BW C88

Chapter 88

“Good heavens, how can such a taste exist?”

“It’s truly divine, isn’t it?”

“To have eaten something so precious— even if I die now, I have no regrets.”

“Hey! Don’t you dare say such things, not before the Lord…”

“Ah! Forgive me! It was so delicious I forgot myself… Forgive me, Lord.”

A girl, clutching a small piece of chocolate reverently in both hands, bowed her head toward the crucifix hanging in the middle of the church, then giggled and nibbled on it again. Another girl turned toward Hoeun and asked:

“Milord, what was the name of this delicacy again?”

“Chocolate. It’s chocolate.”

Seated on one of the long pews, Hoeun answered gently.

“Ah, yes—chocolate.”

The girl repeated the word again and again, determined not to forget. Hoeun gave a faint smile. They had not eaten in two days, so he had emptied his pockets and given them all he had. To see them savoring it so was both endearing and heartbreaking.

He glanced aside. There, on the floor, Seong-im was rewrapping the bandage around Jung-woo’s injured calf. Lacking proper materials, she had torn strips from Jeong-i’s petticoat, still far better than the soaked wrappings before.

“Our poor Jung-woo—is he all right?”

Jeong-i, having only now discovered her brother’s wound, was still sniffling as she asked. Seong-im tightened the knot firmly and nodded. Even the deft twist of her hands reminded Hoeun of Gilsang—so much so that he had to hide a smile.

Soon Jung-woo settled asleep, pillowed against Jeong-i’s lap. Only then did she allow herself to nibble on a piece of chocolate—not from Hoeun’s pouch, but the piece Jung-woo had stubbornly kept hidden to give her.

About then, Seong-im came to sit beside Hoeun, laying her sword across the pew. Hoeun, still watching Jeong-i, murmured quietly:

“We saved Jung-woo, and now Jeong-i has saved us. Isn’t it strange how the world turns?”

Seong-im inclined her head faintly in agreement.

“….”

“….”

They lapsed into silence, merely watching the children. Yet Hoeun’s hands clenched tight, fingers numb cold.

The church was no warmer than outside—perhaps colder. The soaked stone belched icy dampness, like sitting within a house of ice. His body still drenched from rain, his jaw trembled without pause.

He rose, taking a candle from its holder. Perhaps walking, exploring, would stir some warmth.

BANG! THUD! CRRNG!

The monster still battered the fence. Hoeun had thought it might leave if food slipped from sight, but it hurled itself relentlessly against the barrier.

The girls seemed to have grown accustomed to the endless clamor, but unease gnawed him raw. He had seen the iron bend once already. Perhaps soon it might force its way inside.

So—they needed escape routes. Or a way to fight.

Hoeun cast the candle’s glow over the church again and again, searching—though for what, he hardly knew.

But the building was too plain. Just a massive rectangular box of stone. No armory, no storerooms, no secret doors. Not even a back exit. Only one door: entrance and exit both.

There were windows, yes—but set high above, hugging the roof. Perhaps Seong-im could leap, but the rest, the girls… unless wings sprouted from their shoulders, there was no way.

“….”

Hoeun pressed lips tight, circling, scouring every corner. He bent low, stood on tips of toes, poked the light into shadows. At some point, Seong-im drifted up behind him, grip tight on her sword.

“There’s no place to hide. If the creature breaks in, what then?”

Hoeun’s voice floated sadly as he idly flipped the brittle pages of a Bible, worth nothing more than tinder.

“….”

Seong-im narrowed her eyes briefly, then raised her scabbard with a shrug. Her look said clearly, Then I’ll kill it.

That face—so wry, almost playful—forced Hoeun to laugh. Strange to see her jest; strange too the thought that things must be dire indeed to bring that from her.

But then—fwip—

The candle sputtered out. Its wick spent. Gone. The last of the girls’ candles.

Hoeun stared vacantly at the curling ribbon of smoke. Such a tiny flame—but gone, it made the church seem all the darker, all the colder.

Turning faintly, he saw the girls huddled in a corner, shoulders pressed together, giggling softly over chocolate, folding little cranes from the silver foil, pretending the storm and beasts were not.

And Hoeun knew. They smiled not because they were carefree—but because they did not dare cry.

He, no stronger than they, understood well. And so, all the more, he ached for them to live. If they were to die here, it would be his fault. If he had not chosen this place, they might have survived elsewhere.

THOOM, KRRRSH, THOOM!

Still the monster battered the wall. At times it slammed with its skull, helm crashing loud against steel, and each blow seemed louder. Perhaps actually harder. Or perhaps it only seemed so.

“We should pile benches before the door.”

Hoeun set down the spent candleholder and moved. Seong-im followed, but he raised a hand.

“Stay. If it breaks in—you’re the only one who can fight.”

“….”

She hesitated—and stopped. Hoeun smiled faintly, touched the latch with trembling hands. Heavy, cold, reeking of rust, it seemed unyielding—but he knew little could be certain.

So he pushed a pew forward. Thick, heavy oak, enough for four bodies. It resisted him adamantly—but its weight reassured too. If he could barely budge it, how could the beast?

Groaning, wrists and ankles long past breaking point, he shoved. Then suddenly—it leapt easier. He looked up. Seong-im was pushing from the other side.

He almost told her to rest—but didn’t. He only smiled faintly, knowing her stubbornness now.

Together they piled four benches before the door.

“…We’ll help, too!”

“Just push, right?”

The girls rushed forth, tiny hands pressing. However small, it added, the benches stacking higher, tighter.

“….”

Hoeun could not describe what welled within him. But it was there—that mad, reckless hope that perhaps, yes, they could survive this.

He smiled, truly smiled, even as sweat ran cold. He had never worked so hard for anything in his short life—for nothing but sickness before. And yet, here he pushed with all his might.

But then—the sound. Or rather, the lack of it.

“Ah…”

Silence.

The monster’s battering ceased. No crash, no boom. Only the storm beyond.

Hoeun leaned forward, ear pressed to the door. Nothing. Just rain.

Had it gone? Given up? Forgotten them?

Perhaps it was simply not among the brighter of its kind.

Whatever the reason, blessing it was. A miracle—for the children, for him.

His face lit as he turned.

“It seems… it has gone.”

The girls gasped in relief, smiles breaking across their faces. Even Seong-im straightened loosely, resting her shoulders. Hoeun smiled at her.

And then—

BANG!

The iron door slammed with such force that Hoeun stumbled back flat onto the floor. The entire church thrummed heavy with the sound. The latch squealed against strain.

“….”

“….”

“….”

All froze. All stared.

And again—CRAAASH! The door shook furious, benches rattling in jerks, jittering like leaves before breaking storm.