BW C197

Chapter 197

“Cough, cough.”

Taemuk, who had slumped down, let out heavy coughs. He thumped his chest repeatedly. The taste of fodder lingered thickly in his mouth, making him feel utterly nauseated. As he coughed messily, drool trailing from his lips, he felt someone watching him. The horses were staring as if they were watching a show.

“…What are you looking at.”

Feeling awkward for no reason, Taemuk threw a piece of straw lying on the ground. The light straw didn’t even fly a full span before falling straight down. A horse snorted, as if laughing at him.

Taemuk scoffed and wiped his lips roughly with the back of his hand. Then he grabbed the water container and stood up—

Kiiiiiieeek!

That strange sound rang out again. This time, along with the sound, the ground rumbled—thud, thump. It seemed the newly arrived horse was incredibly strong. Still, was it really a white horse? There wasn’t a single white horse in the stable. Just how white would it be? As white as snow? He grew curious.

“I’ll just take a quick look. I’ll break the ice in the water when I get back, so wait a bit.”

After saying that to the horses, Taemuk left the stable.

Outside, snow was pouring down heavily. Snowflakes as big as fists struck his face. Taemuk kept wiping his face as he ran toward the courtyard where the sound was coming from. His breath puffed out thickly through his teeth.

A white horse. On a day like this, a white horse. What if he couldn’t see it? Would he be able to lead it to the stable? What if he lost it halfway? He should hold the reins tightly. If he lost it, he’d be beaten. Thinking that, he approached the courtyard—

Suddenly, he heard footsteps from beyond the corner.

“Aaaah!”

“Ugh—ah—aaah…!”

“Move, move! Get out of the way!”

The servants of the house came running in a frenzy. All of their faces were pale like corpses.

For reference, Taemuk had never seen a Shikgoe before, but he had seen corpses. Servants in this house died from time to time. Some died from illness, but others often died from starvation, freezing, or beatings. So he was quite used to seeing corpses.

“Sir? Where are you going?”

Taemuk grabbed someone and asked. But the man didn’t even look at him, slapped his hand away, and ran off like an arrow. Taemuk rubbed his stinging hand and looked at him as he disappeared.

What’s wrong with him…?

Then he realized it belatedly. One side of the man’s shoulder was soaked in blood.

Is he hurt? Why is he hurt? Did the lord beat him? Is that why he’s running away? But even if he ran, where would someone like him go? He’d have to come back in the end.

Ah, could it be that the horse the lord bought is a mad one? Is that why everyone is running? Afraid of getting kicked?

“A mad horse…”

Taemuk scratched the top of his head roughly with his finger. If that was the case, it would be very troublesome. He would have to deal with that mad horse’s temper. The Young Master, and now a mad horse too. Even his already exhausting life would become more tiring. For an eight-year-old, he thought quite far ahead.

With the corners of his lips drooping down, Taemuk trudged toward the courtyard with less energy than before. Misfortune was misfortune, but he was still curious about the horse.

And as he turned the corner—

Squelch. He stepped into a puddle.

“….”

On the white snow, a bright red puddle had formed. It was thick and sticky, like muddy water made of blood.

“Ugh…”

Taemuk pulled his foot away and rubbed his shoe hard against the snow. His straw shoes were full of holes, but they were the only pair he had, so he didn’t want to dirty them.

But at that moment—

Krrk, khk, kaaak, KAAAAK!

That sound came again. Hearing it from up close, Taemuk instinctively looked toward the courtyard—and froze.

“What… is that…?”

He had never seen anything like it in his life.

A body so large it nearly reached the roof, black skin without fur, hard and tough, a wide, flattened head, blood-red eyes, and… a mouth filled with teeth as thick as Taemuk’s forearm.

Standing upright on two legs like a person, it was stuffing something red and viscous into its mouth. Similar chunks were scattered around its feet. Because of that, the area around it was completely soaked in blood.

“….”

Taemuk stared at it with his mouth wide open. That wasn’t a horse. What kind of beast was it? A tiger? But the tiger in the painting in the lord’s room didn’t look like that…

Just as he was thinking that—

“M-my lord! Please, do something!”

A sharp voice pierced his ears. It was the mistress. Since every word she spoke sounded like a scream, he recognized her voice immediately.

Taemuk turned his head toward the inner quarters.

Standing on the wooden floor, the mistress was striking the lord’s shoulder repeatedly—whether he had fallen or was sitting, it was unclear.

“Drive that thing away! Hurry! Where—where have all these wretches gone?!”

At that, the lord pointed at the creature—the Shikgoe—and shouted. But the servants had all already fled, and there was no one left to follow his orders.

“You lowly things! How dare you run away leaving your master behind!”

The lord, furious, swung his sword wildly. But he wasn’t swinging it at the Shikgoe—he was swinging it at the servants who had run away. It didn’t seem like he had any intention of using that sword against the Shikgoe.

And clinging to his leg—

“F-father, I’m scared. I’m scared, Father.”

The Young Master was hanging onto him like a fruit. He looked terrified, his whole face twisted, his cheeks red from crying.

Even in that moment, Taemuk watched the crying Young Master. The Young Master’s crying face was more fascinating than the grotesque beast. He had only ever known how to make others cry, not cry himself.

Just then, someone came running quickly and stood in front of the lord.

“My lord! Please run! Run!”

It was Taemuk’s father. In his hands was not a spear, nor a sword, nor even a farming tool—but a broom. A straw broom made of bundled stalks.

It was a truly foolish and stupid act. Even to eight-year-old Taemuk, it looked that way.

“Get back! Go! How dare you come here!”

His father swung the broom boldly toward the Shikgoe. It looked brave, fitting of the title of the strongest man in the village. Though the Shikgoe didn’t seem to see it that way.

Crunch, crunch.

The Shikgoe chewed what was in its mouth as it approached his father.

“Ah…”

Taemuk let out a sound that was neither admiration nor a sigh. To him, his father had always been as big as a mountain, but standing before the Shikgoe, he looked very small. Almost as if his father were eight years old.

His father deliberately swung the broom widely to threaten it, but the Shikgoe didn’t feel fear at all. Instead, it opened its mouth wide and let out a—

KAAAAK!

The things stuck between its teeth fell off in filthy clumps. Saliva mixed with blood stretched down in strands.

But his father did not step back. He met the Shikgoe’s red eyes directly and raised the broom even higher.

At that moment—

“Taemuk’s father!”

His mother appeared from the opposite side of the courtyard. At her call, his father turned his head sharply. His face turned as white as snow.

Holding the broom, he shouted at the top of his lungs,

“Don’t come! Don’t come here! Run! Take Taemuk and run!”

At the sudden mention of his name, Taemuk flinched. Only then did he realize—this was a situation where he had to run.

Fear suddenly overwhelmed him. It felt like that monster might devour him—or his father or mother. He finally understood why the Young Master had been crying.

“Mother!”

Taemuk ran toward his mother on the other side of the courtyard.

“No, Taemuk! Stay there!”

His mother waved her hands in alarm, but Taemuk didn’t notice. How much judgment could an eight-year-old have? All he wanted was to be in his mother’s arms—to be held by her thin but warm arms and be freed from this fear.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the Shikgoe had no interest in Taemuk. He was small. Barely a bite. Its eyes remained fixed on his father and the lord.

Thud, squelch. Thud, squelch.

It walked across the muddy ground toward them. Each time its clawed feet stepped into the blood-soaked ground and lifted, a wet, tearing sound followed.

It twisted its head left and right as it looked at the people, as if deciding who to eat first.

“Aaaah—!”

“Father! Father! I’m scared!”

The mistress and the Young Master screamed like beasts. The lord desperately rolled his eyes, searching for a way to escape. But the Shikgoe was too large, and its arms were incredibly long—if he moved carelessly, his body would surely be torn apart by those sharp claws.

Meanwhile, Taemuk ran quickly across the courtyard, covered in blood and snow. His mother also ran toward him with a pale face.

And the moment they got close—

“Mother!”

With his short arms wide open, Taemuk threw himself into her skirt. His mother’s scent wrapped around him—the damp smell of old cloth, the smell of earth, the smell of food. As he felt it, his stiff body seemed to melt.

But for some reason, his mother did not embrace him.

Instead—

“Taemuk’s father!”

She called out to his father in a voice that tore apart.