By Zephyria 
“Captain.”
“Captain!”
“Captain, you’ve arrived.”
“Captain. You’re a bit late today.”
“Captain, please eat.”
Ten years had passed. In that time, the Crimson Rain Brigade had grown into the strongest unit in the Korean Empire in both name and reality, and Tae-muk, just as he had for the previous ten years, had to roll in the dirt with Devouring Ghouls, blood, and the corpses of others on the battlefield.
Thanks to that, he had become a general, and his appearance had changed to the point where no trace of boyhood could be found, no matter how hard one looked.
“Goodness, look at all that blood you’re covered in again. Leave your uniform behind. I’ll wash it for you.”
“…….”
Without a word, Tae-muk took off his blood-soaked uniform. In that moment, a hot stream of liquid flowed from his eye. Tae-muk quickly wiped it away. Bright red tears of blood stained his hand. He felt a burning sensation in one eye; it seemed to have burst again.
Fearing someone might see, Tae-muk discreetly covered his eye with his hand as he headed toward his military tent.
With every step he took, countless soldiers bowed their heads or bent their waists in greeting. Tae-muk did not bother to acknowledge each greeting individually. He simply walked straight ahead.
Soon, Tae-muk entered his tent. Unlike the outside, the spacious tent was quiet, wide, and empty.
As he slowly scanned the space, Tae-muk suddenly lurched violently, as if a spear had been driven into his back.
“Kh….”
Clutching his chest, he hunched his back. He gasped for breath in that position for a while before limping toward a crude wooden chair. He collapsed into it with a thud. His waist bent forward, and his neck slumped down as if it might fall to the ground.
“Fuck….”
Since becoming an adult ten years ago, an unbearable amount of pain began to surge whenever he used his power.
Previously, after a skirmish in battle, he had felt his body grow hot and experienced a burning sensation on his skin, but it had never been like this. Now, he could barely even hold himself up. His vision blurred, his brain throbbed, and a sensation of fire ignited in his bones and flesh. Things like his eyeballs or fingernails would crumble on their own and then regrow.
That wasn’t all. His strength was gradually waning. Tearing the head off a Devouring Ghoul was still effortless, but crushing one with his bare hands had become difficult. His movements slowed, the speed at which his wounds healed decreased, and he often felt sudden, unexplained chills or heat.
Sometimes, he even rampaged like a mad beast. He would throw, break, and tear everything he could get his hands on. Moreover, there were times when he couldn’t even properly remember such actions.
“Haa….”
Tae-muk wiped his face with a trembling hand. The feeling of one eyeball being sunken in was utterly grotesque.
Lately, Tae-muk could feel with his entire body that the wick of his life was running low. Just as blazing firewood turns to charcoal and eventually burns out completely to become useless, that time had come for Tae-muk.
The reason was clear.
It was because he had no Bondmate.
He had heard the rumors that a God of War without a Bondmate would eventually die. No matter how strong or healthy they were, they were destined to meet their end. It was said to be the price for using their power….
He didn’t find it particularly scary or unfair. He had used his power for twenty years, remained unscathed despite being torn apart, and stayed perfectly fine while the Lieutenant Colonel and many other soldiers died; it seemed only right to pay such a price.
However, he was worried about what would happen after he died.
What would happen to the soldiers who looked only to him? What about the unit, and the Devouring Ghouls, and—though it might be an excessive concern—what about the country?
“…….”
Covering half of his face with one hand, Tae-muk looked at the pile of general’s epaulettes stacked on a nearby desk.
Because Tae-muk tore through so many uniforms every time he went into battle, his subordinates had reached the point of ordering a hundred epaulettes at a time. Thanks to that, dozens of those precious and prestigious general’s epaulettes lay scattered haphazardly across the desk.
Looking at them, Tae-muk wiped his face again. Dried blood crumbled and fell away like powder. Just as he was shaking his hand in annoyance at the flakes clinging to his skin like fleas—
“Captain.”
A familiar voice sounded from the front of the tent. Tae-muk’s shoulders flinched. In the past, he would have noticed the approach immediately. Now, he hadn’t even heard someone standing there. It seemed the end truly was not far off.
“Come in.”
Tae-muk replied, smoothing out the furrow in his brow that had been distorted by pain. He buried himself deep into the back of the chair and straightened his waist. As if nothing had happened. As if he felt no pain whatsoever. He did it quite well, despite missing an eye.
Soon, the owner of the voice entered the tent and bowed. It was Byeonguk.
“What is it?”
Tae-muk asked in his characteristically indifferent tone. At that, Byeonguk instinctively took two steps closer, but upon seeing Tae-muk’s face, he quickly lowered his gaze. Then, as if he had seen nothing, he spoke in a clear, neat voice.
“I am told that new recruits have arrived in a nearby town. They are individuals who volunteered to join the Crimson Rain Brigade. Would you like to go see them?”
“…….”
Tae-muk scratched his eyebrow. Recruits….
Under the laws of the Korean Empire, anyone who manifested as a God of War was required to become a soldier. Consequently, a significant number of people became soldiers every day, and many of them flocked to the Crimson Rain Brigade. Of course, they were mostly commoners or low-borns. Nobles often hid it even after manifesting as a God of War.
That didn’t mean the leaders of each unit were commoners or low-borns. They were all nobles. While there were occasionally nobles who were Gods of War, most were ordinary people. They were either those seeking to bring honor to their family name through merit, those who lacked the intellect for social advancement and became soldiers as a last resort, or simply those mad for blood.
Perhaps that was why. Recruits often chose the Crimson Rain Brigade because they didn’t want to be under a noble. Thanks to that, the Crimson Rain Brigade was able to gather skilled Gods of War while simply sitting still.
Because Tae-muk was not a noble, the Crimson Rain Brigade became the best unit in the Korean Empire. It was a ridiculous thing.
“No. You handle it, Byeonguk—cough….”
As he spoke while shaking his head, Tae-muk let out a heavy cough. Blood surged up violently. There was so much of it that it filled his mouth and burst outward. Quickly lowering his head, Tae-muk poured the blood onto the floor.
“Ha, fuck….”
After coughing a few more times, Tae-muk wiped his blood-stained lower face with an annoyed expression. His palm was completely covered in bright red liquid. He stared at it. It was his own blood, which he saw all the time, yet the texture and color felt strangely unfamiliar.
“…….”
In that moment, cruelly, Tae-muk thought of his father and mother. He didn’t know why he suddenly remembered them, whose faces were now a blur. He wondered if it was because the day he would meet them again was drawing near, when—
“……The Fate Festival will soon be held in Hanyang,” Byeonguk said.
For a moment, Tae-muk’s breath stopped. After remaining frozen for a while, he shook the blood off his hand and replied.
“I’m not going.”
“Captain.”
“Even if I go, they won’t be there.”
“You never know.”
“They haven’t appeared until now; why would they appear now?”
“Since they haven’t appeared yet, they will likely appear now.”
Tae-muk let out a short, mocking laugh at Byeonguk’s purely hopeful words. Leaning his back further into the chair, he looked at Byeonguk askew. He realized that Byeonguk had grown a lot. Or rather, should he say he had aged? He used to have the air of a youth, but now he was a sturdy man.
“Do you know how old I was when I became a God of War?”
“I believe you were eight years old.”
“Right. Since I manifested then, my Bondmate probably did too. Unless there was a major problem with their body, they would have manifested.”
“…….”
“But they haven’t appeared yet. I’ve been to the fucking Fate Festival eighteen times, and they weren’t there. What do you think that means?”
“…….”
Byeonguk narrowed his eyes but did not answer. His expression suggested that he dared not utter such an impious thought. So, Tae-muk spoke it for him in a caustic tone.
“It means they’re dead.”
Byeonguk immediately countered.
“That cannot be.”
“What do you mean it cannot be, you brat?”
“No. That cannot be. They must be out there.”
Byeonguk firmly denied Tae-muk’s words.
“…….”
Tae-muk’s eyes narrowed. Byeonguk never rebelled against his orders, but whenever it came to the Bondmate, he became sensitive and occasionally even arrogant.
Tae-muk didn’t find it offensive so much as pitiful. Because he knew why Byeonguk acted this way.
He was likely afraid. Afraid of what would happen to Tae-muk. That is, afraid that Tae-muk would end up dying because he never found his Bondmate.
“…….”
Tae-muk turned his head as if deciding to stop talking. He then snatched a cigarette from the table and brought it to his lips. His massive back rose and fell irregularly. Occasionally, bunched muscles would bulge out as if they were about to pierce through the skin, then subside. Whenever that happened, the corners of Tae-muk’s eyes twitched slightly.
He didn’t care about dying, but this goddamn pain was incredibly annoying. Couldn’t he just die in one shot?
While he was casually entertaining such tragic thoughts, Byeonguk stepped half a pace closer.