BW C37

Chapter 37

Then, just then.

Kak!

Someone dropped from above and stomped hard on the monster’s back. At the sudden blow, the monster pitched forward and slammed face-first into the ground. Sticky blood smeared the bamboo it had been skewered upon.

Hoeun lifted his gaze.

“…”

Taemuk was standing on the monster’s back. Stepping steadily along the creature’s vast bulk like a small hill, he soon stood upon its neck. Then he bent at the waist, thrust his hand somewhere between the skull and the mouth, and, just like that—

Tududududuk.

The helmet-bone tore free in Taemuk’s hand. Brain and blood from the monster spattered in all directions, and what had been flopping like a fish on land went limp.

Yet Taemuk did not stop there. He twirled the torn-off helmet-bone in the air. Broad and concave, shaped almost like a shield, it spun with a whoom. Taemuk set it upright—and brought it straight down onto the monster’s neck.

The monster’s neck, thicker than Hoeun’s waist, split clean in two at once. Blood gurgled out of the severed stump.

“…”

Hoeun flinched at the sight. It wasn’t because the dead monster was grotesque.

It was because, at the moment he severed the monster’s neck, Taemuk smiled.

It was hard to see clearly through the blood covering his face, but the corner of his mouth had definitely lifted. Of anyone, Hoeun had faced Taemuk’s blank expression the most, and was that much more sensitive to any other expression.

Why… is he smiling?

“…”

As Hoeun stared at him in confusion, the gaze that had been cast down at the dead monster drifted to him. Hoeun’s shoulders twitched; he stammered out thanks.

“Th-thank you… for saving me.”

“…”

Taemuk only looked at him without replying. Then, sweeping back his dripping fringe with a broad motion and taking a deep breath, he yanked out the bamboo stuck in the dead monster. The corpse jolted.

Taemuk gripped the bamboo he had pulled free as if it were a spear, then swung his shoulder and hurled it away. With a slicing hiss through the air, it punched through the side of the head of the monster Gilsang was grappling with. Skewered diagonally from head to neck on the bamboo, it stopped moving at once.

Kak, kaaak, guk, kak…

The monster blinked its glaring red eyes and convulsed spasmodically. Gilsang brought his sword down on its neck. It didn’t sever in one blow; he had to hack three, four times. At last the monster’s broad head dangled from the bamboo like a piece of fruit, and its body slumped to the ground.

After a brief nod to Taemuk, Gilsang hurried to Hoeun.

“Young master, are you all right?”

“Y-yes. I’m all right.”

Even as he answered, Hoeun couldn’t take his eyes off Taemuk. In the meantime, Gilsang pried off the dead man’s hand still clenched around Hoeun’s wrist. Only then did Hoeun look at Gilsang.

“Are you all right, Sergeant?”

“I’m all right too.”

“Thank goodness.”

Hoeun dipped his head in small nods and rubbed at his wrist where the man’s handprints remained starkly. Then he turned his eyes back to Taemuk.

In that instant, Taemuk was butchering another monster. Truly—butchering, in the literal sense.

He used short bamboo like a dagger to hack the monster to pieces, and long bamboo like a spear to skewer it through. While other soldiers needed half a dozen men to bring down one monster, Taemuk lopped off monster heads in a string in mere moments. The speed and brute force were hardly human.

In the end, a couple of monsters fled, and he personally ran them down and tore off their skulls.

And throughout that slaughter, Taemuk wore a strange smile.

Jeokudae kept cutting through the bamboo forest in search of a place to stay, but failed to emerge from the grove. At last, when it was late at night, they decided to remain in the middle of the forest. It was dangerous, but there was no other way. Many had been wounded in the battle a few hours earlier.

Because of the bamboo, they couldn’t pitch tents, so everyone huddled together to sleep. It was the first time sleeping rough without even a tent, and perversely, Hoeun felt relieved. He thought perhaps he would not have to contend with Taemuk tonight.

As his guide, it was truly a wicked thought, but he couldn’t help the easing of his heart.

Hoeun sat in the middle of the group. According to Gilsang, when sleeping without any defensive perimeter like this, the guides were placed in the center, and the Military Gods circled them on the outside—to be ready for a possible monster attack.

Groans rose here and there. Soldiers lay on the rank grass without proper bedding, moaning in pain. Many were bandaged, some were either unconscious or asleep—it was impossible to tell—and some were still bleeding.

Looking around at them, Hoeun let out a deep sigh. To be the only one unscathed while all around were suffering—it was mortifying. His wrist and ankle throbbed, but compared to torn flesh and flowing blood, it was nothing.

At home, he had been the only sick one; here, he was the only one intact. He even had the foolish thought that perhaps it would have been better if he, too, had been hurt a bit.

“Ahh—this is killing me.”

Dongja, sitting beside him, tilted her head back and groaned. She was bandaged from neck to chest. She had been bitten—more precisely, chewed—around the collarbone by a monster. The place where neck and shoulder met was strangely sunken.

Hoeun would have fainted, but Dongja was indifferent—even though blood still oozed in little beads through the bandages. Scratching her nose with the back of her hand, she prompted Mansu, who sat next to her.

“Damn, it hurts. Hey—hold my hand tighter.”

“Okay, okay.”

Mansu scooted closer and took the hand he had been holding with one hand into both of his. Dongja released a languid breath.

Two empty wooden bowls sat before them. In contrast, Hoeun’s bowl was still full. Supper was rice soaked in radish-greens soup—easier to eat than fist-rice or bibimbap—yet he couldn’t bring himself to eat. The blood and corpses he’d seen that afternoon still hovered before his eyes.

Even in Hanyang he had sometimes seen people injured by monsters, but this was different. What to call it—the difference between being wounded and being dead.

“What were those people doing deep in the forest?”

Hoeun asked, only stirring the soup with his spoon. Dongja tilted her head.

“Those people?”

“The people who got e-eaten by the monsters.”

“Ah—carriers?”

“Carriers?”

“Back carriers. People who haul loads.”

Mansu added explanation to Dongja’s words.

“Why would back carriers be in a place like that…”

“Because they’re back carriers, that’s why they’re there.”

“…”

Hoeun blinked rapidly. There had been bundles and frames like pack-boards among the corpses. But it was still unclear why they were there. At his baffled look, Dongja clicked her tongue.

“Ha—young lord, you really don’t know the world. You ate rice in Hanyang, didn’t you? Ate meat? Wore silk clothes? You think all that was grown and made in Hanyang? What d’you call it—cho, cho, cho…”

“Chocolate.”

Mansu supplied the word. Dongja nodded as if to say, that’s it.

“Right—someone had to haul chocolate to Hanyang so the young lord could buy it and eat it.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun nodded as if finally understanding. Yes, goods had to be exchanged from town to town—everything from basics like rice to clothing, necessities, food, or even chocolate. He had eaten and worn those things all the while, yet had never thought how they reached Hanyang.

Then Dongja’s eyes suddenly sparkled. Straightening up, she spoke quite seriously.

“Carriers make a lot of money. I hear if you go back and forth from here to there a few times, you can even buy a house in Hanyang.”

She turned her head left with a “here,” and right with a “there.” Who knew exactly what places she meant—it sounded like from far to far.

“Really?”

“Mm. With man-eaters swarming everywhere, who’d want to be a carrier? So they pay a lot, and have the Military Gods do it—retired ones. They don’t die easily to man-eaters, and they’re strong, so they can haul a lot at once. Kill-two, kill-two, kill—benefit.”

“Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Ah—kill two birds. Maybe I’ll be a carrier later myself.”

As Dongja muttered the last like talking to herself, Hoeun snapped his head toward her.

“Wait—did you just say ‘Military Gods’?”

“Mm? Mm. Military Gods.”

“Then the ones who died earlier—they were Military Gods?”

“Mm, right?”

“…”

Hoeun froze with his mouth slightly open. He thought he finally understood why the dead man’s hand had been so strong when it gripped his wrist.

“Do Military Gods… die?”

He asked in a voice hazy as smoke.

“What?”

Dongja’s eyes widened briefly, then she tittered. Mansu followed with a chuckle.

“…”

Hoeun could not laugh. He knew it was a foolish question. He already knew the answer—his eldest brother, who had been so strong, had returned to the earth in the end.

Even so, it was shocking. Though they had met monsters several times by now, neither Taemuk nor anyone in Jeokudae had died. They had been injured, but had not died.

But the ones he had seen today… had died in ways too horrific. Not ordinary people—Military Gods. Strong, hard to kill. And such ones had died.

If so—perhaps—someday…

As Hoeun’s fingertips trembled faintly, Dongja spoke in an offhand tone.