MNP Ch1

The days grew shorter, and a cool breeze enveloped the village. It was the time when trading parties returned and hunters began their hunts.

The harsh sunlight of just days ago was now obscured by hazy clouds. As the terrible heat faded, a chilly winter quickly arrived. Even after over a decade, the weather here remained impossible to get used to. Seokha adjusted the basket slung over his shoulder and took his place at the end of the long line of people. He greeted nearby villagers as he slowly moved forward with the shrinking queue.

“Seokha, why are you here?”

“Hello.”

He handed the empty basket to the warehouse uncle.

“The teacher asked me to pick up on his behalf.”

“I see. You’re working hard.”

The uncle asked if there was any trouble this time as he checked the apples for bruises before placing them in the basket.

“He said there wasn’t.”

The uncle nodded and returned the basket, which was heavier than expected. As Seokha slung it over his shoulder with a puzzled look, the warehouse uncle whispered quietly:

“I put in a bit extra, so take good care of the teacher.”

“Isn’t that showing too much favoritism?”

“Never mind that. Just take it. It’s not for you to eat.”

Pushed by the shoulder, Seokha had no choice but to bow and leave the warehouse. He heard the uncle’s voice calling after him, “Come back on time later!” Opening the basket, he saw it contained far more than just “a bit extra.” The villagers really put the teacher on too high a pedestal. The sun that would normally be scorching his head was now setting behind the sand dunes. He needed to hurry.

Reaching the red brick house, Seokha knocked twice on the iron gate. As he waited for it to open, kicking at clumps of dust rolling by, quite some time seemed to pass.

“Teacher, are you there?”

Unable to wait any longer, Seokha knocked again. This time he called out quite loudly. From beyond the gate came the sound of shoes dragging, the teacher’s habitual gait, and the iron gate opened with a metallic clang.

“I’m not deaf yet.”

Seokha slipped through the partially opened gate, twisting his lips out of sight. Always locking the gate when there’s nothing to steal. The rusty iron gate closed again with a loud noise. Seokha sat down on the porch, following the teacher who had settled there, and began unloading the rations he’d received from the warehouse.

“The uncle gave us a bit extra. We probably won’t need to go out during hunting season.”

“He gave quite a lot. Should’ve given this much to households with young children.”

The scar covering half the teacher’s face bulged and then subsided. Then give it to them. Seokha picked up one of the fruits laid out on the porch and put it back in the basket he’d been carrying.

“You’re being greedy when you already get a separate share.”

“We can eat it.”

Just try letting it spoil. The teacher clicked his tongue and divided the rations into ten-day portions, moving them to a corner of the porch. He immediately went inside and came out carrying several books that looked weathered by sand and wind. Seokha, who had been secretly trying to snatch another apple from the porch, reflexively caught the books the teacher all but threw at him. He skimmed the unremarkable covers and flipped through the pages.

The pages were densely filled with characters that were hard to distinguish as drawings or writing, as if penned by an exceptionally poor writer. I couldn’t even read this if it were in our language. Seokha frowned. Even craning his neck, he could only make out a word or two.

“Are these drawings?”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Translate all of this and bring it back by the end of hunting season.”

One day, one book. The wrinkled hand tapped the handwritten volumes twice.

“You’re joking, right? I’m busy.”

You know that. Seokha gently pushed the books away.

“I’m well aware you don’t have much to do.”

The teacher thrust two books into Seokha’s arms, saying “I’ll reduce it to two books then” as if doing him a favor. Seokha expressed with his whole body that this was absurd, but the teacher didn’t even respond. Before long, Seokha was unceremoniously kicked out with little to show for his visit.

Seokha’s dwelling was a house that looked like a miniature version of the teacher’s, with its gate always open. Though it appeared quite livable and neater than one might expect, it showed signs of age in every corner due to less-than-meticulous upkeep. Seokha wiped the floor, which took no more than five swipes to clean, and shouldered the bag he had prepared yesterday. He glanced repeatedly at the two worn books on his low desk before finally stuffing them into his bag with a sigh.

“You’re early.”

Mm-hmm. His pronunciation was muffled by the apple pieces filling his mouth. Seokha waved to Ran, who was settling into position, and rested his sniper rifle with its bipod on the railing. With the village entrance below their feet, the muzzle pointed towards the endless expanse of desert. A total of eight snipers atop watchtowers – in the center above the village entrance and to the east and west – stood ready for the hunt.

Before the sun completely disappeared behind the sand dunes, the desert was bathed in the reddest light of the day. Praying that nothing would happen this time as well, Seokha silently watched the terrain ahead where no signs of movement could be detected yet.

As the sun set and stars began to fill the sky, they switched positions with the eastern lookout. Seokha, rubbing his stiff eyes, pulled his bag closer. Ran sat down and finally started eating. Seokha took out two yellowed books from his bag and began skimming through the thinner one bound with string. Ran picked up the other book.

“Homework again?”

“Sadly.”

As he opened the cover, a loose page flopped over. Seeing the scrawled writing from the very first page, Seokha picked up his pen over the paper he would use for translation.

“That’s impressive. I tried to learn but… I just couldn’t get it.”

“I’m forcing myself to do it since I have to take over the teacher’s work someday.”

Nothing’s easy. As Seokha shook his head, Ran agreed, saying “I know, right?” Ran finished eating and lay down on his side, closing his eyes.

Is it ‘intact’ or ‘completely’? Did they write this while being chased? Seokha narrowed his eyes as if that would help him see better, and translated the sentences one by one.

[Lately my memory is not intact, as if cut away by a knife. When I first couldn’t remember Sara’s name, I thought it was just stress. After all, there were no signs of being reinstated…. I needed to find work somehow, but who would hire Nute with his limp? While going around asking former colleagues to put in a good word, I suddenly couldn’t remember their faces. Those tiresome faces…. The faces of colleagues I’d wallowed in the mud with for years! I don’t know how I made it home. I’ll write everything in this book from now on. Before I forget even more…]

Seokha put down his pen after translating the diary entry into Alma language word by word. This tattered book seemed to be a Nute’s diary. Curious, Seokha stopped transcribing and leaned against the wall, reading straight through. He progressed much faster than when he was translating.

[The job I barely managed to get lasted less than a week before I was kicked out due to this damned forgetfulness. Angry, I headed home but got lost at a fork in the road. I couldn’t remember which way led home. After standing there for half a day, I was able to return thanks to Sara who happened to pass by.]

The next ten or so pages seemed to continue talking about memory, so Seokha skimmed through quickly, turning the pages.

[Ah, I feel like I’m going mad. I keep hearing gunshots in my ears. The voices of my comrades, Sara’s laughter…. Even in the small bathroom where I wash, I’m with them. “Ben!” I turn at a comrade’s voice calling me, only to see worn wallpaper…. My comrade whispered softly right beside me. What are you doing, Ben? For Nute’s victory!

I must crush the throat thrust before me. Nutes have the strongest grip, the strongest legs of anyone…. But I couldn’t reach it. No matter how hard I struck, my hand passed through emptily. When I came to my senses, the desktop was completely shattered. I hear the voice again. Ben, you can’t kill Almas. Ah, that’s right. It’s been too long since I received an Alma’s blood. Everything is because of that bastard’s blood…]

Seokha closed the book with a thud after skimming almost to the end. The handwriting became increasingly difficult to read, and the sentences grew more and more incoherent. The author’s obsession with Almas reached a fever pitch, and he seemed to have lost his mind.

It must have taken quite some time to read the Nute’s diary, as the watch had already changed to the western side. The desert, now in complete darkness, was impossible to see even an inch ahead. No one could know if the trading party would arrive right now, tomorrow, or exactly on the third day. They could only hope they would come on time.

[Must capture an Alma alive. To drain his blood, drain it until he dies… No, can’t kill him. Must keep him alive to feed on for a long, long time…]

The sentence scrawled on the very last page echoed in Seokha’s mind before fading away.

As dawn broke, he shared rations with Ran, translated a bit more of the other book, and by the time he looked through the telescope at the desert, the sun was setting again. When the red sunset was halfway hidden behind the sand dunes, a jeep appeared, backlit by the sun.

“Ran! They’re back.”

“Got it.”

Ran immediately announced the trading party’s return to the village via loudspeaker. Seokha pulled back the bolt to load his rifle and put his eye to the scope. Ran quickly returned and aimed his gun as well. They were still too far to make out faces. The trading party’s jeep, quickly approaching the village entrance over the sand dunes, was just one vehicle. What’s going on? There are fewer of them. Seokha tilted his head in confusion.

“Something’s not right.”

Even if they split up to avoid hunters, trading parties usually traveled in pairs of two vehicles. Ran seemed to sense something was off too and whispered quietly. Behind the jeep kicking up sand as it approached, an unforgettable roar was in pursuit.

“They’re here.”

Seokha aimed his loaded gun at the source of the roar. One riding a noisy four-wheeled bike, another in back persistently firing at the jeep’s tires. The hunters wearing black gas masks quickly caught up to the jeep’s speed. Three more bikes came over behind them.

As a hunter shoved his gun into the jeep, Seokha put a bullet right in the center of the crosshairs on his head. The hunter’s corpse fell backwards and rolled in the sand. Before Seokha could aim his reloaded gun at another hunter, Ran took out two simultaneously.

A bike that lost its driver spun out and crashed. Realizing the situation, the remaining hunters started to retreat. Seokha managed to hit one fleeing hunter in the shoulder. Just as he thought it was a shame, Ran’s bullet enveloped the shoulder and pierced through the fleeing hunter’s head.

This was truly unbeatable. Not just Seokha, but all the young people in the village secretly envied Ran who could blow off heads with every shot.

They let the jeep that barely made it to the entrance into the village. Hurriedly descending from the watchtower, three of the ten members of the trading party who had departed were lying exhausted on the ground.

“What happened? Where are the others?”

The warehouse uncle who had been on lookout in the west asked urgently. Baren, who was hastily drinking water given by the villagers, gritted his teeth.

“They weren’t there.”