BW C2

Chapter 2

 

A moment ago, one of the nurses who had been smoking climbed into the vehicle. With considerable effort, she pushed something out from within, which others received outside.

Soon, the contents of the car were revealed.

It was a man. His age was indeterminate; his entire face and body smeared with blood. Yet it was clear, at a glance, that his condition was grave—his right arm had been torn off, the shoulder mangled in a wide circular wound.

The nurse’s earlier words came to mind: “We’re always patching up torn-up people. Our fingernails never get free of blood.”

‘Torn-up people,’ indeed—he fit that description perfectly.

For better or worse, he appeared unconscious. Perhaps he was already dead.

Nurses and doctors loaded the man onto a stretcher and dashed him into the hospital. His limp body swung eerily with their hurried steps, leaving a trail of blood.

The group swept past Hoeun and his father. The sight was so horrible it bordered on obscene; Hoeun’s father squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, unable to look.

“The Manhwan (萬患, literally ‘ten thousand afflictions,’ scientific name for Shikgoe) are swarming near the city once more…”

His father muttered in anguish.

Hoeun did not answer.

The stench of iron blood wrapped around him. His fingertips turned cold, goosebumps blossomed at his nape. It was a scene almost unbearable to witness.

As the man was swallowed by the hospital’s maw, another car arrived before the two. This one was jet-black, gleaming without a speck of dust. On the hood, a plum blossom emblem glittered.

This newest car was personally presented to his father by the Emperor earlier that year. Hoeun’s father cherished it, polishing it every morning.

The passenger door opened and out stepped Deokwoo, who then opened the rear door. Hoeun’s father gestured with his head for Hoeun to get in first. Normally, a son would never precede his father, but in Hoeun’s household, small lapses in filial piety were routine.

As Hoeun absentmindedly stepped forward, Deokwoo stopped him.

“Careful, Master! There’s blood ahead.”

At Hoeun’s feet, a shallow puddle brimmed—filled with blood, not rain.

“Ah. Yes.”

Hoeun skirted the pool of blood and entered the car.

Seated close to the window, Hoeun took in the sights of Hanyang1. The four-story modern buildings, the dazzling signs, and the throngs of people walking between them were endlessly fascinating.

How varied they all were! There were those in hanbok, those in Western clothing, school uniforms, even young people with the trendy cropped hair popular nowadays.

Everyone moved with purpose. Where were they all going so busily? He was curious, but also realized they each had destinations—a place to be, work to do. It left him feeling strangely alienated.

He watched from afar a world in which he lived, but to which he had never truly belonged.

“Hoeun.”

His father, silently focused on the road ahead, called to him. Hoeun quickly met his gaze.

“Yes, Father.”

His eyes shone, yet somewhere within, they seemed distant. His heart was already elsewhere—dreaming not of the ride home, but of the outside world, as a guide with his military partner.

Then—

“Let’s pretend none of this happened.”

His father’s sudden words left Hoeun’s head tilted in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

His father turned to look at Hoeun, his gaze unusually unsettled. Though age had softened his eyes, they generally shone with determination, yet now seemed oddly blurred.

“I can silence that doctor.”

“Silence? What do you mean, Father?”

“I paid for that man’s education, gave him a house, fed him—he’ll do as I ask.”

“…”

“If that doesn’t work, I can offer money. Failing that…”

His father trailed off. Deokwoo, sitting in front, turned halfway to look at him, his mouth set—ready for anything.

Hoeun stared at the two, dazed, then realized his father’s intent. Suddenly, his face turned pale.

“You mean you’ll hide the fact that I’ve become a guide?”

“That’s right.”

“But… all Military Gods and guides must fight for the nation. It’s the Emperor’s order, and the law.”

“Orders and laws differ depending on the person.”

“Father!”

Hoeun, uncharacteristically, shouted. His cry swirled sharply in the sealed car. Laws relative to individuals—utterly nonsensical. His father, whom Hoeun knew, would never utter such words; words that should never be spoken.

Hoeun fixed his gaze on his father, whose white eyebrows seemed about to tumble down his face.

“No. You cannot become a guide. How could you—how could someone gentle and frail as you set foot on the battlefield? To a place swarming with Manhwan—it’s unthinkable. If your mother found out, she’d faint dead away.”

“That doesn’t mean I can shirk my duty. Military Gods and guides are chosen by heaven.”

“No. You don’t need to. Heaven’s will? There’s no such thing.”

“Father.”

“Remember: you simply suffered a severe fever. Nothing more.”

His father turned away, signaling he would speak no more. He then addressed Deokwoo:

“Deokwoo, let’s stop by the herbalist on the way. Hoeun needs his medicine. Park the car in the middle of the street so people see.”

“Yes, sir.”

Deokwoo nodded quickly, tapping the driver’s shoulder and gesturing to the street. The driver swung the wheel smoothly, and everyone shifted slightly—the small motion gave Hoeun the sensation the earth and sky had inverted.

As the car resumed its straight trajectory, Hoeun dared to ask, almost accusingly:

“Then why are others at the battlefield, Father? Why do they defend the country, slay monsters, save lives?”

“…”

“What makes them risk injury, shed blood, be parted from family?”

“…”

“Aren’t you ashamed? Ashamed of this? You and I are only alive thanks to them. We owe them everything, our whole lives.”

“You know how much grain and money I send to the front.”

“That’s not the same!”

Hoeun’s voice rose sharply again, followed by a coughing fit. His thin, pale neck shook as if about to snap. Seeing this, his father’s brow furrowed deeply in pain.

“Enough. That’s enough. Take care of yourself first.”

“You taught me, Father, that nothing is more precious than human life. That human lives should be treasured above gold or jewels. Now, finally, I’ve become someone who can save others—”

“I was wrong.”

“…Father.”

“The most important thing to me is you. Your life.”

His father took both of Hoeun’s hands in his. Hoeun looked down at those wrinkled, shriveled hands; they always moved him, always made him feel as if the sky was falling, but today they seemed almost grotesque. For once, they didn’t feel like his father’s hands.

Hoeun, jaw clenched, pulled his hands away. He saw despair flood his father’s expression, but wasn’t mature enough to comfort it.

Right now, his own disappointment felt like the greatest tragedy in the world.

The car stopped in the yard of their home. Hoeun got out in silence. Familiar smells greeted him—earth, wood, firewood, and the like.

Carelessly inhaling these, Hoeun gazed at the tall walls encircling the house. Their tips gleamed with sharpened spears, built in case the Shikgoe ever invaded Hanyang—a sight that was anything but beautiful.

By afternoon, the spear-pointed wall cast endless shadows across the house, the effect like bars across the whole property. Hoeun hated it bitterly—sometimes, the house felt like a prison.

Hoeun glared at the bars as if they were mortal enemies, when the sound of brisk footsteps reached him. The swish of skirts—a woman approached. His mother, elegant and beautiful as ever, rushed toward them, grasping her skirt as if fleeing something.

“Master, what did the doctor say? Is our Euni very ill? It’s not serious, right?”

For Hoeun’s sake, she was always quick to lose composure.

“It’s just a fever, nothing to fear.”

His father soothed her arm gently. Hoeun gave a rueful laugh; never in his life had he known his father to be capable of this kind of sly lie.

“Ah… thank goodness.”

His mother let out a sigh of relief, running her hand over her chest. She straightened her outfit, then reached out to Hoeun.

“Eun-ah, let’s go to your room. The stove is lit.”

¹ Hanyang was the capital of Korea during the Joseon dynasty. In historical context, Hanyang is the old name for present-day Seoul, chosen as the capital in 1394, and served as the political and cultural center throughout the Joseon period