83
After the Crying
Soon-gun could not stop crying for a long while.It was not breath that came first, but sobbing—a sound that seemed about to break, yet never quite did.A raw whine scraped out of his throat.He neither fell to his knees nor collapsed;he trembled on horseback, unable to move.
"Ha— ha—"
The harder he tried to breathe, the more tangled the sound became.Tears and mucus covered his face, his jaw chattering uncontrollably.His hands still would not release the spear.If he let go, it felt as though everything would fall apart.
Oh Jin-cheol dismounted and approached.He said nothing.He only took hold of Soon-gun's reins.
When the horse steadied, Soon-gun's body followed, little by little.The crying faded.
What came next was silence.
Soon-gun could not lift his head.His eyes stayed on the ground, his lips drained white.The tears had stopped, but his face was still wet.His breathing remained uneven, his shoulders twitching faintly.
He had been alone, charged by several enemies at once.Of course he had been terrified.He had nearly died.
Park Seong-jin stood beside him.He did not speak.This was not a moment for comfort or reproach.It was not the time after a fight, but the time that collapses before one.
Suddenly, Soon-gun lowered his spear.The sound of iron touching snow rang out sharply.
"I'm sorry…"
The voice was barely audible—less a sentence than a breath falling apart.
"I… I…"
He could not go on.If he opened his mouth, the crying would return.Head bowed, only the faint click of teeth colliding could be heard.
Oh Jin-cheol spoke briefly."You're alive. That's enough."
It was neither consolation nor absolution.Just a fact.
What could matter more than being alive?
For a conscript still so young, it was not an unusual moment.
In truth, the battlefield holds more crying than screaming.People cry because they're afraid,cry because they're in pain,cry because no one will treat them.
Soon-gun's shoulders finally rose and fell in one deep motion.This time, it was not a sob.It was breath—long and rough.He repeated it several times, exhaling hard.
Only then did he slowly lift his head.
Their eyes met.Shame came first.Later than fear, but deeper.
There was no emotion in Park Seong-jin's eyes.No judgment. No disappointment.That lack of expression made Soon-gun feel smaller still.
Soon-gun looked away.Then, almost inaudibly, he said,"I won't… do that again."
No one answered.
It was not a promise, but a resolve born of humiliation.The battlefield does not record such vows.It records only who survives.
Soon after, Huang Hyun-pil's signal came.The reconnaissance unit prepared to move again.
Soon-gun picked up his spear.This time, his hands did not shake.Instead, they felt heavier.
He knew what that weight was.He had just learned it.
As Park Seong-jin mounted his horse, he looked at Soon-gun once more.Soon-gun said nothing and did not raise his head.But he did not cry.
The snowstorm settled.What remained in the field was a fallen horseand a dark red stain spread across the snow.
Park Seong-jin pulled on the reins and halted.The hand that had released the bowstring still trembled faintly.He exhaled once, long and deep.
Oh Jin-cheol approached with his spear held upright.Blood clung to the spearhead, slowly dripping down.He left it as it was.
Their gazes met briefly.Silence passed between them in place of words.
Oh Jin-cheol's eyes flicked toward Soon-gun.Park Seong-jin gave the smallest nod.
Alive.
The tension drained from Oh Jin-cheol's shoulders.He planted the spear into the ground and pressed down once to steady himself.His hand shook for a moment—then grew still.
Park Seong-jin lowered his bow.As he loosened the string, he shook the remaining tension from his fingers.
Their eyes met again—this time briefly.Oh Jin-cheol turned away first.Park Seong-jin guided his horse toward Soon-gun.
No words were needed.They had seen it.They had stopped it.It was finished.
That was enough.
No one would call him a coward.In the same situation, I might have done worse.
After that day, Soon-gun spoke little.Almost not at all.
When the unit moved again, he neither advanced to the frontnor fell behind.He kept a fixed distance—about a horse's head and a half.He held that position.
When orders came, he nodded.When a hand signaled a change in direction, he moved.His replies were only as many as required.
"All clear."
That was enough.
At camp, it was the same.Even when seated by the fire, he did not hold out his hands for warmth.He rested them on his knees, as if warmth were unnecessary.
If someone joked, he did not react.He did not ask for laughter.When he raised his eyes, he watched the flames.When he lowered them, he checked his gear.
Eating was no different.The sound of a spoon was heard.The sound of chewing was not.He swallowed his food as if completing a task.
Someone asked, "You okay?"
Soon-gun nodded.There was nothing more.
Park Seong-jin considered speaking to him more than once—then stopped.
It was a matter of time.
Soon-gun's silence was not empty.It was too full for words to enter.
At night, even when seated near the fire,Soon-gun did not look at the flames.He looked into the dark—toward the plain where the snowstorm had ceased.
There was nothing left there.No fallen horse. No blood. No sound of ice.
But his gaze stayed fixed on that spot.
From that day on, Soon-gun made no sound in battle.He did not scream.He did not shout.
He seemed not to have lost his voice,but to have moved to a place where sound was no longer needed.
That silence layered itself, day by day.
It was not the silence of someone who refuses to speak,but the silence of someone who has already finished speaking.
As the silence grew heavier,Soon-gun's hands grew heavier.His gaze lowered.His steps became more precise.
No one asked him, "Are you better now?"
The battlefield does not ask about recovery.It looks only at survival.
Soon-gun was alive.
That was enough.
And he knew it better than anyone.