The preparations were already complete.
All that remained was
“how far to go before stopping.”
Raen took the lead.
Her steps were light, and her voice lighter still.
“This way.”
The group did not exchange many words.
They simply moved as much as they needed,
toward the place where the direction Maho had indicated overlapped with the line Raen sensed.
It was not very far.
But their steps did not quicken.
They knew that the moment their feet grew hurried, their breathing would grow loud first.
When they held their breath, it felt as if the forest breathed back first.
The scent of damp earth lay thin over the ground,
and the leaves trembled more sensitively to “the movement of people” than to the wind.
Raen did not increase her pace.
If she moved faster, she might touch the line.
The line could not be seen,
but if it was scratched even once, the other side would know that “someone was here.”
Raen wore the face of someone who had already experienced that many times.
The forest deepened once more,
and at a point where the wind thinned, Raen stopped.
With her head tilted slightly,
she seemed to be feeling along an invisible wall with her fingertips.
“This is as far as we go.”
Raen turned back and spoke.
“If we go any farther… they’ll notice me too.”
“So… from here on, it’s better not to cross the line.”
Rangnan gave a short nod.
“Good.”
“We’ll do the final check here.”
No one made any large movements.
When they loosened bag straps, they pressed the cloth down with their fingers to swallow the sound,
and metal was wrapped once more in cloth, killing even its gleam.
For the waterskins, the problem was not their weight but the sloshing.
Someone twisted the stopper shut,
then pressed a fingernail over the possible gap once more.
The inspection was not preparation,
but the work of eliminating mistakes in advance.
The instructions were not long.
But the people moved at once.
Baggage unnecessary for combat gathered in one place.
Spare items wrapped in cloth,
extra waterskins, even metal fragments that might make noise.
Straps were tightened again,
and bandages were moved to where hands could reach them.
Bido also tugged once more on the leather strap of her sword.
Only enough that her fingertips would not hurt.
But as if she must never let it slip.
When the brief organizing and inspection were over,
Rangnan summarized in a low voice.
“We wait for night like this.”
Rangnan looked at Raen.
“Raen.”
“Tell me when you can no longer detect Roan.”
“That will be the start.”
Raen nodded.
“Yes.”
Unlike earlier,
there was no mischief in her expression.
Rangnan soon shifted his gaze to Miryeong.
Miryeong shrugged.
“I’m not sure right now.”
“But if we get close enough, I can find him.”
Then, for a moment,
Miryeong’s thoughts slipped elsewhere.
The time she had faced Roan with Bido.
That breath.
That presence.
That unpleasantly vivid “existence.”
Miryeong continued her sentence.
“The scent… I memorized it then.”
Rangnan nodded.
And last, he looked at Bido.
“Bido.”
Bido lifted her head.
“Do not lose Roan.”
“Your highest priority is to stop Roan’s Mirkin.”
Instead of answering, Bido nodded.
And she gripped the sword strap once more.
As if, while waiting for night,
that hand must not loosen first.
—
Noon.
The sun hung overhead.
The meal ended quickly.
Bread and jerky vanished briefly from the cloth, then returned to it.
Waterskins were passed around, and stoppers were closed.
There were not many words.
Only Raen chattered softly beside Bido.
Most of them spent the time with the sound of chewing.
Between the sounds of chewing,
time fell in scattered drops.
Sunlight shifted from overhead to the side,
but the people pretended not to notice its movement.
Even Raen’s small voice
began at some point to feel like a “loud sound.”
So Raen closed her mouth too.
The longer the silence stretched,
the more often the word “night” came to mind.
Bido quietly touched only the sword strap, trying not to let that word leave her mouth.
Because if she opened her mouth, it felt as though her hands would tremble first.
The sun tilted.
Evening came,
and evening passed in the same way.
A short bite.
A short sip.
And waiting again.
As darkness began to settle,
the air of the campsite thinned first.
The wind changed,
and the sounds made by the blades of grass changed too.
Then Raen suddenly stopped speaking.
“…Ah.”
Raen’s eyes wavered.
As if the thread she had been holding had snapped, her gaze groped through the empty air.
“It’s gone.”
She felt as though the air had emptied out.
Raen could not move a single step.
It was not the expression of someone whose thread had been cut,
but of someone whose remaining sensation in her hand had vanished all at once.
It was not “I can’t hear it,”
but “it isn’t there.”
That difference was in Raen’s voice just now.
Someone wanted to ask a question at once,
but only their lips twitched.
A question becomes sound,
and sound becomes existence.
So everyone swallowed that one sentence as it was.
The moment those words ended,
everyone moved at the same time.
Even without anyone giving an order,
they followed the sequence already decided.
Miryeong spoke low.
“I’ll take the lead.”
The people swallowed their breaths.
They reduced even the sound of shifting their toes.
Following behind Miryeong,
the group crossed the “line.”
The instant they crossed the line,
the air changed.
Though it was the same forest,
when they breathed in, the inside of their throats felt colder.
Miryeong did not raise her hand in front.
Her signals were made with her body.
The angle of her shoulders, the direction of her toes, the timing of a slight pause.
It was a pace that said, If you cannot follow, you will be left behind.
Bido stared only at Miryeong’s heels.
If she looked ahead now, she would be late.
If she was late, they would be discovered.
They crossed one hill,
clambered over one boulder,
and descended through the grass—then
the outline of a valley began to come into view.
Miryeong’s nose moved faintly.
Her ears folded back, then rose again.
And Miryeong spoke very quietly.
“I found him.”
“Roan.”
Even at those words, no one answered.
An answer was unnecessary.
Right now, a single voice
could become an “existence.”
Just as Maho was about to open his lips—
Raen shot out a hand like lightning and pinched Maho’s mouth shut.
Maho’s face twisted,
but no sound came out.
Instead, Raen mouthed in the smallest movement possible.
Quiet.
Maho gritted his teeth and nodded.
The group slowly spread out into the formation they had decided on in advance.
Miryeong read the wind once more
and pointed toward the lower part of the valley.
Now, what remained was—
before the night settled completely,
to enter within “reaching distance.”
—
After they had gone a little farther,
Miryeong raised a hand in signal.
Close.
At that single signal, everyone’s breathing thinned further.
Their toes shifted as if skimming the ground,
and even the rustle of collars brushing was reduced.
Amid all that, only Maho stared blankly at the shape of Miryeong’s hand.
It was the face of someone caught by an unfamiliar system of signals.
Raen glared at Maho,
then brought a finger in front of her lips.
Shh.
Maho’s eyebrow twitched,
but he closed his mouth.
Miryeong stepped forward again.
After reading once the direction the wind brushed past,
and confirming once more the grain in which the grass blades lay,
she turned her head ever so slightly.
And—
Miryeong found him.
That man from back then.
The one who had taken Hajin’s life.
The one who had given her and Bido a sense of helplessness.
Roan was there.
Roan did not move.
He simply sat quietly on a rock in front of the water at the valley’s edge.
At a glance, his head drooped as if he had fallen asleep.
But Miryeong did not let down her guard.
Roan’s appearance was full of openings.
He was only sitting there carelessly,
his head lowered.
At his waist hung a long blade crosswise, its massive edge touching the ground.
Around his neck was a scrap of cloth thrown on roughly.
From what could be seen on the surface, he looked far too easy.
That made him look even more dangerous.
Miryeong hated that “looking easy” most of all.
Because what looks easy
is usually the shape the other person wants you to see.
The sound of the water was steady,
and Roan’s shoulders did not sway in time with it.
Rather than a living person,
he seemed like a piece of luggage placed there.
And yet the air felt as if it flowed around Roan, avoiding him.
A presence its surroundings were cautious of.
Soon, Miryeong’s hand signals followed.
Short, precise.
The group found their assigned positions according to those signals.
Vanguard, center, rear.
Holding their breath, they scattered without a sound.
Bido finally spotted Roan as well.
A thought similar to Miryeong’s crossed her mind.
He was full of openings.
But for Bido, another layer was added on top of that.
He looked sad.
He looked hurt.
And for some reason,
something like longing gathered in one corner of her chest.
Bido could not understand that emotion of hers.
It was even more unfamiliar because it was a feeling that could not possibly suit this moment.
She suppressed that unknown emotion rising within her.
Then,
Miryeong raised a hand toward Bido.
Watch him.
Bido nodded ever so slightly.
Strength entered the hand gripping her sword strap.
And Miryeong’s gesture changed again.
Advance.
It was a signal sent to Kallen.
Kallen’s eyes dyed red.
It was different from his usual sharp excitement.
Though red, he was quiet now.
Like a flame holding its breath.
Kallen moved.
Without a sound.
And yet his speed
was faster than someone running.
One step.
The next instant—
Kallen was already standing before Roan.
Between the sound of water and the sound of breath,
only Kallen’s red eyes were moving.
Roan’s head was still lowered.
Only the sound of the valley water
flowed very softly.
And amid it,
Kallen’s red gaze quietly lodged itself there.
It was a moment when everything stopped.
Only the sound of the valley water
remained, as if it had grown louder.