BW C82

Chapter 82

Seong-im opened the small door at the very end of the corridor and stepped inside. Hoeun recognized it—earlier, while searching for Jung-woo’s sister, he had glanced within.

It was a hospital storeroom. Every medicine box was empty, files had been torn through in chaos, and in one corner, mattresses soaked with blood had been stacked all the way to the ceiling.

There seemed to be no other exit than the door they had entered through. Hoeun looked at Seong-im, wondering what her intention was. Were they simply to hide here until Taemuk came? But could they truly hide? If they silenced themselves completely, would the monsters really fail to sense them?

Instead, Seong-im began to haul the empty medicine boxes off the shelves. With a grating screech, she dragged the rusted iron shelving away. Behind it was a window, about six spans across, clouded thick with dust.

She shielded her face with one arm, raised her sword’s scabbard with the other, and smashed the window. Crash! Shards rained with piercing sound.

“….”

It wasn’t hard for Hoeun to guess her plan. She meant to escape the hospital through that window. But this was the third floor. Jumping like that—before fleeing from monsters, they might die from the fall itself. Smashed skulls at best, broken legs at least.

Then… they needed another way.

Hoeun’s eyes swept the storeroom—and stopped on the pile of mattresses stacked to the ceiling.

“Jung-woo. Just wait here. For a little while, all right?”

He carefully placed the boy down in a corner, straightening his injured leg so that it would not press uncomfortably. Jung-woo whimpered, close to tears, but did not cling. As though instinctively he understood the gravity of the moment. Hoeun stroked his head proudly, then moved to the mattresses.

He pulled sheets free from their coils around the mattresses. They reeked of rot, sour and heavy with the years of blood they had absorbed. Sometimes strings of slime or loose scraps of flesh still clung to them.

“Ugh…”

His skin prickled, his stomach churned—but there was no time to gag. He held in his breath, pulling sheet after sheet free. Seong-im came to his side, knotting the stripped sheets together as he worked. Without speaking a word, the two carried out each step as though they had rehearsed it.

Soon the sheets had been bound into a long rope. Seong-im tied one end solidly to the iron shelving and braced another shelf before it, to prevent it from dragging forward under weight. She tossed the knotted sheets out the broken window. Hoeun held Jung-woo in his arms and peered anxiously over her shoulder.

Outside, dusk had deepened into black. They could not see if the rope reached the ground or not.

“….”

Hoeun swallowed hard. Could he descend this way? Would his frail body endure it? His hands were already trembling, opening and closing again helplessly.

Boom, boom, BOOM.

SKREEHK! KHHHHRKK! SKREEAAH!

AAAAGHH! AHHHHHH!

Noise erupted outside the door. The monsters had climbed even to the third floor. Their heavy bodies shook the building with each crash. The thunder shook Hoeun’s heart itself. But worse yet—worse even than the quakes—were the human screams.

“Wh-what about them…?”

The images flickered in his mind—the doctor and nurse who had treated Jung-woo, the many faces he had spoken to while asking after Jeong-i.

If possible, he wanted to bring them too. He couldn’t abandon those still alive.

But Seong-im shook her head slowly.

“….”

Hoeun’s chest sank hollow. To just… leave them? They knew well what would become of them—and still, they would leave them?

But there were no words to argue. If they didn’t leave them—what then? What could he do? His very life was in Seong-im’s hands, what power did he have to save others?

Despair burdened his lashes. Then Seong-im pointed to Jung-woo in his arms.

“….”

Afterward, she pointed at the door where screams pierced through.

“….”

And back at Jung-woo.

Her gestures were clear. Hoeun heard her silent voice in his bones:

“The only one we can save is Jung-woo.”

“We cannot save the others.”

“Try, and we risk losing even him.”

“….”

Hoeun bit his lip hard. The words were true. They were not abandoning the others—they were simply unable to save them. Their power was too small.

Still his chest ached, but strangely, not as much as before. For stronger than despair now was his will to save Jung-woo. If nothing else—if he was useless for everything else—he could at least manage this.

Seong-im took Jung-woo from his arms and nodded toward the window. He was to go first.

Hoeun leaned out. The blood-soaked rope of sheets swayed faint in the darkness. Below was only blackness; whether firm ground or bottomless hollow, he could not tell.

“….”

He swallowed again. His hands grasped the thick rope, but strength deserted them. He hesitated endlessly, while Seong-im simply waited, calm, glancing once in a while at the shaking door.

At last, Hoeun covered his face with one hand and muttered shamefully:

“I… don’t know how to go down. I’ve never… I’ve never done this before…”

His face burned. Surely she thought him pathetic. What kind of man is this? So useless, so pitiful. He could not meet her eyes.

But Seong-im merely tapped his shoulder, gestured him aside, and with one fluid leap bounded to the broken sill. Sheathed sword at her hip, Jung-woo held firm in one arm, she looped the rope once about her wrist and dropped swiftly.

“Seong-im!”

Hoeun peered wide-eyed out the window. She was sliding down the rope, pausing at each knot, slowing herself, then easing further, steadily disappearing into the dark. Soon the taut rope slackened with her release.

“….”

Hoeun craned long over the sill, staring into the black. Silent, she had no way to assure him of her landing. He simply waited, desperately, for some sign. She would send one, surely.

But time dragged. No signal came. His face paled more the longer he stared.

Were there monsters below? Had she fallen? Then why had Jung-woo not cried? Did something worse happen so quickly even his cries were cut?

And if so—then what of him? Alone now, in this hell…

“…Am I… left?”

He whispered, face bloodless. Fear carved his gut cold—unbearable at the thought of being utterly alone.

“…Seong-im?”

He called her name into the darkness, not believing she’d abandoned him. At that exact moment, the slack rope tugged tight—once, twice, three sharp pulls.

“Haa…”

Relief flooded like a tide, so fast his knees buckled. Nearly he toppled out of the window from the force of it. Yet the comfort was short-lived. Quickly unease returned.

It was his turn, now, to descend.

“….”

He turned once toward the storeroom door. The walls shook with the pounding of monsters, the door rattling in its frame. Screams swelled and faded like waves as people were hunted. Crash—thump—the building trembled with slaughter.

“….”

Hoeun bit down and set his lips tight. He did not want to go down. But he must.

He could not die. He dared not. Not because his life was precious, nor from fear of death.

His life was the life Seong-im had chosen over Gilsang’s. Because he was Taemuk’s guide.

It meant his life was tied to Taemuk’s own.

So he must not live for himself, but for Taemuk. For the people Taemuk would yet save.

“…Fuuh.”

Hoeun gulped one swell of breath and crawled onto the sill. Shards bit into his palms but he hardly noticed.

Like Seong-im, he knotted the rope around his wrist, gripped below with the other hand, eyes wide cold and unblinking, and swung out one leg into the air.

“About here… the knot should be…”

His toes swept the dark empty—then touched the first knot.

“Yes…”

His eyes lit faintly. He moved his other leg out—

“…Ah.”

And his body dropped, falling into the abyss.