BW C14

Chapter 14

High above, clinging to a tall, thick tree, a monster was attached. More precisely, it was impaled. From the stake driven through its chest, it looked—thankfully—dead. Dark, red-black blood had streamed down the trunk to pool like a pond at the roots, so it had to be dead.

“…”

Hoeun stared, transfixed. It was, after all, the first monster he had ever seen in life. He knew its shape from drawings and photographs, but seeing it in person was another matter entirely.

“H-how can such a thing exist…”

They said it was bigger than a person; this was more than merely big. It could have filled a whole room. In Hoeun’s own chamber, even a single one would barely fit.

In gross outline, the monster did not differ from a human: a head, two arms, two legs, and unlike other beasts, it walked upright. That meant it could use its arms and hands like a human—and that made it more threatening.

The head was glossy and hairless, built wide and flat like a helmet or a crab’s carapace. For some reason, this one had no helmet; not naturally absent, but torn away—its crown down to its nose was sunken, exposing a nauseating interior.

Only the mouth remained: the jaw hung slack, showing all its teeth. The mouth was long vertically and narrow horizontally, so it could not swallow a human head in one bite; they usually finished in two or three. Rumor had it they fancied protruding bits like noses and ears as delicacies. The teeth weren’t thick and pointed like a predator’s, but rather shaped like a saw.

Its neck was thick, its chest short. Wrinkled, folded hide hung at the belly; the books said it could swallow three people at once, its hide stretching and distending without end.

It must have had arms, but like the head, they seemed torn away—no, down below, in the puddle of blood at the roots, two arms lay tossed aside. The legs were bent like a wolf’s hind limbs—thin in the shins, thick in the thighs—making it far faster than a human.

“…”

Hoeun couldn’t look away. It was so grotesque and terrifying that, for that very reason, his gaze stuck fast.

Blood kept dripping from the monster—from the head, from the torn arms, from the stake driven into its chest—endlessly. It looked freshly dead.

Then—creak, crack—something twisted; unable to bear its own weight, the carcass dropped. The blood-pool below caught it with a violent splash, flinging blood everywhere.

“Good heavens…”

They were far enough that the blood didn’t spatter them, yet Hoeun winced as if his face were flecked with it. His stomach turned; something threatened to rise.

As he thumped his chest lightly with a small fist, Gilsang said in an almost offhand tone, “The Captain’s handiwork.”

At this, Hoeun snapped his gaze to Gilsang. “By the Captain, do you mean General Lee?”

“Yes.”

“…”

Hoeun looked back at the monster. Taemuk did that? By what means had he staked that massive thing that high up? He couldn’t picture it.

They saw other corpses afterward. Not all were nailed to trees, but there was always too much blood nearby. Sometimes only a toppled shape showed between the brush; who could guess how many corpses lay beyond, out of sight.

So this was truly outside the capital.

Monsters everywhere.

As Hoeun’s face drained paler and paler, Gilsang soothed him, “We won’t see Shikgoe for a while. He’s drenched the place with their blood.”

“They smell the blood of their own?”

“Yes. ‘My friends are dead, all of them,’ they’ll think. If they judge they can’t win, they don’t charge. Likely went elsewhere for food.”

“They’re that clever?”

“Clever or not, it’s like a rabbit not charging a tiger.”

“…”

Hoeun tilted his head. However you looked at them, calling such things “rabbits” felt wrong. Reading his vague look amiss, Gilsang raised a sheepish smile. “Ah, I don’t mean me as a tiger. I mean our Captain.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun nodded. Monsters were frightening—but Taemuk had, shall one say, a heavier pressure, a force that hung about him.

More corpses appeared, off and on. Not one was alive.

By then, Hoeun understood what Taemuk had meant by “I’ll clear the way.”

Dusk thickened again, yet Jeokudae never seemed to rest. They kept moving; they ate walking or in the saddle—potatoes, rice cakes, jerky—whatever would stave hunger.

“Haa…”

From a bobbing saddle, Hoeun dared not put anything in his mouth, lest he choke to death. He only felt thirst, which he didn’t ask to slake. Deokwoo sprang to mind—Deokwoo, who always had things ready before he asked.

Had he gone back to the hospital? He should have. May his leg heal well. The ladies would like that. He had to marry.

Thinking so, his vision went gray—not from tears, but from a body at its limit crying out with dizziness.

No sleep, no rest, no food—how could a frail body bear it? Even so, he propped his eyes open; if he collapsed here, he would only be a burden.

But a body that never obeyed wouldn’t start now. Even as his eyes slid closed—

“Halt, halt.”

A voice from ahead; the column stopped at once. Jolted awake, Hoeun looked to Gilsang, who explained kindly, “The horses can’t go farther. They need rest. We’ll sleep here tonight.”

He hopped down and patted his horse’s neck. Hoeun sighed in mingled relief.

Soldiers dismounted and led their horses into the trees. Hoeun moved to dismount as well, but Gilsang took his reins and drew him forward.

After pushing through a short forest path, they came to a space not a plain, but near enough to level. The soldiers, practiced, penned the horses to one side and unloaded gear. With Gilsang’s help, Hoeun got down.

“Thank you. Thank you,” he said—first to Gilsang, then to the horse, awkwardly stroking its neck. It snorted once and bent to graze.

“Stay here a moment,” Gilsang said, and left. At once, Hoeun swayed, boneless. The dizziness rose heavier than before.

Perhaps from riding too long, though both feet touched solid ground, he felt as if he wobbled; his stomach heaved.

“Haa…”

He braced against a nearby tree. The vertigo wouldn’t pass; the world spun; the tips of his limbs went cold; sweat beaded on his brow.

Through the blur, soldiers moved briskly—choosing stones, pitching tents, posting watch.

I should help. I can’t just stand here.

Teeth set, he peeled his hand from the tree—

“Excuse me, make way.”

Someone brushed past. A soldier lugging a log twice Hoeun’s height—felled or fetched who knew where.

“Ah—s-sorry,” Hoeun stammered, stepping aside—and his heel caught; his weight tipped backward. His vision flipped; he hadn’t the strength to scream. He dimly thought, let there not be a rock where I fall.

But—

Thunk.

Something caught him beneath the back as he half-sank down. Not a rock, from the feel of it. Not wood either. At that thought, he went still.

…If not rock or wood, then what?

In a flash, the monsters he’d seen on the way flickered through his mind. He creaked his head up—slow, stiff.

“Ah…”

Something massive was drenched in blood—black and red all at once. Unlike the corpses he had seen so far—and certainly not dead.

Hoeun froze, terrified; his throat clogged, breath short. Yet for some reason, it didn’t try to bite him.

Perplexed, he stared at it. Now that he looked, there was no helmet on its head—no teeth, either.

Only then did he realize it had a human shape. Because the head was tilted back, he had not recognized a person when he saw one.

Even seen straight, it would have shocked him—he was so soaked in blood. From hair hanging forward, wet clots fell drip, drip, as if he’d swum in a pool of blood.

Just then, the soldier carrying the log acknowledged him, “Captain’s here.”

Hoeun’s eyes bulged. Captain meant…

“…General?”