Chapter 49

The second day on Mount Gaema had officially begun.

Wondering whether the order to remain in bed until breakfast arrived was an official command from a platoon leader or merely an affectionate request, Myeong-joo debated for a moment before deciding to wait quietly; wandering out would serve no purpose anyway. Before long, he drifted off into a light doze, only to be awakened by a familiar voice calling from beyond the canvas.

When he sat up, Sergeant Yun Ji-gwan, who had escorted him all the way here, was standing just inside the entrance.

“From now on, this kid here will be helping you out, Sergeant.”

Behind Yun Ji-gwan stood a young boy holding an army mess tray. Scarcely seventeen at most, the youth had a mop of unruly hair and thick, prominent eyebrows. He looked entirely too young to be stationed at a forward combat outpost.

“Greetings, sir! My name is Han Deok-chul! I come from lowborn stock, but I am a hard worker!” the boy barked at the top of his lungs.

To think there was yet another youngster still clinging fast to the Yangcheon class system that had been abolished ages ago. Why is everyone around me so obsessed with distinguishing nobles from commoners?

Unable to suppress an ambiguous smile, Myeong-joo looked over Deok-chul. Nailed to the oversized uniform was the insignia of a Private. Glancing over the insignia, Myeong-joo adopted a stern expression.

“Private, as far as I am aware, this is an active military combat base.”

“Private Han Deok-chul! Yes, Sergeant, you are correct!” Deok-chul hollered like a startled duck, his face flushing crimson with sheer panic.

Finding the display both endearing and pitiful, Myeong-joo found his voice softening despite his original intention to sound fierce. “Are you planning to commit insubordination by fussing over social status in the middle of a war? What, would you point fingers at an officer of slave descent and demand how a butcher’s brat dares give you orders?”

“N-N-No, absolutely not, sir!” Deok-chul stammered in sheer terror.

“Th-Th-Then stop stammering and put that tray down at once.”

At Myeong-joo’s command, Han Deok-chul set the tray onto the table with stiff, trembling shoulders, shivering in terror as though convinced he had committed a capital offense. Standing quietly beside him, Yun Ji-gwan arched an eyebrow at the spectacle before meeting Myeong-joo’s gaze. Myeong-joo gave him a subtle, conspiratorial wink with one eye. Catching the unspoken jest, Yun Ji-gwansmothered a chuckle and offered an amused nod.

“Don’t let me hear another word about being lowborn. Do you understand, Han Deok-chul?” Myeong-joo scolded sternly.

“Y-Yes, sir! Understood, sir!”

So pumped with desperate discipline was the boy that his voice cracked in a comical screech. Yun Ji-gwan had turned away completely, his shoulders quivering as he muffled his snorts.

Chuckling at the boy’s earnestness, Myeong-joo turned his attention back to Sergeant Yun. “I could have simply stepped out for breakfast myself. You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble when you’re already so busy.”

“Not at all. The platoon leader specifically ordered me to see to your comfort without fail. More importantly, eat quickly. Mount Gaema’s wind has quite a temper, and your food will turn cold in seconds.”

“Yes, thank you,” Myeong-joo replied warmly.

Nodding his gratitude, Myeong-joo walked over to the table and asked Sergeant Yun Ji-gwan if he had eaten yet. When Yun Ji-gwan confirmed that he had, Myeong-joo turned to look at Deok-chul.

Deok-chul cut a truly ragged figure. Though dirt-smudged, his hollowed cheeks revealed the sunken gauntness of someone who had starved for far too long despite still being a boy. Likely having volunteered for military service simply because surviving outside had become unbearable, he appeared to be an ordinary conscript rather than a Harmonizer or an Aberrant. For him, performing odd menial chores around camp in exchange for three meals a day was more than enough.

Driving the demonic fiends all the way to Mount Gaema had spared the heavily populated city of Seowon from terror, but for the local inhabitants here, daily life had grown steadily harsher. Misfortune had become the ordinary currency of the region, each family carrying its own tragic tale. It was plain as day that Deok-chul had drifted into the army along that very same current.

“Han Deok-chul.”

“Private Han Deok-chul, sir!” the boy snapped.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Not yet, sir!” Deok-chul barked rigidly, his posture stiff with military tension.

Smirking faintly, Myeong-joo gestured with his chin toward the empty chair across the table. “The portion is rather generous; why don’t you help me finish it, Private?”

“P-Pardon…?”

As Han Deok-chul stammered in utter bewilderment, Yun Ji-gwan firmly pressed down on the boy’s shoulders, pushing him into the seat opposite Myeong-joo. Cornered by the joint conspiracy of two Master Sergeants into dining at the same table as his superiors, all color drained from Deok-chul’s face.

“Well then, Sergeant, I shall take my leave,” Yun Ji-gwan said with a grin. “Once you finish eating, Deok-chul will give you a tour of the camp.”

“Yes. Thank you for your care, Sergeant.”

Returning the farewell with a warm smile, Myeong-joo watched Yun Ji-gwan depart before turning back to urge on the petrified boy.

Nudging a pair of chopsticks toward him, Myeong-joo urged, “Are you planning to hold a memorial service over the food? Eat up.”

“I-I shall eat with gratitude!”

Stiffening further at hearing himself addressed with the dignified military term of Private despite his lowly self-image, Deok-chul’s hand trembled visibly as he scooped up food from the tray. Since there was only one set of utensils, Myeong-joo gave the spoon to the boy and picked up the chopsticks for himself.

Watching him awkwardly yet eagerly shovel the food down brought Myeong-joo’s younger siblings back in Seowon to mind. Were they eating well? Was their room warm enough? Was Myeong-hui doing her vacation homework properly? Worry tugged at his heart. Recalling how she had struggled to adjust to having a new older brother right up until the wedding day, Myeong-joo remembered her pale, fair face as she chirped, brother-in-law, brother-in-law, after he had told her she could simply call Yi-tan that instead.

Thereafter, the meal proceeded in silence. Even while sitting stiffly, Deok-chul ate with crisp military decorum, serving as a veritable paragon of soldierly conduct, and Myeong-joo was never one to talk much over food anyway.

Before long, their brief breakfast alliance came to an end. Even as terrified as he was, the boy’s ravenous hunger had kept his spoon moving at lightning speed. Yes, I knew you were starving. Watching Deok-chul, Myeong-joo recalled his own childhood when, half-crazed with hunger, he had spent his hard-earned coins on five packets of ramen, devouring them all at once only to double over in agony from indigestion. Back then, starvation had been a constant companion, and choking down food in desperate haste had frequently left him clutching his breastbone and rolling across the floor. He, too, had run about with sunken, hollowed eyes to earn food and milk powder for his younger siblings, so he understood Deok-chul’s circumstances without needing any explanation.

“It seems to suit your palate,” Myeong-joo observed with an amused smile.

“P-Pardon…?”

Deok-chul failed to catch the jest, blinking with a dazed, uncomprehending expression. Belatedly realizing that he had devoured all of his superior’s breakfast, the boy turned pale as a sheet; yet Myeong-joo was genuinely grateful. Rations were scarce on the front, and someone had gone through the trouble of preparing him hot food, yet his uneasy stomach had troubled him all morning. Rather than offering formal thanks to the kid who had saved him from wasting the meal, Myeong-joo simply asked him to guide him around the camp.

“Yes, sir! I’ll hurry and return the tray!” Deok-chul shouted in his thick northern accent.

“All right. Let’s see just how fast you can run.”

As the boy’s lingering tension eased, a bit of Hamgyeong dialect had slipped out, and mimicking it in good humor drew a startled squeak of fright from the kid. Chuckling heartily, Myeong-joo gave him a reassuring pat on the back while the boy stared blankly in bewilderment.

“What are you dawdling for? Hurry back,” Myeong-joo urged.

“Y-Yes, sir!”

Only then did Deok-chul tear his eyes away, hastily snatching up the mess tray and scrambling out of the tent.

Before the boy returned, Myeong-joo finished brushing his teeth. Unsure of just how severe the cold outside would be, he layered a military field jacket over his padded cotton tunic and waited near the tent entrance. Soon enough, the young soldier came scurrying back through the snow, his frost-reddened cheeks flushed and his nose sniffling. Smirking faintly, Myeong-joo stepped out to meet him.

“Ah, aren’t you freezing dressed like that, sir?!” Deok-chul cried in alarm.

“I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

Though his attire might be considered slightly light for wandering this freezing plateau, the brisk air would help sharpen his hazy mind. Thanks to Yi-tan steadily siphoning off harmonization from yesterday evening through morning, the violent churning within his core had quieted, yet the prolonged suffering he had endured still left him in a daze whenever he found himself alone.

The physician had warned that even with regular release, the rate at which his energy accumulated remained dangerously rapid. Remembering how swiftly Myeong-in had passed away after the onset of the condition, his sister must have suffered an equally terrifying accumulation rate. At least Myeong-joo had Yi-tan to draw the energy out; imagining the horrific agony she had endured without such salvation wrung his heart with unbearable sorrow.

“Over there is the medical tent, and that building is the washhouse. For defensive fortifications, there are trenches and machine-gun emplacements, mostly positioned near that watchtower over yonder,” Deok-chul explained, pointing toward a distant tower.

Nodding as the boy pointed out the distant watchtower, Myeong-joo walked alongside him. The soldiers bustling between the canvas barracks carried an air of measured alertness without overt panic. For men stationed on the front lines, their complexions looked reasonably robust, which came as a relief. Ordinary infantrymen assigned to artillery and machine guns stood vigilant watch around the ammunition depot and armory, wary of stray sparks in the dry, freezing air. Quite a few soldiers who appeared to be Aberrants walked past as well.

Watching them pass, a sudden doubt struck Myeong-joo. “Demonic fiends appeared at the mountain foot at dawn, and the platoon leader rushed out to deal with them.”