BW C30

Chapter 30

“Mm…”

Standing vacantly under a tree, Hoeun covered his mouth with a sleeve and gave a small yawn.

His body felt languid—pleasantly so. Having slept in Taemuk’s arms the whole way from morning until now, the fatigue and pain had eased considerably.

To sleep while the horse was running. And in Taemuk’s arms, no less. It was unbelievable, yet he had slept like a log. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen from the horse.

…Surely he hadn’t disgraced himself by snoring.

Hoeun wrinkled and smoothed the bridge of his nose, and just then, Taemuk came into view in the distance.

Jeokudae had decided to eat lunch earlier than usual, to restore strength drained by the battle that had continued all through the previous night. The cooks began to prepare food, several soldiers kept watch on the surroundings, and the rest sprawled on the grass to rest.

Taemuk had gone off somewhere again and now returned. Passing among the soldiers, he perched on a suitably sized rock.

Lest someone else sit beside him, Hoeun flitted over and quickly sat down at his side. The “cling-close operation” was still in progress. He had to stay as close to him as possible.

“…”

Taemuk looked at him as if he were a nuisance. But Hoeun pretended to know nothing and looked elsewhere, swallowing dryly all the while.

In truth, he still found Taemuk awkward—and frightening. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t afraid, given what happened every night. Moreover, being beside someone who, with his whole body and words, showed he disliked him—there was no way it could be comfortable for Hoeun.

But though Hoeun’s body was weak, his mind was not. Even if he were cast off several times, he felt sure he would not give up. He had left home prepared to be torn apart and die by monsters—could he not manage at least this much? However much Taemuk disliked him, he would not devour him like a monster; somehow he could endure it.

Thinking thus, he edged his backside bit by bit closer to Taemuk. Whether Taemuk did not notice or merely pretended not to, he drew a cigarette to his lips and lit it.

At that moment, a man and a woman stabbed their heavy spear and sword into the ground and plopped down near Taemuk.

“Gods, tired.”

“Haaaaaahm…”

The two yawned until their mouths split. Their faces were familiar. Those who usually stayed near Taemuk—high-ranking, like his left or right arm. They had sat at Taemuk’s table once at the hotel’s Korean restaurant.

Gilsang also appeared quietly and took a place by them. The three, as if exhausted, said little and drooped. No wonder—they had fought monsters sleepless through the night and traveled steadily until now.

Perhaps the liveliest person here was Hoeun, who had done nothing but sleep from yesterday to today.

Fidgeting his fingers and rolling his eyes, Hoeun looked at Taemuk. Blood spatters still dotted his cheek. Seeing this, Hoeun took a handkerchief from his bosom. After a brief hesitation, he shyly held it out to Taemuk.

“Y-your face, General—there’s blood on it.”

It was that handkerchief. The white, clean one with a flower embroidered on one corner, which had been refused before when Taemuk appeared drenched in blood.

“I don’t need it.”

Taemuk refused again, without fail. Hoeun drew the handkerchief back with a crestfallen face. But he felt eyes on him. When he looked up, he saw the soldiers sitting opposite quickly avert their gaze.

Suddenly abashed, Hoeun drew up his knees and sat with them together, folding and unfolding the hapless handkerchief. He had resolved to be shameless—yet now he wanted to get up and leave. He felt those sitting with them were also uncomfortable because of him.

Should he leave? Would that be easier for everyone? He was thinking as much when—

“Captain, brothers, time to eat.”

Chilbok appeared, a broad tray in hand, with a dozen large bowls upon it. Spoons had already been set in the bowls.

After a brief glance over the tray, Chilbok handed one to Taemuk. Taemuk extinguished his cigarette without a word and accepted it.

Then Chilbok gave a bowl to the woman, to the man, and to Gilsang—and lastly handed one to Hoeun as well.

“Thank you, Chilbok.”

Hoeun received it with both hands. The heavy bowl was heaped with rice and three or four kinds of namul. It looked like bibimbap.

Just then, the woman sitting across suddenly craned her neck and glared at Chilbok.

“You little brat—did you put meat only in the Captain’s bowl again, huh?”

Her hair was short enough to dangle at her earlobes; though her skin was fair, her cheeks were freckled; she had no double eyelids, but thin lids made her eyes quite large. She had a solid build and was much taller than Hoeun—her whole bearing proclaimed her a Military God.

“N-no, I didn’t!”

Chilbok grimaced and denied it. The woman narrowed her eyes and glowered.

“Then what? You put in pancakes? Egg pancakes?”

“…”

Chilbok pressed his lips tight. The woman’s eyes glittered more fiercely.

“This punk always playing favorites for the Captain…”

“Oh, what. Then you be the Captain, sister.”

“Hey!”

When the woman snapped, Chilbok, looking thoroughly annoyed, scooped a heaping spoon of rice from another bowl on the tray into the woman’s bowl.

“I’ll give you more rice. Only because you’re my sister. Special.”

At the impudent remark, the woman eyed the bowl primly, then nodded as if satisfied. Chilbok fairly allotted more rice to the man beside her and to Gilsang too. Then he tried to give more to Hoeun as well.

At that, Hoeun pulled his bowl toward himself.

“This is enough for me.”

“Why not have more.”

“It’s fine.”

At Hoeun’s refusal, Chilbok looked a little disappointed, bowed, and headed off to other soldiers.

“…”

Hoeun stared at his own bowl. The heaped rice and vegetables looked truly appetizing, yet he couldn’t bring himself to eat. It felt as if the Jeokudae he had forced down still lodged in his throat.

The image of himself with his face plunged into a brazier full of black coals, vomiting, flickered before his eyes. His stomach began to heave. Though he’d eaten nothing, he felt on the verge of retching.

But if he left it, Taemuk might misunderstand. Then at night he would be cruel again. What should he do. Eat now and throw it up secretly later?

While he only stroked the hapless bowl, the others began to eat. Hoeun, watching their faces—especially Taemuk’s—only fumbled with his spoon.

Ah, so much for the cling-close operation—he should have sat alone. If he were tucked away somewhere in a corner, he could have dealt with the food somehow. Now, having sat by his side for nothing…

Hoeun’s face grew paler and paler; anyone would think he held poison, not bibimbap. As time dragged—

“Hey, young lord, are you not going to eat that?”

The woman soldier across from him suddenly spoke. Her bowl was already empty. Startled by the sudden voice, Hoeun’s shoulders jumped.

“Uh, ah…”

He wet his lips and glanced at Taemuk. As expected, Taemuk was staring straight at him—as if keeping watch. Yet Hoeun could not say the words “I will eat.” After a moment’s hesitation, he held out the bowl to the woman.

“W-would you like it?”

“Of course!”

With a look like she’d been handed a windfall, she took it at once. Then, curious, she asked,

“Why don’t you eat? It’s good. Do nobles not eat things like this?”

“…”

Hoeun was a little taken aback at how naturally that came out. Taemuk had said something similar.

Had he shown some sign of that? Looked down on them without realizing, or acted finicky? But all he’d eaten was scorched rice water and decoction—and the Jeokudae he’d thrown up—he’d had no chance to act so even if he’d wanted.

He was about to explain his condition when Taemuk posed another question.

“Still not to your taste, the food here?”

At that, Hoeun looked to him. His black pupils were ice-cold, as if he might seize Hoeun by the hair and shove his face into the bowl at any moment.

Swallowing, Hoeun slowly shook his head.

“I still h-have a bit of fever. No appetite. And my m-mouth… hurts…”

He touched the corner of his mouth. The wounds from taking Taemuk into his mouth had only just scabbed. If he opened too wide, it might split and bleed again.

Taemuk was about to speak—when Gilsang, who unlike the others was moving his spoon slowly, said offhand,

“Wherever you got hurt, t’other day you were bleedin’ from the lips. Scared us right proper, you started bleedin’ all of a sudden.”

“…”

Taemuk closed his mouth again. His gaze rested on Hoeun—more precisely, on the red and black wounds at Hoeun’s lips.