BW C100

Chapter 100

 

“…Pardon?”

“I said I killed them all. That’s why there aren’t any.”

“….”

Hoeun blinked slowly. The offhand remark was hard to believe. To claim he had killed all the Shikgoes made no sense.

“I… I can’t tell if you’re jesting or if you truly mean it.”

He spoke with needless gravity, and Taemuk, glancing at him, curled one corner of his lips before letting it fall. Then, without warning, he spurred his horse’s flank and surged ahead.

“Ah—General! General!”

Hoeun cried out in alarm, urging his own mount to follow. They galloped down a long road, then rounded a bend to the right.

“…Ah.”

The street that appeared struck him as oddly familiar. Hoeun pulled the reins, slowing his pace. He looked left, then right. This was—yes, this had to be the road to the shelter. Yet he could not be certain. It wasn’t because he had a poor sense of direction, nor because it had been night then and day now.

It was because the uphill slope that led to the shelter… was gone.

Was he mistaken? Perhaps this place merely resembled it. Yes, that had to be it. How could an entire hill, a mountain, vanish overnight?

Just then, something caught his eye.

[Ramjae Town East Shelter]

The shelter’s sign was jammed into the ground, upside down. Which meant this truly was the road leading to the shelter.

Hoeun looked around again. The soil that had once formed the slope had spilled in every direction, trees torn out by the roots lay toppled, and fragments of buildings were tangled in the dirt. It was as though someone had stirred the whole town into a giant bowl of bibimbap.

“The shelter… it’s gone.”

His voice was thick with confusion.

“So it seems.”

Taemuk’s reply was flat, as if it had nothing to do with him. Hoeun’s eyes widened.

“Was it not you, General?”

“What?”

“This slope—the shelter—you didn’t destroy it?”

“Why would I?”

“Well…”

The nobles in that shelter had been wretched creatures, perhaps even worse than the Shikgoes. Beasts deserving of divine punishment. Hoeun had almost wished Taemuk would mete out that judgment.

But it wasn’t him. From his reaction, Taemuk seemed not even to know what had happened there.

Then why? Why had the place collapsed so utterly?

It had rained heavily, yes, but enough for a landslide? And besides, this wasn’t some flimsy mound of soil. This was a slope compacted and solidified by centuries of human passage and habitation.

“I can’t make sense of it. The downpour was harsh, but not enough to bring down a mountain. If it wasn’t you… could it have been the Shikgoes?”

Did they, unable to enter and devour those hidden within, attempt to claw away the mountain itself? And in the floodwaters, caused a landslide? With his shallow understanding, that was all Hoeun could surmise.

“The mountain wasn’t only filled with rain.”

Taemuk gazed at the ruined slope, his eyes dry and bleak.

“…Sir?”

At the cryptic words, Hoeun blinked rapidly, then turned to follow his gaze. There lay a heap—stone or soil, it was hard to say. But its color was strangely dark, a deep, murky hue unlike any ordinary earth.

Why such a color…? Hoeun drew a sharp breath.

“Blood…”

It was blood. The slope was soaked through with it. Step after step, the ground had been smeared in crimson. Pools of blood had gathered here and there, wet and viscous as mud, sometimes brittle and crusted.

Then at last, Hoeun understood why the slope had collapsed.

Since the Shikgoes’ attack, the hill had been steeped in blood. When the rain fell, it could not withstand, and so it crumbled.

In the end, it was blood—the blood of the hundreds who had died outside, unable to enter the shelter—that brought the mountain down.

A strange emotion welled in him.

It felt like vengeance, the dead exacting their own justice. It was gratifying. Yet sorrow gnawed at him for the lives wasted. And in the end, the futility that no one survived was bitter. No—was that true? Had those noblemen at the windows perished as well?

“There were people in the shelter. About seventy. What became of them?”

Hoeun asked Taemuk. The general raised one brow at him.

“Does it matter?”

“….”

The chill in that answer made Hoeun swallow hard. Taemuk showed no grief for their deaths, no regret, no guilt for failing to save them.

Why such a response? He could not have known what sort of people those inside had been.

As Hoeun stared at him, Taemuk spurred his horse forward again. Hoeun’s mount followed of its own accord.

Hoeun remained lost in thought until the ruins were fully out of sight. His expression darkened, paled, then darkened again. Just as they reached the road leading to the hospital, he called to Taemuk’s back.

“Is there a reason you told me to wear silk instead of a military uniform?”

“….”

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

There was a tremor in his voice, tinged with moisture. He felt wretched, sorrowful, and downcast. Taemuk glanced back at him briefly, then turned forward again, his voice still dry.

“Shelters—eight in ten are only for nobles.”

“…What?”

“The same is true in other towns.”

At that, Hoeun spurred his horse to keep pace with him.

“So… you made me wear silk because only nobles would be admitted, yes? You wanted me to pass for one of them.”

While others donned military garb suited for movement, he alone had been made to wear hanbok, with its long sleeves and fluttering hem. He had thought it useless formality, given he could offer no aid anyway. But it wasn’t that.

Taemuk had wanted him to survive, not as a soldier, not as his guide, but as a noble. To use that privilege to keep his life.

It stung, and it saddened him. Yet in the end, the choice had been wise—he couldn’t deny it.

Indeed, he had reaped many benefits from being taken as a noble here.

At the hospital, the doctor had judged him by his clothing first. Thanks to that, Jeongwoo had been treated without delay. When they searched for Jeongi, people had responded dismissively—until they saw his attire, and then gave earnest answers. At the shelter, too, they had refused Seongim for being a woman, refused Jeongwoo for being a child—but accepted Hoeun for being a noble.

Recalling it all, his chest ached with heaviness. He had done no wrong, yet shame weighed upon him. Lowering his eyes, he bit his lip.

“Well, if you die, that would inconvenience me.”

Taemuk spoke glibly. It was the same as saying I need you. Normally, those words would have brought him joy. But not now.

Every time Taemuk muttered, “Nobles this, nobles that,” Hoeun had wondered why. Now he understood, faintly. And he wished to hide away.

Rubbing the reins with his fingernails, he spoke gloomily.

“I’d like to ask what nobles mean to you, General. But I don’t dare.”

“Why.”

“I’m afraid of your answer.”

“Why.”

“…What?”

The repeated question made Hoeun glance at him. Perhaps he hadn’t heard? But Taemuk was looking right at him.

“Why are you afraid?”

“Because…”

Because I, too, am a noble. Because I am one of them. Hoeun couldn’t bring himself to say it, only moving his lips silently. Never had he felt pride as a noble, but neither shame—until now. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

Taemuk’s eyes sank.

“Are you the same as them?”

“….”

“Have you ever done what they did?”

“….”

Hoeun opened his mouth to deny it. But slowly, he closed it again. Then opened it once more. His lashes drooped weakly.

“I… I can’t be certain. What if I’ve done so without even realizing it?”

He spoke in turmoil, and with no small courage. Taemuk might have lashed out—So you’re the same as them, after all. But instead, he let out a thin, deflating laugh.

“Those who’ve done such things—they reek.”

“Reek?”

“Yes. A foul stench clings to them.”

“A stench…”

A stench? Hoeun repeated the words seriously. Then he asked cautiously,

“…General, are you not only keen of hearing, but keen of smell as well?”

After all, he had never once smelled such a stench on any noble. Sweat, perhaps, or a faintly unpleasant odor of the body—but not something to call foul. Yet Taemuk claimed it emanated from corrupt nobles. Could it be that none he had met were truly wicked? But yesterday, even among those at the shelter, he had smelled nothing of the sort.

Then either his own nose was dull—or Taemuk’s was unnaturally sharp.

“….”

Taemuk stared at him intently, eyes filled with irritation, exasperation, and disbelief. Shaking his head, as if words with Hoeun were hopeless, he spurred his horse forward.

“….”

Hoeun blinked after his back. So—did that mean he, too, gave off such a stench? Or not? Why wouldn’t Taemuk answer that?

Trailing busily after him, Hoeun lifted his wrist to his nose and sniffed at it.