BW C192

Chapter 192

Staring at Mansu, whose one arm was now nothing but an empty absence, Hoeun pushed the tray a little farther inward.

“You haven’t eaten anything for days. Please have some—koff, koff.”

A sudden fit of coughing rose without warning, and Hoeun hurriedly covered his mouth with his sleeve. With his other hand, he clutched his throat, but the coughing did not subside easily. His throat burned, and the fever blurred his vision.

After the recent battle, Hoeun had come down with a cold and a fever. It was only natural. After everything that had happened in the rain, there was no way his frail body could endure unscathed. As a result, even walking, sitting, and even breathing had become difficult.

His face turning pale in an instant, Hoeun braced himself against a pillar as he coughed harshly. Dongja asked with concern,

“Young master… are you sick again?”

“No. I’m not— not sick at all. Not even a little.”

Hoeun answered without a moment’s hesitation. Something like this could not even be called being ill. Inside that room were people whose limbs had been torn apart, writhing in agony—complaining about something like this would be nothing but mockery and insult.

Finally managing to suppress the cough, Hoeun took out a handkerchief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Then, in a gentle voice, he said to Dongja,

“Please eat. If you keep drawing blood without eating anything, even you, Dongja-noona, will collapse.”

“……”

“Noona……”

Dongja gave no response. She stared blankly into the air, as though she could not hear him at all.

That sight cut through Hoeun’s chest again and again. It felt as though his torn heart might spill blood at any moment.

His expression slowly grew damp. His brows sank, his eyes twisted with emotion, his lashes drooped. Unable to raise his face, he lowered his head deeply and spoke haltingly,

“I’m sorry… I… Mansu-hyung, it’s because of me…”

No one knew exactly how Mansu had ended up having his arm torn apart. He had only been found at dawn, after the rain had stopped, collapsed among countless corpses.

And yet, Hoeun could not shake the feeling that it was his fault. Because he had called Dongja. Because he had asked her to bring down the tree. If not for that, she would have stayed by Mansu’s side. He would not have lost his arm. He would not be hovering between life and death.

“……”

Dongja said nothing. It was not that she agreed—her mind simply was not here, nor her reason.

With a desperate expression, Hoeun pleaded once more,

“Noona… please… eat. Please?”

Only now did he understand why his parents had begged him so desperately when he would leave his meals unfinished.

Hoeun was afraid.

Afraid that Dongja would collapse as well. Afraid that she might fall gravely ill like Mansu. Afraid that the two of them might slip away to a place he could neither follow nor reach.

“I even asked Chilbok to prepare plenty of braised meat—”

Carrying the tray, Hoeun stepped up onto the wooden floor.

But at that very moment—

“Huaaah…”

Mansu let out a faint groan. His body convulsed violently. Even his dulled arm twitched erratically.

“Mansu!”

Dongja sprang up as if propelled by a force, rushing into the room. In the process, her heel struck the tray Hoeun was holding.

The bowls flew upward with a sharp clatter, spun once in the air, then fell—half onto the wooden floor, half onto the dirt. Thick porridge splattered, soaking the back of Hoeun’s hand.

The porridge, which Hoeun had carefully shielded from the wind to keep warm, was still steaming hot.

“……”

Yet Hoeun made no sound. He did not cry out, nor did he react. He simply stared wide-eyed at Mansu inside the room.

“Old man! Old man!”

Dongja screamed, her voice tearing apart.

The old man rushed in from the adjacent room and immediately administered an injection to Mansu. Fortunately, the convulsions gradually subsided.

Dongja collapsed over him, clutching him tightly as she burst into tears like a child. Her back heaved violently.

“……”

Hoeun watched them in silence. Then, letting out a long breath that was neither quite a sigh nor a lament, he bent down and picked up the scattered bowls.

Only then did he notice the porridge splashed across his hand.

As he faintly furrowed his brows—

“Young master!”

A sharp voice called out to him.

“…Chilbok?”

It was Chilbok. Hoeun blinked in surprise, then noticed that behind him stood a dozen or so cooks, each carrying trays—likely bringing meals for the wounded. It seemed evening had already come.

“You brought the meals? Go on inside quickly.”

Hoeun smiled faintly and stepped aside—or tried to.

But Chilbok suddenly slammed the bowl he was holding onto the wooden floor with a loud bang and shouted,

“What is this?!”

Just as Hoeun was about to ask what he meant, he realized Chilbok’s gaze was fixed on the back of his hand. It had turned bright red from the hot porridge.

“It’s nothing—koff.”

Koff, koff. Another wave of coughing surged up, and Hoeun quickly turned his head aside. As his frail body shook with the force of it, Chilbok let out a deep sigh and used his sleeve to wipe away the porridge from Hoeun’s hand.

Then, glancing around, he suddenly stepped onto the wooden floor, rose onto his toes, and snapped off an icicle hanging from the eaves.

“How did this happen… to such delicate hands…”

Chilbok murmured, clearly distressed, as he gently rubbed the icicle over Hoeun’s hand.

Hoeun gave an awkward smile.

“I made a mistake. I’m not used to this kind of thing… I’m sorry.”

“You’re the one who got hurt—why are you apologizing to me? Honestly… Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t.”

“It’s this red—how could it not hurt?!”

Chilbok snapped in frustration, though his hands remained exceedingly careful as he moved the icicle. His still-growing fingers turned red from the cold, yet he did not seem to mind.

Watching him quietly, Hoeun reached out with his other hand and took Chilbok’s hand.

Then, transferring his fever-warm heat into it, he said,

“No matter how much this hurts, it won’t kill me.”

“……”

“No matter how much it hurts, it’s nothing compared to having flesh torn apart.”

“……”

“This is nothing.”

Hoeun spoke in a flat, dry tone. His face was parched and lifeless. There was no color in it, and his lips were pale.

Chilbok stared at him for a long moment—then suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you to your room. I’ll start the fire, so lie down.”

“No… I want to stay here.”

Hoeun resisted, planting his heels firmly.

Chilbok’s brows shot upward sharply. He knew all too well that Hoeun had been lingering outside the infirmary for three days straight, exposing himself to the cold wind.

“Why? Why do you want to stay here? If you stay, will their torn flesh magically mend? Will they suddenly stand up? You’re only ruining your own body for nothing!”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No—why are you apologizing again?! What have you even done wrong?!”

Chilbok shouted in frustration once more.

Hoeun gave a small, embarrassed smile before coughing again. Watching him with displeasure, Chilbok let out a long sigh and asked,

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Of course. You prepared it, didn’t you? I drank it all—didn’t leave a single drop.”

“…Good.”

At that answer, Chilbok’s expression softened noticeably. After examining Hoeun’s pale face, he sighed again and turned away.

“…Wait here. I’ll bring some ointment.”

“Okay.”

Hoeun nodded simply.

Chilbok picked up the bowl he had set down and went inside.

Hoeun stood there absentmindedly, waiting.

But suddenly, his vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness struck him.

“Ah…”

Hoeun reached out blindly, searching for the pillar—but grasped nothing. His body slowly tilted forward.

The square stone step, where shoes were placed haphazardly, drew nearer.

If he hit that, he would be badly hurt. Then Chilbok would worry again.

Even so, he could not stop himself from falling.

Just as Hoeun shut his eyes tightly—

Grab.

A firm hand seized both his arms and pulled him upright.

Though the touch was unfamiliar, Hoeun found himself hoping—perhaps, just perhaps, it was Taemuk.

“Young master, are you alright?”

But it was not.

As always, Byunguk stood there in his neat military uniform.

Hoeun squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, struggling against the dizziness until he managed to steady himself.

“Ah… yes. Thank you.”

He tried to pull his arms free, but for some reason, Byunguk did not let go. His thin arm was completely encompassed in Byunguk’s grip.

With a faint frown, Byunguk spoke politely,

“Please return. I will escort you.”

“I’m fi—”

Hoeun began to say he was fine out of habit, but instead gave a faint smile.

Chilbok told him to go back. Byunguk told him to go back. Who was he to stubbornly insist otherwise?

“I suppose… me staying here is only a burden.”

“……”

“Yes, it would be better for me to return. If Chilbok comes back, he’ll only worry more.”

Hoeun neatly arranged the untouched tray Dongja had ignored, then stepped down into the courtyard. When Byunguk tried to support him, he politely refused.

After casting one last look at Mansu inside the room, Hoeun left the infirmary.

Byunguk followed him naturally.