BW C138

Chapter 138

There was no sound then. As his body cut against the wind, it felt as light as a bird—light enough that he might truly soar into the sky. Across the white earth rushing beneath, Hoeun’s shadow drifted slowly, as if floating. His outstretched arms resembled wings. The scene was so absurdly unreal that he wondered—

Am I dreaming?

Perhaps he was still asleep in Taemuk’s arms, dreaming of flight.

But before he could even blink—

Thunk.

He crashed down upon the horse’s back. All the silence, all the wind, all the cold came roaring back at once, tearing at him. Hoeun froze for a breath, then quickly clung to the horse’s neck before his body could slide off. The soft yet coarse mane filled his grip.

“…I… did it,” he whispered.

He had done it. He had lived.

A small smile unfurled along his lips as he straightened his spine. Only then did pain lance through his temples—sharp enough to blind him. His vision dimmed as dizziness surged like a wave, and his body wilted backward without strength.

“Ah….”

“Young Master!”

Gilsang’s voice reached him, but Hoeun could not answer. His fingers slipped from the mane. Arms rose uselessly, his ribboned hair fluttering before his eyes, then an expanse of sky filled his vision.

He stared blankly at it. So my flawed body will take my life in the end, he thought, distantly. So this is how it ends.

His eyes drooped shut—

Thud.

Someone caught him at the moment he fell. A staggering force shoved him forward, planting him firmly back onto the horse’s saddle. Hoeun blinked, dazed, and turned his head just as he clutched the reins by instinct.

“Are you unharmed?”

Gilsang hung almost horizontal off his own horse, legs gripping the saddle, one arm stretched toward Hoeun like before—like back in Ramjae-eup when he saved Jeong-u.

Hoeun exhaled raggedly. “Y-yes. I-I am fine.”

“Then face forward and keep riding.”

“O-oh. Yes!”

He obeyed, gripping the reins tight, feet locked into the stirrups. Only then did he realize—

They were not galloping across earth at all.

They were running across a frozen lake.

Snow blanketed everything, but patches of ice glimmered through. The lake’s surface had frozen mid-ripple, uneven and slick. Each time hooves struck the ice, its cold hardness jolted through Hoeun’s bones.

A lake. A lake so vast one could not see its edges. A lake frozen solid enough for armies, horses, and Shikgoe to race across it without breaking through…

Before he could marvel further, a horse ahead slipped. Its two riders tumbled, flailing, but the horse collapsed atop them, pinning them in against the ice.

“Ah…”

Hoeun reflexively turned toward them.

“Young Master! Eyes forward!”

At Gilsang’s shout, Hoeun whipped his gaze forward again.

And then—CRACK!

Weight vanished beneath him—no, beneath the wagon behind him. Gilsang had kicked the harnessing plank between wagon and horse. The wood splintered and snapped. Unbalanced, the wagon spun wildly and skidded backward.

Luckily they were the rearmost pair; no Jeokudae soldier was struck. But several Shikgoe slammed into the tumbling wagon, toppling as they collided. Those behind them trampled their own as they surged forward, crushing wagon and creatures alike.

The wagon burst apart. The tent that had sheltered Hoeun for days flew up like a torn banner, lost to the wind.

Hoeun’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight. It felt like losing a home.

Then—

Hiiiing!

His horse screamed—not in fear, but relief. Freed of the wagon, it shot forward at a staggering speed. Distance opened between them and the pursuing Shikgoe; they drew near the Jeokudae soldiers ahead.

Only then did Hoeun realize—

Where… is Taemuk?

He looked ahead first. Taemuk was always at the vanguard. Always visible, always unmistakable. But he was nowhere to be seen. Hoeun scanned left and right—still nothing.

Soldiers at the head had already reached land. They pulled their mounts to a stop, leapt down, and prepared to meet the Shikgoe. Yet none stepped back onto the ice.

Hoeun arrived with Gilsang moments later. Soldiers rushed to take the wounded from Gilsang’s saddle, carrying them toward the healer elder, who crouched amid chaos.

Gilsang dismounted, sword drawn. Hoeun moved to do the same, only for Gilsang to block him—

“Do not dismount.”

“…Yes.”

He stayed astride without protest. He’d learned. His place was to survive so as not to burden them.

Still, his gaze darted restlessly.

“Captain Taemuk is not here. Do you know where he went?”

He was not afraid Taemuk had abandoned them. If he was gone, it meant only that he had gone somewhere more dangerous. Perhaps a Shikgoe queen, or the antenna-beast leading the swarm.

His heart thudded, sick with dread.

Gilsang did not answer. Instead he slowly turned his head toward the lake.

Hoeun followed his gaze.

Nothing but rushing Shikgoe.

He frowned. What is he looking at?

Then he noticed it—one portion of the frozen lake where Shikgoe moved strangely. As though the ice itself tripped them. They stumbled, tangled, collapsed in heaps. Blood pooled there, shockingly bright over the pale ice.

Hoeun’s breath seized.

“…No.”

His fever-flushed cheeks drained pale. He leaned forward, forced his eyes wide.

Ice, snow, and that red—like a second lake atop the first. Shikgoe writhed, snarled, licked at the pooling blood.

Which meant—

It was human blood.

“No…”

His stomach churned. Pain twisted his chest; he clutched it. He had seen this once in a village—a lone figure turning a battlefield red.

And then he saw him.

“Ah—”

There, amid a sea of beasts, Taemuk moved.

He stood alone on the frozen expanse, carving through Shikgoe with his bare hands. Tearing skull plates free and using them to cleave others. Breaking legs, flinging bodies, ramming one creature into dozens. His brute strength threw them like rag dolls.

And the Shikgoe, ravenous and endless, loved him for it—for he was the perfect prey.

They swarmed, clawing, biting, piling over him.

But Taemuk was a storm of blood and steel-less slaughter, a god of carnage with nothing but his body to kill.

And he was drowning the lake in red.