BW C44

Chapter 44

“Captain. The young master won’t open his eyes. I came to give the decoction, but no matter how much I tried to wake him, he wouldn’t get up…”

Hoeun, for the first time in a while, slept deeply without dreams. His body felt light, as if it could fly. Strangely, though, his eyes felt heavy. He twitched his thin eyelids, trying to open them somehow, but it wasn’t easy.

“I told Brother Gilsang, and he said to report to the Captain right away…”

A youthful voice had been sounding to him from the edges of sleep. It felt like it had called him desperately, but whether that had truly happened or he had merely dreamed it, he did not know.

“Why won’t he open his eyes. Is he sick again?”

Then a lower voice followed. Hoeun immediately recognized the owner of that voice—a firm, low tone. It was unmistakably Taemuk.

Why is Taemuk here. And where is here? In any case, since he had come, he ought to pay his respects—but his body would not move. His body felt light, yet when he tried to move, it was like a thousand catties. He couldn’t so much as twitch a finger.

“No. There’s no fever. He’s not ailing, either.”

“Then why.”

“Well… I think—Captain…”

“Speak.”

“It seems to be because he hasn’t been eating.”

“What does that mean. He hasn’t eaten?”

“Yes. He didn’t drink the soup, and he didn’t eat the rice. When I go to collect the bowls, there’s always all the rice left… I just thought the food didn’t suit his taste…”

“Since when hasn’t he eaten.”

“M-more than two days, I think…”

“Two days?”

“Y-yes… B-but he took the decoction well. The others said it’s really precious, so I thought if he drank that, he wouldn’t need to eat… I’m sorry, Captain. I’m sorry…”

The two of them were having a conversation, but he couldn’t quite grasp it fully. The voices were muffled and thick, the sentences came broken. It felt as if someone had layered several sheets of tough cloth over his ears.

Then, Hoeun finally opened his eyes. Before him, everything was blurred and milky, as if veiled by fog.

“Oh—he—young master’s opened his eyes!”

The youthful voice cried out. Hoeun narrowed his gaze and forced his vision to focus. At last, the shapes became clear.

“…Chilbok?”

Chilbok knelt at the end of the sleeping mat, on the verge of tears. Before his knees sat the decoction, and beyond him, Taemuk stood with his back to the tent’s entrance.

Hoeun took it all in slowly, then realized the light seeping in under the tent was very bright. At that, his mind snapped awake.

“H-have I overslept? I’m sorry.”

Even at home, where he had nothing to do but be ill, he had never once overslept—so why was it always like this here… At a time when he should rise at dawn to help pack…

He sprang up like a released spring. But the moment he did, his vision whirled. The sensation of sky and ground flipping over was most unpleasant. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and swayed as if he might collapse at any moment.

Grab.

His wrist was caught.

At some point Taemuk had come close and crouched on one knee. His face looked cool and severe. Startled, Hoeun tried reflexively to pull his hand back, but Taemuk did not let go—instead he drew him closer.

“You.”

“…Sir?”

“What’s the last thing you ate.”

“A-ate, sir?”

“Yes. What you ate.”

It was an unexpected question. He had thought he would be scolded for dawdling, for making them late—But suddenly this… Hoeun blinked, then answered without much trouble.

“Chocolate. Yesterday, at the river…”

Remembering the kisses shared in the cold river, he pressed his lower lip lightly between his teeth and released it. But the hard set of Taemuk’s face didn’t crack.

“Other than that.”

Something about him felt angry; tension stiffened Hoeun’s spine.

“I had dinner… yesterday… right?”

He answered uncertainly. He felt like he had eaten something, but couldn’t remember. He assumed he’d merely forgotten—yesterday had been so hectic. But Taemuk pressed on doggedly.

“What for dinner.”

“Just… rice…”

Trailing off, Hoeun glanced at Chilbok. He didn’t know why—perhaps hoping the child would help him. But Chilbok murmured in a small voice,

“Noodles…”

At that, the air in the tent grew heavy.

“…”

Hoeun worked his lower lip. Noodles? Did he? He had no memory of it. The stench of rotting corpses, and worry for Taemuk, had frayed his attention to strands. As he stared blankly, Taemuk shook the wrist he held, fixing his gaze upon him with relentless insistence.

“Before that.”

“Um… Chilbok boiled a decoction for me, which I drank.”

“Yes, I brought it at lunchtime yesterday.”

This time, Chilbok nodded vigorously as if to confirm. Hoeun let out a relieved breath—but Taemuk’s questioning continued.

“More.”

“More? Um… more…”

Turning his head slowly from right to left, Hoeun racked his brain. What had he eaten? He had eaten something… Had he eaten anything?

“I was thirsty, and drank water…”

Taemuk pulled again on his wrist. Hoeun’s upper body slid sharply toward him. In the black of Taemuk’s eyes, Hoeun’s face stood out clearly.

“Tell me what rice you ate. You know what ‘rice’ is?”

“…”

Rice. In that instant, bibimbap popped up in his mind. Yes, he had received bibimbap—the one where Chilbok had smuggled him the egg pancake. But he hadn’t eaten a single spoonful, and had given it to Dongja. And before that… As he worked backward through his memory, he suddenly bit his lower lip and released it.

Drooping his head, he spoke in a reined-in voice.

“F-fist-rice(Jumeok Bap)…”

The fist-rice Taemuk had forced upon him—the one he had thrown up completely in the end. He could still feel, vivid as ever, the mushy grains refluxing through his throat. His gut gave a throb. Feeling the surge of nausea, he pulled his hand free from Taemuk’s and covered his mouth.

“…”

Taemuk said nothing. It was impossible to tell whether he had at last gotten the answer he wanted, or whether he was nonplussed by an answer he hadn’t expected. After staring at Hoeun for a while, still fixing his gaze on him, he spoke to Chilbok.

“Chilbok—go out and make porridge.”

“Ah—yes!”

Chilbok sprang up. Hoeun’s eyes went round. Porridge? Now? Judging by the light filtering through the tent, it was midday. If they started making porridge now, they wouldn’t be able to set out for quite some time.

Because of him, everyone would be inconvenienced. That wouldn’t do.

“No. I’m fine. We can’t be delayed because of—”

“Be still.”

In his characteristically deep voice, Taemuk pressed him down. Then, turning to Chilbok, he ordered,

“Make plenty of porridge. Enough to give a ladle to anyone who wants some. And have everyone rest except the sentries. We leave at noon.”

“Yes! Understood, Captain!”

Like a squirrel, Chilbok scurried out of the tent. For an instant, bright light poured in through the entrance he had lifted. Hoeun squinted; when he opened his eyes again—

“…”

Taemuk was staring at him. It was an unreadable look. Hoeun had no idea what he was thinking, or why he was looking at him. Even so, he felt, somehow, that he ought to explain.

“I-it’s not that the food didn’t suit my taste.”

“Then?”

“Well…”

He took in a shallow breath and let it out long. The truth was, he didn’t know either. He had never had much of an appetite, but he had never simply gone without eating day after day.

If he had to guess, it was nerves, the unfamiliar environment, unfamiliar people—on top of that, being tormented by Taemuk at night, the charging monsters, the overflowing blood, the dead man, the stench of corpses… Perhaps all of that had blended to spoil his appetite.

If anything, it was the soldiers who were strange—to eat their meals unbothered in the midst of this battlefield and corpses.

But Hoeun did not voice that. Since everyone else endured it, it wounded his pride to admit that he alone could not. And it felt despairing. If he bared such weakness, it would only earn him mockery.

“…I don’t really know.”

The lie reddened the rims of his eyes. If Taemuk grew angry, he would have no defense. Not only could he not fight, now he was making trouble by not even being able to eat what he was given. Why was he like this…

His head sank lower and lower. The ribbon at his shoulders dropped, limp. The silk that had always gleamed had lost its shine.

“I’m truly… sorry. I’m sorry. But I’m fine now. So we can set out right away—”

Fixing his gaze on the ground, he rambled on. Suddenly, something thumped down beside him—Taemuk’s uniform coat, large enough to serve as a quilt. As he stared at it in puzzlement—

Taemuk, wearing only his undershirt, flopped back onto the sleeping mat.

“…General?”

Hoeun called him, dazed. Taemuk raised his arm over his eyes and said,

“I’m tired, so don’t talk to me. I’m going to sleep.”

“…”

Sleep? Suddenly? In broad daylight? Stopping when they were about to set out? Mouth opening and closing, Hoeun stared at Taemuk, blank. But Taemuk said nothing more.