LS Chapter 3 (Part 2)

The thought echoed in his mind, but it was quickly buried under the weight of his circumstances. Yujin knew better than to retaliate or complain. Doing so would only make things worse.

After a moment, he pushed himself up, dusted off his clothes, and silently picked up the broken bowl.

Getting hit like this was nothing new to Yujin. He was used to it. But getting struck by a warrior was a different matter altogether—it left deeper bruises and took much longer to heal.

“Stop it. It’s not like he did it on purpose.”

Startled, Yujin looked up. A warrior with a long scar running alongside his right eye had stepped in to defend him, intervening in the situation. It was unexpected, given how rough and violent most warriors were.

“You alright? I’ll deal with him, so head to the kitchen and bring back the right meat,” the scarred warrior said, his voice laced with a sense of superiority as if he were doing Yujin a great favor. When he smiled, the scar on his face contorted unnervingly. Though it seemed like a kind gesture, Yujin couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling.

Rubbing his throbbing wrist and cheek, Yujin bent down to pick up the fallen meat scattered across the ground and nodded.

“Haven’t seen you before. Did you just get assigned here recently?”

“Yes…”

“I see. What’s your name?”

“Yujin.”

“Yujin,” the warrior repeated, his gaze gleaming as though tasting the name. The way he looked at Yujin made him uncomfortable, prompting him to quickly add, “I’ll go get the dried meat now.”

“Alright, go on.”

‘Dried meat… There wasn’t much left yesterday. I wonder if there’s any still available.’

The Mounted Tribe warriors consumed a lot of dried meat due to their frequent horseback activities. Most warriors carried small pouches on their waists, which Yujin had recently learned were often filled with dried meat. Thinking back, Bart had once pulled dried meat from a similar pouch.

Yujin headed to the kitchen and explained the situation to Aunt. She handed him a small amount of dried meat.

“This is all we have. Let them know we’ll have more ready in a few days,” Aunt instructed.

“Understood.”

After bowing to her, Yujin left the kitchen. On his way back to the warriors’ quarters, a commotion caught his attention. He paused and turned toward the noise. A group of kitchen staff were accepting game from the warriors who had just returned from a hunt. Among them was Bart.

Since becoming a direct warrior under the leader, Bart had frequently gone on hunts and participated in battles. When Yujin was first told he’d be working in the warriors’ quarters, he had secretly been glad, thinking he might see Bart again. But Bart’s role kept him busy. Perhaps that was only natural for a promising warrior.

Yujin stopped in his tracks and watched Bart from a distance. With a load slung over his shoulder, Bart walked away with steady, heavy steps, like a mirage that might vanish at any moment.

Sometimes, Yujin dreamt of that moment at the creek when Bart had kissed him. In his dreams, Bart held him gently, smiled at him, and whispered his name before leaning in for a soft kiss. The memory of that rough, unfeeling kiss from reality had been distorted over time, reshaping itself into a tender moment in Yujin’s dreams—a cherished memory.

If he ever had the chance, Yujin wanted to ask Bart: ‘Do you remember me? You saved my life twice and kissed me at the creek during that sunset. Do you remember?’

Bart, who was mingling with the other warriors, briefly glanced in Yujin’s direction. It was only for a fleeting moment, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it kind of glance, but their eyes met. And that was all.

Then and now, Yujin’s days were filled with similar hardships. Yet, in this place, he could at least catch glimpses of Bart from time to time. And for the faint hope of another fleeting moment like this, Yujin foolishly waited for tomorrow.

* * *

“How is it? Tasty, right? I went out of my way to get this from the kitchen.”

“Well, it’s not bad.”

Tu fidgeted eagerly, like a child desperate for praise, while Tati answered with her usual indifference.

Miron, watching Tu’s shoulders slump in disappointment, shook his head. Tu practically worshipped Tati, following her around relentlessly. Except for when he was training or sleeping, he could almost always be found trailing behind her. It was pitiful, even tragic. Yet, Tati hardly acknowledged him, her attention always wandering elsewhere—usually toward Bart.

Today was no different. Tati left her spot without sparing Tu a glance, her gaze fixed on Bart the entire time.

“Damn it,” Tu muttered under his breath, turning to Miron.

“Hey, Miron, has Bart ever said anything about Tati?”

Even as he asked, Tu glanced nervously toward Bart in the distance, as though afraid of being overheard.

“Who knows? Bart doesn’t let anyone see what he’s thinking. But I do know this: Tati isn’t interested in you.”

“That’s not what I’m asking!”

“Just thought I’d mention it.”

“I already know that.”

Tu’s voice faltered, filled with defeat. Feeling sorry for him, Miron offered the answer Tu clearly wanted to hear.

“He doesn’t seem interested in her.”

“Really?”

“Have you ever seen Bart show interest in anyone? Tati’s no exception.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right. So, Bart doesn’t care about Tati?”

“Probably not.”

Relieved by Miron’s guess, Tu exhaled deeply, his tension visibly easing. Miron found his naivety frustrating but reminded himself that emotions were beyond reason and left it at that.

Tu liked Tati. Tati liked Bart. And Bart didn’t care about anyone.

From Miron’s perspective, Tati was a woman driven by misplaced ambition. Everyone desired good things, but most knew when to restrain themselves based on their circumstances. Tati, however, lacked such restraint.

It was likely due to her beauty. Tati was undeniably stunning. Warriors who would gladly fall at her feet and worship her with just one smile were plentiful in the tribe. Yet, Tati wanted Bart.

“She may not be all that warm to me now, but once I climb the ranks as a warrior, won’t things change? By then, even I might…” Tu trailed off, suddenly distracted. “Wait—hey, isn’t that the guy Apone’s been keeping around for a while?”

Miron followed Tu’s gaze. Sure enough, the person Tu pointed at was a commoner Apone had been keeping close recently.

“Is he dead?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Not yet, anyway.”

Apone was notorious for his brutal tendencies and his preference for men. Most who spent the night with him ended up permanently damaged, unable to walk or left abandoned, half-crippled. Those who weren’t ruined physically were often beaten to death. The man being dragged away now had thighs and buttocks soaked in blood, his once-handsome face swollen and bruised beyond recognition.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just kill him? He probably won’t last long like that.”

“Maybe.”

The two exchanged looks but said nothing more, silently acknowledging the grim reality of the situation. There was no point dwelling on the fate of a man who was already as good as dead.

In the Mounted Tribe, people died for all sorts of reasons—beaten to death, stabbed during training, falling from a horse and breaking their neck, or succumbing to illness. Yet, there was no sympathy for death here.

If it wasn’t your own or someone you cared about, it simply didn’t matter.

Tu quickly lost interest in the man being dragged out of the settlement and discarded beyond its borders. Instead, he headed in the direction Tati had disappeared.

Miron, deciding to sharpen his dull blade, made his way to the armory. As he approached, he overheard voices.

“I want the jeweled dagger from this round of spoils. Do you think I’ll get a chance to pick it?”

“Who knows? Unless the direct warriors leave it untouched, we won’t have a shot at it.”

“True…”

“What about you, Namta? Don’t you get first pick of the spoils?”

One of the warriors, gathered in small clusters, directed the question at Namta. He responded with an arrogant tone.

“Of course. Who else would get first choice if not me, the leader’s son and a direct warrior?”

“Exactly. That’s why you were assigned as a direct warrior faster than anyone else, right?”

Hearing their empty chatter, Miron decided it wasn’t worth staying near them. He turned and headed toward the training grounds where Bart was.

Everyone knew Namta didn’t have the qualifications to be a direct warrior. On the first day of training, after being assigned as one, Namta had struggled to keep up. The leader’s frustration boiled over, and he hadn’t been able to suppress his anger.

While it was clear that Namta’s position was a result of his father’s influence, no one openly discussed it. As the likely successor to the leadership, Namta’s temper wasn’t something anyone wanted to provoke. Still, Miron didn’t have the patience to listen to their nonsense.

“Bart, what have you been staring at this whole time?”

As expected, Bart was standing in the training grounds, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. Curious, Miron followed his gaze.

Far off, a small, slender man was crouched on the ground, seemingly absorbed in something.

‘Who is that? He looks familiar…’

The man was petite and thin. Miron glanced around to see if Bart might have been looking at someone else, but there was no one else near the small man. The man was intently staring at a frog on the ground.

‘What’s he doing? Is he trying to catch it?’

The man hesitantly extended a finger toward the frog.

‘What’s with him… Oh, he’s scared.’

As soon as his finger brushed the frog’s back, it jumped high into the air.

The pale-faced man hadn’t expected it, and with a startled yelp, he fell backward, landing hard on the ground. He placed a hand over his chest, clearly shaken, and stared blankly at the frog as it hopped away.

Miron was about to mock Bart for watching something so ridiculous but stopped short.

Bart was smiling.

Miron froze. He had trained and lived alongside Bart since they were old enough to walk, sharing the same hut and enduring the same drills for over 20 years. In all that time, not once had Miron seen Bart smile. The closest thing had been a smirk or a derisive laugh directed at an opponent. But now, Bart was smiling—a genuine smile—at the small man.

“Do you know him?” Miron asked, breaking the silence.

“…”

“He’s a pretty one for a guy. Is he working in the warriors’ quarters? I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“…”

“I bet Apone and his kind would be drooling over him. Speaking of which, Apone was bragging recently about finding someone he liked. Could it be that guy?”

“Apone? You mean the one with the scar near his eye?”

It was an idle, thoughtless comment, but Bart’s reaction took Miron completely by surprise.

Bart, who had been intently watching the small man get up, brush himself off, and walk away, turned to Miron with an unusually sharp tone.

“Apone is eyeing Yujin?”

‘Yujin? Is that the name of the frog-chasing guy? Wait… Is Bart angry?’

Although Bart’s voice was flat and emotionless, a cold undertone made Miron uneasy. Scrambling to explain, he blurted out, “No, I just heard something in passing. Yesterday, Apone was boasting about finding someone new he liked. But today, I saw him toss out the guy he’d been keeping before. So, I just thought—maybe the new one is that guy.”

“…”

Bart’s brow twitched slightly, and Miron quickly added, “I’m not sure, okay? Apone didn’t name anyone specifically.”

“Is that so? Then why did you think Yujin might be the one?”

“You know how Apone is. He only goes after the pretty ones.”

And he’s violent, too.

But Miron didn’t dare say the latter aloud.

Bart seemed to mull over Miron’s answer for a moment, his expression returning to its usual unreadable state. Sensing an opportunity, Miron decided to change the subject.

“Bart, I’ve got news.”

Glancing around to ensure no one was listening, Miron handed Bart a rolled piece of leather.

“Anything about the request?”

“They’ve secured a merchant who trades in the north. We should be able to gather information through him.”

“Good. Keep looking into it.”

“Is it even real? They say the snow there never melts year-round. Are you sure anyone actually lives beyond the White Snow Tribe? Even the merchant said he didn’t know of any tribes past them.”

“It’s real. Keep digging.”

“Understood.”

“And find out more about the White Snow Tribe’s situation,” Bart added.

“Like what?”

“Their number of warriors, details about their leader’s family, and their relationships with neighboring tribes.”

Having issued his orders, Bart gave a fleeting glance toward Yujin, still visible in the distance, before walking off.

Miron watched Bart’s retreating figure, deep in thought.

‘Tu likes Tati. Tati likes Bart. And Bart… seems interested in Yujin. So, who does Yujin care about?’

* * *

“Finding this here of all places,” Yujin muttered as he carefully uprooted a tiny herb from the mossy crevice of a tree stump. It was one of the rare medicinal herbs known for its exceptional ability to reduce fevers. Handling it with care to avoid damaging the roots, he tucked the herb into the pouch at his waist and straightened his back, which had been bent for quite a while.

Behind the warriors’ quarters was a low mountain. Yujin had started climbing it during his breaks, and one day, he realized it resembled the herb-rich mountains that surrounded the Crimson Tribe. Since then, he spent every spare moment collecting herbs here.

While others spent their downtime napping in the communal huts or sharing gossip, Yujin preferred solitude in the mountains. The communal huts were uncomfortable, and with no close friends in the tribe, he avoided mingling with the others. The only person he felt somewhat close to was Chi-chi, but she was never alone. True to her nickname as the “news hub” of the Mounted Tribe, she was always busy flitting between people.