BW C73

Chapter 73

But Gilsang had not fallen. His legs still clamped tight around the horse’s girth. His upper body dangled low, swinging down as the horse galloped on—like the act of some trained acrobat.

“Haa…”

Hoeun let out a sigh of relief. At that instant, Gilsang’s fingertips scraped along the dirt road—strrrt, strrrt—until, reaching the child, he hooked an arm and swept him up by the waist. The sudden force flung the boy’s limbs out stiff, and at that exact moment—

KRAAAHHK! SHHRRRK! KRAHHK!

With those grating cries, monsters surged from every shadow. From rooftops, from windows, from doors, from alleys—dark, hulking creatures poured forth. They were like a living wave made of monsters. A tide of cockroaches, thick and black.

Hoeun had confronted monsters before, yes—but never in such numbers. At a glance, there were hundreds. How had they concealed themselves so long?

In that moment, some dreadful premonition struck him.

This couldn’t be won. Not even Gilsang could overcome this. Taemuk was needed here. Or—no—perhaps even with Taemuk, this might have been impossible.

What now? Do we die here? The thought crawled his mind. For a moment, his hands slacked around the reins—

“Faster! Ride faster!”

Gilsang roared, his throat corded with force. Hoeun’s gaze latched onto his back. For some reason, Gilsang carried no thought of fighting. He clutched the child tightly—but his sword he never raised.

And oddly, that gave Hoeun peace. Somehow, instinct said he had a plan, a way through this.

Hoeun clenched his lips tight, retook the reins with strength, and pressed his heels harder. His thin body pitched against each jarring rebound, almost thrown skyward—but he jammed his feet in the stirrups and with~stood.

Dudududu—DUDUDUDU—

The thunder of hooves rang deafening. The Jeokudae thundered forward like bolts loosed, and the monsters hurtled close behind. Horses ran, beasts chased, the whole world seemed to quake like an earthquake. The force numbed his cheeks and fingertips.

“….”

Holding the child, Gilsang kept looking back over his shoulder, checking again and again. Each time, Hoeun too found himself glancing behind.

The monsters were closing with ghastly speed, breath raspy, guttural rattles thick in their throats. And there were more—always more—those that had ducked into alleys earlier now swelling their ranks. They even ran along rooftops, their hulking thighs pumping them faster still. The gap refused to widen.

Hoeun’s heart trembled. He bit down on his lips—when suddenly, Gilsang yanked his reins hard, veering aside. Caught unready, Hoeun dragged on his reins late, but his clever horse followed on its own.

A mess of stone houses opened before them—narrow alleys, choked of light. Not like the broad main streets. Here, cloaks and swords clashed so near that knees brushed, mantles whipped each other’s thighs.

SKRIIEEEH! KRAHK KRAKKHHH!

The sudden turn, the cramped lanes—it threw the beasts off. They smashed one another, slammed into walls, tangled, crushed, trampled in heaps. Blood slick legs knotted everywhere.

It slowed them. Briefly. Only briefly—those further behind clambered atop their own, leapt forward again. Still, even a breath of space had opened.

“Now!”

Gilsang thundered. Immediately the soldiers behind hurled down several objects each—shapes like iron lumps, potatoes of steel.

CLANK, THUD, TONGGG—

They rolled, skittering through the beasts’ legs, vanishing in their mass.

And then—

BOOM—KROOOM! BOOFF!

Explosions ripped through the alley, flames belching. Now Hoeun saw—grenades. By the heavens, grenades. He’d forgotten them entirely. Most Jeokudae fought with swords, spears, their close discipline. And Taemuk—Taemuk fought barehanded.

KRAHHK! SKRKHHH!

In chain reaction, blasts threw beasts aside, blown limb from limb. Stumps of arms and legs spun up, blood sprayed like storm across stone, drenching walls and roofs in streaming red.

It was a deft strike. Hoeun thought surely—they must be dead.

But as smoke curled and drifted, a screech split out—

SKRRIEEEHHH!

The monsters stood again. Lathered in blood, mangled yet alive. Limbs were missing, sides gouged—but not one fallen outright. The grenades had not pierced their iron helms.

Still—their movements slowed. Many toppled, struggled to rise. Distance grew. With this, perhaps—they might yet reach the hospital.

“…”

Hoeun stared fixed on Gilsang’s back at the fore. No Jeokudae had been lost. The child was rescued. Hoeun had known Gilsang skilled—but this surpassed even his grasp. Shame welled in him, remembering he had imagined only doom. It was himself that was weakest here, and yet he had doubted. No more.

No rash judgments. No coward fears. No premature grief.

Hoeun pressed his heels harder into the horse’s flank.

Daehan Mugo Hospital.

In the distance, at last—they saw it. The largest yet. Red brick walls soared high, signage stark across its rooftop, the letters spelling its name.

But its entrance was lost—blocked entirely by a mountain of corpses. Monster corpses, piled higher than Hoeun’s head.

“…Damn…”

Hoeun murmured. To at last see their goal, and no way in. To leap horses over was impossible. To climb themselves? Madness—with the beasts still in pursuit.

Glancing behind—yes, the monsters chased still, limping though some were. Even maimed, they bayed relentless. To dismount here would be suicide.

Forward blocked, behind closing—nowhere to go. His lips felt parched, his tongue clinging dry. But he dared not despair. Gilsang was here. He would find a way, he must. Even if it meant clambering over the carcass-mount, then Hoeun would follow.

And Gilsang did not slow. He drove ever on toward the hospital. And then—

The left edge of that grisly mound shifted—heaving, collapsing in a rush. And through it—emerged a soldier. Familiar face, though Hoeun knew not his name. Yes—the very one Gilsang had sent away earlier with that cryptic gesture.

“This way!”

Shouting, the man heaved at carcasses, flung aside mass of limbs and torsos, opening a gap. Behind him loomed an iron fence, its top ribbed sharp as spears. The gate whined and creaked wide.

It was not gaping—only just enough for two horses abreast, maybe.

Gilsang reined slightly, glanced back at Hoeun.

“Young master—go in first.”

“But…”

Words rose, but Hoeun only bowed his head in assent.

“Yes. I understand.”

His horse leapt forward. Gilsang slipped from sight behind. He was falling back—slowing—until at last he halted outright. Holding the child in one arm, with the other he drew steel. He faced the onrushing horde.

Meanwhile, the soldiers streamed past him, trailing Hoeun into the breach. Unwitting, Hoeun found himself the tip of their spear.

He worried—God, he worried for Gilsang. But he fought back the urge to look. His help now was to enter quickly, lessen the burden behind.

At full gallop, Hoeun’s horse carried him over the heaps of flesh. The stench snarled into his nose—reeking, acrid, searing his sinuses. This was no corpse-stink of men, as once in the wasteheaps. This was fouler, biting, sharp.

“Ughhh…”

An odor to choke the breath. His eyes stung, his skull throbbed sharp. He held breath tight, refusing air at all.