BW C189

Chapter 189

At first, Hoeun truly thought it was the moon.

But the longer he stared, the more wrong it looked—one side jagged and uneven, its edge sharp instead of smooth. Beneath it, a pair of gleaming crimson eyes flashed.

Only then did Hoeun realize.

“……Found you.”

That wasn’t the moon.

It was the antenna of the leader shikgoe they had been searching for.

At the same time, Gilsang’s old words surfaced in his mind.

“It looked kinda like a half-moon, kinda like a fan. The edges were… I dunno how to say it—jagged? Sharp, like teeth.”

“The antenna was so big it almost covered the helmet bone. Maybe because of the moonlight, but it glittered like it’d been painted in gold. I remember it clear as day.”

Exactly as described.

The fan-shaped antenna Hoeun had drawn again and again in his head.

The creature stood atop a thick branch, gripping the trunk with one arm while peering down below. Its antenna trembled—shrrk, shrrk—constantly, its head snapping left and right, as though issuing different commands to the shikgoe beneath it.

Just as its gaze began to drift toward Hoeun—

The lightning vanished, and darkness swallowed everything again.

Yet the image of that golden, fan-shaped antenna remained seared into Hoeun’s retinas.

“…Fan-type.”

By his estimation, the fan-type was more intelligent than the double-horned shikgoe that had once hauled cannons bare-handed in Ramjae-eup.

Which meant—

Jeokudae could be wiped out here today.

Hoeun felt the strength drain from his grip. The reins, once taut, slackened. He stared into the darkness with unfocused eyes, as if his throat had already been torn out.

Krrrrrrboom!

Thunder shook heaven and earth.

“……!”

Hoeun snapped back to himself as if struck by lightning.

“Young Master! We have to go—now!”

Gilsang shouted, urgency flooding his voice. When Hoeun still didn’t move, Gilsang grabbed the reins himself and yanked them back.

But Hoeun twisted his body and slipped down from the horse before Gilsang could stop him.

“Young Master!”

Gilsang grabbed his shoulder roughly and hauled him back—only for Hoeun to seize Gilsang’s wrist instead.

Looking up at him, Hoeun said—

“Please protect me.”

“…What?”

“Just for a moment. Please guard me here. Just a moment is enough.”

Gilsang’s brows knit together hard. He had protected Hoeun countless times, risking his life more than once—but this kind of frustration was new.

All this time, Jeokudae soldiers were still being torn apart—heads, limbs ripped away. Every second wasted hurt.

“Young Master! This is not the time—!”

“I can do it!”

Hoeun shouted.

“I can handle it!”

“What on earth are you—!”

Gilsang twisted his head in disbelief, yet his body never stopped guarding—blade raised, eyes scanning above and around for incoming shikgoe.

Hoeun stepped closer, gripping Gilsang’s wrist tightly and meeting his eyes head-on.

“Please. Trust me. Just once. I’m Jeokudae too.”

In the moment the thunder had roared through his body—when that overwhelming vibration had passed straight through his bones—Hoeun had understood something.

Yes, he was still sickly. Still weak. Still someone who needed protection.

But he was also a Jeokudae soldier.

He could gauge the intelligence and threat of the fan-type shikgoe at a glance. He could feel fear—and that meant he had survived enough battlefields to earn it.

And more than that—

He knew he could kill it.

End this hell.

This confidence wasn’t baseless. It was built from everything Taemuk had taught him, everything he had watched Gilsang do, every run he had shared with Seongim.

“……”

Gilsang stared at him.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something—

KAAAH! Clack—KAAAH!

A shikgoe slammed down the tree with its claws, jaws yawning wide toward Hoeun’s head.

Gilsang yanked Hoeun back and rammed his sword straight into its mouth.

Thunk.

Steel pierced through palate and brain. Gilsang twisted his wrist, thoroughly scrambling it before ripping the blade free. The shikgoe gagged, blood pouring back out—

THUD.

It hit the ground headfirst.

“I’m sorry,” Gilsang said, shaking gore from his blade. “My orders were to protect you no matter what. The General said so.”

He seized Hoeun’s arm firmly, lifting him to put him back on the horse—

But a slender hand caught Gilsang’s wrist.

His face froze.

“…You.”

It was Seongim.

She had dismounted without a sound and now stood beside Hoeun, soaked through. She met Gilsang’s eyes, then slowly shook her head.

“……”

Still mounted, Gilsang looked between the two of them. Both stared up at him with the same resolute expression.

He scrubbed his scalp hard with his free hand, exhaled sharply, and glanced around in agitation.

Then—

“Damn it.”

With a curse, he jumped down. He quickly tied three horses together and slapped their rumps, sending them running off.

Then he planted himself beside Hoeun, sword raised.

“This is really just a moment, got it? If you get hurt, I’m dead either way. And honestly? Dying to shikgoe sounds better than dying to the General.”

He tried to joke—but his breathing was ragged.

“Yes,” Hoeun replied firmly. “I won’t get hurt.”

He wiped rain from his face and shrugged off the Jeokudae cloak, heavy as a soaked sack of rice, letting it fall to the ground. Then he drew his pistol.

With practiced ease, he released the safety and aimed upward—toward where the fan-type shikgoe had been.

He couldn’t see it.

But he could feel it.

It was still there.

“……”

Hoeun did not pull the trigger.

It was too smart. Smart enough to kill archers first. If he failed to kill it in one shot, it would realize he carried a gun—and direct the shikgoe to tear him apart just like they had Taemuk.

That would mean death.

And that couldn’t happen.

He couldn’t leave Taemuk alone in this world. He was his second-in-command. His place was by his side.

So he would not die.

He would kill.

“……”

Hoeun stood still, gun raised.

And astonishingly, Gilsang and Seongim waited, shielding him without a word.

Fortunately, the shikgoe paid them little attention. Most clung to trees, and mounted soldiers were closer targets than those on the ground.

Time passed—how long, Hoeun didn’t know. His body throbbed from the pounding rain.

Then—

Flash.

The world lit up again.

The fan-type shikgoe was still there.

Perfectly clear.

“……”

Hoeun didn’t shoot.

He stared, memorizing its position.

Darkness returned.

And when—

Krrrrrrboom!

Thunder tore the sky apart.

Bang!

Hoeun fired.

KIIIIIEEEEEK!

A shriek sharper than any other erupted. He’d hit it—he knew that much. But where, he couldn’t tell.

Not dead yet.

The eyes. I need the eyes.

Lightning was too brief—only enough time for one shot. Missing again would be fatal.

Then—

He spotted it.

A thin beam of light, half-buried in mud.

The flashlight he’d dropped earlier.

“…I need that flashlight.”

He murmured it to himself.

And suddenly, the space behind him felt cold.

“…Seongim?”

Hoeun turned sharply.

She was already running.

“Seongim-nim!”

Gilsang’s eyes widened—but he didn’t follow. He couldn’t. His duty was Hoeun. His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Don’t go! Seongim-nim!”

Hoeun shouted.

But Seongim only shook her tightly bound hair once—

And disappeared into the darkness.