BW C125

Chapter 125

The moment he witnessed that sight, Hoeun’s chest tightened, and he hastily faced forward again. Yet he could not stop one tear from slipping free. Afraid someone might notice, he quickly wiped it with his sleeve.

“Live well, Young Master.”

Byeonguk spoke as he rode beside him. Hoeun flinched, then turned toward him, eyes faintly bloodshot.

“Th-that… they will, right?”

“Of course. A clever child doesn’t falter, don’t you think? They survived at Ramjae-town even when Shikgoe came swarming in. How could they not survive here?”

“……”

Hoeun paused, breath catching. Yes… they were bright. Perhaps even brighter, even stronger than himself. Maybe he had been foolish to see them as merely small and fragile. Realizing that, some weight eased from his chest.

“You’re right. You are absolutely right.”

A soft smile curved his lips. Truly, Byeonguk was someone from whom one could learn much. Hoeun turned to look back again—only to realize he had already passed the corner. He could neither see the children nor hear their weeping now.

“……”

Hoeun’s lips parted soundlessly. A cold draft slipped through his teeth and stabbed deep into his chest, hollowing him out. It felt as if a great hole had been carved through his heart—icy wind pooled there, sharp enough to sting.

Clutching the reins in one hand, Hoeun brushed his free hand across his chest.

Why did it ache so sharply? No one had died. This was merely a farewell.

If a parting alone could hurt this much… how unbearable would it be if someone truly died?

That thought flashed past him before he could stop it. Instinctively, his gaze swept around.

“……”

Right beside him rode Byeonguk, behind him Seong-im, ahead were Dongja and Mansu, and leading the formation—Taemuk.

As he looked at each one, his breath caught. He shook his head rapidly, as though dispelling some blasphemous thought.

What an outrageous notion. He must never think such a thing.

And besides—these were the Jeokudae. The strongest soldiers of the Empire. There would never be such a farewell.

There must not.

“Chilbok!”

Hoeun called out loudly as he pushed between the tents.

“Young Master?”

Chilbok, his arms full of leeks, lifted his head in surprise. Hoeun beamed and waved.

“I’m back!”

It had taken three full days for Jeokudae to return to their encampment, arriving late in the afternoon. They encountered one Shikgoe along the way, but without refugees to protect, they dealt with it without difficulty. And as soon as they returned, Hoeun came searching for Chilbok, not even bothering to unpack.

“Young Master-!”

Chilbok flung the leeks aside and sprinted toward him. His short hair bounced like dandelion fluff blowing in the wind.

“You’re here! Are you hurt anywhere? Nothing happened, right? Did you eat? Did you—turn your foot, let me check—”

Chilbok anxiously circled him, checking him front and back, even lifting his arm as though inspecting for bruises. Hoeun burst out laughing—he had not realized how much he missed this bright, chirping voice until now.

“I’m fine. Not a scratch. Haven’t eaten yet. How about you? Have you been well? Nothing happened?”

“What could happen here? It’s always the same—cook, wash dishes, cook, wash dishes.”

Chilbok sighed like an old man who had lived a hundred years. Hoeun chuckled softly. At that, Chilbok giggled too and asked brightly:

“You must be tired. Shall I draw your bath?”

“No, it’s alright. I can do it.”

“Oh come now, what do you mean you will? Wait right here, I’ll go—”

Chilbok turned to head toward Taemuk’s tent. Hoeun quickly caught him by the elbow.

“Wait, Chilbok.”

“Why? Are you hungry?”

Still fussing—Hoeun nearly laughed again. Was he really so helpless in everyone’s eyes? Even a fifteen-year-old treated him like glass.

“Come with me.”

Hoeun tugged him behind a nearby tent, out of sight. Chilbok followed without question. Once hidden, Hoeun carefully removed something he had been holding pressed to his chest and shyly held it out.

“Here.”

“…What’s this?”

“Boot socks. Fur-lined boot socks.”

“Boot socks? Did you buy new ones?”

“Yes.”

Hoeun nodded lightly, watching Chilbok’s reaction. Chilbok blinked, then nodded furiously, as though praising him.

“Good thinking! Winter here is brutal—your toes feel like they’ll fall off. Wear them every day, don’t go outside unless you must. I’ll bring you everything you need anyway.”

“…Hm?”

For a moment Hoeun froze. Then he realized—Chilbok had misunderstood.

“No, they’re not for me. I already have several.”

“Then for the commander? But… they look too small. And he probably doesn’t need them anyway—he runs so hot he must never feel cold—”

“They’re not for him either.”

“…Then?”

“They’re for you.”

“…For me?”

“Mm.”

Hoeun nodded again. Chilbok stared—at him, at the socks, then at him again, eyelids fluttering. Slowly his face turned pale.

“Th-these… these are fur boot socks!”

He stepped back as if Hoeun had handed him a live grenade. Hoeun blinked placidly.

“Yes.”

“They’re r-really expensive! Only nobles wear them—”

“Oh? I didn’t know. Still, there’s no rule saying only nobles can wear them.”

Hoeun extended them again. But Chilbok did not take them.

“So… you bought them for me?”

“Yes. I had to go to the cloth shop.”

He didn’t mention it was when buying clothes for the girls. The thought felt warm, though, knowing Chilbok came to mind then.

“……”

But Chilbok still hesitated. Hoeun grew uneasy.

“Do you not like them? These were supposed to be the warmest… they even have little flower embroidery… Ah, do you not like flowers? Then perhaps—oh dear…”

He fidgeted, clutching the socks helplessly. At that moment—

Tap, tak!

Footsteps—then Chilbok suddenly flung his arms around him. Hoeun nearly dropped the socks in shock.

“…Chilbok?”

“You’re really…”

“Hm?”

“You’re strange.”

Hoeun blinked. Then gave a faint, embarrassed smile.

“There it is again…”

Perhaps he should ask what that meant. But he already had an idea… and asking felt frightening, somehow. He patted Chilbok’s back instead. Chilbok murmured:

“At first I wondered why Heaven paired you with the Commander… but now I understand. Heaven always had a purpose.”

“…What?”

Hoeun stared. But Chilbok simply released him, accepted the socks with both hands, and bowed deeply.

“Thank you. Truly. I will wear them well.”

“O-oh…”

“With these, winter won’t scare me. Actually, this’ll keep me warm for ten years!”

Clutching them to his chest, he beamed. Hoeun forgot everything for a moment and chuckled.

“Ten years? I should have bought a bigger size then…”

Chilbok would grow—perhaps as tall as Taemuk someday. Well, Hoeun could always buy him new ones each winter. Unlike the girls or little Jeong-woo, Chilbok was here; he would watch him grow.

Chilbok stroked the fur reverently and whispered:

“How could I ever wear something so precious? I’ll cry with every step.”

Hoeun laughed softly—until Chilbok added:

“I should wear them on my hands instead!”

“Hand… what?”

Before he could protest, Chilbok began pulling the socks over his hands like mittens and raised them proudly.

“How do I look?”

Innocent. Earnest. Perfectly fifteen.

Hoeun burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as Chilbok blinked up at him, puzzled. Laughter bubbled out of him, and in its wake—the ache in his chest, carved by the girls’ tears, eased just a little.