BW C153

Chapter 153

“……”

Taemuk looked down at Hoeun, his gaze steady and unhurried. In those dark eyes, the sweep of Hoeun’s long lashes, the faint rise of his cheekbones, the sharply shaped upper lip—all were reflected slowly, piece by piece. Then, suddenly—

“Ah.”

A soft exhale slipped from Taemuk. Hoeun startled, eyes widening.

“Are you hurt?”

He moved to pull his hand back, but Taemuk tugged it toward him instead.

“A walk.”

“…Pardon?”

“I like taking walks.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun breathed the word out quietly. He remembered—the night the moon hung full and white, the night he walked at Taemuk’s side for the first time. The day he first practiced shooting. The day his heart had trembled with the thrill and terror of killing a shikgoe.

He hadn’t been able to return to the tent after that, and had begged Taemuk to walk with him.

And what followed—strange, indefinable, not quite a walk, not quite something else.

Still… it had been good.

More than good.

“……”

The memory softened Hoeun’s expression. While he reminisced, he continued wiping away the last traces of water from Taemuk’s hands—patiently, carefully. When the moisture had vanished completely, he folded the damp handkerchief neatly and tucked it into his coat. Then he looked up.

“General.”

“What.”

Taemuk answered while glancing at his now-dry hands with faint dissatisfaction. That was when Hoeun placed his own hand atop his palm.

“When we reach the next encampment,” he said, “and when this cold winter ends, when warm spring arrives… would you go walking with me?”

“……”

Taemuk did not reply. His lips pressed together instead. Taking that silence as refusal, Hoeun gave a small, awkward smile and began withdrawing his hand.

But Taemuk seized it tightly.

“Well… it doesn’t have to be spring.”

Hoeun’s eyes widened briefly—then a gentle smile bloomed across his face.

“Yes. It doesn’t have to be spring.”

Hoeun clasped Taemuk’s hand properly now. The warmth in that palm was surprising, considering he had just washed in icy water—but the warmth also worried him. It meant Taemuk had exerted himself. It meant he was hurting.

“Shall we return?”

Hoeun interlaced their fingers, weaving his between Taemuk’s.

“…Yes.”

And so the two walked back the way they had come. Quietly, without particular conversation. The wind was cold and sharp at times, but their joined hands were warm enough to eclipse it.

After a while, Taemuk—still holding Hoeun’s hand—slipped both of their hands into his uniform pocket. The pocket was warm; Hoeun smiled faintly and moved a little closer to him.

They had gone some distance when Hoeun spoke again.

“Ah, there’s something else I like.”

“You like too many things.”

“I do not. General, you’re the one who likes unusually few.”

“…So what is it this time.”

“I like training with you—shooting practice.”

“Ha. You can’t even shoot well.”

“What do you mean I can’t shoot well! I now hit nine out of ten shots! And who is my teacher, may I ask?”

“Who indeed. Must be someone who teaches terribly. Nine out of ten? Far from enough.”

“Ter—terribly…? Do not insult my teacher! He is an admirable man!”

“No.”

“Ugh…! Let go of my hand!”

“No.”

“Really… how did someone like you ever become a general, how ever did someone like y—”

“If you keep yapping, no night training for you.”

“……I shall be quiet. I am quiet. Silence. That is me.”

“Pff…”

“…Did you just laugh?”

“No.”

“It sounded like laughing.”

“I said no. I coughed.”

“……”

Hoeun eyed him skeptically, then gave in to soft giggles.

Watching him, Taemuk turned his face slightly away—his lips lifting soundlessly.

On untouched snow, their footprints lined the ground—crisp, deep, marking each step.

A large snowflake landed on Hoeun’s lashes. With a small jolt of his shoulders, he rubbed it away. Meltwater trickled down. He wiped that away too before looking again toward the distant stone walls—the place soon to become their new base.

“It looks long abandoned.”

He kept his eyes fixed on the uneven stone. The wall was not tall—half the height of the walls in Ramjae-eup or Myeonghwa-eup. Parts had collapsed; it hardly deserved to be called a wall—more like a ruin of stones.

“Yes. They say the last people to live here were fifty years ago.”

Gilsang, standing beside him, answered.

“Fifty years…”

Hoeun murmured the long stretch of time. He felt both worried and curious about what the inside of such a ruin might look like.

Another fat snowflake dropped onto his nose. Brushing it off, he asked:

“Why are we not entering, even with the destination right in front of us?”

They had been here at least a quarter-hour, yet Jeokudae had not moved.

“They say swarms of shikchoongi gathered inside.”

“Shikgoe? Why? No one has lived there for fifty years—there shouldn’t be any people inside.”

“It’s cold, sir.”

“…Pardon?”

“They’re beasts in the end. Like bears, like tigers. When it’s cold, they hide where wind doesn’t blow, sometimes huddle together. That place is surrounded by cliffs—they say wind doesn’t hit as much.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun exhaled softly. So shikgoe also feared the cold—oddly comforting. But how unfortunate that they had gathered inside the very place Jeokudae was to occupy.

“Why not camp on the plains like last time? There were plenty on the way here.”

“Too much snow here. When it snows, you can’t see the shikchoongi coming. And because of the snow, even their footsteps sound quieter. Harder for the General to notice.”

“…General cannot hear shikgoe approaching?”

“Not that he can’t hear, but they must be much closer for him to sense them.”

“I see…”

Hoeun’s expression darkened.

Shikgoe that even Taemuk might fail to detect—this winter would be harsh indeed.

He looked down, disheartened—until Gilsang added:

“Don’t worry so much. We’re Jeokudae, aren’t we.”

Hoeun lifted his head. Gilsang grinned confidently—fearless.

Hoeun found himself smiling as well.

“Yes. We are Jeokudae.”

Winter was not unique to this year. Hoeun might be facing his first winter here, but these soldiers had lived through countless winters—surely some worse than this one.

“Starve a week in the snowfield and you’ll start eating snow.”

“Snow is a blessing. I’ve eaten dirt too.”

Hoeun recalled Taemuk’s earlier words as he tightened his grip on the reins.

Then movement rippled through the soldiers. Dozens of military gods rushed forward—they were likely going in first to clear out the shikgoe.

“Haa…”

Hoeun exhaled a clouded sigh.

He would remain back here with Gilsang protecting him, but the men entering—he feared for them. May none be injured. May none fall.

While he watched with anxious eyes, hoofbeats pattered toward him. Byeonguk approached.

“Young master, the General calls for you.”

“…For me?”

Hoeun blinked roundly.

At the front, as always, stood Taemuk—talking with Dongja, Mansu, and several high-ranking soldiers.

Hoeun guided his horse forward timidly.

“You… called for me…”

Dongja and Mansu greeted him cheerfully.

“You came, young master?”

“You here now, lad?”

Hoeun gave a shy nod and looked to Taemuk.

With his usual expressionless face, Taemuk said:

“You’re coming with us.”

“…Me as well?”

“Yes.”

“Ah… yes. Understood.”

The sudden order startled him, but he accepted it quickly.

He was Taemuk’s guide—of course he should accompany him.

He did not know why Taemuk had suddenly decided to bring him now after keeping him separate until today, but Taemuk must have his reasons.

He would simply do what a guide must.

Then Taemuk said:

“Bring your gun.”

Hoeun’s eyebrows rose.

“My gun? You mean… mine?”

“Yes. You’re not going to shoot at targets forever.”

“What… what do you mean…?”

If it was merely for precaution, that made sense.

But forever, targets—those words unsettled him.

Did he mean… to shoot something else?

To shoot… a shikgoe?

With his gun?

Him?

Hoeun stared at Taemuk, bewildered.

Taemuk’s lips curled slightly—dark eyes glinting with something sharp.

“Kill the shikgoe.”

“M–me?”

“Yes. With your gun.”

“W–with my gun?”

Hoeun’s voice rose with every repetition, the final note high and trembling like a startled songbird.

Dongja and Mansu snickered, but Hoeun could not laugh.

Kill a shikgoe?

Just imagining it sent cold shivers crawling up his spine.

“N–no. I cannot. I absolutely cannot.”

Hoeun shook his head—and waved his hands—for maximum refusal.

“Why not.”

“I… I do not yet have the skill for such a thing!”

1. Shikchoongi (little shikgoe pests)