BW C84

Chapter 84

By the time Hoeun was so breathless that he felt he could no longer draw air, they finally reached the top of the slope.

[Ramjae Town East Shelter]

At the crest of the hill, the wind struck even harder. It was gusting so strongly that the shelter post hammered deep into the ground groaned creeak, creeeak as it wavered.

At first glance, the shelter looked like nothing more than a door stuck into a mountain. In reality, it was dug deep inside like a mine. There was only one entrance and exit, utterly enclosed—but precisely because it was so enclosed, it was safe.

Such shelters were common in Hanyang, and Hoeun had practiced evacuating to them countless times.

Around the shelter lay all the usual remnants of carnage. The ground was littered with dried blood, torn clothes, severed flesh. And yet curiously, there was no smell. Likely the ceaseless wind that poured from every direction carried it away.

And—there were cars. Not the newest models, but cars nonetheless. Each one worth more than an ordinary household, now desecrated by gore. Some were soaked in blood, some dented, some with glass smashed through. People had fled here in them, clearly.

By some miracle, there were no monsters. This wasn’t like the hospital—open on all sides. Here, once the steel door closed, no silhouette escaped, no sound leaked. The monsters likely didn’t even know people were inside.

As Hoeun panted for air, Seong-im began toward the door. He hurried ahead of her.

“I… hhh… I’ll go… first.”

It wasn’t because she couldn’t speak. Nor out of pride. He simply… felt he had to.

His stumbling steps brought him to the shelter entrance. The door was iron, rust crawling across its age. Heavy. Solid. Dark blood smeared thick across it, but that wasn’t unusual—everywhere in Ramjae was.

“…Fuuuh.”

Hoeun straightened, slicked back his disordered hair, tugged his wrinkled clothes flat.

He had to make a good impression. The shelter was surely full already. To them, the three of them would be nothing but intruders. He must be humble, he must ask politely.

The door bore a round metal knocker, the join crafted with a Taeguk design. Likely used both to pull the door open and to announce a visitor’s presence. Hoeun lifted it, then let it fall.

THONK, THONK, THONK.

He startled. The sound rang far louder than expected. He glanced back in fear—a noise like that might draw monsters. But all he saw, all he heard, was wind shrieking.

“….”

He turned back to the door. No answer from inside. Perhaps it was too late, they slept? Even in a fortified shelter, surely someone kept watch? Frowning, he struck again. Thunk, thunk, thunk! This time came a reply.

SCREECHH—claaang—SCREEEEK.

Hoeun stepped back, heart clenching. But the door had not opened. Only a small square hatch within it, two palms wide. Bars of heavy iron crossed it tight: even if someone tried, they wouldn’t squeeze a head through.

Inside was lit—lamplight flickered. And a face appeared.

“Who goes there?”

The man looked about Hoeun’s age, dressed in hanbok and wearing a gat. Odd—it ought to be cramped within, five hundred people crushed together, and yet one sat in such restrictive formality.

Hoeun hastened to bow.

“Greetings.”

“….”

The man glanced at him oddly. This was hardly a time or place for pleasantries. Hoeun forced a nervous smile, still uncertain how to begin.

“Ah… Would there be room left, by chance?”

“What business have you?”

The reply stung him silent for a beat. What business? Why else? With the beasts swarming, they had come seeking shelter. But Hoeun swallowed frustration and answered softly.

“We are seeking refuge. We escaped the hospital when monsters surged there.”

“….”

“There are not many of us. Just three—one child, one woman, and myself.”

“….”

The man squinted, eyes radiating suspicion. Hoeun felt sweat gather, kept glancing nervously behind lest monsters hear their noise.

“Why do you speak so? You from Hanyang?”

“Hanyang…?”

“I asked if you are outsiders.”

“Ah. Yes. We are.”

“And why do outsiders seek entry here?”

“…Is there a law that bans outsiders from entering a shelter?”

Hoeun asked—gently, earnestly. Not in protest—simply, if such a law existed, he truly wished to know. Foolish, perhaps. But shelters were surely built by townsfolk themselves. If they restricted them to local use, what could he argue?

The man smirked. Almost mocking.

“The shelter’s full. Find elsewhere.”

“What? But… the west shelter is impossible—the monsters swarm there.”

“No space here. Not even enough for one more seat—how could we fit three?”

“….”

Hoeun’s fingers fidgeted helplessly. So he had feared—it was full. What now? His thoughts scrambled. And then voices erupted within.

“What noise so late?”

“Someone’s come.”

“Someone? Familiar?”

“Not familiar—outsiders!”

The young man vanished. Another figure appeared—older, maybe forty, also shadowed beneath a gat.

“….”

He pushed his hat back, face pressing close to the hatch, glaring straight at Hoeun. Hoeun held his eyes, silent, determined to show his sincerity.

“You—are you noble born?”

The question startled Hoeun as much as the first. Still he nodded honestly.

“Yes. I am.”

“Whose son?”

“…Must I say?”

His brows knit at last. He bore not the slightest shame in his lineage, yet here—here in this foul circumstance, he loathed to name it.

The man’s face twisted and he barked:

“If you won’t tell, begone!”

He shoved the latch, ready to slam the window. Panic stirred Hoeun’s tongue.

“I am the youngest son of the Choi family of Gyeongju.”

“….”

The man froze. Blinked, startled. Then whispered to those behind. The Chois…? Which Chois? The Choi family of Gyeongju. The wealthiest house in the Korean Empire. The richest of them all.

Listening, Hoeun’s lips tightened. Their prattle displeased him, but worse—soon the older man leaned close again, nose nearly jutting between the iron bars.

“How do we know you tell truth?”

“…Pardon?”

“These days, disorder reigns. I’ve heard tales of common trash pretending noble.”

“….”

“Though… your face, hm. Not likely false.”

His eyes roved rudely over Hoeun. Skin porcelain-pale, untouched by sun. A countenance flowing with wealth. Clothes costly, silks even blood and dirt could not conceal. And even as he merely stood, from every movement radiated nobility, poise. Clearly nobleborn.

The man stared long. Then shifted his gaze to Jung-woo cradled in his arms, and then to Seong-im behind. His eyes lingered too long, crawling. Disgust burned Hoeun’s chest. He stepped sideways, body shielding her.

“If you doubt, question me inside. But let us in first. The monsters could arrive.”

“….”

The man chewed his lips, debating. Then tilted his chin with false generosity.

“You may enter.”

“…What?”

Hoeun blinked. Surely he’d misheard.

“You alone.”

“….”

His brow creased. He tilted his head slightly. Then asked quietly, confirming:

“You mean—you’ll only accept one?”

So after all, his warning was right: no room for three. Then—it should be Jung-woo who entered. Or… wait. If they could take him, surely Seong-im and the child could squeeze in as well. Hope flickered. But the man’s reply cut it out.

“No. Only you. Only the noble.”

“….”

Hoeun’s lips shut slowly. A breath in, a breath out. His shoulders rose and fell with it. A long silence passed. Then his voice, low, quiet, heavy:

“…Inside—are only nobles?”

“Aye.”

“And why?”

“How could we possibly eat and sleep in one space with common trash?”

“….”

The answer was absurd, grotesque. Yet Hoeun did not scoff, nor rebuke. For he had glimpsed something vast and black behind it—the shadow of miseries yet to come.