BW C154

Chapter 154

Killing a shikgoe—yes, truthfully, he had wanted to try it at least once.

As Taemuk had said, he couldn’t shoot at target boards forever.

But now that the opportunity had arrived so abruptly, fear overtook him.

He wasn’t afraid of missing the shikgoe.

“What… what if I shoot wrong and hit someone else?”

He was terrified that his foolish self might fire in the wrong direction.

What if Dongja was struck?

What if Mansu was struck?

Unthinkable. Absolutely, it must never happen.

But Taemuk answered flatly:

“No one here is going to die from your bullet.”

“Ha…”

Hoeun squeezed his eyes shut as his vision dimmed.

What nonsense was that supposed to be?

The first rule was to avoid creating a situation where anyone could be hit. Gunshot wounds hurt unbearably. They bled terribly. He knew that well—he had once removed a bullet from Taemuk’s back; it had been no small injury.

“S–still, still… I’m not… I’m not ready yet. It’s snowing, and c–cold, and the shikgoe will be hard to see, and my hands will shake, and… and then…”

Hoeun babbled incoherently.

Taemuk approached him on horseback, leaned down, and with a quiet murmur met Hoeun’s eyes.

“You said you learned from an excellent teacher.”

“……”

“You’re not lacking.”

“But…”

Hoeun tried again, but Taemuk had already moved past him.

Watching his retreating back, Hoeun could only chew on his lips.

Then Byeonguk, standing nearby, approached holding a small sheet of paper.

“Young master, I will explain the plan.”

“E–explain? To… me?”

“Yes. The General told me to brief you.”

“C–could you… not?”

“…Pardon?”

“Ha…”

Hoeun lifted his face toward the sky where the snow fell thickly.

From the moment he left home until now, he had not hesitated once.

True, there had been some turmoil in his… relations with Taemuk, but leaving that aside, he could at least claim he had never faltered when facing shikgoe.

But now—

Now he faltered.

He wanted to avoid this.

He wanted to run.

Being useless, being unhelpful—that he was used to.

But the possibility that he might be the one to injure someone?

That was different. Terrifyingly different.

And what if he was thrust into battle, only to die?

Then Taemuk would be left alone.

Left once more as a military god without a guide.

How could that be allowed?

As Hoeun paled, then blanched, then went utterly wan, Byeonguk let out a small laugh.

“There is no need to worry so much. You will not face the shikgoe at close range.”

“…What?”

Byeonguk held out the sheet.

It was a crude map of the interior of the stone wall—messy ink lines, crooked strokes, patches of smudged black.

“You see here. Inside the walls, the paths descend. At the innermost point is a cliff, from which a long downward slope reaches the outer wall.”

If the village were drawn as a circle, half was embraced by high mountains, the other half by the stone wall.

The mountain side was elevated, the wall side lower—so the whole settlement sloped gently downward.

“The General and we will advance to the far end first. We will clear the shikgoe from the inside. During this stage, you will not enter.”

“Then where will I be?”

“You will wait at the outer wall. When the General locates and kills the leader—the feeler shikgoe—then you will join the battle.”

“W–what… does that mean…?”

“When the leader dies, the shikgoe will panic and flee. They cannot climb cliffs, so they will run straight toward the wall. You will handle those as they come.”

“M–me?”

“Yes. They will run in a straight line from inside the village toward the wall. It should not be difficult to hit them.”

Hoeun exhaled in shallow, rapid breaths. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and asked—with tension distorting his face:

“H–how many shikgoe are there?”

“We estimate several hundred… up to a thousand.”

“…Pardon? Th–that many? How could I possibly—”

“You do not need to kill them all. Simply do what you can. Jeokudae waiting outside the walls will take care of the rest.”

“……”

Hoeun stood blankly.

He heard the explanation, yet his mind retained none of it.

Everything felt dazed, distant—his cheek even stung, as if someone had slapped him awake.

“Well then.”

Byeonguk, having finished his duty, walked off.

Hoeun watched him depart, then squeezed his eyes shut once more to escape the falling snow—only to open them and find—

Whhhhh—

He was suddenly atop the wind-whipped stone wall.

“Ah… ahh…”

His jaw trembled as a frail moan escaped him.

How—how had he ended up here?

Why was he here?

How had everything come to this?

He lifted a hand to his face, ready to rub it, only to realize something heavy and cold rested in his palm.

A pistol.

“Haa…”

He sighed as though the earth might cave beneath him.

When had he picked this up?

He vaguely remembered loading the bullets.

But the memory floated like a half-formed dream.

He shook his head hard—once, twice—trying to regain clarity.

“Young master, are you all right?”

Gilsang, beside him, asked anxiously.

Thankfully, Taemuk had not ordered Gilsang to leave his side.

Just knowing he was there eased Hoeun’s heart slightly.

“I… I am not all right. I am terribly, terribly afraid.”

“I will protect you. Do not worry.”

“I am not worried for this body. It’s just… it’s just…”

Though he had faced many shikgoe before, this was his first time facing them as a soldier.

His hand trembled around the gun.

How did the others endure this suffocating tension?

What did Taemuk feel, always standing at the very front?

“Haa…”

He sighed again as he stared at the snow-covered village.

Fwoooooo—

A horn resounded sharply through the sky.

The stone wall beneath them began to vibrate—small but relentless tremors.

Hoeun whirled around.

Outside the wall, the forward unit was charging in on horseback.

Hundreds of hooves thundered at once—

dudududududududu—

A sound like a collapsing mountain.

“……”

His gaze instinctively searched for Taemuk.

But he was nowhere—neither at the front nor among the riders.

Had he already entered the village?

Hoeun was just beginning to wonder—

A gust of wind that was not merely wind brushed past him.

Tap.

A light footstep sounded beside him.

Short black hair, swept by the wind.

A towering physique.

Eyes glittering with unmistakable sharpness.

“…General?”

Hoeun stared, stunned.

How had he come up here—when the stairs were far behind?

And why—at such a critical moment—was he here?

Taemuk looked at him, and strangely, his eyes held the faintest hint of laughter.

“You’ll have to shoot hard.”

“…Pardon?”

“You won’t be allowed down until you use up all your bullets.”

“…Pardon?”

Hoeun could only blink, dumbstruck.

Taemuk huffed a small laugh.

Then, cupping Hoeun’s cheeks gently with both hands—

Chok.

He kissed him.

Warm lips, soft and fleeting—gone before Hoeun even fully felt them.

Then Taemuk ran a hand down Hoeun’s ribboned hair, turned, sprinted across the wall, and leapt off the far side.

“General!”

Hoeun dashed to the edge and looked down.

Taemuk was already far away, racing across the snow.

Hundreds of Jeokudae riders thundered behind him.

“……”

Hoeun stared, still dazed.

Kaaaaargh!

Kak! Ka-gak! Kaaaaagh!

Kik! Kek! Kak-gak!

Shikgoe poured out in swarms.

The village had hundreds of houses, yet the monsters erupted only from several large structures—like rats spilling from a nest.

At this distance they looked like a single undulating black wave.

Excited—thrilled—at prey that had wandered into their midst.

Their drool poured out so thickly it formed puddles on the ground.

“……”

Hoeun watched them advance, his expression tightening.

Sweat dampened the hand gripping his pistol, and he wiped it against his thigh.

These shikgoe were enormous—each nearly twice the size of a man.

Their strength was monstrous; a single swing of an arm sent two soldiers flying.

As they rampaged, their limbs smashed houses, raising clouds of dust.

The soldiers neither flinched nor retreated.

They met the shikgoe blade for claw, body to body.

Blood splashed the white ground—sometimes the monsters’, sometimes the soldiers’.

“……”

Hoeun stroked the trigger lightly with his finger and swallowed hard.

A moment ago he had wanted to run—wanted no part in this.

But seeing the shikgoe strike, tear, and devour soldiers, hearing their vile screeches—

He now wanted, more than anything, to blow their heads apart.

Anger surged past fear.

While Hoeun clenched his teeth with a fury that did not suit him, Taemuk moved through the battlefield swiftly, seeking the leader.

Everywhere he passed, shikgoe were sent flying—crushed against walls or slammed into the ground.

The earth rumbled, snow scattering like sleet.

And when Taemuk performed one of the acts he “liked”—ripping out a shikgoe’s skull-plate—

blood sprayed in great arcs.

He wielded the jagged skull like a blade—slashing, stabbing, shoving, carving a path as he tore through the horde.