BW C143

Chapter 143

Hoeun had not slept a single breath throughout the night—he had been far too cold. Even though Gilsang had set a brazier inside the tent, Hoeun’s body trembled uncontrollably. Ever since winter began, he had slept pressed against Taemuk’s warmth almost every night. A mere brazier could never replace that heat.

The truth was, even if it had been warm, he still wouldn’t have slept. His thoughts were too tangled. The idea that he might never again fulfill his purpose as a guide left a heavy, sour weight in his chest, as if something were lodged beneath his ribs.

After tossing and turning through the long, wintry night, dawn finally crept in. Hearing movement outside the tent, Hoeun pushed himself up.

He dressed neatly, then knelt and braided his hair with practiced hands. After pressing his ribbon flat with his palm, he stepped outside.

In the hushed early morning, Gilsang was stoking the weakened fire from the night before. Hoeun approached and bowed.

“Good morning, Sergeant. I hope the night treated you well.”

“Yes. And did you rest well, young master? Why are you up so early? You should have slept more.”

“I couldn’t sleep—”

Hoeun broke off, coughing harshly. Breathing in the cold air made it impossible to stifle. His cold had worsened overnight; his body no longer burned with fever but chilled as if the heat had drained out of him entirely.

“You’re freezing, aren’t you? I’ll change the coals in the brazier. Please go inside.”

Gilsang frowned with concern and moved toward Hoeun’s tent, but Hoeun shook his head firmly.

“It’s all right. I want to stay outside.”

Gilsang looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he sighed and set a chopped block of wood in front of the fire.

“…Then please sit here. This is the warmest spot.”

“Thank you.”

Hoeun sat quietly. The fire’s soft heat warmed his cheeks. He held his cold hands toward the flames and gazed at the forest around them.

A forest at dawn was different from the forest at night—a completely different world. The trees sagged under thick blankets of snow, looking weary. Their bowed branches seemed likely to snap at any moment beneath the weight.

“Cough… cough…”

Hoeun stared blankly as he coughed again. More soldiers emerged one by one. Without greetings, they simply exchanged small nods before going about their duties. One patrolled with a weapon. Another collected firewood. Another stoked flames and prepared breakfast.

“….”

Hoeun watched them through hazy eyes. His fever refused to break, and having slept not at all, his ears felt muffled—as if hearing through water.

After spacing out for quite some time, he sprang to his feet belatedly. How shameful, sitting while everyone else worked—especially when they were suffering like this because of him.

He edged toward a soldier who was preparing breakfast.

“You’re making breakfast? Let me help.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. Young master shouldn’t. Please sit.”

The soldier waved him off, but Hoeun insisted and hovered so persistently that he nearly kicked snow onto the fire and extinguished it. Mortified, he apologized and backed away. Then he approached another soldier gathering wood.

“I—I can help. I’ll collect dry branches, yes?”

“No need. Please stay warm.”

The soldier refused, but Hoeun followed him anyway, bending to gather sticks. He managed only a few before misplacing his step and falling face-first into the snow. He wasn’t injured—the snow cushioned him—but he couldn’t get up alone, and the soldier had to practically dig him out.

After that, Hoeun resigned himself to sitting quietly again.

I really am… useless.

The thought sank deep, bleak and heavy.

Breakfast was soon ready—a thin soybean paste soup with chunks of potato. Simple, but hot and comforting on a cold morning. The soldiers devoured it eagerly.

Hoeun, however, barely touched his portion. He had no appetite. No strength. His throat felt scraped raw by cold air, making even swallowing unpleasant. He considered forcing himself—but if he did, this wretched body would surely revolt with nausea. He set the bowl aside.

Then, once again, a dark bowl appeared before him.

“Please drink.”

It was Byeonguk. Hoeun stared in surprise.

“Y-You brewed another decoction? You didn’t need to…”

“It is the General’s order. He insisted it be served to you at all three meals without fail.”

“…I’m causing so much trouble. I’m sorry.”

Hoeun sighed softly as he accepted the bowl. Yet he couldn’t immediately raise it to his lips.

Will drinking this even help?

He had drunk medicinal decoctions his entire life—and could barely recall a time they had cured anything.

“Please drink it. You must recover quickly so that tomorrow you may meet the General—and treat him.”

Byeonguk sat across from him. Hoeun smiled faintly.

“Yes… of course.”

The soldiers had decided earlier to return to the unit the next morning. That meant Hoeun would likely see Taemuk by late afternoon or early night.

He didn’t know whether Taemuk had improved—or whether he was even still alive. But at least tomorrow, he would see him. And as Byeonguk said, Hoeun needed to be able to treat him. So he should drink the medicine.

Hoeun took a slow breath, lifted the bowl with both hands, and swallowed the entire thing in one go. His stomach ballooned uncomfortably, but he pressed his lips closed tightly to avoid gagging.

Byeonguk, now eating his soup, looked at Hoeun with open satisfaction. Hoeun felt embarrassed under that gaze. He didn’t want to be the weak youngest child here. Clutching the still-warm empty bowl, he spoke:

“P-Please don’t brew any medicine for lunch.”

“But—”

“I know it is the General’s order. Still… please don’t. If I need it, I will brew it myself. I feel guilty troubling you all so much when you are already busy.”

He bowed his head slowly. Anyone watching would think he had committed some grave sin.

Byeonguk studied him, then replied quietly:

“It is no trouble for us to care for you, young master. It is something we should naturally do. Do not feel sorry.”

“But…”

“And please do not try to help with the chores. Those tasks are not yours to do.”

“But I should at least—”

“You need not.”

His firmness made Hoeun bite down on his lower lip. Even if Byeonguk had not meant it that way, to Hoeun it sounded like, Don’t get in the way. Just sit quietly.

He lowered his gaze, feeling small. When will I ever be able to stand on my own?

“…”

Byeonguk observed him. He looked at Hoeun’s neatly tied silk ribbon, his pale, uncallused hands, the expensive boots and fine coat peeking from beneath the fur—and finally at Hoeun’s face, which seemed to declare I am clearly a noble young master.

After a moment, he asked cautiously:

“Forgive me, but… do you perhaps know?”

“…Know… what?”

“You don’t act like a noble at all, so I wondered.”

“I… don’t understand…”

Hoeun blinked his long lashes, genuinely perplexed. Byeonguk swallowed dryly and murmured:

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

He began eating. Now Hoeun stared at him.

After thinking for a moment, Hoeun asked, voice graceful as always:

“Did I do something strange again?”

“…What?”

Byeonguk’s brows shot up. Hoeun met his eyes and spoke clearly:

“The General often says so. That I’m strange.”

“…Does he?”

“Yes. And just now, your expression seemed similar, so I asked.”

“…”

Byeonguk stirred his soup, thinking, then let out a faint, crooked smile.

“I doubt he meant truly strange. More like… hm… ah—unique. Special.”

“Special?”

“Yes. You are special.”

“…”

Hoeun furrowed his brows, then pushed his lips out before drawing them in again. Special—he didn’t fully understand, but it was certainly better than strange.

To be someone special to Taemuk…

The thought warmed him, and a shy smile touched his lips.

But then Byeonguk’s earlier question resurfaced:

‘Do you perhaps know?’

Know what? What did Byeonguk think he knew? Meaning there was something Hoeun did not know?

He wanted to ask—but by then Byeonguk had finished eating and walked away.

Hoeun fell asleep inside the tent. His fever worsened after lunch; every breath of cold air felt like tearing through his throat and lungs. He lay down early, tossing and coughing until sleep took him without his noticing.

Time passed.

Perhaps hours.

Half-asleep, coughing weakly, Hoeun sensed someone lift the flap of the tent.

Gilsang?

Is he here to change the coals?

I’ve troubled him again…

The presence stepped closer, closer, until it stopped right before Hoeun’s face.

And Hoeun slowly opened his eyes.