BW C110

Chapter 110

Yet even as Hoeun denied it, Taemuk’s irritation did not show the slightest sign of cooling.

“Then what. You just didn’t want to learn from me?”

“That is not it either. It’s only… the General is busy, after all… Someone like me, a novice, would hardly be worth your time to instruct, so… that is why.”

“That’s all? If we’re talking about busy, Oh Gilsang isn’t exactly lounging around either, is he?”

His tone hovered somewhere between interrogation and mockery. Hoeun sensed it instinctively: if he answered poorly here, he would be doomed. He quietly drew in a breath. Then, voice trembling, he continued.

“I… I did not want to show you my clumsy side, General.”

“But it’s fine to show Gilsang?”

“Yes. I am not embarrassed in front of Sergeant Oh.”

“You’re embarrassed in front of me?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you are… my god.”

Even Hoeun himself didn’t know why he said that. His mind was tangled in knots, and he just grabbed the most plausible-sounding words he could. But once they left his mouth, they sounded absurd. Embarrassed because he is your lord? If Taemuk scolded him for spouting nonsense, he would deserve it.

What do I do? How do I fix this?

Hoeun clenched and unclenched his fists inside his sleeves.

“….”

For some reason, the ferocity in Taemuk’s expression gradually smoothed out. It seemed Hoeun’s answer pleased him.

While sneaking glances at him, Hoeun then realized belatedly that Taemuk’s neck and cheeks were stained with blood. All color drained from Hoeun’s own face in an instant.

“Are you injured?”

Hoeun hurried toward him, rising on his toes to examine him. Under the moonlight, patches of Taemuk’s uniform shimmered darkly—blood soaked through.

“It’s not your blood, is it, General?”

Without hesitation, he tugged Taemuk’s collar to peer inside, shoved up his sleeves to inspect his arms, and ran his hands along his thorax and flank, searching for wounds.

Suddenly, Taemuk’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist. Hoeun gasped.

“…General?”

Taemuk didn’t stop there—he pulled Hoeun even closer. Hoeun’s light body lifted clean off the ground, feet dangling. Flustered, he looked around anxiously, pushing weakly at Taemuk’s shoulder.

“W-We’re outside. People are watching. This kind of behavior is—”

“Silence.”

With that single command, Taemuk swept Hoeun into his arms and moved through tents, gathering items here and there. In doing so, they crossed paths with more than a few Jeokudae soldiers and refugees. Hoeun wanted to dig a hole and disappear—mortified beyond belief—so he buried his face deep against Taemuk’s chest.

Time passed—Hoeun couldn’t tell how long—until Taemuk suddenly shifted his hold to support beneath Hoeun’s hips. Hoeun rose higher than Taemuk, eyes going round.

“G-General?”

Instinctively, Hoeun clung to Taemuk’s shoulders. But Taemuk didn’t respond—he simply stared between the trees and rocks, then abruptly dashed forward.

“Uwaah—”

The speed was unreal—as if riding a horse. No, faster, as though gliding through air. Trees and grass streaked past in blurs, wind whipping Hoeun’s clothes and hair ribbons wildly.

“General! Put me down!”

He didn’t spare a single thought for the impossibility of a human running like this. He only feared he’d be flung into the night.

He clung to Taemuk’s neck desperately, even pounding weakly on his back, tearfully begging to be let down—or at least he thought he did; his memory blurred.

Taemuk ran deep into the shadowed forest, occasionally leaping over boulders, sliding down slopes, scaling steep inclines in mere strides. Hoeun couldn’t even scream—eyes screwed tight shut.

When the night wind finally chilled his cheeks, Taemuk skidded to a halt.

“….”

Hoeun, unaware they’d stopped, continued clinging. Taemuk moved to set him down. Or tried to.

“N-No. No… don’t let go…”

Now he refused to release him. Earlier he’d begged to be put down; now he wouldn’t let go.

“….”

Taemuk simply stood still. There was no harm in letting Hoeun cling. If he wanted to stay like this all night—so be it.

But soon, Hoeun’s grip weakened. He slid down Taemuk like melted taffy, scrambling to hold on again and again until finally—plop—his feet touched the ground.

Something felt… soft.

“…Huh?”

Startled, Hoeun looked down. Lush grass cushioned his feet. Unlike the leaf-strewn forest they’d run through, the grass here was fresh and green.

He finally took in their surroundings.

A meadow, neither enormous nor tiny, stretched before them. Verdant grass covered the ground—odd for winter—and with no tall trees nearby, moonlight poured unobstructed over everything. It was like a patch of daylight carved out of the night.

Hoeun gently stepped out of Taemuk’s arms.

“Why are we… here?”

Taemuk didn’t answer. He turned away.

“Wait.”

Hoeun grabbed his elbow, alarmed.

“Wh-Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back.”

“….”

But Hoeun couldn’t let go. Taemuk met his gaze steadily.

“I said I will return.”

“….”

Reluctantly, Hoeun released him. Taemuk strode toward the dark woods and vanished almost instantly.

Hoeun scanned the meadow anxiously, the whispering grass sounding like eerie sobs in the wind. Fear climbed up his spine. Someone—or something—could leap from the shadows at any moment.

Unable to bear it, he took a step in the direction Taemuk had gone—

“….”

He reappeared, carrying something massive. Hoeun squinted—moonlight soon revealed it.

A corpse. A monstrous one.

Taemuk held the hulking carcass of a Shikgoe in one hand—and its severed head in the other. Not freshly killed, perhaps; likely slain earlier and retrieved now.

He tossed it to the ground with a thud.

“Ugh…”

Hoeun instinctively pressed close to him—revulsion prickling his skin—but he couldn’t look away.

It was his first time seeing a Shikgoe up close. They always moved too fast to study.

Though its head had been torn from its body, it wasn’t dead—perhaps because its skull remained intact. It was barely alive, jaws opening and closing sluggishly, almost pitifully.

Kreee…

Something flashed across Hoeun’s vision—steel.

“Here.”

Taemuk flipped a sword lightly in the air and held out the hilt. One of the objects he had gathered earlier.

“M-Me? Ah, yes.”

Hoeun took it on reflex—only for his wrist to buckle, the blade plunging tip-first into the earth. It was far too heavy. Yet he didn’t panic. He bit down and, using both hands, forced it up until the blade pointed at the moon.

Even though it wobbled violently, Taemuk offered no correction. He neither adjusted Hoeun’s stance nor instructed him. He simply jerked his chin toward the Shikgoe sprawled across the grass.

“Stab it.”

“Th-The Shikgoe?”

“Yes.”

Hoeun was stunned. The pace was absurd. Gilsang had said it could take months just to learn how to hold a blade—and Taemuk was telling him to run before he could crawl.

Still, he didn’t protest. If ordered—he would do it. And if the pace was fast, all the better; he could be useful sooner.

Hoeun strode toward the Shikgoe, trying to look bold. Yet he froze before striking. It was simply enormous—its head alone dwarfed his torso.

“Wh-Where should I stab…?”

“If you wanted to kill it, where would you aim?”

“T-The head…”

Hoeun replied. Taemuk, Gilsang, and every Jeokudae soldier always targeted the head first. Taemuk nodded—if he knew, he should act.

Hoeun inhaled deeply, raised the sword high—

“Haaap!”

With a shout, he brought it down.