LS Chapter 3 (Part 3)

In a life he still struggled to adapt to, Yujin found solace in only two things: moments like these, when he climbed the mountain to gather herbs and reminisce about his life in the Crimson Tribe, and the evenings when he delivered food to the warriors.

Recently, someone working in the kitchen had been injured, so Yujin was tasked with assisting there. His duties were simple—carrying food and washing dishes—but he looked forward to it all day.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, its orange hues signaling the approach of evening, Yujin secured his pouch and started walking back to the settlement.

Upon reaching the village, he headed straight to the kitchen. Spotting Aunt, who was bustling around giving orders, he asked, “Aunt, should I take these dishes out?”

“Yes, take them to the leader’s hut,” she replied without looking up.

“Understood.”

Balancing a tray of food piled high, Yujin made his way to the leader’s hut. He had overheard whispers of an impending battle with another tribe. Whether it was related or not, most meals had recently been held in the leader’s hut.

Inside, the leader sat at the far end, gnawing on a piece of meat, surrounded by warriors discussing something over the food spread in the center. From their talk of rituals and hunts, it seemed they were preparing for a major battle.

As Yujin scanned the hut, his eyes landed on Bart, seated toward the right. Without hesitation, he adjusted his path and walked over.

“I’ll place this here,” he announced, his voice deliberately loud as he knelt beside Bart and set the food down.

While gathering the empty dishes, he stole glances at Bart, who was calmly slicing meat with a small knife. His gaze lingered on Bart’s firmly set lips—lips that mirrored his disciplined and resolute nature.

Occasionally, Yujin imagined his name slipping from between those lips. Just once, he wished to hear Bart say his name. It was a foolish hope, and he knew it. But even that small acknowledgment would let him know Bart remembered him.

As Yujin stacked the dishes in a neat pile, he let his gaze rise slightly. He wanted to see Bart’s eyes—those calm, lake-like eyes that had always seemed to soothe his weary soul. No, to be more honest, he longed to feel the weight of Bart’s gaze on him, even for just a moment.

He wished he could linger longer, sitting beside Bart and studying his face. But Yujin swallowed his disappointment and stood up, knowing he couldn’t overstep.

“Should I bring more wine?”

Looking for an excuse to return, Yujin addressed Bart. In their private moments, Yujin spoke to Bart casually. But here, in the leader’s hut and with Bart now a direct warrior, he had to use honorifics. It was only proper. Still, the formal tone left a bitter taste in his mouth. It felt as though the distance between them was growing insurmountable.

Yujin didn’t explicitly call Bart’s name, but he waited, hoping Bart would respond. Instead, someone else answered.

“Refill it and bring it here.”

“Ah, yes.”

The response came from the scar-faced warrior sitting nearby—Apone. He was the same warrior who had unexpectedly helped Yujin before, though his unsettling demeanor always left Yujin uneasy. Apone’s gaze, in particular, sent chills down his spine.

While Yujin would have preferred if Bart had answered, he was somewhat glad for the excuse to reenter the hut. He took the empty wine barrel Apone offered but quickly realized Apone wasn’t letting go.

“I’ll bring it back after refilling it, so please let go of the barrel.”

“Your name is Yujin, right?”

“Yes?”

“Do you belong to a warrior yet? No? I didn’t think so.”

‘Belong to a warrior? What does that even mean?’

Confused, Yujin tried to pull the barrel away, but Apone’s grip held firm. His gaze raked over Yujin’s face, lingering in a way that made Yujin’s skin crawl.

Disgusted, Yujin hastily released the barrel, stepping back instinctively. He felt a shiver run down his spine, as if he could still feel Apone’s eyes crawling over the places they had touched. Before he could retreat further, Apone grabbed his wrist and yanked him closer.

“Don’t you understand what I’m saying? Or are you just pretending not to?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me… am I your first?”

A gleam of amusement flickered in Apone’s glossy eyes, making Yujin’s stomach churn.

“I don’t… understand what you’re saying…”

“Playing dumb, huh? That’s fine—I like a little noise. Keeps things interesting.”

Apone’s voice oozed with twisted delight, and Yujin felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

Apone’s lips curled into a sinister smirk, as if he had found a new plaything.

It seemed Yujin was the only one who didn’t fully grasp what was happening. The warriors sitting near Apone exchanged knowing glances and snickered, their eyes darting toward Yujin. The atmosphere was stifling, a mixture of unease and fear settling in Yujin’s chest. He desperately wanted to escape—not just the hut but Apone’s presence entirely.

“I-I’ll go get the wine,” Yujin stammered, attempting to excuse himself.

“A first, with a face like that. Unexpected,” Apone murmured, his voice dripping with a sickly amusement.

The realization of what Apone meant hit Yujin like a blow, and his eyes widened in panic. He tugged at his wrist, trying to break free from Apone’s iron grip, but it was no use. If anything, Apone only tightened his hold, pulling Yujin closer.

Desperation surged through Yujin as he braced himself, planting his feet to resist being dragged away. But his awkward stance made it impossible to find balance, and the strain on his wrist grew unbearable. Pain flickered across his face, but before he could say anything, a large hand suddenly intervened between them.

“The wine isn’t necessary,” said Bart, his voice low and firm.

Bart’s grip closed tightly around Apone’s wrist as he spoke, his sharp gaze fixed on Apone.

“This is none of your concern…” Apone began, his irritation evident. But the moment his eyes met Bart’s cold stare, his words faltered.

Just three days ago, Bart had made an example out of a boastful young warrior, gouging his eye out with a dagger. The memory of the boy’s screams still lingered in Apone’s ears. Fear crept into his expression as he begrudgingly let go of Yujin’s wrist, his lips twisting in frustration.

Freed from Apone’s grip, Yujin instinctively pulled back, cradling his sore wrist.

“Leave,” Bart said, his eyes never leaving Apone. “And don’t come back until you’re called.”

Though his words were directed at Yujin, it was clear that Bart’s command brooked no argument. Relieved, Yujin nodded hastily and replied, “Yes.”

He quickly exited the hut, his hand still throbbing from Apone’s hold. Glancing down, he noticed red marks encircling his wrist. As he walked back to the kitchen, he massaged the bruised skin absentmindedly.

Bart’s deep, steady voice echoed in Yujin’s mind. It was just as he remembered—calm, resonant, and unyielding, like the sound of wind in a deep cavern. Despite the severity of Bart’s tone, hearing it had filled Yujin with a quiet, inexplicable joy.

“At least I got to hear his voice today. That’s something,” Yujin whispered to himself, a small smile creeping onto his face.

But the smile faded as a thought struck him. He paused mid-step and turned to glance back at the leader’s hut.

‘Did Bart help me just now?’

“No… he probably doesn’t even remember me,” Yujin muttered, shaking his head.

Still, the faint hope lingered, and Yujin found himself staring at the hut, unable to pull his gaze away.

The “Blue Moon,” named for its association with the renewal of spirits, seemed to touch Yujin’s heart tonight. His chest fluttered, a rare sense of excitement filling him. Moments like this, fleeting yet profound, were what kept Yujin’s weary, burdensome life moving forward.

“Yujin! What are you doing? Get over here and help out!”

Aunt’s sharp voice jolted him back to reality. She stood at the entrance to the kitchen, glaring at him. Startled, Yujin finally tore his gaze away from the hut and hurried back to the kitchen, his steps heavy but his heart still faintly warm.

* * *

“Miron, how many do we need to catch at minimum?” Tu asked, checking the fletching on his arrows.

“Five,” Miron replied, tightening the straps on his saddle.

It was a custom in the Mounted Tribe to hunt a set number of animals before any battle, offering them to the shaman. The blood of the hunted beasts was sprinkled around the settlement, and rituals were performed to invoke victory in the coming fight.

“Five? That should be quick,” Tu remarked.

“Probably.”

While Miron and Tu discussed their plan to finish the hunt quickly and enjoy a break before the battle, Apone and his group were gathered nearby, laughing crudely and exchanging vulgar remarks.

“Apone, what’s going on with that kid you mentioned last time? Yujin, was it?”

“I’ve already figured out where he’s working. Lately, that brat’s been driving me crazy. That face, those pale skin tones—looks good enough to eat. Just imagining it makes me lose sleep. He’s probably inexperienced, which means he’ll be tight and just as delicious as I imagine. As soon as this hunt is over, I’m going for it.”

“He is pretty, I’ll give you that. Honestly, I’d believe it if someone said he was from the Garin Tribe. But are you planning to call him over before the battle? Think he’ll come if you do?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll drag him here. What’s the problem? Does he think resisting will save him? What’s he gonna do—”

Apone’s cocky boasting was cut short when a large horse passed directly in front of him, its hooves nearly clipping him. If he had been a step closer, he could have been kicked. Apone’s irritation boiled over, and he opened his mouth to curse loudly.

But the words died in his throat when he locked eyes with Bart, who was sitting astride the horse, staring down at him.

“I, uh… Bart, it’s just that, um…”

“…”

“S-sorry.”

In the end, Apone apologized. Only then did Bart calmly guide his horse past Apone’s group without a word.

“What a smug bastard, acting like he’s so much better than the rest of us,” Namta muttered, glaring at Bart’s retreating back from where he stood at the edge of Apone’s group.

But none of the others joined Namta in his complaints.

Despite being the leader’s son, Namta held far less respect than Bart, who was trusted deeply by the leader. Everyone knew that crossing Bart meant risking a deadly confrontation. Fights involving Bart didn’t end without bloodshed, and no one wanted to be the sacrifice.

While Namta continued grumbling, the other warriors ignored him and tried to defuse the tension by coaxing Apone to move on. They had no interest in provoking Bart further.

A loud, resonant horn blew in the distance, signaling the hunt’s official start.

Phwoooo-

The sound of the horn echoed, and the warriors spurred their horses, galloping forward with powerful strides. The ground trembled as the hunt began.

“Now!” Tu shouted, and Miron loosed his arrow.

Whoosh.

The arrow sliced through the air and embedded itself into the back of a beast. The animal stumbled and collapsed to the ground. Dismounting, Miron approached the fallen prey to finish it off. However, he noticed Bart suddenly turning his horse around, his gaze fixed on something beyond the trees.

“Bart, where are you going? We need to finish this!” Miron called out.

“I saw what I was looking for,” Bart replied curtly.

“What you were looking for?”

“Finish up with Tu.”

“What? Hey! Bart!”

Bart galloping off mid-hunt wasn’t entirely unusual, but the cryptic nature of his words lingered in Miron’s mind.

“Let him go, Miron,” Tu said, shrugging.

“It’s not the first time Bart’s wandered off during a hunt. Let’s just finish this one.”

Miron hesitated, but Tu was right—Bart’s behavior wasn’t new. Sometimes he would vanish and return with something like a wolf. Still, ‘what he was looking for’ felt strange. Miron brushed it off and refocused on the task at hand.

As the sun began to set, the distant sound of the horn signaled the warriors to regroup.

Back at the meeting point, Miron scanned the area for Bart, wondering if he had returned. But Bart was nowhere to be seen. Just as Miron debated heading back into the forest to search, he spotted Bart casually riding back on his horse.

“Bart, catch anything?” Miron asked.

Bart’s sword was stained with blood, proof he’d hunted something. Yet, there was no sign of prey. Miron craned his neck, trying to see what might be strapped to Bart’s horse.

“Did you lose it?” Miron asked, puzzled.

“No. I got it,” Bart replied flatly.

“Really? What was it?”

“Something that had been bothering me.”

The cryptic response left Miron with more questions. If Bart had gone out of his way to hunt something that bothered him, why hadn’t he brought it back? Despite his curiosity, Miron decided not to push further.

That day, the warriors collectively caught seven animals. The shaman expressed satisfaction, and the leader proclaimed that the Mounted Tribe would emerge victorious in the upcoming battle.

Apone, however, never returned from the hunting grounds.