BW C180

Chapter 180

Taemuk slowly shifted the arrowhead sideways, tracking the running Shikgoe. But because they were charging across a field of snow, the white haze kept swallowing the leader—appearing, disappearing.

He could see far distances, yes—but he wasn’t using sorcery. He couldn’t see what wasn’t there.

“…….”

Taemuk waited.

The instant the leader slammed into his vision as if nailed to his eye, he released the bowstring he had been twisting tight in his grip. Byeonguk—and the Jeokudae soldiers—followed the arrow with their gaze.

Sssheeeek—

The arrow flew like a shooting star, slicing through the air until it vanished from sight. Silence followed. Only the howling wind remained.

Then—

Kieeeeee—!

From far away, the wail of a Shikgoe drifted faintly. The entire swarm rippled. One collapsed, then another, then more—toppling, piling, tangling, rolling.

“It’s a hit. The leader is dead.”

Byeonguk said it while peering through the spyglass. Taemuk’s arrow was buried deep in the side of the head of the Shikgoe with trident-shaped antennae. The creature lay sprawled on the snow, utterly still.

The Shikgoe that had been sprinting at full speed all froze at once. Heads lifted. Jaws slackened. Vacant eyes stared up at the sky.

Exactly as predicted, Byeonguk’s lips curved slightly. Ever since Hoeun categorized Shikgoe by antenna type, they had dealt with trident-class and above by killing the leader from afar. It minimized Jeokudae casualties—leaderless Shikgoe were nothing but stupid beasts.

If they kept this up, not only would no one die—hardly anyone would even be injured. It was, without exaggeration, a groundbreaking discovery.

Byeonguk turned and nodded. Dongja, at the front, nodded back and tightened his grip on the reins.

Now the real operation began.

“…….”

“…….”

Jeokudae held their breath, eyes locked on the Shikgoe. Before long, the creatures began to stir—one by one—then the whole mass rippled again and bolted.

In a completely different direction than before.

“They’re fleeing. Heading north.”

Byeonguk reported without lifting his eyes from the spyglass. Taemuk watched as well.

Before, they had slaughtered Shikgoe indiscriminately while searching for signs of a nest. All failures. Then, not long ago, Hoeun had leaned in with Byeonguk, whispering over a shared thought.

‘When Shikgoe lose their leader, they pause—then they flee. But where do they flee to? Could it be their nest?’

So they tried it. Following the Shikgoe as they ran.

“Move.”

Taemuk’s low voice cut through the air. Dongja, Mansu, and the others kicked their horses into motion.

“Hyah!”

“Hyah!”

Chosen for skill, Jeokudae soldiers surged along the mountainside. Black cloaks whipped, flashes of red flaring beneath. The thunder of hooves sent nearby snow cascading like a waterfall.

“…….”

“…….”

Taemuk stayed atop the cliff with Byeonguk to observe the Shikgoe’s behavior.

For a while, the creatures ran as a group in a single direction—no looking back, no glancing sideways. Just straight ahead. If we keep following, Taemuk thought, we’ll find their nest.

Then one stopped. Two. Three. Heads began bobbing irregularly. Even from this distance, their hacking cries carried faintly.

Taemuk frowned.

Suddenly, the Shikgoe scattered—each tearing off in a different direction. No communication. No eye contact. As if they didn’t recognize the others beside them—vanishing without a backward glance.

They didn’t scatter in four directions but eight. The Jeokudae, mid-descent, hesitated—horses turning this way and that, unsure whom to pursue.

“Well, shit.”

Taemuk clicked his tongue.

“Yes… looks like a failure.”

Byeonguk sighed.

But it didn’t end there.

Several of the scattering Shikgoe spotted Jeokudae midway down the mountain. With low growls—krk, krrrk—they gaped wide and screamed, Kaaaah—! Thick, jagged teeth gleamed. Saliva streamed down their chins. Then they tore through the snow toward Jeokudae.

The noise drew others. One by one, they turned, spotted Jeokudae, and charged. Leader gone or not, their appetite remained.

Taemuk slowly turned his neck, clenching and unclenching his fist—preparing to descend. Byeonguk tucked away the spyglass.

“Stay here. If you see anything strange, remember it—and tell Choi Hoeun later.”

“Yes. Understood.”

Byeonguk nodded at once, pulled the spyglass back out, then dropped to one knee with his notebook. Unlike Hoeun, he couldn’t recall everything at a glance. He had to write it all down.

Taemuk strode toward the cliff—

Then stepped into empty air—

Spun—and came right back.

He thrust out his hand.

“Give me your sword.”

“My sword, sir?”

“Yeah. I’ll return it.”

“You’re… using a sword?”

Byeonguk stared up at him. Taemuk waved his hand impatiently.

“Yeah. If I kill them barehanded, I’ll get blood on me.”

“But… that’s how you always fight.”

“I said I’m going for a walk after.”

That morning, Hoeun had been deeply disappointed about missing the sortie due to his nosebleed—so dejected it hurt to look at him. Taemuk had coaxed him, promising that if he lay still until Taemuk returned, he’d take him to the battlefield to look around.

Call it a walk or not—if they walked side by side, that counted.

“If I go back covered in blood, he’ll nag me. Where are you hurt? How badly? It’s a pain.”

Taemuk said it like a complaint, but the corner of his mouth was lifting—almost proud. Byeonguk huffed out a breath.

Taemuk twitched his cheek, chuckled, scratched his brow—then suddenly hardened his expression and stared Byeonguk down. Hurry up.

Byeonguk handed over the sword. Taemuk drew it, tossed the scabbard aside, and walked straight to the cliff—

Then leapt.

“—!”

Byeonguk sucked in a sharp breath. No matter how many times he saw it, he never got used to it. A war god, perhaps—but Taemuk had long since surpassed anything human.

Byeonguk leaned out to look.

Taemuk scraped his heels along the cliff to slow himself, bounding off jutting rocks. Snow scattered. Pebbles tumbled.

He landed—and sprinted, too fast for the eye.

In moments, he reached the melee where Jeokudae and Shikgoe clashed. Without hesitation, he plunged in and sliced the neck of the nearest Shikgoe. The head tumbled—thud, thok—yet the creature still dared to gape and snarl.

Taemuk lifted his foot and crunched down. The iron-hard skull shattered like scorched rice crust, blood and brain matter splashing across the snow.

Then—Taemuk froze.

As if something struck him.

A fierce wind tore through his short hair.

Slowly, he pulled his leg free from the crushed skull. His ankle was smeared with gore. He plunged it into the snow again and again, scrubbing the blood away.

Watching, Byeonguk let out a long sigh.

“What do you think went wrong?”

Hoeun asked seriously as he crunched over the snow. Shikgoe corpses littered the area—those Jeokudae had butchered hours earlier.

“What went wrong? Shikgoe are the problem.”

Taemuk replied, strolling lazily behind him. He reached out and flicked Hoeun’s daenggi—the ribbon swaying like a cat’s tail. He couldn’t help himself.

 

댕기 (daenggi)

A traditional ribbon for tying haie