BW C64

Chapter 64

 

“Has he gotten better? The General? Thanks to me?”

“Ah, yes, of course. In the past, whenever he exerted too much strength or got badly wounded, he would smash things here and there like an enraged beast, even hurt himself, and sometimes he would end up coughing up blood…”

“C-Coughing blood? You mean he vomited blood? But… what do you mean he hurt himself? Are you saying he inflicted injuries upon his own body?”

“Yes. He did that quite often.”

“Wh-why would he ever do such a thing…?”

“Because he was in pain, most likely. You see, Military Gods usually suffer seizure-like fits when they overexert their powers. But the Captain always had it particularly bad. Perhaps because the power he possessed was naturally so great…”

“…”

Hoeun’s eyes darkened. Vomiting blood? Smashing and hurling objects like a feral beast? Seizures? Self-harm? These were things he had not known. It now seemed clear why Taemuk had once called his wounded self inhuman, mad, and not in his right mind.

“But this time he didn’t suffer any of that. That’s entirely thanks to you, young master. There is no reason for him to treat you without warmth.”

“I see…”

Whether or not it was true that he didn’t seem like a noble, or whether he was truly a good person—Hoeun wasn’t sure. But as far as Taemuk was concerned, he could understand. After all, he had seen for himself how his wounds healed in an instant, how his dangerously feverish body temperature had cooled back down to a gentle warmth. If Taemuk was the one most important to these men, then it was no wonder they would be kind to him, Taemuk’s guide.

After that, Hoeun and Chilbok went on chatting, passing from one tent to another and taking in many sights.

How much time had passed like that, who could say? The number of military tents began to thin out, when suddenly the neighing cry of a horse rang out.

At the edge of the encampment, rows of horses were tethered. Since there were many soldiers, naturally there were hundreds of horses gathered there as well; to see them all together was truly a spectacular sight. They varied in size, color, and even breed. Among them was Hoeun’s own horse.

Hoeun hurried forward and, with a delighted expression, went up to his horse.

“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”

He gently stroked the horse’s neck, meeting its eyes. In reply, the horse snorted warmly, almost like an answer. Hoeun let out a soft laugh. Just then, a soldier was feeding the horses hay, so Hoeun offered some by his own hand, letting his horse eat directly. Watching this, Chilbok asked:

“It looks like a fine horse.”

“Perhaps so. I don’t really know much about horses myself, but I remember my father once told me he had obtained a most precious one.”

He had always fed it himself, brushed it himself… As Hoeun thought of his father, his expression began to grow heavy with emotion. At that moment, Chilbok crept up behind him, leaned in, and whispered secretively:

“I’ll sneak back later and give it a melon.”

At that, Hoeun burst into laughter. He looked at Chilbok with eyes full of fondness.

“Fruit like melons aren’t common here, are they?”

“Even so, it’s for the young master’s horse to eat.”

“Don’t feed it to the horse, Chilbok. You eat it.”

“Eh? But…”

Just as Chilbok was about to protest, Hoeun raised his palm and told him to wait. He pressed his ear toward the horse’s muzzle, then dramatically scrunched and unknotted his brows with playful exaggeration.

“It says I should count it as though it ate the melon. So you ought to eat it yourself.”

His radiant smile bloomed like a flower.

“…”

Chilbok stared at Hoeun. His upper lip twitched upward sharply, then fell, then rose again, until finally he blurted out something completely unexpected.

“Young master, you’re really strange.”

“…”

At those words, Hoeun’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re strange.”

Taemuk had said the exact same thing once before. He had dismissed it then as just Taemuk’s nonsense. But now hearing Chilbok say it as well, it seemed it was not Taemuk who had been strange, but perhaps he himself.

What was strange? Had he done anything odd just now? No… he had only fed a horse hay. Nothing more.

“What’s strange? What did I even do?”

Hoeun asked, looking at Chilbok. But Chilbok only pulled off the bits of dried hay dust clinging to Hoeun’s sleeve and shook his head.

“Nothing at all. Let’s go, before your clothes get dirty.”

Hoeun thought of asking again, but in the end held his tongue. For some reason, the thought of really hearing the answer unsettled him.

“…Alright. Let’s go then.”

The two walked on, keeping step with one another as they passed among the horses, until at last they came to the end of the encampment.

At the edge stood fortifications like a makeshift wall. Stakes had been driven into the ground in regular intervals, between which iron meshing had been stretched. Behind that, huge barriers of sharpened logs, nailed together in the pattern of the Chinese character for “water” (水), stood surrounding the camp like a wooden wall.

And beyond all that—there stretched a plain so vast it was almost unreal.

“Wow…”

Eager admiration spilled from Hoeun’s lips. The endlessly spreading land seemed otherworldly. The plain was so immense that, though he knew the distant specks were trees, they seemed fragile and small like mere flowers. Bundles of grass looked like moss. Mountains far away appeared faint and ghostly, as though it was impossible to tell if they truly existed or were illusions.

He had always thought the heavens must be the grandest thing of all. But looking out here, he realized: it is because the earth exists that the sky does too; the great sky rests upon this great earth. That truth became clear before his very eyes.

Just then, the wind swept over them, pressing against their entire bodies. With no obstacles to break it, the wind rolled on as one thick, unbroken current. Carrying with it the scent of the world beyond, Hoeun drank that scent in deeply, filling his chest.

“So the world was this wide…”

At that moment, he felt bitterly, deeply, the truth that he had been a frog living at the bottom of a well.1 At the same time his heart pounded at the realization: I have truly stepped out into this wide world now. It had been nearly twenty days since leaving home, and yet he still could not quite believe it.

Hoeun, entranced, could not blink as he gazed into the plain. Chilbok tilted his head and asked,

“There’s nothing there. What are you staring at so hard?”

“Isn’t it fascinating precisely because there’s nothing there?”

Hoeun replied, still unable to pull his eyes away. Chilbok tried tiptoeing to see what Hoeun could possibly be looking at, but quickly lost interest and leaned against a stake, idly shuffling dirt first to the left with his foot, then to the right again in boredom.

Hoeun remained like that for a long while, watching the sluggish drift of clouds, shafts of sunlight drawing paths down between them, sudden bursts of dust rising only to vanish without a trace. And he thought:

For those who would spend their whole lives trapped within castle walls, within township walls, how pitiful it must be. For those who would die without ever beholding this sight, how wretched their fate.

“…”

Would there ever come a day when they could walk across this vast land without fear, without burden? Could such a day arrive within his own lifetime? Would the day of liberation truly come?

No—could we bring it forth?

Hoeun clenched his fist tightly.

“Young master.”

Someone called to him. He whirled his head around, and his lips curved into a smile.

“Sergeant.”

Gilsang stood there, holding the bridle of a horse—no doubt having come to tend to it. Hoeun quickly went to him in greeting. Gilsang bowed in return.

“Is your body well recovered?”

“Yes. All thanks to your concern. Have you had some rest?”

“Yes, indeed. My guide is here with me, you see.”

Gilsang smiled broadly, his mien more at ease than Hoeun had ever seen it before. Seeing that gave him comfort.

“But what brings you out here, young master?”

“Chilbok and I were looking around the camp.”

“Ah, I see. Not so bad out here beyond, is it?”

“It’s superb beyond words.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Should you need anything else besides that mirror, just say the word. I’ll procure it for you.”

Hoeun jumped in surprise. So it had been Gilsang who got him the mirror. He hadn’t known. He had merely assumed Taemuk obtained it somehow. The thought that someone of lower station had gone to such effort to procure something for him had never even crossed his mind.

It was clearly his mistake. In Hanyang, one could obtain anything easily—just purchase it outright. But here… he realized he had to be careful with what he asked for.

And of all things, he had asked for a mirror. A gun or a bow, perhaps, would have been one thing. But on a battlefield—a mirror? Once again, he had behaved thoughtlessly. What must Gilsang have thought, having to find such a thing…? Shame filled him.

He could not even meet Gilsang’s eyes, letting his gaze drop to the ground.

“Yes… Thank you.”

But Gilsang simply smiled as if it were nothing.

“The wind is rough and sharp here with no mountains to block it. Don’t stay outside too long.”

“Ah… yes.”

Gilsang gave a courteous bow, then left leading his horse. Hoeun kept his gaze lowered until he was gone, then looked at Chilbok with a quiet sigh.

“Shall we go fetch the salt now?”

“Yes.”

Chilbok, unaware of anything, grinned like a child. That smile, so guilelessly bright, tugged the corners of Hoeun’s lips upward despite his gloom.

As the two retraced their steps back from the stables, suddenly a woman appeared between the tents, carrying three huge burlap sacks slung over her shoulders. She did not look young, yet her frame was smaller even than Hoeun’s—scarcely taller than Chilbok, perhaps.

To bear three large sacks with such a body! Stunned, Hoeun at once hurried toward her.

“Let me help you.”

The woman turned a guarded gaze upon him.

“Who are you?”

The syllable “nu” in her “who” came out with a sharp, pointed edge in its intonation. Just as Hoeun opened his mouth to answer, Chilbok interjected:

“This is Young Master Hoeun.”

“Young master? What young master?”

“He’s the Captain’s guide.”

“Ahh… so a noble body is here, is it now.”

With that, the woman’s wary expression softened somewhat as she looked at him. But she made no move to relinquish the sacks.

“I truly wish to help,” Hoeun said, stretching both his hands toward her.

Those hands were white and slender, bearing not a single scar, not even a speck of dirt—hands unmistakably raised in comfort and refinement.

Footnotes

 

1. “Frog in a well”: East Asian idiom for someone narrow-minded and ignorant of the vast world beyond.

 

1. The syllable “nu” in her “who” came out with a sharp, pointed edge in its intonation.

That line describes the way the woman pronounced the Korean word for “who” (누구 – nugu).

the initial syllable 누 (nu) was spoken with a sharp, pointed intonation, which means her voice rose or struck hard on that syllable.

In Korean dialogue, stressing or sharpening the first syllable often signals suspicion, hostility, or challenge.

So rather than a neutral “Who are you?” it carries an aggressive nuance, closer to “Who are you?”—demanding and distrustful, spoken with edge.