TBML 20

With trembling hands, Yeon brushed the leaves off his leg and let out a sigh of relief, his face twisted in pain. At least the bottom of his trousers wasn’t soaked in blood.

He untied the cloth wrapped around his ankle and rolled up his pants to check it. It was hard to see clearly in the dark, but the pale skin of his leg was discolored at the ankle, swollen and dark. It didn’t look good. Yeon’s expression darkened like the sky above.

There was no way he could make it down a rainy mountain at night with this leg. And it wasn’t just the leg. Though not as bad as his ankle, his wrists and fingers ached, and the back of his head throbbed. His waist, too—whether strained or bruised, even the slightest twist made him groan.

He clenched his trembling hands together. It was a desperate attempt to steady his nerves that were shaking like his fingertips.

Tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks, but the steady rain washed them away just as quickly. Still, the salt from his tears stung the scratches on his face, leaving behind a faint pain.

Though he’d roamed the mountains often, this was Yeon’s first time truly stranded. Being timid and cautious by nature, he darted his eyes around the pitch-dark surroundings, searching for something—anything—to rely on. Scattered broken branches and debris littered the area, likely dragged down with him when he fell.

By some miracle, both his matchlock and the carrier with the deer tied to it were within reach, almost as if someone had neatly laid them there.

Terrified, Yeon forced himself to stay rational as he reached out and grabbed the matchlock first. The cold, solid barrel in his hand gave him a small but real sense of relief.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, his vision began to clear. The cold steel of the barrel had a strangely calming effect, anchoring his mind.

Steadying himself with effort, Yeon pushed himself upright and leaned against the large tree just behind him.

It was only five steps away, but as if proving just how fragile he felt, Yeon nearly collapsed the moment he took a step. As soon as his foot touched the ground, an intense pain shot up from his right ankle, sharp enough to make him bite his tongue. The strength drained from his leg instantly.

His knee buckled, and he almost toppled forward, but managed to catch himself by leaning heavily on the matchlock like a walking stick. Cold sweat poured down his face, mixing with the rain—he couldn’t tell which was which.

There was no way he could go down a mountain in the rain at night with this leg. Whether he stayed here or tried to move, the danger was the same—but if he tried to walk in this condition, he’d likely fall again, and who knows where he’d end up then. Next time, he might not come to at all.

Conflicted over what to do, Yeon couldn’t bring himself to decide. In the end, he used the matchlock as a crutch and sat down, resting his back against the large tree.

His jaw chattered from pain and cold as he looked around, driven by the thought that he had to do something. Among the scattered branches, he found the thickest, sturdiest one and placed it against his ankle. With no better option, he tied it tightly with a cloth as a makeshift splint. The ankle throbbed sharply as it was secured.

He clenched his teeth, swallowing a scream, and tightened the binding. Once the leg was firmly braced, even the tears that had been flowing so freely suddenly stopped.

The mountain at night was bone-chillingly cold. Rain only made it worse. Perhaps he should be thankful it wasn’t the dead of winter.

Though his body shivered like a poplar leaf, Yeon busily gathered the nearby leaves and tried to return himself to the position he’d woken up in—buried beneath them.

In a true emergency, one should change out of wet clothes, but he had no spare garments. Stripping in this weather would only bring a quicker death. He had gunpowder and fuses in his pouch, ready to light a fire, but the leaves and branches around him were all soaked—useless.

He needed something—anything—to stave off the cold. With trembling hands, Yeon piled leaves over his body and clutched the deer carcass hanging limp over the pack-frame.

It stank of blood and musk, but he had no room for nausea or disgust. The smell was something he was deeply familiar with anyway. The deer’s fur, bristly as it was in preparation for the coming winter, still did a decent job of blocking the chill. Clutching the carcass tightly in both arms, Yeon scanned the darkness around him with anxious eyes.

Every part of his body that had struck the ground now burned with heat. His arms and torso, wrapped around the deer, were flushed and hot—yet he shivered so violently that his teeth clacked.

He found himself wondering what good it was to survive like this, clinging so pathetically to life. But he didn’t want to die—not like this. Not in the cold, alone, terrified, and in pain.

Suddenly, he thought of his mother. She was alone. Had Du-soe tended the fire in the hearth properly? Would she realize something had gone wrong, now that he hadn’t returned? Even if she did, what could she possibly do? No one would come searching for him in the middle of a rainy night, somewhere in the depths of a mountain range no one even knew.

His nerves, already stretched thin, tricked him into thinking the pain had eased slightly. On a hopeful whim, Yeon tried to flex his toes—only to wince in agony. Not even close.

All he could do was cling to the dead deer and fight the cold, waiting for dawn. If any sign of people passed nearby—whether mountain patrol or a hunter—he would shout with all his might, “Please, help me!” That was the only option left to him.

Useless as he felt, the matchlock was just as useless in this moment—but still, Yeon hugged both the deer and the gun as if they were lifelines.

Whether he’d dozed off or blacked out, he wasn’t sure. He’d tried to fight the drooping of his heavy eyelids, but somewhere in that struggle, a patch of blankness covered his memory. He had no idea how much time had passed.

But there was at least one good sign—the steady drizzle had stopped.

Yeon adjusted his grip on the matchlock and the deer that had slipped down, then looked up at the sky once more. The stars were still completely hidden behind thick clouds. If only he could see a few stars—it might’ve made things feel a little better.

In the chilled air settling over the mountain, an owl hooted, followed by the caw of a crow. The noisy chirping of grass bugs suddenly ceased, and the leaves trembled as if issuing a warning. At some point, even the owl fell silent, and the crow let out an unusually long, kaaak, kaak cry.

Sensing the abrupt change in the forest’s atmosphere, Yeon slowly untied the straw mat wrapped around the matchlock and repositioned his grip. At that moment, the pattern of the leopard that had attacked him flashed through his mind. If the leopard reappeared now, while he couldn’t even flee, he was as good as dead. The tension that had loosened in his hazy state snapped taut again, and an unbearable fear surged through him.

“Haah…”

His breath trembled at the end of a long exhale. Holding the matchlock more firmly, Yeon peered into the darkness. Between the black brush, two yellow lights shimmered faintly. They flickered slowly, and something about that eerie, sickly yellow glow made Yeon’s breath catch.

Dragging his leaden body, he scooted closer to the base of the tree behind him and fumbled at his waist pouch, pulling out some gunpowder.

While he was distracted for a moment, preparing to load the gun, the flickering yellow lights vanished. Fireflies, maybe? Spirit lights? Either way, it was nothing more than Yeon’s desperate wish.

What fireflies move in perfect pairs like that? But he needed to believe that—if only so he wouldn’t start screaming like a madman.

Gripped by terror, Yeon quickly swung the muzzle of his gun around and scanned the surroundings. The lights had been flickering slowly on his left, but now they were on his right. His breathing grew ragged. The end of the matchlock, which usually stayed steady, began to tremble violently, and like a cornered mouse, he turned it this way and that, trying to aim.

Tense like a bowstring pulled to its limit, Yeon flinched at even the smallest rustle, pointing the gun—though he couldn’t even fire it anyway—at every sound.

The flickering lights that had been to the left were now on the right. From close by, then suddenly far away again. Like being bewitched, those two yellow eyes blinked and darted—east one moment, west the next. Pushed to his limit, Yeon finally forced out a voice. But just as he feared, the sound wouldn’t come easily. His mouth was parched, his throat tight as if stuffed with dry earth or caught on a grain of rice.

“…Is someone there?”

Of course not. What kind of person had eyes that glowed yellow like that? He knew it couldn’t be true, but still, he spoke—clinging to a sliver of desperate hope. His voice trembled so much it barely came out. Even if it were a person, they wouldn’t have heard him.

His small shoulders, holding the matchlock, shook pitifully. At the sound of his voice, a crow flapped its wings and soared through the trees. Startled, Yeon turned his eyes toward it—then quickly back to the yellow eyes that were still staring at him.

“Come out!”

No—that was wrong. If whatever had those eyes really showed itself, it would be worse. He quickly swallowed his words.

“N-no—no, don’t! Don’t come near!”

Was it trying to kill him with fear? Or were there more than one, surrounding him from every side? He couldn’t tell. Normally, even when scared, Yeon could keep his calm and not show it. But now, he was terrified—cold, and in pain. Just enduring this nightmare was already too much.

The unbearable tension dragged on. In the end, it was Yeon who gave up first. He no longer had the strength to keep the matchlock raised.

His ragged breathing turned into quiet sobs. Overwhelmed at last, he could no longer hold back the flood of fear—bursting like a broken dam.