BW C179

Chapter 179

Hoeun pushed the handkerchief a little closer into Taemuk’s hands.

“Please take it. My mother must have stitched it while praying for your safe return.”

“…….”

Taemuk didn’t answer. Growing anxious, Hoeun wet his lips and hurried on.

“Th-this is… rather precious in our household. My mother only ever made these for family—my father, my older brothers, my sisters-in-law, and me.”

At that, Taemuk shot back at once.

“What about that bastard Deokwoo?”

“Pardon?”

“Deokwoo—does he not have one?”

“Ah—no. He doesn’t. Other than family, you’re the first, General.”

“…….”

One corner of Taemuk’s mouth twisted, then settled. Something only that lofty household gives to its own—why give it to someone like me? Is there some scheme? Poison, maybe?

And yet, without meaning to, his hand reached out. Hoeun quickly placed the handkerchief into his palm.

“…….”

Taemuk stared down at it. Then he brushed his thumb lightly over the densely embroidered pink blossoms. The softness was unfamiliar—awkwardly so. Not real petals, yet it made him careful all the same.

Hoeun alternated glances between Taemuk and the cloth, his lips curling shyly as he spoke.

“It’s only for family, but… in truth, General, aren’t you bound to me by something just as strong? A heaven-ordained bond—a match tied by the sky itself. That’s no less profound than the bond between parent and child.”

“…….”

“I think my mother knew that. That’s why she sent it.”

“…….”

Taemuk said nothing. He folded the handkerchief carefully. His large, dark hands looked clumsy doing something so delicate. He had never received gifts; never touched anything this soft, this precious. It felt awkward—and itchy in a way he couldn’t name.

He tucked the folded cloth into his chest and spoke slowly.

“So… I should say thank you, I suppose. Though I won’t be able to pass it on until next year, when I go to submit the records.”

He shrugged, as if to shake the feeling. His chest felt oddly heavy—warm, even. It’s just a thin piece of cloth, he thought. So why does it feel like this?

Hoeun smiled.

“You don’t need to say it. She’ll feel it.”

“…Good, then.”

Taemuk answered roughly and turned his gaze aside. For some reason, he couldn’t meet Hoeun’s eyes. Everything felt itchy—his nape, under his jaw—and he scratched without realizing.

Seeing that, Hoeun’s smile deepened. Taemuk, flustered like this, felt… lovely. Cute, even. It was absurd to think that of a general, yet there was no other word for it.

And he felt grateful. That Taemuk didn’t dismiss his mother’s 마음—her heart—but accepted it.

“General.”

Hoeun propped himself up on his arms and called him.

“What.”

“Come here a moment.”

“What—another thing to give me?”

“Yes.”

Taemuk frowned briefly, then came closer. When Hoeun said, “Just a little more,” Taemuk sat down on the porch outright.

As if he’d been waiting for that, Hoeun lunged forward—quick as a squirrel catching a falling acorn.

Chuk.

Hoeun’s lips brushed Taemuk’s cheek and lifted away.

“Please come back safely. I’ll be here, waiting.”

Taemuk froze, eyes wide—then let out a short laugh.

“Yeah. I’ll be back.”

He gently tucked Hoeun’s hair behind his ear. Hoeun smiled, bright and open.

Watching that smile, Taemuk thought: I haven’t even left yet, and I already want to come back. Back to this ‘home’—where Hoeun is waiting.

13. Under the Moon Caught in the Branches

It was another bitter winter day. Though the calendar edged closer to Ipchun—the beginning of spring—the cold showed no mercy. Soldiers’ cheeks were flushed red with frost; even without opening their mouths, their breath clouded the air, fogging and clearing in turns.

“…….”

Cigarette between his lips, Taemuk stood atop a sheer cliff. He exhaled—smoke or breath, hard to tell—then bent and crouched. His short hair lashed roughly in the wind.

He narrowed his eyes and looked down.

Across the wide plain below, more than two hundred shikgoe were on the move, busy as ants—likely heading down in search of humans to devour.

Whether near or far, they were equally repulsive.

As Taemuk watched them, Byeonguk—peering through a spyglass beside him—spoke without looking away.

“But Young Master isn’t with us. Did he not come?”

Taemuk’s brows lifted, then settled. A different light flickered through his usually dry, hard gaze. He bit down on the cigarette and answered shortly.

“He’s at home.”

Byeonguk slowly lowered the spyglass.

“Home… you say?”

It wasn’t that Hoeun being absent surprised him. It was the word home. Coming from Taemuk’s mouth, it felt strange. Of course, their quarters had a roof, walls—there was even a yard—so it wasn’t wrong, exactly…

“Yeah.”

Taemuk kept tracking the shikgoe with his eyes, apparently unaware of the oddity.

Byeonguk glanced back without thinking. Dongja, Mansu, dozens of Jeokudae riders—Hoeun was nowhere to be seen. Even Gilsang, usually glued to Hoeun’s side, was absent. For some reason, Byeonguk felt a pang of disappointment.

“Why didn’t he come? You were hopeful today might yield a clue.”

Today’s operation had been planned together—Hoeun laying out the main framework, Byeonguk adding minor branches. Byeonguk knew how much Hoeun had been looking forward to it.

Suddenly, Taemuk’s brows shot up sharply.

“Since morning—fuck….”

He trailed off, grinding his teeth like something had deeply wronged him. Byeonguk’s expression turned grave. Did they fight?

But Taemuk gave an unexpected answer.

“He had a nosebleed.”

Taemuk recalled Hoeun bleeding freely in the middle of a meal and scowled. Mouth sores, fever, nosebleeds, colds—Hoeun seemed to catch something every other day.

“A nosebleed…?”

“Yeah. So I didn’t let him come.”

Given they’d be waiting for hours atop a high cliff—winds fierce, cold biting—it was for the best. If Hoeun had taken the brunt of this wind, he’d surely be burning with fever tomorrow.

I told him to do nothing but lie down, Taemuk thought. Is he obeying? Or did he sneak outside again—to snack with Chilbok, wash cucumbers, help carry firewood…?

Taemuk narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t tell me…”

Byeonguk mirrored the look. Feeling it, Taemuk glanced at him and scoffed. The cigarette clenched between his teeth wobbled dangerously.

“What. Why that look. You think I did something? Fuck—nosebleeds just happen. No reason. Even I don’t know why.”

“…Yes. I didn’t think so.”

Byeonguk nodded a beat late, his expression oddly twisted. Taemuk felt irritated but said nothing—his past left him little room to protest.

He raked a hand through his hair and refocused on the shikgoe. Though distant, their forms sharpened the longer he watched—distinct enough to count.

His gaze stopped.

At the center of the swarm was one with protruding antennae.

Byeonguk, spotting it too, spoke flatly.

“Trident-type antennae. According to the categories Young Master established, it’s a smart one—sets traps, uses bait.”

“So if we engage, there’ll be blood.”

“Yes.”

“Then we don’t engage. We kill it.”

Taemuk stubbed out his cigarette in the snow and stood. He exhaled the last smoke and crooked his fingers behind him.

“Bring it.”

A soldier dismounted at once and ran over, handing him a bow slung from his shoulder.

The bow was nearly as tall as a man—standard issue for Jeokudae archers. Ordinary bows couldn’t pierce the rock-hard helmet bones of a shikgoe.

Receiving the arrows as well, Taemuk nocked one and drew. The bow groaned under the strain; veins bulged across the back of his hand.