Chapter 231

“Yes. You be careful too, Chilbok.”

Hoeun gave a short nod and pushed the needle into the fabric before pulling it back out smoothly.

His hands were surprisingly practiced.

He wasn’t exceptional at sewing, but he certainly wasn’t bad either.

Hoeun had spent almost his entire life indoors.

Because of that, he had tried nearly every pastime available in the household.

Sewing included.

Deokwoo used to grumble, asking what use sewing could possibly be for a man.

Now, being able to help like this made Hoeun quietly grateful.

After checking the stitch line, Hoeun pulled more fabric toward himself and continued sewing.

The cloth they were working on was huge—large enough to be used as a blanket.

And yet even that wasn’t enough.

They were stitching extra layers onto it to make it larger.

Another unfinished sheet sat beside them.

Just then, a soldier—young enough to stand somewhere between girlhood and womanhood—came rushing over.

She bowed quickly to Hoeun.

“Young master, we’re out of time. We need to take it now.”

“Ah, yes!”

Hoeun bit through the thread and hurriedly stood.

Chilbok gathered the cloth as well.

The fabric was incredibly heavy.

It was just cloth, but because of its size and thickness, it weighed far more than expected.

Yet the soldier hoisted it over her shoulder and immediately sprinted off.

Even carrying a small bundle, most people couldn’t run that lightly or that fast.

Hoeun certainly couldn’t—even empty-handed.

He watched her disappear.

“……”

In Jeokudae, Taemuk was the strongest.

The fastest.

The one with the best recovery.

But because Taemuk overshadowed everyone, it was easy to forget something important.

There wasn’t a single ordinary person here.

Every one of them was strong.

Fast.

Mentally unshakable.

Every one of them felt like a hero.

Hoeun pressed his lips together.

His hand curled into a fist.

I may never become like them.

I may never even reach their heels.

But at the very least…

I must not become a stone that trips them.

Just as he made that silent vow—

“Young master…”

Chilbok called to him.

His voice sounded strangely hollow.

Hoeun looked at him.

But Chilbok wasn’t looking at him.

He was staring somewhere beyond Hoeun’s shoulder.

Slowly, Hoeun turned.

Above the empty sky beyond the Amnok River—

another black kite had risen.

The main force of the Sikgoe had arrived.

“General!”

Hoeun pushed through soldiers running in every direction and called out to Taemuk.

It came out almost like a scream.

Taemuk, who had been about to head down the mountainside, spun around.

“Hoeun?”

Hoeun threw himself into Taemuk’s arms.

His long ribbon-tied hair arced through the air before falling back down.

Taemuk caught him instinctively.

Then frowned.

Hoeun shouldn’t be here right now.

Not in this situation.

“You need to get back to your position—”

But Hoeun suddenly shouted—

“Just let me say goodbye!”

“……”

“Just goodbye… only goodbye…”

He clung tightly to Taemuk’s waist.

Eyes squeezed shut, he pressed his cheek against Taemuk’s chest.

He knew he shouldn’t be afraid.

He knew he shouldn’t waver.

But even so—

he didn’t want to let go.

Just seeing Taemuk like this eased his heart.

Slowly, Hoeun lowered one hand and grasped Taemuk’s.

Big.

Thick.

Solid.

Then he looked up at him with a pale face.

“Please come back safely.”

“……”

“Don’t get hurt.”

“…Okay.”

After that, neither of them spoke.

They simply looked at each other.

“……”

“……”

Countless emotions churned in their eyes.

Then suddenly—

Hoeun’s eyes welled with tears.

But he didn’t cry.

The muscles in his throat tightened as he fought the sobs back.

His lips trembled faintly.

Taemuk let out a soft laugh.

Then teased him.

“Why are you crying?”

“I-I’m not crying.”

Hoeun denied in a strained voice.

“Why would I cry?”

He swallowed hard.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

As if swallowing the tears too.

Then he smiled.

A beautiful, trembling smile.

“Would you like a kiss?”

“…Here?”

Taemuk raised a brow.

There were soldiers everywhere.

Granted, everyone was too focused on their duties to care.

Still.

There were many eyes around.

For someone like Hoeun, who cared deeply about propriety, this was hardly private.

“Yes.”

Hoeun nodded.

“Here.”

In the past, doing something like this outside would have embarrassed him terribly.

Now, nothing mattered.

He wanted to give Taemuk strength.

Anything he could do—

he wanted to do it.

If it helped Taemuk fight more easily…

If it reduced even the slightest chance of injury…

He would do it a hundred times.

“……”

Taemuk stared down at him quietly.

Hoeun had changed so much.

Taemuk felt proud.

And at the same time—

his heart ached.

Because he knew why.

That was why he couldn’t immediately say yes.

When Taemuk remained silent, Hoeun reached up and cupped both of his cheeks.

Then rose onto his toes with all his strength.

And—

press.

He placed his lips gently over Taemuk’s.

Then simply stayed there.

Still.

Silent.

“……”

Taemuk’s brow twitched slightly.

He looked at Hoeun’s tightly shut eyes.

Then at the single tear that finally escaped and slid down.

Taemuk wrapped an arm around Hoeun’s waist.

Then turned them so his body shielded Hoeun from the soldiers.

He cradled the back of Hoeun’s head.

And kissed him deeper.

While chaos surged all around them—

the two of them stood frozen.

Like a photograph.

The sunset slowly deepened.

Hidden inside the tent again, Hoeun watched the red-orange sky and exhaled.

“Haa…”

His heart pounded violently.

His mouth felt dry.

His eyes burned from constant blinking.

Every battle was nerve-wracking.

But this was different.

This time, he had seen their numbers with his own eyes.

Could Jeokudae really stand against that many?

There were barely a thousand of them.

Was this recklessness?

Was this madness?

As Hoeun sighed again—

“Young master, don’t worry.”

Dongja noona spoke beside him.

“I’ll protect you.”

Unlike before, when she was burning with anger, she now looked calm and resolute.

Hoeun smiled.

“Yes.”

He smiled gently.

“I’ll do my best not to become a burden.”

As he spoke, he touched his side.

Cold.

Hard.

His pistol.

He hoped he wouldn’t need it.

But he had prepared plenty of bullets in case the unexpected happened.

Time passed.

The sunset darkened.

Red became purple.

Then—

the horizon turned black.

At first glance, it looked as if night had arrived early in just that one place.

Hoeun raised the telescope.

Beyond the thick dust clouds—

he saw them.

The Sikgoe.

A black wave.

Rolling endlessly forward.

Exactly as before.

Countless.

Uncountable.

And above them—

massive spherical clusters moved with the horde.

“……”

Hoeun adjusted the telescope rapidly, examining each sphere.

There were hundreds.

But because the Sikgoe were packed tightly together in those formations, he couldn’t see what was inside.

To know, they’d have to break one apart.

Or tear the creatures away.

Still—

had the number of spheres decreased slightly since last time?

Or was he imagining it?

Back then, there hadn’t been enough time to count.

He couldn’t be sure.

The Sikgoe moved closer.

Slowly.

Steadily.

When they covered half the plain—

the ground began trembling.

Leaves quivered.

Pebbles rolled.

Even the air felt different.

Sharper.

Fouler.

Their scent had reached them.

“Are those things gonna collapse the ground?”

Dongja pressed her palm against the shaking earth.

Oddly enough, Hoeun found himself wishing that were true.

If the earth gave way—

they’d all fall.

No battle.

No injuries.

No deaths.

But the monsters kept coming.

Gugugugung… Gugugugung…

The sound rumbled like thunder.

Hoeun focused on the spherical masses again.

Maybe he’d spot something.

“What do you think is inside those?”

Dongja asked.

Hoeun didn’t lower the telescope.

“I don’t know.”

Then quietly—

“But I hope it’s something.”

“What?”

“A type of antenna-bearing Sikgoe we haven’t seen.”

Dongja frowned.

“One smarter than the fan-shaped ones.”

He paused.

“Perhaps… a king.”

“A king?”

“Yes.”

“The king of the Sikgoe.”

Dongja frowned harder.

“Why would you want that?”

“Wouldn’t that make it harder?”

“No.”

Hoeun’s voice stayed calm.

“If we kill that one…”

“……”

“The others might all stop.”

“……”

“And without leadership…”

“They’d become nothing more than beasts.”

He lowered the telescope slightly.

“That would actually be easier.”

Dongja nodded.

“Ah. True.”

“That kind is easier.”

“……”

Hoeun bit his lip.

The worst possibility—

was that there was nothing inside.

No king.

No central ruler.

Only countless antenna-bearing Sikgoe communicating independently.

That would be catastrophic.

Because then Jeokudae would need to kill every single antenna-bearing one.

And at a glance—

there were thousands.

That would make this battle unimaginably difficult.

As they spoke—

the Sikgoe reached the riverbank.

Now the entire plain had turned black.

The earth was darker than the sky.

The sight felt deeply unnatural.

As though heaven and earth had reversed.