BW C202

Chapter 202

“I’ll definitely do it. Just wait. I’ll rise above you and cut off your arm.”

Taemuk said, his face hardened, almost growling. He clearly remembered how, in his childhood, the Lieutenant had sliced his arm with a blade. Because of that, he knew he had become a damn soldier—and that he had been rolling around in this hellish battlefield for nearly ten years.

“Really? I’m not a Military God, so if my arm gets cut off, it won’t grow back like yours. I’ll just live crippled.”

The Lieutenant muttered, drawing on his cigarette. There wasn’t even a hint of fear on his face at the thought of losing his arm.

“……”

Taemuk quietly looked down at him. Back then, the Lieutenant had seemed much taller than him. Now, Taemuk was taller. Even if he didn’t want to look down, he had to.

“Good.”

Taemuk curled one corner of his lips upward. His face was still youthful, but the killing intent in his eyes was sharp enough that the Lieutenant chuckled.

Then—

“Cough, cough—!”

His chest heaved as he coughed, and suddenly—

“Hack!”

He spat blood.

The blood splattered from between his teeth, soaking his lower lip and chin. He casually wiped it away with the back of his hand, then brought the cigarette back to his mouth.

“If you’re going to cut my arm, you’d better get promoted faster. What’s the point if you do it after I’m dead?”

“……”

Taemuk pressed his lips tight enough to crease his chin. The Lieutenant was getting weaker by the day. It was clearly a serious illness—but in a battlefield full of soldiers with torn limbs and burst stomachs, a cough wasn’t even considered an illness. He had never once been seen by a medic.

Taemuk slowly examined the Lieutenant’s face.

Now well past fifty, the Lieutenant had enlisted voluntarily in his teens. Because soldiers were given three meals a day.

To go to a battlefield where you might be eaten—just to eat.

It was madness.

But at the time, it hadn’t been long since Shikgoe had appeared, and life had become unbearably harsh. There had been many who chose that kind of madness.

Of course, all the others who had chosen it were long dead.

Only the Lieutenant remained.

He would often remark, almost in awe, that his life had lasted strangely long.

“Want me to tell you how to get promoted faster?”

The Lieutenant said, taking a deep drag of his cigarette until his cheeks hollowed, then exhaling.

“……”

Taemuk gestured for him to continue.

The Lieutenant jerked his chin toward the yangban being slaughtered inside the house.

“Save the nobles.”

“……”

“As many as possible. As loudly as possible.”

“……”

“Then you’ll rise higher than now. One day, you might surpass even me—and even the Colonel.”

“……”

One of Taemuk’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Save the nobles?

It didn’t interest him at all. He’d rather give up promotion entirely. Disgusting—how could he save people like them?

Besides, Taemuk didn’t have much desire for promotion.

What he had now was enough.

A life where he didn’t have to eat fodder.

A life where he wasn’t abused for no reason.

A life where he didn’t have to bow his head.

A life where he didn’t have to worry about his parents being beaten because of him.

That was already more than enough.

There were even people who treated him like a superior now. People who followed his orders.

Compared to before—when he had been treated worse than livestock for being lowborn—it was overwhelming.

Taemuk neither wanted a better life nor believed he could have one.

A lowborn like him wouldn’t have such fortune.

“Don’t want to.”

So he refused firmly.

At that exact moment, as if mocking him, the nobles’ screams from inside the house abruptly stopped. The Shikgoe were devouring their bodies, chewing enthusiastically.

The Lieutenant stared at the blood-drenched inner quarters with dry eyes. He neither pitied them nor felt satisfaction.

He looked like someone who had seen and heard too much—beyond what a person could bear.

His eyes were no different from those of a hundred-year-old man.

Then suddenly, light returned to his dull gaze.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and spoke, his voice slightly higher than before.

“There’s another way.”

“What.”

“Save the country.”

Taemuk frowned faintly.

That was even more out of place than saving nobles.

“The country?”

“Yeah. The country. The Korean Empire.”

“……”

Taemuk blinked slowly. Though there was nothing in his mouth, he chewed as if there were.

After a moment, he absentmindedly touched the shoulder bearing the Taegeuk insignia and asked—

“What is a country?”

“If there’s a country, then we exist.”

“……”

“Even those mighty nobles—without a country, they’re nothing. So in the end, the country stands above them.”

“……”

“The country is important because…”

The Lieutenant trailed off.

He struggled to continue.

Thinking about it now, he probably didn’t know himself. He was an adult, but still lowborn—someone who had never sat comfortably at a desk and learned things properly.

He had only felt the existence of a country through his body, through his skin. It wasn’t something easy to define in words.

He scratched his head, thinking, then suddenly frowned deeply.

“You wouldn’t know, but when I was young, the Japanese bastards—”

“Japanese?”

Taemuk tilted his head. His expression was exactly that of a seventeen-year-old—innocent, ignorant, unfamiliar with the world.

The Lieutenant hesitated, then waved it off.

“Forget it. They’re long gone anyway…”

He spat on the ground as if even saying their name made him sick. Then he skipped over everything and went straight to the point.

“Anyway—save the country. Then you can put those nobles beneath your feet.”

Taemuk’s brows rose slightly.

Putting nobles beneath him…

That was appealing.

He turned to stand beside the Lieutenant, looking in the same direction.

“How do you save a country?”

“You kill the Shikgoe. All of them.”

“…All?”

“Yeah. Every last one.”

Taemuk mulled over those words, then immediately frowned deeply.

Kill all the Shikgoe?

Creatures so numerous they were called ten thousand calamities?

“Just say you want me to slave away like this my whole life. What kind of bullshit is that…”

Taemuk glared at him and turned to leave.

But the Lieutenant grabbed his elbow.

Then, with an unusually serious face, he said—

“No. You can do it.”

“……”

“You’re the strongest one I’ve ever seen. You can do it. So think about it.”

After that, the Lieutenant coughed again, released him, and put the cigarette back in his mouth.

“……”

Taemuk stared at him.

For some reason, the Lieutenant’s face overlapped with his father’s.

They didn’t look alike. They weren’t the same age. Not even their voice or tone was similar.

And yet—

he saw his father.

The Lieutenant, as if he had nothing more to say, simply kept smoking.

The bitter, acrid, slightly spicy smoke drifted between them.

Taemuk stepped beside him again and nudged his arm with his elbow.

“That. Give me one too.”

“What?”

“That thing. The one in your mouth.”

“A cigarette?”

The Lieutenant looked at him like what is this kid, then smirked faintly and handed one over.

“Here.”

Taemuk rolled the long white cigarette in his fingers, then awkwardly put it in his mouth.

The Lieutenant even struck a match and lit it for him.

Taemuk leaned the tip into the flame.

Then—

Inhale.

Smoke rushed past his throat, down into his core.

“Ugh…!”

It felt like ash filled his lungs. He jerked his head back immediately and coughed heavily.

It wasn’t just unpleasant—it was uncomfortable.

Like biting into a lump of charcoal.

After coughing for a while and even spitting, Taemuk glared at the Lieutenant.

“What the hell is this? You gave me something spoiled, didn’t you?”

“Spoiled? You brat. It tastes just fine…”

The Lieutenant chuckled.

* * *

One day, during a long summer monsoon, the pig of a Colonel died.

Not eaten by Shikgoe—he just withered away and died.

No one mourned him. No one regretted it.

But his death caused a problem.

There was no one to lead the unit.

The Lieutenant tried to take command—but he couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t a Lieutenant.

It sounded absurd.

But it turned out the Colonel had given him the rank without reporting it to the state. In other words, it was an unauthorized promotion.

The same went for Taemuk.

Dragged into the battlefield at eight, he had never even been officially registered as a soldier.

Naturally, he had never formally received the rank of Second Lieutenant.

He had never even been eligible for it.