BW C112

Chapter 112

Taemuk scoffed softly at Hoeun, who remained with his mouth tightly shut, as if he had peered straight into the young man’s mind.

“You say ‘no’ with your eyes.”

With a click of his tongue, Taemuk stepped a little closer. Hoeun almost took a reflexive step back but restrained himself—after all, even a man without pretensions of decorum would hardly actually ask him to do the thing he feared he might mean.

Taemuk did not speak further or act theatrically; instead he produced something from his pocket and placed it into Hoeun’s hands. Heavy and cold—his father’s pistol.

Hoeun stared at it with dry, hollow eyes. He had expected hope from the sword and the bow—both new to him today—but the pistol was something that had seen countless battlefields; no hope there. None at all.

He pushed the unfamiliar firearm back to Taemuk.

“I’ve fired a gun before. It couldn’t pierce the Shikgoe’s helmet-bone.”

“I never told you to pierce the bone.”

“…Sir?”

Taemuk moved to stand beside him and bent slightly, bringing his line of sight level with Hoeun’s. He regarded the Shikgoe.

“Look.”

Hoeun followed his gaze. Taemuk’s low voice brushed the side of his face.

“Killing them doesn’t come from smashing the skull-bone to pieces.”

“Sir?”

“You need to crush what’s inside the skull.”

“Inside?”

“Yes. But the clearest way to smash the inside is to break the bone; so that’s what you attack. But you don’t have the strength to shatter that bone. So what do you do?”

“Um…”

“How will you attack what’s inside if you can’t break the bone?”

Hoeun studied the Shikgoe quietly. Its jaw still gaped and lolled like a bloated carp, revealing flashes of a red palate each time it did so.

A narrowing thought crossed Hoeun’s eyes: maybe the interior was somewhat vulnerable—after all, it was flesh. Perhaps a bullet could pierce it. But for that the beast had to open its mouth; one would have to wait for it to gape wide enough to take a bite. There was also the chance the bullet might ricochet off a tooth. Too risky.

He scanned for other targets—something softer, something he could strike. As he inspected the bulbous head, one of the Shikgoe’s bloodshot eyes rolled with a wet sound. Hoeun swallowed hard.

“The eye—shoot the eye, right?”

“Yes. The eye.”

A smile crept to Hoeun’s lips at the correct answer, but it faded quickly as he looked to Taemuk in dismay.

“You want me to shoot the eye? It’s too small. I won’t hit it.”

“It’s small compared to its body, yes, but plucked out it’s the size of your fist.”

“My fist?”

“Yes. You should be able to hit that.”

Hoeun clenched his hand into a fist. Not enormous, but not tiny either—if he struck well, it might be like hitting an apple. Hope stirred anew.

“All right. I’ll try.”

He raised the pistol toward the Shikgoe. Before he could fully aim, Taemuk corrected him.

“Hold it with both hands.”

“Both hands?”

“If you don’t grip it right, the muzzle will wobble and you can’t aim properly.”

“Ah—yes.”

Hoeun heeded the advice immediately. Taemuk’s instruction from then on was meticulous in a way unlike his brief lessons with sword or bow, as if he already knew the sort of weapon Hoeun would take up.

“Grip the handle firmly.”

“Yes.”

“Tense your arms so they don’t shake.”

“Yes, understood.”

“Your shoulders are raised—relax them.”

“Ah—yes.”

“Keep the arms steady.”

“A—sorry.”

“Lean your torso slightly forward. Like you’re pressing.”

“Like this?”

“Now line the sights up and aim.”

“Sights?”

“Here, here.”

Taemuk tapped the little notch on the pistol’s top.

“Oh—yes.”

Hoeun aligned the sight with the Shikgoe’s eye. He ran through Taemuk’s instructions once more, adjusted his posture, and then, eyes still on the creature, asked Taemuk—

“Shall I fire?”

“If you’re ready.”

Hoeun drew a long breath and held it, then slowly squeezed the trigger. At the moment the trigger depressed fully—

Bang!

The report cracked. The recoil rocked Hoeun’s upper body, but not enough to throw him off his feet—Taemuk’s guidance to lean forward had steadied him. The bullet sped and struck the Shikgoe’s helmet-bone with a dull thud. It hit two fists’ breadth above the eye and, as before, failed to penetrate the bone. Just as disappointment began to lower Hoeun’s brows—

“Again.”

Taemuk ordered.

“Yes!”

Hoeun aimed slightly lower than before—only a hair, just enough to bring sight and the red eye into perfect alignment—and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

Thunk.

The round embedded again in the skull, this time a hand’s breadth nearer the eye. Though still unsuccessful, the result buoyed him; pride lengthened his neck without his knowing.

“Again.”

“Yes!”

At Taemuk’s command he aimed once more and fired.

Pop!

A different sound rang out. A spray of dark, clotted blood spat from the Shikgoe’s eye. The creature’s hideous jaw, which had been twitching, froze. From the ruptured eyeball a black-red geyser gushed.

“……”

Hoeun’s breath stopped. He stared with wide eyes. The Shikgoe was dead—he had killed it. It seemed impossible, and yet there it lay motionless, its bite stilled. Truly, it was dead.

“I—I did it. I did it!”

His heels lifted and dropped in quick little hops—an expression of joy kept small but earnest.

“I can, I can kill Shikgoe now!”

Hoeun grinned radiantly. Taemuk, however, did not smile. He wore a hardened expression as he posed a question.

“Do you think so?”

“…Sir?”

“You don’t expect them always to lie there with their necks severed for you to find them, do you?”

Hoeun’s breath stalled at that. He looked back at the corpse; though it died because of his shot, he had not truly slain it—Taemuk had done most of the work, leaving only the final breath to be cut by Hoeun’s bullet.

“You need to hit the eye of something that’s moving. The eye of something charging to devour you.”

“…”

“You might be running, or mounted on a horse.”

“…”

“In that situation, could you kill it?”

Taemuk’s scenarios unfolded vividly—he had lived them often enough. Shooting from a galloping horse while holding the reins tight would be nearly impossible for Hoeun, who already struggled simply to steady himself.

Hoeun’s smile wilted. Just as he had started to accomplish something, Taemuk showed him how far there still lay to go—the training, the repetition necessary to reach that level.

He sighed deeply. Taemuk’s tone turned admonitory.

“So don’t go boasting about what you can do with that sort of skill. That’s enough for today.”

As Taemuk turned away, Hoeun grabbed at him.

“Al-already? Couldn’t I shoot a little more?”

Taemuk looked back with an irritated expression.

“With those hands?”

“Huh?”

Hoeun looked down at his trembling hands, puzzled. They were shaking so violently that he could almost hear the bones rattle. He had suffered many ailments, but never had his hands trembled so.

“Why is this—”

“Because you’re excited.”

“Excited?”

Hoeun frowned faintly—excitement was an unfamiliar sensation in his quiet, almost desolate life.

“Is that bad?”

Taemuk snorted.

“It depends on what you do and how you feel about it.”

Hoeun blinked slowly. He considered what he had done that made him excited—and the answer came quickly.

He had killed a Shikgoe with his own hand.

Although he still had much to learn, exhilaration and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked down at his trembling hands.

“…”

So this was excitement—the pounding heart, the electric brain, the rigid muscles, the shiver down the spine and the sudden heat in the cheeks.

Digesting a new feeling was not easy. Hoeun touched his quivering fingertips gingerly, and then nodded.

“Yes. Let us return for today.”

As Taemuk had advised, he could not sensibly continue training with hands that tremored; the shots would veer wildly.

Yet he could not tear his eyes or hands from the pistol. He kept fidgeting with it—gripping it left-handed, then right-handed, wiping the muzzle with his sleeve, catching the moonlight on it. In a sudden, inexplicable way the weapon had begun to feel dear to him—like the familiar affection one might hold for a trusted mount.