

When the antennaed shikgoe—the leader—was slain, the others froze briefly like stone, then fled. And where would they flee to? Naturally, home. Their stronghold.

Hoeun’s eyes rolled rapidly as he turned to Taemuk.

“General.”

“What.”

“Have you ever tried following a fleeing shikgoe?”

“No.”

“I suppose not…”

At Taemuk’s curt reply, Hoeun nodded as though he had expected it. Jeokudae killed every shikgoe they could—there was likely never a chance for any to escape.

Then what if they let them escape? And followed them?

At last, having found a possible answer, Hoeun slowly lifted the corners of his mouth.

“That wasn’t an option back then.”

Taemuk added the strange remark.

“You mean… you didn’t have the strength?”

Hoeun frowned. Lacking strength hardly suited Taemuk—a man who crushed shikgoe skulls with his bare hands.

Yet Taemuk continued evenly.

“You weren’t there.”

“…What do you mean?”

“When you weren’t with me, I wasn’t as strong as I am now.”

“…Really?”

Hoeun leaned forward unconsciously. A weak Taemuk was unthinkable. From the very beginning, Taemuk had always been strong—to Hoeun’s eyes, impossibly so. He had lifted Deok-u with one hand, shattered walls barehanded, pinned house-sized shikgoe to trees. The idea of a “powerless Taemuk” sounded as absurd as a moon rising at noon or a sun shining at night.

“That’s right. I couldn’t even chase fleeing ones—there were times when I had to run instead.”

“……”

“I’ve crawled across the ground with my arms and legs severed.”

“……”

“There were times I had to flee, leaving my dying subordinates behind.”

Taemuk spoke of horrors with unsettling calm—his voice even laced with a faint trace of amusement. Blood diffused through the stream water like a mirage, yet his expression as he watched it remained unreadable.

“……”

Hoeun held his breath. His chest throbbed as though someone had stomped on it. Even imagining Taemuk with severed fingers was unbearable—arms and legs torn away was beyond that. His eyes squeezed shut on their own.

Then Taemuk suddenly withdrew his hands from the water.

“But after I met you, shikgoe started dying with a single punch.”

“……”

“The exhilaration I felt then…”

As if reliving it, he clenched his fist. The large hand curled tightly; the hole that had once pierced it was now reduced to a faint scar, veins bulging prominently across the back. It was unmistakably a hand of iron.

“That was the first time I ever laughed while fighting shikgoe.”

Taemuk gave a short, crooked smile and finished washing his hands. When even his nails were clean, he stood and walked naturally toward Hoeun—expecting him to dry his hands.

But Hoeun’s expression had darkened.

“Ah… back then…”

He was recalling that moment. It must have been in the bamboo grove. He had seen Taemuk smiling while killing shikgoe. At the time, drenched in blood and smiling, Taemuk had seemed disturbingly strange. Hoeun had even wondered if he was addicted to killing, if the rumors of him being a bloodthirsty madman were true.

But it wasn’t that.

He had been stronger.

He could kill shikgoe easily.

He could avoid being hurt.

He could protect the soldiers of Jeokudae.

Realizing this made Hoeun feel deeply ashamed of his irreverent thoughts.

How foolish, how immature he had been.

His eyes darkened. He couldn’t bring himself to face Taemuk, head drooping as guilt weighed on him.

“……”

Taemuk watched him silently, biting his lower lip at an angle before releasing it. He scratched the back of his head roughly, then clenched and unclenched his hand—mirroring Hoeun’s self-reproachful stillness.

An odd silence settled between them. Then a cold wind swept past, brushing them both harshly, and only then did Hoeun realize Taemuk had finished washing his hands. He should have taken them already—but he’d spaced out again.

“I’ll take your hand.”

Hoeun stood and absentmindedly braced himself against the rock. The thick layer of snow collapsed inward—

Prick!

A sharp pain pierced his palm.

“Ah…”

Caught off guard, Hoeun’s shoulders flinched.

“What is it?”

Taemuk was instantly before him. Hoeun looked down. A small, sharp stone was embedded in his palm.

“I was pricked by a stone.”

He said it calmly and pulled it out—but it was sharper than it looked. As soon as it came free, a bright drop of blood welled up. Hoeun neither grimaced nor complained. He merely lowered his hand, expression still.

Taemuk, however, grabbed it abruptly and brought it close to his own face to inspect.

“You should be more careful.”

“It’s nothing.”

“How is this nothing? You’re bleeding!”

Taemuk snapped, brow furrowing deeply. Hoeun stared up at him.

“……”

This man who spoke so casually of losing limbs—who had just had his palm pierced by a fang—why was he angry over something so small?

Embarrassed by his own minor wound, Hoeun tried to pull his hand back.

“I’m really fine. First, your hand—”

“Stay still.”

Taemuk tightened his grip, then took the handkerchief from Hoeun’s other hand and carefully wiped away the blood. The white cloth stained red at once. Though only the edge was marked, Taemuk frowned as if it were drenched.

Hoeun’s wound looked unbearably painful. No—it was painful. It felt as though a blade had been driven straight into Taemuk’s chest.

Such a wound on such a beautiful hand.

A stone piercing it.

Blood spilling.

I shouldn’t let him sit on rough rocks again. I should just hold him. Carry him. Keep him close.

We should hurry back—show it to the physician, apply medicine, give him decoctions, lay him down in a warm room to rest—

Taemuk stiffened.

“…When did this hand become so precious?”

When had it become something to be spared, cherished, mourned?

Back then, he had handled it so carelessly.

Why only now—did he harbor these feelings?

Taemuk adjusted his grip on Hoeun’s hand, eyes still fixed on the wound.

“Hoeun.”

“…Yes?”

At the sudden use of his name, Hoeun’s eyes widened. Taemuk did call him that sometimes—but only occasionally. Why now…?

Hoeun looked up at him, wide-eyed. Taemuk licked his lips, tension evident.

“Back then.”

“…Back then?”

“When we first met.”

“Ah… yes.”

In an instant, the faint warmth lingering on Hoeun’s cheeks vanished. Memories surged—of the Inyeonje ritual, the hotel, the tent, the forest, the newly arrived encampment. Countless moments—countless pains.

He had desperately pretended not to know, not to remember. Why bring it up now?

Hoeun found that time uncomfortable. Taemuk, bringing it up now, was uncomfortable too. His gaze wavered, unable to settle.

“I…”

Taemuk began, then stopped. He swallowed once, then continued.

“I’m sorry… for hurting you.”