BW C193

Chapter 193

Hoeun slowly, steadily climbed the slope. A thin layer of snow lay upon the path, and with every step, a soft crunch echoed beneath his feet. Perhaps because the onset of spring had long since passed, the biting cold had eased considerably, and the snowfall had become less frequent.

Even so, Hoeun still felt a sharp chill.

It was because his heart had grown cold.

“The General has not been seen all day again. He did not return home last night either.”

Hoeun spoke without turning his head.

At that, Byunguk flinched slightly, then lengthened his stride to walk closely behind him.

“He said he was going to deal with the Shikgoe that had gathered.”

“The Shikgoe?”

“Yes. On the way back, there was a great deal of bloodshed in many places. They must have caught the scent and been drawn in.”

“Ah… that makes sense.”

It was a reasonable explanation. As they had carried the wounded and the already dead back, they had spilled no small amount of blood. Creatures as sensitive to the scent of blood as the Shikgoe could very well have followed. If left unchecked, they might even have reached the encampment.

Still—

Even so, Taemuk had not shown himself for three days—not even a single glimpse—and that alone was suffocating.

Letting out a long breath through his nose, Hoeun said,

“When the General was gravely injured at the lake before, it was I who had to run away. But this time… it seems the General is the one running away.”

“……”

“Am I mistaken?”

Hoeun understood that Taemuk was going out to deal with the Shikgoe. He agreed that it was his duty.

But ever since returning from the fir forest, he had not come into contact with Taemuk at all. Not only had they not been together—they had not even held hands.

That day, Taemuk had expended tremendous strength and suffered severe injuries. He must be enduring unimaginable pain even now.

And yet, Taemuk had not come to him—not even returned to the encampment at all.

Which meant—

He must still be suffering.

For three days, without distinction between day and night, he must have endured pain far beyond Hoeun’s fever. A burning agony, as though his body were aflame, and blood constantly surged up his throat.

“Haah…”

Hoeun dragged a hand down his face and let out another sigh.

He could not understand why Taemuk would not come to him.

Was it because he feared hurting him?

But three days had already passed. His body should have recovered enough by now. Even if his mind was still somewhat unstable, it should not be enough to pose a danger to him.

Then why?

Why would he not use him—his partner?

Hoeun existed solely for Taemuk, for his sake alone.

Lowering his brows deeply, Hoeun continued up the slope.

“Could it be… responsibility?”

Byunguk suddenly spoke, his words carrying an unclear meaning.

“…What?”

Hoeun turned back to look at him.

Meeting his gaze without much expression, Byunguk continued,

“When one cannot take responsibility, it becomes guilt.”

“……”

“The General… is likely feeling that guilt now.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun’s lips parted slightly.

Guilt.

He knew, faintly, just how heavy that word was.

Because he himself was feeling something similar.

Blinking slowly, Hoeun murmured in a subdued voice,

“He is… punishing himself.”

“…Yes.”

Byunguk lowered his gaze and affirmed it.

“……”

Looking down at the sprawling encampment below, Hoeun bit down hard on his lip before releasing it.

He himself wanted to tear off his own arm and give it to Mansu—so how much worse must it be for Taemuk?

The eighty lives that had been lost must be weighing heavily upon his limbs, clinging to him.

Perhaps it was more painful—more agonizing—than having his body torn apart by a Shikgoe.

Letting out a small sigh, Hoeun brushed back the strands of hair fluttering in the wind.

Then suddenly, Byunguk stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

“But the Captain… perhaps he may bear such things. After all, he is the Captain.”

“…What?”

“But you, Young Master, should not carry responsibility or guilt like that.”

“……”

“They did not die because of you. They went knowing they might die. They died fighting the Shikgoe, protecting the country.”

“But I stepped in unnecessarily—”

“Yes. And if you had not killed that antennaed creature, the Jeokudae might have been completely wiped out.”

“……”

Hoeun swallowed dryly.

He could not tell whether Byunguk’s words were a comforting lie born of kindness, or the truth.

And he did not know which he wanted to believe.

“Do you… truly think so?”

“Yes. That is what I believe. So rather than thinking ‘they died because of me,’ it would be better to think, ‘I saved those who remained.’”

“……”

Hoeun could not respond.

Byunguk’s sincerity struck him so strongly that his arms tingled.

The bridge of his nose stung.

He had not cried once since returning—but now, he wanted to.

Still, he could not allow himself to weep in front of Byunguk, and so he clenched his teeth.

“The air is cold. Let us go.”

Byunguk guided him toward the house once more.

Hoeun nodded briefly and resumed walking.

But before long, he had to stop again.

Because of Taemuk.

“Then… does the General always punish himself like this whenever someone dies or is injured?”

He was still worried.

What if Taemuk had collapsed from the pain? What if he was somewhere, being torn apart by a Shikgoe? What if he had lost his way?

Endless worries filled his mind.

Then suddenly, Byunguk curled his lips into a faint smile.

“In the past, he had no choice but to endure the pain, regardless of his will. Because you were not there, Young Master.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun let out a small exclamation.

A foolish question.

Back then, Taemuk had no choice in whether to suffer or not.

Perhaps the fever had clouded his mind.

Just as he was about to say something awkwardly, Byunguk spoke while gazing into the distance.

“That is why… he may have come to accept pain as something natural. Perhaps he even thought it fortunate to feel pain.”

“……”

Hoeun swallowed dryly again.

Perhaps because of his cold, his throat felt rough—yet even that simple act felt like swallowing a handful of needles.

“…Thank you for telling me.”

With a quiet expression, Hoeun made his way home.

By the time he reached the courtyard, his head throbbed. His stomach churned, and his legs felt weak.

Even so, he did not feel like going inside to lie down.

Turning back, Hoeun bowed slightly to Byunguk.

“Thank you for bringing me back. You must have much to do—please go on.”

In Taemuk’s absence, Byunguk was the one in charge here. And with Taemuk having been gone for three days straight, there must be countless matters requiring his attention.

Hoeun intended to send him away quickly, then continue battling his illness on his own.

But Byunguk stepped closer.

“I will leave after seeing you inside.”

“……”

Hoeun looked at him quietly.

Then, turning away, he staggered to the wooden floor and sat down.

“…Did the General ask you to look after me?”

“……”

Byunguk said nothing.

It was silence of affirmation.

At that, Hoeun gave a faint smile.

Even while suffering from pain and guilt, Taemuk had ordered someone to watch over him—

It was frustrating, sorrowful, pitiful… and achingly tender.

“I’ll go in.”

Obediently, Hoeun removed his shoes and stepped onto the wooden floor.

He knew that if he remained here stubbornly, Byunguk would remain as well. Everyone obeyed Taemuk’s orders with their lives.

Opening the paper door, Hoeun bowed once more to Byunguk before closing it behind him.

Inside, the room was filled with gentle warmth. There was a brazier, and someone had already lit the fire. The floor was warm as well—surely another of Taemuk’s instructions.

“Haah…”

Leaning against the wall, Hoeun slowly sank down.

Unable to endure his aching body, he eventually collapsed sideways.

He should spread the bedding.

He should change his clothes.

Those thoughts came and went—but he could not move.

So he simply lay there, staring blankly at the rafters above.

As he did, he faintly heard the sound of Byunguk’s footsteps leaving the courtyard.

“……”

Listening to that sound, Hoeun blinked slowly—

And before he knew it, he drifted into sleep.

“……”

He regained consciousness near dawn.

The room, tinted with the pale blue light unique to early morning, felt cold and lifeless.

Nothing had changed.

Hoeun had not changed his clothes, nor had he laid out bedding—he had fallen asleep just as he was.

Only the brazier had gone out, and the room had cooled.

Which meant—

Taemuk had not returned again.

If he had, he would not have left Hoeun sleeping in such a state, nor allowed the room to grow cold.

It seemed he had not even come near the house.

It had now been four days since Hoeun last saw him.

Four full days.

Since becoming Taemuk’s partner, this was the first time he had gone this long without seeing him.

In that moment, a surge of heat rose within Hoeun.

It was not the fever.

Struggling upright, he glared fiercely at the empty air.

“…Really.”

This is too much.

No matter how burdened by guilt he might be, how could he leave him alone like this?

After saying he was precious. After saying he would cherish him.

Hoeun clenched his teeth, then released them.

His fists tightened—then loosened once more.