BW C118

Chapter 118

“Yes. I am so happy I could hardly put it into words. Father always said the most joyful way to spend money is to give it to those who have less than oneself, and only now do I understand what he meant.”

At that, Taemuk’s expression cooled. His brows furrowed, a faint crease forming between them.

“…How convenient a philosophy that is.”

He muttered this as if to himself, and walked past Hoeun.

“General?”

Hoeun called after him, but Taemuk did not look back. Hoeun tilted his head. Taemuk seemed upset, but he had no idea why. Scratching at his temple, Hoeun hurried after him.

Yet Taemuk walked startlingly fast. Hoeun did his best to keep up, but it was difficult to push against the flow of people. As Taemuk drew farther away, anxiety spurred Hoeun to run—and his toe caught on a shallow rut in the ground.

“Ah—”

He fell forward without even time for a scream. His ribboned hair flew upward as if yanked, and the lights on either side blurred like burning sparks rushing toward the earth—

Thunk.

A large, solid hand seized his forearm.

“…”

Of course, it was Taemuk. He had been far ahead only moments ago—how did he reach here in an instant? He had been facing away, so how did he know Hoeun was falling? And… even if angry, did he still dislike seeing Hoeun hurt?

Hoeun had many questions, but asked none. That was not the problem now.

“Could you please walk a little slower?”

Hoeun asked earnestly.

“You could just walk faster.”

Taemuk released his arm with a toss. It was a childish, petulant reply. But Hoeun did not get angry. He had grown used to Taemuk occasionally speaking like a sulky nine-year-old.

Whatever it was, he thought, he had once again irritated the general somehow—and so it did not feel so unjust.

Catching his breath, Hoeun quickly grabbed Taemuk’s hand before it could escape, interlacing their fingers haphazardly.

A sly trick. He knew Taemuk would not—could not—reject his touch. The “cling-tight strategy” had long since become habit.

Pressing his palm firmly against Taemuk’s, Hoeun looked up at him.

“Let’s go together.”

“…”

Taemuk said nothing. He only glanced down at their linked hands once before turning his head. But his steps were no longer hurried. Hoeun smiled quietly.

On their way back, Hoeun stopped at a bookstore—he wanted to buy books. Taemuk looked mildly irritated but did not forbid him. When Hoeun could not reach the upper shelf and flailed helplessly, Taemuk plucked the book down for him himself.

Hoeun purchased two books:

The Records of the Ten-Thousand Calamities

Countermeasures Against the Shikgoe

Both concerned the Shikgoe. He realized that though they fought the creatures, he knew very little about them—where they came from, how they were born, what they did when not devouring humans. He wished to know.

He had entered intending to buy every book about the Shikgoe, but there were only two.

He paid for them using Taemuk’s money. Seamlessly, naturally, he opened Taemuk’s purse once again. Taemuk gave a short laugh.

“Spending someone else’s money so freely.”

Hoeun, for once, replied without fluster, with an air of playful sincerity.

“How are we strangers? I am your guide, and you are my military god. Heaven bound us, after all.”

“…”

“So later, please spend my money freely as well. I will be delighted.”

“…”

Taemuk narrowed his eyes at the cheeky retort. Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted—and he leaned close to whisper in Hoeun’s ear, voice low and husky.

“Forget money. Just suck my—”

“Ahh!”

Hoeun jumped like a startled cat, clapping his hands over his ears. His pale face flushed red and blue, rage and embarrassment warring, yet even now he refused to curse. It was very like him.

Satisfied with the reaction he’d expected, Taemuk chuckled.

Hoeun hurried toward the inn at a brisk pace. He had wasted too much time, and needed to say farewell to the children before they slept. The thought of missing them filled him with worry.

Still holding Taemuk’s hand, he entered a dim alley leading to the inn. Unlike the main street, few lanterns lit this path. The air felt damp and cold; the silence of night pooled there. Hoeun instinctively shrank into himself—

Then Taemuk slipped his hand free.

“General?”

Hoeun stared, puzzled. Why suddenly? Was he worried someone might see? But Taemuk was not the sort to care for appearances—if anyone should be self-conscious, it was Hoeun.

“Go inside first.”

“Me first?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have business? What is it? Let us go together.”

Hoeun reached for Taemuk’s hand again. But Taemuk drew his arm away sharply.

“Just listen.”

“…”

Hoeun froze. Why was he angry again? This time he truly felt wronged. He had spoken little since leaving the bookshop. True, he had coughed a little from the cold air—but was that so bothersome? Could Taemuk not endure even that? After all they shared?

“Ch…”

Pouting, Hoeun glared at him. Hugging the bundle of books to his chest, he turned sharply and marched toward the inn’s entrance. But he had taken only a few steps when—

“Ah, ah. Young master. You cannot enter like that.”

A voice stopped him. It was not familiar—not Gilsang, nor the children, nor any Jeokudae soldier. Yet it sounded warm, kind, almost friendly, as if spoken by someone dear.

Hoeun turned toward the sound. The depths of the alley were pitch black, as though someone had extinguished every light. Still, faint shapes could be seen if one stared.

“Who is there?”

Hoeun narrowed his eyes and took a step toward the voice.

Taemuk stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Go.”

“…”

Hoeun lifted his gaze at Taemuk.

“Young master.”

The voice called again from the dark.

“Do you know me?”

Hoeun leaned to peek past Taemuk’s arm, his ribbon swaying softly, glowing pale jade even in shadow. Taemuk clicked his tongue. If he had known this would happen, he would not have dressed him in such noble silks—Hoeun looked unmistakably like a gentle-born scion.

Ignorant of Taemuk’s thoughts, Hoeun peered curiously into the dark. Then, slowly, the speaker emerged.

“How would I know someone like you, young master?”

A young man stepped into the dim light.

Hoeun narrowed his eyes. He did not know him—but he seemed familiar. And then Hoeun remembered—the clothes. This was the man who had rushed past Taemuk outside the fabric shop.

Why was he here?

Hoeun tilted his head, and the youth strode closer.

“Nothing much. Your purse looked heavy. Thought I’d help you carry it.”

Hoeun let out a bright “Ah!” far too cheerful for the situation. He thought he understood now, and was—oddly—delighted.

“What…”

The youth stared at him as if he were insane. Hoeun stared back. He said the purse “looked heavy.” But when had he seen it? Hoeun had not taken it out after leaving the fabric shop. Then had he followed them all the way from there?

If so, Taemuk would have known—Hoeun whipped his head around.

“You knew he was following us?”

“Yes.”

“When did you know?”

“From the start.”

“Then why did you not say anything?”

“Need I?”

“…”

Hoeun’s mouth fell open. True—there was no reason he had to be told. Hoeun would only be baggage in such matters.

Still… still, he wished Taemuk had said something. He felt foolish, thinking of how he had smiled and admired lanterns and browsed books, completely unaware.

He sniffled once, clearing his throat, then peeked around Taemuk’s arm again. Behind the youth, several men appeared—ten, perhaps more.

Hoeun studied them calmly. No monstrous fangs, no hulking forms, no chittering cries.

They were… people. Ordinary men.

“My words may sound strange, but they do not appear terribly threatening. Did you tell me to go ahead because you feared I might be harmed?”

Taemuk brushed his hair back and clicked his tongue.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“…”

“General?”

It was not a difficult question, yet Taemuk frowned as if it were. He scratched above his brow. Under Hoeun’s expectant stare, he finally sighed and spoke.

“Sometimes…”

“Sometimes?”

“I tear people’s heads off.”

“…Pardon?”

Hoeun blinked, utterly bewildered.