Chương 191: Return, and the Returning Soldier

Yeongu tried to take the spear shaft apart, but it would not come loose. It had gone together easily, yet pulling it apart took strength. The force he had put into it while swinging the spear had jammed the pieces tight. He found himself wanting to make it again with some material that was both firm and flexible. So Cheol-un came running over.

"Hey, hey, why won't this come apart?"

"It must be defective."

"What do you mean defective? It worked fine before."

"Then perhaps the owner is defective."

"You little—""My apologies…" At the sound of the two bickering, those gathered around chuckled. What was the Ministry of War expecting from them? No one welcomed them. He had thought that if they fought hard on the battlefield, won, and returned, someone would receive them gladly. Yet that was not how it was at all. It felt as if that had been their business alone, and to everyone else they were nothing but unnecessary, cumbersome nuisances. Still, they had fought for the country…

Now he was only someone's opponent in a pointless duel. Nothing more than a spectacle.

"Phew. Let's just go." He had hoped General Park would quickly come out and say something, but no words came. The meeting must have been running long; there was no sign of anyone coming out of the Jungbang. He had already said he would quit… A personal matter concerning someone like him seemed to be of no concern to anyone. It would have been enough if someone had stepped out for a moment and pointed him in a direction, yet even after waiting for more than an hour, there was no response.

Perhaps because of the duel a moment ago, the people of the Ministry of War only glanced at him from afar. As if even the smallest human contact felt burdensome, they circled around him at a distance and passed by. He felt as though he had been left alone in the world. When he had come here before, he had not felt this way very much. No, it must have been the same then as well, but his mind had been too busy to notice. He had come with his comrades, so he had not had time to feel it.

People kept their distance from them. Because they had always been gathered among themselves, he had not felt it.

"Why does it feel like everyone is quietly avoiding us?"

"We must look unfamiliar. Wearing that much armor, they have likely never seen men armed like this." Yeongu sighed.

"Peace has lasted too long, hasn't it?"

"More than a hundred years."

"That's right. Even our war was treated as a small disturbance on the border…" Cheol-un, still unaware of Yeongu's mood, grumbled. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"They stare at us like we're something to look at. This place ought to feel like our own home, yet it feels strangely unfamiliar, doesn't it? As if we've come somewhere we shouldn't have."

"Let's just go." Waiting for the result of the meeting had worn him out. Yeongu turned away.

"You're on leave. Are you going home?"

"That's not right. I was told to stay right by your side…"

"I'm going home too." He sent off the reluctant Cheol-un and headed home alone. Perhaps because of his clothing, people kept glancing at him. There was wariness in their eyes. The wind cloak, battered by the rough winds of Liaodong, might have looked like a beggar's worn hood. It was, in its own way, an expensive and fine article, but to them it appeared strange. The easiest way to recognize difference is rejection. People naturally kept their distance.

He had not expected a welcome, but he had not expected this reaction either. It made him look back on what he had been fighting for all this time. Because he had believed he was fighting for the country, the feeling remained even more desolate. Three horses slowly left Gaegyeong Fortress. He stopped by an inn outside the city wall to get something to eat, but the people there quietly edged away. Once he got home, he would at least take off the armor.

"Please bring me gukbap and a bowl of makgeolli." The innkeeper gave a quick bow. Even so, her expression was softer than those in other places. Profit was involved.

"Have you come from far away, sir?"

"Yes. From beyond the border."

"Ah, then you've come a long way. This way, this way. Please sit here." She pointed to a small wooden platform in the corner. She was pushing Yeongu into the corner, afraid the other guests might feel uneasy. He could see her intent. Yeongu asked, "What about the horses?"

"Tie them anywhere you like." After soothing the horses, he tied them beneath a willow branch, in front of a place where fresh grass grew thick. He drank the bowl of makgeolli straight down first, and a sharp tingling spread through his stomach. It was cool and cold. Using the gukbap broth as a side dish, he drank one bowl, then another. His military life was over now. He should stop. He began to think about how he would live, then put the thought away. He had no certainty that he could do anything well.

He was tired of people. He was tired of the world. There were not many things a man could do after living for years on battlefields. He had sent things home over the years, so there would be no difficulty in making a living. For a while, it would be better to live without doing anything. The moment he tried to begin something, it felt as if everything would go wrong. He ate and drank alone in the corner, and people avoided him. No one tried to sit on the platform right beside him.

He told himself it was simply because he looked unfamiliar, but that was not the whole of it. It also came from the notions of clean and unclean that lived in people's minds. A man crossing the threshold swept his gaze across the inside, then stopped. The moment his eyes reached Yeongu, they trembled faintly. He stood there for a moment, then turned his body as if nothing had happened and went to the platform on the opposite side. The voices inside the tavern lowered.

The sound of spoons striking bowls suddenly came through with needless clarity. Someone lowered his head and scooped up rice, while only his eyes rolled sideways to steal a glance. When their gazes almost met, those eyes quickly dropped back to the soup bowl. A child approached, curious, only to be caught by an adult's hand.

"Go over there." At that brief command, the child shrank back and retreated. The woman who pulled the child away never once looked properly toward Yeongu. The innkeeper brought out the meal and stood one step farther away. The tips of her fingers hesitated slightly as she set the bowls down. The distance she kept, unwilling to come close, was clear. Wind seeped in. When the hem of his wind cloak lifted a little, a man seated opposite him quietly shifted to another place.

The movement was quiet, but its intent was clear. No one pushed him away openly. Yet no one came near him. That distance felt even larger. With nothing in particular to do, he emptied his bowl and filled it again. His eyes drifted far away. Beyond the end of his sight, they groped even toward a time that had not yet come. One side of his chest felt hollow. Regret and sorrow overlapped, sinking heavily together. If he had to give this feeling a name, it was loss. He could not clearly point to what he had lost.

He had merely set down the work he had been doing, yet it felt as if he had set down his entire life. At the place where the rope he had been holding had snapped, his body seemed to hang in empty air. Even as liquor ran down his throat, nothing inside him filled. There was nothing he could grasp with his hands. Only the fact that a road lay ahead remained, but its direction could not be seen. What should he do now? What could he live as?