By Zephyria 
“The Captain has arrived.”
As Tae-muk entered the military tent with Ho-eun, the soldier guarding the entrance spoke. Inside the tent, which had been hastily erected at the lower end of the encampment, the people Tae-muk had rescued today were huddled together.
At Tae-muk’s appearance, those who were sitting or lying down all stood up to pay their respects. They spoke in a language that was unintelligible, but seeing their smiling faces and bowing heads, it seemed to be expressions of gratitude.
“…….”
Tae-muk received the greetings with an expressionless face. However, unconsciously, he shifted one foot slightly backward. It was because the profound gratitude made him feel awkward. He had saved so many people, but he still hadn’t adjusted to receiving such blatant gratitude. Beyond awkwardness, it was almost to the point of irritation.
Ho-eun placed a hand on Tae-muk’s back. He didn’t want Tae-muk to avoid the greetings, for he deserved to receive them.
“…….”
“…….”
Silence followed. It was an awkward silence. Since they couldn’t communicate, everyone—from the refugees to the Crimson Rain Brigade—could do nothing but let their eyes wander. Then, it was Ho-eun who first broke the silence.
“Um… I brought some snacks…”
He opened the pouch he was carrying. Inside, chocolates that sparkled like silver coins were piled high. Ho-eun began distributing them one by one, starting with the children. Fearing the misfortune of someone putting a chocolate in their mouth with the wrapper still on, he even peeled them one by one.
The eyes of the children who tasted the chocolate sparkled. The tent quickly became noisy with the sound of children laughing and chattering while waving the chocolates in their hands. Ho-eun also handed chocolates to the adults. The atmosphere softened in an instant.
Ho-eun’s beautiful face curved into a generous smile. He had felt this since leaving home, but in today’s world where living day by day is so grueling, there seemed to be nothing better than chocolate to win people’s hearts. The sweetness provided a momentary solace to exhausted bodies and minds.
Ho-eun gave the children one more chocolate each. Occasionally, if chocolate was smeared on a child’s mouth or cheek, he would wipe it away with a handkerchief.
Tae-muk stood with his arms crossed, watching Ho-eun’s back. A faint smile permeated his lips, though no one noticed.
“Excuse me, is there anyone here who can speak our language?”
Having completely emptied the chocolate pouch, Ho-eun asked the refugees. However, no answer returned. Though they whispered among themselves occasionally, they were merely trying to deduce Ho-eun’s question.
“It seems they don’t understand, right?”
Ho-eun asked in a small voice to the air.
“Yes. It appears so.”
Byeonguk, who was beside him, nodded. Fearing that the refugees might harm Ho-eun, Byeonguk had stayed by his side throughout the distribution of the chocolates. While he didn’t think the refugees had malicious intentions, he was preparing for any possibility.
“By any chance, Mr. Byeonguk, do you know what language they are using?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never learned a foreign language…”
Byeonguk shook his head as if troubled. Ho-eun let out a small sigh.
“The old man was also distressed because he couldn’t communicate…”
Tae-muk didn’t know, he didn’t know, Byeonguk didn’t know, and the old man didn’t know. What should be done? This was the encampment of the Korean Empire’s military, and they had work to do, so they couldn’t look after them indefinitely, and they could take them to a safe nearby town soon—there were so many things that needed to be conveyed.
It was just as Ho-eun was narrowing his brow, pondering a solution, when someone pushed through the huddle of people. It was a woman with long braided hair and cheeks flushed bright red from the cold. She was the woman who had been with her young daughter in the forest.
She approached Ho-eun, limping as if her leg were injured.
“Stop.”
Byeonguk quickly blocked her path. The woman stopped on the spot, whether she understood the words or simply sensed the intent, and instead, she slowly held out her hand.
Ho-eun looked at her over Byeonguk’s forearm. The woman stared at Ho-eun with a static expression, continuing to hold out her hand. Her open palm held no weapon or object of any kind. It was simply empty.
“Is there something you need?”
Ho-eun asked. But there was no way the woman could understand. She continued to hold out her hand. Ho-eun stared at the hand and then slowly held out his own, following her lead. At that, the woman took one step closer. Byeonguk frowned and blocked her again.
“It’s alright.”
Ho-eun stopped him. At that, Byeonguk reluctantly stepped back. However, he didn’t move far—only half a step. A distance where he could immediately intervene if anything happened.
“…….”
The woman gazed quietly at Ho-eun’s white hand and then poked his palm with her index finger. Ho-eun flinched in surprise but did not pull away. The woman locked eyes with Ho-eun for a moment and then began to write something on his palm.
“…….”
Ho-eun watched intently. The woman moved her finger for quite a while. It was a complex movement. And finally, when the woman withdrew her hand.
“What is this…?”
Byeonguk frowned, not knowing what it was. Ho-eun also didn’t recognize it immediately and blinked rapidly. He repeated what the woman had written in his head over and over, and then his eyes widened.
“Hangeul. This person just wrote in Hangeul.”
[We are Mongolians. Although our country has vanished, we could not abandon our hometown and continued to live there.]
The woman’s hand, holding a brush, carefully wrote the Hangeul characters. Ho-eun, sitting upright beside her, looked on with a surprised face. It wasn’t his first time seeing a foreigner speak Korean, but meeting one so suddenly was surprising.
“Wow, she writes well.”
“I think she writes better than I do.”
Gil-sang and Dong-ja, who had joined them, stood with their mouths agape. On the other hand, Byeonguk, who had been reading the text with a serious expression, asked in confusion.
“Didn’t Mongolia fall?”
“Just because a country falls doesn’t mean all the people living there disappear.”
“Pardon?”
“Dong-ja Noonim told me so once.”
Ho-eun smiled softly, looking at Dong-ja. At that, Byeonguk looked at Dong-ja with an expression that asked, ‘Does she actually say things like that?’ Dong-ja lifted her chin boastfully. Meanwhile, Gil-sang asked.
“But do they use Hangeul in Mongolia too?”
“No. The language they speak is different.”
Shaking his head, Ho-eun took the brush and neatly folded back his wide sleeve with his other hand. Then, he began to write with an impeccably straight posture. The brush moved swiftly and without hesitation, yet with neatness.
[Where did you learn Hangeul?]
The ink of appropriate thickness quickly soaked into the hanji paper and dried instantly. Seeing this, Gil-sang and Dong-ja admired it in unison.
“Young Master’s calligraphy is incredibly cool.”
“A young master is a young master. Truly elegant, truly elegant.”
“…….”
Tae-muk, standing a few steps behind, also looked at the characters Ho-eun had written with a pleased expression. It wasn’t as if he had only seen him write once or twice, but hearing others praise him made him feel strangely good.
Yes, a nobleman is a nobleman after all, he thought.
He had wanted to kill anyone who acted like a nobleman, but Ho-eun wasn’t hateful at all. His kindness in sharing chocolates, his gentle way of speaking, his always elegant and neat demeanor, and that upright calligraphy—it actually made him feel proud.
How did such a being become his Bondmate?
Tae-muk brushed his cheek, fearing someone might see the corners of his mouth constantly curling upward. The woman slowly wrote her answer. Being a foreigner, her handwriting was a bit clumsy, but not to the point of being illegible.
[I like novels from the Korean Empire. I especially like ‘The Tale of Chunhyang’ and ‘Okru-mong’. I studied a lot. So I can write, but speaking is still difficult.]
“Okru-mong…”
Ho-eun rounded his lips in a small ‘oh’ of fascination. The woman continued to write.
[Thank you so much for saving us. We have received a great kindness.]
Seeing this, Ho-eun wrote a reply.
[It is only right for a human to save another human. But why were you in that place?]
[Because of the monsters. A monster came to our village. So we had to flee.]
“Monsters…”
It seemed that in Mongolia, they called the Devouring Ghouls ‘monsters’. Looking at that word, Ho-eun suddenly realized something. They were people from another country. Perhaps they knew things about the Devouring Ghouls that they didn’t.
Ho-eun quickly took out his notebook. He spread out the drawings that had been tucked between the pages. They were drawings of the Devouring Ghoul’s tentacles.
[Which of these monsters came?]
The woman looked at them quietly and said something to the other Mongolians. Then, they crowded around, conversing noisily, and each pointed to the drawings with their fingers. However, they were all pointing to different ones. As Ho-eun slightly frowned, the woman wrote again.
[All of them were there.]
“…Pardon?”
Ho-eun was so surprised that he asked back verbally. It was such an unexpected answer. Then, he quickly wrote again.
[Do you mean all the monsters in these drawings were there?]
[Yes. All of them.]