BW C124

Chapter 124

“……”

Taemuk froze, caught off guard by the answer. He had never imagined that would be Hoeun’s reason.

He stared at him, and the memory of the alley surged back.

‘You wretches!’

‘How dare you! Do you know who he is!’

‘Get down and beg for forgiveness at once!’

Hoeun had shouted like that—he had yelled. He had seen Hoeun angry before, but never like that.

‘Rip their heads off!’

He had never seen Hoeun that ruthless, either. Even when Taemuk had insulted his father, Hoeun had not reacted so fiercely.

“……”

Taemuk felt… stunned. No one had ever gotten angry on his behalf. He had never thought he should get angry at such insults—he had lived a life where he had heard far worse. And as childish as it was, no one had ever stood firmly on his side like that.

He looked at Hoeun again. Hoeun’s brows were furrowed in indignation, his lips tight—as though he had been the one insulted.

Staring at that face, Taemuk’s chest churned. Like lying in a small boat tossed by wild waves—lost at sea, yet inexplicably exhilarated, as though drifting toward some strange, unknown horizon.

After turning Hoeun’s words over several times, he finally asked quietly,

“Those bastards insulted you too. That was fine?”

“…Me? They insulted me?”

Hoeun blinked, genuinely clueless. When had they insulted him? He retraced the scene, then remembered—their insinuations about him and Taemuk, the crude implications. He had forgotten about it; it hadn’t mattered.

Pushing a stray lock behind his ear, he murmured,

“Oh, that… I hear things like that often.”

“……What?”

“I am not very… well, not very manly-looking, am I. Weak, small, pale from lack of sun…”

He listed it so plainly, so dryly, that Taemuk suddenly sat upright. Hoeun slid down with a startled noise, and Taemuk immediately seized him, lifting him onto his thigh so they were face-to-face.

“You’re a noble.”

The atmosphere shifted, and Hoeun instinctively straightened.

“Yes. I am.”

“And yet someone dared say that about you? …Dared?”

Hoeun accidentally let a small smile slip.

“People say anything behind others’ backs. Even His Majesty is cursed by the people. They spoke thinking I would not hear.”

“……”

Taemuk closed his mouth. He wanted to refute it, but it was true. People cursed kings, cursed nobles. He had too. But still—

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, thought deeply, then asked with an odd glimmer in his eye,

“So you cut their wrists too?”

Hoeun shot up a full tone.

“What? Why would I cut someone’s wrist over that?”

He scrunched his face with disgust, as though the idea itself sickened him. Taemuk’s brows knitted tightly.

“Why didn’t you.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“……”

“And even if I had wanted to, how could I? Dong-ja was not there, nor Man-su hyung, nor Sergeant Oh, nor you, General.”

“……”

“Dugwoo was there, but that child—big as he is—faints at the sight of blood and hates fighting and pain more than anything.”

This was a world where Shikgoe ate people, yet Dugwoo screamed at dead birds and had once mistaken a pile of rags for a corpse and shrieked loud enough to shake the village. Thinking of that, Hoeun chuckled softly.

“……”

Taemuk watched him, then clicked his tongue.

I should have been there, he thought, annoyed.

Before dawn fully broke, the Jeokudae prepared to return to their base. In the cold blue morning air, every breath puffed into white mist—horses too, frosted plumes rising between their teeth. But the thickest clouds came from—

“Please don’t go, young master…”

“Stay just a little longer…”

“At least have breakfast first! Just breakfast, please…”

—from the crying girls. Their breath and sniffles puffed like chimney smoke as their body heat rose.

“……”

Hoeun crouched before them, lips pressed tight. Their pitiful sobbing reddened his eyes, but as a grown man he forced himself not to cry.

He pulled a handkerchief from his robe and gently dabbed their tears.

“We will meet again. If we survive, we will meet again—surely.”

“When? When can we see you?”

“Give us a date!”

“What if you come when we’re at school or church and we miss you? What if you leave without seeing us?”

“Ah…”

He couldn’t say next week, next month, next year. He refused to make promises he could not keep—because they would truly wait, and grieve.

After thinking long, Hoeun spoke softly:

“When the Shikgoe disappear from this world… then I will come. I promise.”

A promise, yet not truly a promise. Who knew when Shikgoe would vanish—or if they ever would. He hoped they would believe it, but instead the girls cried harder, seeing through him.

Only Jeongi—her nose bright red but eyes dry—stepped forward.

“No. Then we will go to you. If there are no Shikgoe, nothing can stop us.”

The other girls jerked their heads up at once, nodding and stepping closer to surround Hoeun.

“Yes! We’ll go to you!”

“Just tell us where!”

“We’ll come for sure!”

Hoeun let out a soft laugh.

“Very well. Then I shall give you my address.”

He recited his home address clearly. He didn’t know the Jeokudae’s exact location, so he gave the family residence in Hanyang for now.

For a brief second, he wondered—when the Shikgoe disappear, where would he live? In Hanyang with his parents? With Jeokudae? Or somewhere with Taemuk alone? The thought fluttered and slipped away.

The girls repeated the address together, heads huddled. Little Jeongwoo, in Jeongi’s arms, mumbled “Hanyang, Hanyang…” as though memorizing too.

Then—

“Young master.”

Gilsang called from behind, ready to depart.

“A-ah! Yes!”

Reluctantly, Hoeun rose and mounted his horse with Gilsang’s help.

“Young master…”

“Young maasteer…”

The girls shuffled forward, their small faces chapped red by the cold. Hoeun gestured.

“It’s cold. You’ll catch a chill. Go inside.”

They nodded, but did not move. Hoeun smiled faintly; he would have to leave first, or they would freeze there.

At that moment, Byeonguk waved, signaling departure. The soldiers at the front shifted, movement rippling backward until it reached Hoeun. He could delay no longer.

“Eat properly, wear warm clothes. Alright?”

Words he had repeated ten times already. Then, finally:

“Live… well.”

Please live well. You must live well. He tucked all his heart into those three syllables, then waved lightly. The girls waved back—and burst into louder sobs.

“Goodbye, young master!”

“Stay safe, young master!”

They wailed as though the world were ending, yet still waved with all their strength. It was painful and endearing all at once.

“……”

Even as he moved forward in formation, Hoeun kept looking back—turning his head, his shoulders, anything to see them again.

Long after distance stretched between them, the girls still stood rooted in place, crying. Even steadfast Jeongi now scrubbed her eyes with her knuckles, tears spilling at last.