BW C6

Chapter 6

“From this moment, the Fate-Matching Ceremony will begin. Everyone, please extend your hands.”

At the soldiers’ words, the guides held out their hands.

The method of finding a partner was quite primitive: holding hands. Or engaging in physical contact beyond that.

According to what he had read, the moment one first touched a fated partner, there would be an indescribable sensation. It could feel like being struck by a faint bolt of lightning, or as if something pressed hard at the edge of the heart; the eyes might throb, or one might collapse as all strength left the limbs.

In any case, it was not a feeling that could be missed. So Hoeun, too, was bound to feel something.

As he tensed, clenching and unclenching his hand, the Military Gods began taking the hands of the guides one by one, starting from those at the front of the hall.

Hoeun waited politely until they reached him. Behind him, however, Deokwoo craned on tiptoe or stretched his neck like a turtle, scrutinizing—no, glaring at—the Military Gods.

“Do you think your partner is among them, young master?”

“I hope so.”

“I hope not.”

“Why?”

“Because you ought to marry a gentle, graceful lady. Not those filthy louts.”

“…”

Hoeun kept his mouth shut. What lady would like a useless fellow like him? A fated Military God might—perhaps…

“Don’t you agree, young master?” Deokwoo asked. After a moment’s hesitation, Hoeun answered in a somewhat bashful voice,

“I… would like to meet him.”

He had spent the night poring over books about Military Gods and guides. What struck him most was that a guide was extremely precious to a Military God—both a source of strength and a life itself.

Thus a Military God cherished a guide more than his own life; if a guide died first, many could not bear the grief and followed in death.

The thought of traveling the country with a Military God who would treasure him so made sleep impossible. Call it childish if one wished—how could he help being thrilled?

After some minutes, the distant Military Gods finally drew near Hoeun.

Up close, they looked even more wretched, hardly like warriors: hollow cheeks, thin bodies, uniforms torn and ragged, faces blotched with grime—so unlike the depictions in books.

At last, a youthful Military God arrived before Hoeun.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Hoeun offered a greeting and extended his hand.

“…”

The Military God stared. Perhaps it was strange to see a noble standing nobly and greeting nobly. He only looked, without real response.

Deokwoo glared and threatened him.

“H-hey, who do you think you are, slurping up our young master’s greeting like soup—”

“Deokwoo.”

In a gentle tone, Hoeun restrained him, then smiled as if nothing had happened. The Military God glanced between them with a somewhat aloof look, then took Hoeun’s hand.

At that moment, Hoeun’s sternomastoid stood out—because the touch of a stranger’s hand felt so very strange.

“…”

The Military God held his hand and fell silent, then tugged at it, rubbed the back, even stroked the palm.

It was an uncomfortable touch, yet did not feel lewd. It did not feel like mockery either. Rather—

Yes, it felt desperate.

He wanted to find his partner, no matter what.

For a Military God, a guide was another life.

So Hoeun gripped his hand tighter, with more strength. But the Military God moved on. The next one did, and the one after that.

Ten passed; twenty; forty brushed past Hoeun.

By then, handholding—communing—had grown quite familiar. Deokwoo, however, had not. With each passing Military God, his brow furrowed as if struck by a pickaxe.

“How many times must you touch these low creatures? What if they pass on some disease? You’ll have to wash in boiling water the moment we get home.”

“Boiling water? Do you mean to cook me and eat me?”

Hoeun chuckled and took the next Military God’s hand. The man cocked his head, puzzled, and Deokwoo thrust forward a face like an enraged bull.

“Hey. Move along. Don’t tell me you think you’re the young master’s match. A rootless wretch daring to covet whom?”

With a grimace as if he’d seen the filthiest thing, the Military God released Hoeun’s hand and moved on. Hoeun, unable to help himself, turned to Deokwoo.

“Don’t say such things, Deokwoo. They’re all honorable people who defend the nation.”

“Even so, ranks must match, young master.”

“Ranks? There’s no such thing nowadays.”

“But—”

“And in case you’ve forgotten, they’re all Military Gods. They may be smaller than you, but they’re stronger. Like our eldest brother, who could crush rock with his bare hands.”

“…Like the eldest young master?”

Deokwoo froze, as if the thought had never occurred. He rolled his eyes to glance around, then slowly tucked in his broad shoulders and hunched his back.

Hoeun giggled at the sight.

The ceremony continued. The dazzling sunlight turned vermilion, then violet, lasting that long. The hall, filled with night, grew dim.

“Haa…”

Hoeun wiped the cold sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Merely shaking hands—done hundreds of times—was no simple matter. Standing without rest was grueling besides.

Watching the endless stream of Military Gods, he sighed silently. Deokwoo asked, worried,

“Are you tired? Shall I find a chair? If it’s only handshakes, you could sit.”

“Ah, mm…”

Hoeun withheld an answer. He wasn’t in the habit of plopping down just anywhere—not that it was wrong, but what if, the moment he sat, the long-awaited Military God appeared? He wanted to leave a good first impression.

Yet half the guides around him had already collapsed to the floor, raising hands lazily, yawning wide, even nodding off.

“…”

He chewed his lip, torn. He wanted to refuse, but he was exhausted. He had never stood this long in his life. His knees ached; his back hurt.

…Couldn’t he sit for just a moment? Truly just a moment. His Military God wouldn’t arrive in that time.

So, after persuading himself, he nodded to Deokwoo.

“Please.”

“I’ll be right back. Just wait a bit.”

With a grim face, Deokwoo disappeared. Hoeun watched him go for a moment, then turned to the Military God before him.

“Pleased to meet you.”

As he extended his hand for the hundredth time, the guide to his right left with a uniformed Military God. They must have matched. The supervising soldier recorded their names.

“…”

Hoeun’s lips set slightly. At first, he found such matches wondrous and enviable; now, he was anxious. He felt left behind, especially with more than half the guides gone.

Regrettably, the Military God who took Hoeun’s hand this time was not his match either. As he kneaded his tingling fingers and let his eyes droop—

Suddenly, the hall grew restless—specifically, the entrance.

Standing at the far end from the doors, Hoeun could not make out the cause. But within seconds, a few words reached his ears.

“Jeokudae is here.”

“What? Jeokudae?”

“They say Jeokudae has arrived?”

The exhausted crowd revived. Those slumped stood; those dozing snapped awake. Hoeun did as well—the cold sweat dried at once. Such was the weight of that name.

“…Jeokudae (Red Rain Unit).”

It was the most famous unit in the Daehan Empire. Even a man like Hoeun, who lived the life farthest from battlefields and monsters, knew the name—he’d heard it often enough beyond his high, high walls.

Jeok (red), u (rain), dae (unit): named because their passage seemed to leave red rain in its wake.

Some said it was because they killed so many monsters. Others speculated they sought the most horrific battlefields, where blood soaked the ground. Or that they themselves had shed that much blood. None of the interpretations were wrong—it was a matter of how one chose to see it.

Hoeun rose slightly on tiptoe to glimpse them, but he wasn’t tall, and everyone else was doing the same; he saw nothing. His ears, however, were fine, and he caught the words traded around him.

“How did those busy men come all the way here…”

“No matter how busy, they must find their partner.”

“Does Jeokudae have any Military Gods without guides?”

“There’s ‘that one.’”

“Ah, ‘that one.’”

“I heard he’s in danger for lack of a guide. Seems he’s still alive.”

“Or he wouldn’t be here.”

“May he find his partner this year…”

Hoeun knew of “that one” as well. Not personally—but he was as famous as Jeokudae itself. No, it would be better to say Jeokudae was famous because of “that one.”