Be the Sacrifice Chapter 5

The door of the sedan chair opened, and an umbrella was immediately held over it.

 

In front of the cave entrance—large enough for two or three people to enter at once—there was nothing particularly striking despite its grandiose name, “Mountain Lord’s Cave.” 

 

The servants who had followed in a line all entered inside ahead of Hong Yeomrang.

 

“This is where you will be staying, young master. The ritual site is in a much larger cave up on that mountain over there; that’s where the offerings are made. His Lordship instructed that you need not go there yourself.”

 

Someone had said they would find a suitable person. 

 

As that person went up, the servant quietly added, 

 

“Don’t worry.”

 

Because of the rain, it was hard to make out exactly where “up there” was.

 

Was the demon up there?

 

During the rain, it seemed unlikely that even the creature would want to move about.

 

In any case, there was plenty of time.

 

He could slowly circle the mountain and search for it.

 

“We will send someone every three days. If there is anything you need, please leave a note at the cave entrance, and we will prepare and bring it up.”

 

The servants, having finished arranging things inside, bowed to him and descended the dark mountain path together with the sedan bearers.

 

Hong Yeomrang, now inside the cave, clicked his tongue.

 

They had gone to considerable effort to make it as comfortable as possible for his stay, a thick mat had been laid out, topped with a golden quilt; there was a small writing desk, a lantern, and even a few books. 

 

Because of the weather, some less-perishable food had been left on one side, giving off a savory, roasted aroma. 

 

There were also several wrapped bundles, but he had no desire to open them.

 

Surprisingly, the inside of the cave felt pleasant and dry, unlike the damp air outside.

 

The short tunnel opened into a round chamber large enough to live in, and there were traces that someone had stayed here before—likely hunters, woodcutters, or herb gatherers.

 

Since someone had gone to the trouble of moving what was essentially an entire room here for him, Hong Yeomrang saw no reason to refuse. 

 

He sat down on the mat, crossed his legs in the yangban style, rested his elbows on his thighs, propped his chin on one hand, and simply stared straight at the single cave entrance through which he had come.

 

The lantern flame trembled faintly in the subtle draft.

 

Hong Yeomrang’s shadow swayed together with the faint draft.

 

The shadow was so enormous it seemed to fill the cave and still have room to spare—somehow eerie and foreboding.

 

Beyond where the light reached, there was only darkness.

 

Nothing living existed here except for him, and only then did Hong Yeomrang finally relax the tense, twisted corner of his mouth. 

 

In the sudden quiet, the man’s face looked more noble and refined than anyone else’s. 

 

He placed his sword within easy reach, stared for a while at the empty entrance where no one appeared, and soon lay down on the mat.

 

It could hardly have been more silent.

 

The feeling of every ceaseless, irritating noise—of the capital, of this village—falling abruptly quiet all at once was not unpleasant. 

 

Perhaps, as his father had said, training in a place like this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

Even the sound of rain, which usually scraped at his nerves, felt strangely unobtrusive as it leaked in from the cave mouth.

 

And so Hong Yeomrang closed his eyes.

 

Rustle, rustle—

 

Even his sharp senses barely caught the presence.

 

But the scent arrived first.

 

It was something like the fragrance of wildflowers, or the mossy smell of old trees, or perhaps the lingering sweetness at the very end of honey straight from the comb—achingly sweet.

 

The instant he sensed another existence in a space that should have contained only himself, Hong Yeomrang did not open his eyes; he simply waited.

 

The crown of his head felt oddly ticklish.

 

He had fallen asleep just like that—without even removing the manggeon that held his topknot in place. 

 

Something was cautiously touching his hair, following its shape. 

 

The moment he was certain that whatever it was hovered directly above his head, Hong Yeomrang shot out his left hand and seized its wrist.

 

At the same instant, his right hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

 

Thwack—

 

With a grip on the hilt, he applied force; the scabbard flew off and struck the wall.

 

The well-honed blade slid free, bared in one smooth motion. The lantern flame lurched wildly from the sudden movement.

 

When he felt how impossibly slender the wrist in his left hand was, “it” let out a scream.

 

“Aack!”

 

Startled beyond measure, it fell backward and landed hard on its backside with a thud.

 

The clothes were so faded that even under the lantern light, their color could hardly be discerned—shabby and worn.

 

The only thing that gleamed was the silk fragrance pouch dangling beneath the jeogori, which looked entirely out of place.

 

As she fell backward, anything below that was swallowed by the darkness.

 

The strength with which she tried to pull her hand free was so pitiful that Hong Yeomrang instead yanked her forward into the light.

 

She was dragged all the way onto the mat.

 

Only then did her face come fully into view.

 

Skin so white it was almost ghostly, bloodless lips, and large eyes wide with terror—the kind of fear one might believe if told she had been caught in a trap like some wild animal.

 

“At least I’ve got something tangible in my hand, so you’re not a ghost.”

 

No one had ever woken him before.

 

Hee-sa stared at Hong Yeomrang with eyes wide from shock. Now that she saw him up close, she finally understood why the baksu mudang had wailed so pitifully.

 

Even so, the shaman had only threatened to break her fingers—whereas now a pale, gleaming sword blade was pointed straight at her.

 

“You’re a demon.”

 

Hong Yeomrang, having tossed her roughly onto the mat, stated it as if it were already decided.

 

Out of habit, she bit the tip of her finger. She always did that when flustered.

 

Even when she had nothing to do, she would nibble at her fingertips until all ten were perpetually stained red.

 

The bitten skin stung.

 

What should I say? How did he find out? He shouldn’t have been able to find out.

 

Her mind was filled with nothing but those frantic thoughts.

 

“Answer me. Are you a demon?”

 

Swoosh—

 

The sword tip hovered directly above her face, poised as though it could plunge down at any moment. Hee-sa stared at the blade and chewed harder at her fingertip.

 

To Hong Yeomrang’s eyes, among the pale woman’s features, those conspicuously red-stained fingers stood out as especially bizarre.

 

Even with a sword pointed at her, she showed no sign of cowering.

 

She made no move to escape; she simply kept gnawing irritatingly at her fingertip.

 

Was she unable to speak?

 

“…I’m Hee-sa.”

 

“What?”

 

Still anxiously nibbling at one hand, with the other she placed it on the mat and gave a little wave, as if greeting him timidly.

 

“I said, I’m Hee-sa.”

 

Thinking he hadn’t heard, Hee-sa repeated herself.

 

The mat she had been dragged onto was pleasantly warm from the man’s body heat—soft and rather nice, actually.

 

“Do I look like I’m trying to exchange pleasantries and introduce ourselves right now?”

 

He hadn’t asked for her name.

 

And he had no interest in knowing the name of some demon anyway.

 

A demon lying there so casually, waving her hand and trying to introduce herself—of all things.

 

The way she unilaterally announced her name, then looked at him with those wide, expectant eyes as if he ought to do the same in return, came off as downright brazen.

 

He had left her alone back at the Dansan tree simply because he sensed no killing intent.

 

Even now, there was none.

 

No harmful aura whatsoever.

 

Yet she didn’t bother denying that she was a demon, either.

 

He hadn’t expected to catch it on the very first day, but she was either stupider than he’d thought, or else cunning enough to conceal her demonic nature completely.

 

Hong Yeomrang narrowed his eyes, sizing her up.

 

The constant nibbling at her fingertip grated on his nerves.

 

And that strange, sweet scent still lingered.

 

At last, the skin broke; blood welled up.

 

It was red—vivid red, the same as any living human’s. When the crimson stained her pale lips, it stood out starkly against her ghostly complexion.

 

For some reason, the sight made Hong Yeomrang feel as though he were looking at something he shouldn’t; he averted his gaze for a moment, glaring up at the cave ceiling above her head instead.

 

Red blood was flowing.

 

The wrist he still held was slender and fragile, yet a pulse beat steadily beneath the skin.

 

This wasn’t some demon after all.

 

No—it was a person. Or at least something very close to one.

 

No ordinary human would lie there so defenseless, staring up at a sword point without flinching.

 

They called it the Mountain Lord’s envoy… Hong Yeomrang hadn’t expected that old superstition to actually cross his mind.

 

“Tell me exactly what you are.”

 

I don’t care about your name.

 

Hong Yeomrang ground his teeth and asked again, his voice low and menacing.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The answer came back utterly guileless. He met her eyes, half-convinced she was toying with him, but all he saw was genuine bewilderment.

 

…She might just be the village idiot.

 

The thought suddenly flashed through Hong Yeomrang’s mind.

 

“What’s your relationship with the baksu?”

 

“The baksu… is someone who’s kind to me.”

 

Some people place complete faith in shamans, but most fear them and keep their distance from anyone with that kind of spiritual power.

 

Perhaps the lonely baksu mudang had taken up with this village simpleton.

 

Either way, Hong Yeomrang felt like the fool here.

 

Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to swing a sword at an idiot.

 

Suspicious though she was, he could kill her anytime he wanted. The memory of how limply, how powerlessly her hand had dangled in his grip earlier remained vivid.

 

If she tried anything strange, he could end her then.

 

After staring silently at Hee-sa for a long moment, Hong Yeomrang slowly withdrew his sword.

 

Even so, she remained lying on his mat, nibbling absently at her fingertip. 

 

She made no move to get up, simply staying exactly as he had left her—occupying the space as though she owned it, even though she clearly didn’t.

 

“It’s really warm here… Can I sleep here tonight?”