BW C39

Chapter 39

Hoeun could not easily recover his senses. The man’s face still flickered before his eyes. His pounding heart would not calm.

“General…”

Yet the more he called Taemuk, the more the trembling in his body subsided. It was because he knew that as long as Taemuk was there, that man could not do anything to him. Taemuk was the strongest person in the world, and always saved him.

Clutching Taemuk desperately, Hoeun only returned to reality after a long while.

“Uh…”

He opened his eyes and glanced around. The cool blue particular to dawn had dyed the whole world. Bamboo surrounded them on all sides, and beneath it Jeokudae’s soldiers lay sleeping in a tangle. Between Dongja, who slept on her side because of her injured shoulder, and Gilsang, who slept sitting with his arms folded, Hoeun’s spot was empty.

Only then did Hoeun realize what the situation was. There had been a battle in the bamboo forest, the soldiers had been wounded, they had not found a place to pitch tents, they had all huddled together to sleep, and Taemuk had disappeared.

Hoeun jerked his head up and met Taemuk’s eyes.

“You’re only coming now?”

It’s dawn. Doing what until now? Fighting monsters? Alone? With a face full of questions, he stared at Taemuk—when suddenly Taemuk’s whole expression tightened.

“Why are you sprawled sleeping in a place like this?”

It was hard to tell if it was a question or an inquest. Taemuk glared at the spot where Hoeun had just been lying. Hoeun’s head had been touching Dongja’s back, and his shoulder touching Gilsang’s thigh. To an onlooker, it would have seemed that Hoeun was their guide.

“Ah—we were told sleeping together was safer…”

Hoeun answered plainly, with an innocent face. Taemuk’s lips twisted slightly askew. Hoeun looked at him in silence—then belatedly realized he was in Taemuk’s arms. His cheeks flushed in an instant.

“Uh—p-please—put me down.”

He could not quite remember how he had ended up in Taemuk’s arms. Had he thrown himself at him first? But how? Did he hop up like a startled rabbit in his sleep? Whatever it was, it was certainly embarrassing.

As Hoeun loosened his arms from around Taemuk’s neck and made to be set down—

“Uh…”

Taemuk, still holding him, strode off somewhere. Hoeun’s face went pale in a moment. So—he was going to discard him at last? He thought he might be dumped deep in the mountains; his heart sank.

“G-General.”

With a frightened face, he called him. But Taemuk only walked on without reply. Fortunately, he stopped after only a short way.

He set Hoeun down in a place thick with bamboo and long grass. He did not throw or fling him—he set him down, plainly enough. Then he himself dropped to sit beside Hoeun.

“…”

After that, there were no particular words.

“…”

So Hoeun kept his mouth shut as well. Sitting with his knees drawn up, he rubbed at eyes still heavy with sleep. The blue dawn was cold; he pulled his outer robe closer. All the while, he stole sidelong glances at Taemuk.

Blood spatters marked Taemuk’s cheek and neck where his eyes were closed. Whether it had splashed in the day’s fight, or in the night, whether it was a monster’s blood, or his own—there was no way to tell.

“Do… Military Gods die?”

“Of course we die. We’re people too.”

“A lot of us die—day in, day out.”

Recalling Dongja and Mansu’s words, Hoeun asked in his uniquely gentle voice,

“Y-you aren’t hurt, are you?”

“…”

But Taemuk gave no reply. Hoeun pouted his lips. He never answered when asked anything. Fine, I won’t speak either. I won’t answer, either. He resolved childishly—but his gaze kept drifting to Taemuk.

With his eyes closed, his face looked drier than usual—or perhaps tired was the word. Of course he would be tired, cutting through the forest alone to face monsters until this dawn. Having come that far in thought, Hoeun felt sorry for him again.

Fidgeting his fingers over his knees, Hoeun asked in a whisper barely audible,

“Sh-should I hold your hand?”

If he ignored it—so be it. If he was asleep—so be it. He asked with that in mind. But Taemuk slid his eyes open and looked at him.

“What?”

“M-Mansu was holding Dongja’s hand… I wondered if it helps…”

“…”

“If it helps… I—I can hold it…”

Hoeun opened and closed his hand in little squeezes. In the blue light peculiar to dawn, his already white hand shone like jade. Taemuk stared fixedly at him—then, suddenly, one corner of his mouth lifted.

“You wouldn’t even meet my eyes all day, and now you want to hold my hand?”

Hoeun flinched. In truth, after spending himself in Taemuk’s hand the previous night, he hadn’t been able to face him; he had left the tent, made ready, and did his utmost to avoid him right up until the moment they met the monster in the bamboo. He hadn’t expected him to notice.

“T-that was… last night was embarrassing…”

Thinking of it sent heat back into his cheeks. As he briskly rubbed his cheek with his palm, Taemuk tilted his head and said shamelessly,

“Last night?”

“Y-yes, last night…”

“What happened last night?”

“You… you did… that…”

“What did I do?”

“I mean—my lower…”

Hoeun cut himself off and glanced at the nearby soldiers. Fortunately, all were sleeping like the dead. The snoring was loud indeed.

“Lower what.”

“…Nothing.”

Hoeun snapped his head away. He heard Taemuk make a sound that might have been a snort or a laugh. The sneer irked Hoeun a little. Clenching his hands tight, he looked again at Taemuk—more precisely, at Taemuk’s hand. Then he simply grabbed it.

It was a kind of stubbornness. If Taemuk was free to touch him below, there was no reason he could not touch Taemuk.

“…”

Taemuk’s brows slowly rose. He snorted again and opened his mouth to say something—but Hoeun, wearing a look of surprise, spoke first.

“How is it that you are always this hot, General?”

Taemuk’s hand was too hot—like holding a lump of fire. No—fire itself would hardly be hotter. The boiling heat was not merely strange, but uncanny.

“Are all Military Gods naturally this high in body temperature?”

“…”

“I don’t think Sergeant Gilsang was this hot…”

Hoeun murmured as he turned Taemuk’s hand in his own. At that, Taemuk’s brow suddenly knotted, harsh.

“You been holding O Gilsang’s hand?”

“That’s not it—but he always helps me mount the horse, so I know.”

Gilsang was kind. Despite Hoeun’s being good at nothing, he helped every time—steadying his waist, holding his arm when he mounted.

“Not a simpleton, and still can’t mount alone?”

“…I’m clumsy.”

Hoeun spoke with a tone of injured innocence. To someone as frail as he, even mounting a horse was like scaling a cliff. The strongest man in the world—Taemuk—would never understand.

“Raised soft, were you.”

“That’s not…”

At the sarcasm, Hoeun started to reply, then stopped. He could understand the meanness, the coldness. For someone so strong, to have a guide as weak and useless as he was—of course it would be distasteful.

Just as the match he had imagined wasn’t Taemuk, the match Taemuk had wanted was surely not him. It had only been days since his manifestation; Taemuk had waited over ten years for his guide. How great must his expectations have been. Hoeun likely did not meet even a fingernail’s worth of them.

He grew a little dejected. But he did not release Taemuk’s hand. The burning heat that pricked like a burn made him loath to let go.

“C-could you have a fever? Are you hurt at all? Is your vision blurry, or does your body feel weak?”

He asked as if he were a doctor, in all seriousness.

“…”

Instead of answering, Taemuk looked down at Hoeun’s hand. On the white, slender wrist, a bruise had bloomed purplish-blue. It wasn’t his doing; what he had left on Hoeun was only the scab set at the corner of his mouth.

Taemuk’s eyes narrowed to slits. For someone who put on such airs about being a noble—he lay sleeping tangled with others. He gave his wrist to the very one who should die. It was deeply irritating.

Whether Hoeun knew that furrow in Taemuk’s brow was deepening or not, he kept on worrying aloud.

“You mustn’t take a fever lightly. In severe cases, seizures come, or there can be brain damage—or death. Please be careful.”

Chattering, his sentences fell into syllables that rolled here and there. The sensation of them tickling the rim of his ear made Taemuk turn his head the other way.

“Shut that mouth. You’re noisy.”

“…”

At that, Hoeun cut his eyes at him in a flat glare. However much he disliked him—still, he was worried for him, and he—how could he…

Angry, Hoeun tried to pull his hand away. But it didn’t come free. At some point, Taemuk had taken Hoeun’s hand in his own; their fingers were loosely interlaced.

Hoeun set his jaw and tensed his wrist, but Taemuk did not move. He looked up to tell him to let go. And then—

“…”

Leaning his head against the bamboo, Taemuk had his eyes closed. The look was oddly… peaceful. There was still blood on his cheeks, and fatigue too—but clearly not as much as before.

“…”

Hoeun blinked slowly.

Could this… be effective?

Was he, at this moment, serving a use as Taemuk’s guide?

Thinking so, he took Taemuk’s large hand in both of his. He held it very tight, with effort, with care.

Beyond the dense bamboo grove, the sun was rising.