Chương 38: The Song of Wings

The castle bell was still ringing. The corridor in the dawn light was gray, and melted wax had hardened down the sides of the candlesticks that had burned through the night. The armor decorations on the wall shone faintly like faces without people. Kichan's footsteps rang low on the bare stone floor, and the footsteps of soldiers layered over them. Kichan put the cloth fragment into his pocket. Cloth like the salt pouch. Blood on it. The seal attached to the herb storehouse door.

The stiff face of the child's mother as she stood around her child. It was the child Kichan had barely helped breathe. The cloth that child had given him had come back with blood on it.

'You took the people who fed me hostage?' Three soldiers ran in from the left corridor. The sound of metal clashing also rose from the stairs on the right. Two drew swords, and one held a spear. Kichan did not stop.

"Move." The end of the wake-up rod's handle pressed the spear shaft down. The spear tip struck the floor. One sword was pushed sideways and driven into the wall. The other was knocked away without touching the wrist. The sounds were small. Only the weapons broke. The spear shaft and sword blades caught clearly at his fingertips, and with just a little pressure, they broke. The soldiers looked back and forth between their ruined weapons and Kichan's hand, searching only for a place to retreat.

An official appeared at the bottom of the stairs. It was the man with the oily smile who had brought him here yesterday. He raised a hand as if to stop Kichan, but his fingertips trembled faintly. The shape of a smile remained around his mouth, but his eyes were already searching for a way to run. Kichan looked at him and crooked a finger. Come here. The official tried to pretend he had not seen it, then stopped when he saw the soldiers' gazes. He also saw the broken spear shaft and the sword stuck in the wall.

With an awkward smile, he approached Kichan one step at a time.

The lord sat at the far end of the great meeting room. A long table divided the center of the room, and knights stood at regular intervals along both walls. The ends of their scabbards stopped at the same height. Candles trembled small in the silver cups and plates on the table. The clerk stood stiff beside the lord with a pen in hand, and behind the lord, two soldiers had taken one step back and blocked the door. When Kichan entered, every gaze in the room moved at once. No one spoke first.

It was a room pressed down in silence. A man Kichan had not seen before was a mage. His necklace and wrist ornaments rang very faintly in the same rhythm. Even the air in the room seemed to fold once toward him. He was different from the village healer. Kichan muttered low.

"Another expert?" The mage's mouth hardened. The priest looked away from Kichan before the mage did. He held the sacred object at his neck with one hand, and his knuckles had gone white. The lord still smiled. The corners of his mouth were raised, but the muscles around his eyes did not move at all. He gestured for Kichan to sit. Kichan did not sit. He took the cloth fragment from his pocket and placed it on the table. The bloodstained cloth. The lord's eyes moved very slightly.

The eyes that saw the cloth went immediately to the clerk, then returned. He had received the report. The lord opened his mouth. Misunderstanding. Soldiers. Order. Protection. Kichan did not listen. He jerked his chin toward the contract on the table.

"You slap the word protection on anything and call it a day." The lord stopped speaking. Kichan knew the lord could not understand him. It did not matter. The lord had seen the cloth, and Kichan had seen his eyes.

One knight moved from behind the lord. He was older than the other knights. His armor bore more scratches, and old silver thread was woven into the edge of the cloak over his shoulder. A senior knight. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He lifted the shield first. As he stepped out beside the long table, he drew his sword.

"Move." Kichan said. Instead of answering, the senior knight pushed the shield forward. It was a shield with a thick iron rim. Enough to shove one person back, and enough to knock down frightened villagers. Kichan's eyes sank a little further. The wake-up rod's handle struck the center of the shield. Bang. The shield folded inward. The senior knight's elbow snapped back, and the tip of his sword wavered aside. Kichan did not stop. The end of the wake-up rod pressed down on the back of the sword.

The blade stuck into the table. Once more, the end of the handle brushed past the side of the helmet. The ring of metal spread through the room. The senior knight's knees buckled. Lastly, Kichan pushed against his breastplate. It was closer to the motion of moving aside something that happened to be there. The senior knight rolled under the long table. The shield fell to the floor half-folded, and the sword trembled where it was stuck in the table. The knights in the room all drew breath at once.

Kichan gripped the wake-up rod again.

"Get your head straight." The words were Korean. But even without knowing the meaning, the people in the room understood enough.

The mage and the priest moved at the same time. The mage spread both hands, and the priest lifted the sacred object in front of his chest. The ornaments on the mage's wrists shone first. The priest's sacred object received that light. The floor patterns lit all at once. Metal nails beneath the long table, wall decorations, the knights' scabbards, even the lord's ring rang in the same rhythm. Blue lines split and spread across the floor. The air under Kichan's feet hardened.

His shoulders were pressed down as if the ceiling were lowering. A cold hand tried to enter the inside of his head. Pressure commanding him to kneel and an order commanding him to close his mouth pushed in at the same time. The Loagaeth fragment inside his clothes heated. Kichan clenched his teeth. That sound was not allowed yet. Then he saw the lord's eyes. Frightened eyes. And yet he did not back down. Like a rat looking at a crack in a collapsed wall, searching for where to slip through.

The sound Kichan had been holding back rose inside his throat.

"Do you bastards not even know what it means to care?" That was what he tried to say. But the last word did not come out as speech. Care. No, something even more embarrassing than that. Love. That one word stretched long inside his throat. It became sound. It became song. The air in the room shook first. The priest's white light thinned for one instant. The mage's blue lines lost direction before reaching Kichan's ankles and trembled. The metal nails under the long table rang one by one. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Dust flattened itself on Kichan's shoulder. Kichan did not know what sound he was making. His mouth was open, and his throat scraped raw and hot, but the sound did not stop. One word stretched in several layers and moved around the room. Love. Kichan was flustered. It had been care. The grimoire had upgraded it to love. Damn it. Kichan clenched his teeth. The song rose higher. The mage stopped mid-chant and spat blood, and the priest's sacred object died black before lighting faintly again.

The floor patterns spread like ink in water, then went out all at once. Then something faint spread behind Kichan's back. It was too faint to call light, and too bright to call shadow. A shape like folded wings briefly opened behind his shoulders. Everyone in the room saw it. Only Kichan did not. The mage was pushed back and struck the wall. The priest sank to his knees while clutching his sacred object. The knights could not move even with swords in their hands. Only then did Kichan close his mouth.

The taste of blood filled the inside of his throat. The castle became silent. So silent that even the sound of the contract on the table lifting slightly in the candle breeze could be heard. Kichan slowly inhaled.

"Damn it."

The lord belatedly raised a hand. The veins on the back of his hand stood out, and the ringed fingers trembled to the end.

"Village. Don't touch." The lord quietly nodded. Kichan did not trust him. So he looked at the clerk.

"Document." The clerk looked at the lord. The lord clenched his teeth and nodded. A new document came out.

This document was different. Kichan checked it for a long time. He could not read the letters, but somehow he felt like he knew what was written on the paper. Reduction of the village's taxes. Support guards for the herb field. Compensation for the recent threats made by soldiers. No registration of Kichan as belonging to anyone. No movement restriction. There were a few clever holes too. Recall according to the lord's need. Kichan pointed to that part.

"This. Tana." The clerk looked at the lord. The lord nodded again. The sentence was erased. Protective measures in case of contact with dangerous outsiders. Kichan pointed at that too.

"Tana." That sentence was erased as well. Kichan did not write his own name to the end. He made them stamp only the lord's name and seal. When the seal landed, the blank space closed. Not around Kichan, but around the promise tied to the village. Because the lord's eyes moved very briefly toward the clerk. The clerk received that look and bit his lip almost invisibly. Kichan could not read the letters. Still, he knew. This document was something to buy time. For now, that was enough.

Kichan folded the document and put it away. The lord swallowed his humiliation. The mage barely lifted his head under the wall, and the priest still held the sacred object in both hands. Kichan looked at them one by one and set the wake-up rod on his shoulder.

"Let's try not to run into each other if we can."

When he left the castle, no one stopped him. The soldiers on both sides of the corridor stepped back as if pressing themselves to the wall, and some only breathed in after Kichan had passed. On the stone steps before the gate, morning dew had not yet dried and shone dimly. Kichan walked with the wake-up rod over his shoulder. Before crossing the threshold, he looked back once. The lord was watching him from inside the meeting room door. The city morning had already begun.

Market people carried goods without knowing what had happened inside the castle, and the temple bell rang as usual. Dust climbed onto his shoulder. Its small wire leg touched the back of Kichan's neck.

"I know." Kichan said quietly.

"It isn't over." He took the road toward the village. In his hand was the document bearing the lord's seal. In his pocket were the bloodstained cloth and the salt pouch. And inside his clothes, the heat still remained.