BW C59

Chapter 59

Hoeun’s brows lifted slightly.

“Home?”

“Yes.”

“Who said that?”

“You did.”

“I did?”

“Mm.”

“…”

Hoeun’s lashes fluttered. When had he said that? In his sleep? Had he, while ill, perhaps called for his parents? He had no memory of it, but it was possible. When a child is sick, of course he calls for his parents.

“It must’ve been something said unthinkingly while ailing. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hoeun slowly shook his head.

“Hard to trust anything a yangban says.”

Taemuk did not take his word.

“…”

Hoeun’s brow pinched and smoothed. That ceaseless “yangban, yangban, yangban.” Taemuk himself was a general of the highest first rank, perched at the top of hierarchy and status just under the king, and yet he constantly maligned the yangban—why, Hoeun could not fathom.

Hoeun raked his disheveled hair back. Then, fixing Taemuk with a clear, steady gaze, he said,

“If that is what you think, then I will go.”

“Go where?”

“Home. I will go home. What use is there in keeping near someone you do not trust—a yangban—ah!”

Taemuk seized Hoeun’s hair and yanked his head back. He set one knee on the cot and all but climbed over Hoeun. Hunching his massive back, he forced their eyes to meet. His pitch-black pupils gleamed with a lethal light.

“You’re my guide.”

“…”

“That means you’re mine.”

“…”

“So without my leave you go nowhere. Even if that place is your home.”

Lowering his already low voice until it was a growl, Taemuk spoke. Then, as if to correct himself, he wrinkled the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“No—now you have no home. Here—by my side—is your home. Mark it well.”

“…”

For once, Hoeun said nothing. He showed no particular reaction. He did not cringe or start. He only stared at Taemuk with eyes oddly twisted.

Sensing the strangeness, Taemuk faintly scowled—but then Hoeun grabbed his robe. Without fear, he tugged him closer. Then, in a quiet yet firm voice, he asked,

“You don’t want me to go, do you?”

“…What?”

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?”

In Hoeun’s eyes as he spoke, a glint like Taemuk’s own flickered.

If Taemuk had a near-mad craving where guides were concerned, Hoeun had a craving much like it.

A desire to be acknowledged.

A desire to be of use.

Those desires had pulled him from a comfortable home to this battlefield seething with monsters. They were desires he had yearned to fulfill enough to risk death.

“I… am someone the General needs, aren’t I?”

To someone as extraordinary as you—am I someone needed? Hoeun tugged Taemuk again and pressed him.

“…”

Taemuk neither affirmed nor denied. He only loosened the grip of the hand clutching Hoeun’s hair. Ambiguous, yes—but for Hoeun, the mere fact that he did not deny was enough.

With the slightest ghost of a smile at his lips, Hoeun let go of Taemuk’s robe. Then, with his palm braced on Taemuk’s chest, he said,

“In that case, I will stay by your side.”

“‘Stay by my side’?”

Taemuk gave a short, scoffing laugh. The arrogance of it was absurd. Hoeun’s whereabouts were not for Hoeun to decide. His superior and his Military God, Taemuk, would decide that.

But Hoeun’s lofty, upright bearing did not soften in the least. More than that—he even made a presumptuous demand.

“Only—there is one thing, one answer I must hear.”

“An answer?”

“Yes.”

“What answer.”

“Tell me why you had to kill that nobleman in the village.”

At that, the expression slowly washed off Taemuk’s face.

“It was not a place where people lived. A ruin with a few abandoned thatched houses.”

“Then from when did people live there?”

When asked for the reason he killed the nobleman, Taemuk stared hard at Hoeun, then handed him his trousers. He sank onto the floor and lit a cigarette.

Hoeun, once he had his trousers on, slid down from the cot and took a place facing him. The cot, thick with blankets, was comfortable, but it would be discourteous to look down on him from above. He hadn’t time to tie his hair, so he simply tucked it behind his ears.

He folded his knees and leaned his back against the cot. In truth, kneeling properly would have been right, but his body could not manage it. Fortunately, Taemuk did not chide him.

“From when Jeokudae made that place a garrison.”

“And how long has that been?”

“About three years.”

Half-narrowing his eyes as if to reckon the days, Taemuk spoke. Hoeun pressed and released the corner of his lip and thought. So—originally a ruin, and after Jeokudae settled there, people took up residence and tilled fields…

“Did they think they were safe from monsters because Jeokudae was there?”

“Likely.”

“But it didn’t seem close enough to be safe. And even if it were, Jeokudae couldn’t guard them.”

“True. But they would have wanted us to.”

“The villagers?”

Hoeun frowned. As had been said time and again, Jeokudae’s purpose was not guardianship, but suppression. To keep such a unit near and try to use it as private guards—was that it? Did they ask to be protected when Jeokudae passed by?

He couldn’t understand it. Why choose to live outside when there was a walled town?

The town was ringed by strong walls and had a dedicated garrison; there was no need to confront monsters. To leave a safe stronghold and contrive to live in that wasteland—that was dangerous and foolish.

But Taemuk shook his head.

“Not the villagers.”

“Sir?”

“That dead bastard.”

“…Sir?”

Hoeun blinked rapidly. The dead bastard—meaning the nobleman? What had he wanted? That the villagers live there—or that Jeokudae protect them?

“What… do you mean…”

Drawing deep on the cigarette and letting it go, Taemuk fixed his gaze on the Imperial map hung on one side of the tent and continued.

“Buying land in town where you can till fields is expensive.”

“Yes, it is.”

The topic seemed to have shifted, but Hoeun did not interject. Taemuk was not the sort to speak around a point—and if he spoke, it was because the words were needed.

He knew town land was costly. Though the Empire’s territory ran from the edge of one sea to the beginning of another, not all of it could truly be called the Empire’s. On paper, yes—but in reality, it might as well belong to the monsters. Without a garrisoned town, people could not live.

So fields, too, had to be cultivated in town. But land was limited; the price was like buying the sky. What had that to do with the villagers?

“But ‘base’ land is cheap.”

“…Sir?”

“…”

Taemuk said no more. As if he’d said all he meant, he only blew smoke. Hoeun blinked slowly and carefully repeated his words.

“Town land is expensive. But ‘base’ land is cheap.”

In an instant, Hoeun’s eyes widened as if they would fall out. His neck stretched long. He leaned his upper body toward Taemuk.

“Surely… that dead man sent those villagers there? Because town land was expensive—he told them to farm outside the town?”

“Yes.”

“B-but what if people died? No—already they h-have died…”

“Base land is cheap, I said.”

“What does that… Does that mean he—bought people again and sent them again?”

Hoeun’s mouth fell open. Which meant—he sent them knowing they would die. No—he sent them to die. How was that different from murder?

His delicate jaw trembled.

“Ho-how could…”

How could a human do such a thing to humans… With a stricken face, Hoeun shifted his weight. He straightened his knees, then folded them again. It was unthinking. The floor was too hard.

In the command tent, boards laid on bare ground were covered with this and that—cushions and the cot among them—but it was by no means soft. It was an uncomfortable seat for Hoeun to sit now.

But he did not register the discomfort. His mind was filled entirely with the dead villagers.

Then, suddenly, Taemuk sprang to his feet. Before Hoeun could ask where he was going, he had gone out of the tent. Somewhere, he fetched a cushion. It was not of silk, nor was it embroidered with fine stitches, but it was thick and looked rather soft.

Taemuk dusted it off with a few pats of his palm and set it down beside Hoeun. Then, as if nothing had happened, he went and sat opposite him again.

“…”

Hoeun looked at the cushion in silence. Was it—was it meant for him to sit on? He looked and looked again. However he looked, it seemed indeed meant for him; he slid it under his backside, stealthy-like.

“Th-thank you…”

With a dazed face, Hoeun gave his thanks. It was a strange feeling—to be served, if not quite waited on, by Taemuk, the very man who had torn him raw below.