BW C65

Chapter 65

“What do you mean?”

“The load you’re carrying. It seemed heavy, so I thought I’d help…”

“…”

The woman stared straight at Hoeun.

“…”

Chilbok also stared straight at Hoeun. From those gazes, Hoeun felt a strange sense of familiarity. It was that look. The look that said, How odd. Somehow, the weight of that gaze made his fingers curl tightly inward, as though shrinking back.

The woman wrinkled the bridge of her nose and gave a loud sniff. Then, with an almost reluctant air, she handed one of the sacks she had been carrying to Hoeun.

“Well then, do as you like…”

At that, Hoeun spread his palms wide again. He bent awkwardly at the waist, braced his slender thighs, and pressed his heels firmly into the ground. It was his attempt at taking proper stance to receive the burden.

Then he swallowed dryly, throat clicking. He was nervous. He had never once in his life done heavy labor. His parents had been fussy about such things, but far fussier than them had been Deokwoo. That man would never allow him to lift so much as a finger in hardship. Even if he held just an apple, he would fret as though Hoeun’s fingers might break or his wrist snap off.

Now, with wide, unblinking eyes, Hoeun fixed his gaze on the sack. The woman passed it over. And the moment its full weight came down in his arms—

“Ugh!”

Hoeun collapsed straight to the ground. The sack was unbearably heavy. Like a boulder as big as a house. He could not even begin to guess what was inside, but certainly it wasn’t grains.

Had the woman not deftly snatched the falling sack away, Hoeun might truly have been crushed to death beneath it. That was the kind of shocking weight it carried.

Sitting spread out on the ground, staring blankly at the sack, Hoeun heard the woman clicking her tongue.

“What makes you think, with that fragile body of yours, you can help with anything…? Just follow Chilbok back and eat another bowl of food.”

She lifted the sack with ease and slung it back over her shoulder. Though it had been as heavy as a great boulder, in her hands it seemed as light as a cushion.

Sniffling once again, she trudged away, disappearing between the military tents. Hoeun stood frozen, staring after her retreating form as though he’d seen a ghost—when suddenly, he heard it. Snickering. Someone’s laughter.

He snapped his head around. Chilbok, covering his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking, was laughing.

“Chilbok, don’t laugh.”

Hoeun spoke like it was a warning. But it hardly carried any weight. The latter half of his words stretched out with a childish whine, sounding more like Don’t laugh—ah, please, than a real warning.

With an embarrassed face, Hoeun stood at once and brushed the dirt off his clothes. Chilbok quickly came over to help dust him off, though the corners of his lips still twitched with suppressed laughter.

“Half the people here are Military Gods, young master. Man or woman—it doesn’t matter in the least.”

“Still, I was taught it’s improper to let a woman bear such heavy burdens.”

“Good grief, and after seeing Dongja-noona, you still say such things? Dongja-noona could lift both you and me with one hand, no doubt.”

“Even if Sister Dongja were carrying a heavy sack, I would have tried to help.”

“You’re really something, young master…”

Chilbok shook his head, exasperated. Meanwhile, Hoeun, having shaken all the dirt free, fussed his hair and murmured quietly.

“Still… it really is embarrassing.”

“That you fell?”

“No… that I tried to act the part of a man—with such pitiful strength.”

Hoeun clenched his fists. He squeezed tightly, but even to him his strength felt pathetic. With hands like these, what could he possibly do here? Could he be of use at all? Did he have any worth whatsoever?

As he let out a heavy sigh, he felt a stare from somewhere. So clear and unwavering, it felt tangible—almost like touch.

Hoeun turned his head toward it without thinking. Beyond the uneven row of military tents, someone stood. A man taller than all others, exuding undeniable presence, his bearing laden with weight and authority.

“…The General?”

It was Taemuk.

Hoeun tilted his head, puzzled. Since when had Taemuk been standing there? This was the camp of Jeokudae, after all, and as its master, it wasn’t strange for him to be anywhere here. But Hoeun could swear Taemuk hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Was he looking this way? Why? Regardless, he should give his respects. But was he even looking at him? What if it was someone else he was staring at?

As Hoeun wavered, Chilbok, who had also been watching Taemuk, leaned in close and whispered softly in his ear.

“I think the Captain must have heard you.”

“Heard what?”

“The sound of you falling, young master.”

“There was a sound when I fell?”

“You went, ‘Ugh!’ didn’t you?”

“And the General heard that? Came here because of it?”

Hoeun’s face contorted like he had just heard a wild ghost story. It seemed absurd. It may have been coincidence that Taemuk happened to be nearby. But this place was too noisy. There were countless voices, flags snapping in the wind, the roar of air itself. It wasn’t as though he’d screamed to the heavens—there was no way that brief sound had been heard.

Yet Chilbok’s face bore not a trace of mischief.

“The Captain sees everything there is to see, and hears everything there is to hear.”

“…Hm?”

Hoeun jutted his chin out in bafflement, wondering if this was like saying spirits lived in the river or dragons dwelled in the skies.

But Chilbok only smiled and tugged lightly at his sleeve.

“Let’s go now.”

“But I need to give greetings to the General.”

“He’s already gone.”

“…Already?”

Hoeun stepped forward, glancing back to where Taemuk had stood. Truly, he was gone already. Disappeared without a trace, as if he had never been there—a ghost indeed.

And yet soldiers streamed through the space he had occupied. Each walking straight ahead, boots striking steadily against the ground. Some ran, busy with orders. No monster had appeared, clearly, but it showed that there was more to war than fighting alone.

“Everyone’s busy…”

Hoeun muttered quietly as Chilbok pulled him forward. Then quickened his steps to walk beside him.

“You must be busy too—I’ve taken up too much of your time, haven’t I? Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not in trouble, are you? Like getting scolded by your superiors? If so, put the blame on me. Tell them I insisted and dragged you off. Alright?”

“No, really—it’s fine.”

Chilbok shook his head firmly, as if he truly meant it. Then set off with long strides again. His gait was the same as the other soldiers of Jeokudae—steady, with clear purpose. Only one who knew exactly where he needed to go, and what needed to be done, could walk like that.

Hoeun found himself envious of him. At the same time, ashamed. Even young Chilbok had his duties to carry out, while he had been idling, eating food he was served, asking for mirrors, indulging in mere sightseeing.

“I should have something of my own to do too…”

He murmured, his expression heavy. Chilbok immediately turned his eyes toward him.

“Are you bored? Shall I bring you a snack? It won’t be as good as chocolate, but there are walnuts and peanuts…”

Chattering eagerly, Chilbok made Hoeun laugh. His earnest attempts to give him something more—to offer a bit of comfort—made him seem endearing, touching, even cute. Unable to resist, Hoeun stroked the boy’s rough, unchildlike cheek.

“That’s not what I meant. I just wish I had something to do, that’s all.”

“…”

Chilbok hunched his shoulders, unaccustomed to the touch of that hand. But he did not pull away. Hoeun, seeing him like that, let out a small “Ah” of recognition.

“But Chilbok, what were you going to do with the salt?”

Later, crouching before his bedroll, Hoeun looked gravely at his hands. His fingertips were all shriveled and wrinkled. Not even the hands of an aged old man could wrinkle this much.

“Sigh…”

He flexed his aching fingers slowly, straightening and curling them again, and sighed.

All that afternoon, he had worked alongside Chilbok, rubbing salt into cucumbers. They were making stuffed cucumbers, cucumber kimchi.² The sheer volume was like a mountain, but with mouths numbering in the thousands to feed, it was only natural.

Other cooks handed them cucumbers, and Hoeun was tasked with rubbing them down with salt. It was a task easy enough even for Hoeun, who had never done such work in his life, but it was harsh labor.

His back hurt, his legs ached, his shoulders throbbed—but worst of all were his hands. The coarse, jagged grains of salt grated at his palms with every scrub. It felt as if shards of glass were slicing into him.

Chilbok had tried repeatedly to tell him to stop, but Hoeun had stubbornly pressed on. It was his first time doing work since coming to camp, and he wanted more than anything to finish it. No one had forced him; he had volunteered. To quit halfway was unthinkable.

Besides, already there were rumors spreading about him. He did not know why or how, but his reputation here had spread kindly. He could not allow that to sour into scandal.

“There’s really nothing easy…”

Not slaying monsters, but even making a pot of cucumber kimchi proved this hard.

Brows lowered, Hoeun blew warm breaths onto his wrinkled fingertips. Surely by tomorrow it would be better? Surely he wasn’t doomed to live forever with shriveled hands? He worried as he frantically tried to dry them.

Just then, the canvas of the tent flapped wide open—and Taemuk appeared. His hair was damp, as if freshly washed. He wore only his trousers and a robe draped over his shoulders, his torso gleaming with wet sheen.

Hoeun sprang to his feet and bowed deeply in greeting.

“You’ve come.”

“…”

Taemuk looked at him quietly. Then, with sudden exaggeration, he wrinkled his nose, sniffing. It was an overdone, theatrical scrunch.

“A salty smell.”

Footnotes

 

1. Oi Sobagi (오이소박이): A type of Korean cucumber kimchi, made by salting cucumbers and stuffing them with seasoning. Labor-intensive when preparing in large quantities, as in a military encampment.