By the afternoon of the third day, the sky had settled into ash-gray.
Dust and sweat clung together, turning every face the color of earth. The wind blew against them, snapping the canvas of the carts. The column slowed.
Then it happened.
From one of the carts at the rear, a horse screamed.
Its leg buckled, and it collapsed where it stood. The load on the saddle spilled to one side. Soldiers rushed in.
"It's broken!"
Someone shouted. The leg bent at an unnatural angle. It would never walk again. The horse groaned.
A commander approached.
"It's no use."
The judgment was brief.
A blade came down. The horse shuddered once, violently—then went still.
At that moment, the entire column halted. Sudden death rose without meaning.
The soldiers' eyes fixed on the horse's body. Steam rose; blood seeped into the dirt.
After a long moment, the commander spoke.
"Move the load to another cart."
He paused, then added,
"We'll divide the meat tonight."
No one answered.
That night, the horse's flesh cooked in the pots.
The smell of blood and fat spread across the field. The soldiers chewed in silence. No one said it tasted good.
Seongjin chewed a piece, then set his chopsticks down.
The scene from the day returned to him.
The horse's eyes as its breath left it.His own face reflected in them.
He looked to Squad Leader Oh Jinchul.
"Sir… why did that horse die so suddenly?"
Oh Jinchul answered without taking his eyes off the fire.
"Better than a man."
"Men make excuses even when they die."
Silence passed.
"When you reach the battlefield, you'll see eyes like that again,"
he said, still not looking at Seongjin.
"And next time, they might be yours."
The words drifted past like wind.
Within the dry routine of the march, war still seemed distant.
Death, too, felt far away. There was only the walking, the hauling of loads, the steady pacing of breath.
A wolf howled somewhere in the distance.
Firelight wavered on a blood-stained blade.
Without a word, Seongjin fingered his identity tag.
The wood was still warm. But he knew—the warmth would not last.
The westward march continued into its fifth day.
Since leaving Botongwon, Seongjin had not once looked straight up at the sky. It was always veiled in dust.
By day, the horses' breath burned hot.By night, the wind cut into skin.
Rations came twice a day.
In the morning, dried grain and lukewarm water.In the evening, salted greens and a few strips of dried meat.
Even that—having others to share it with—was a comfort.
The column stretched on without end. When the carts ahead raised dust, the soldiers behind lived inside it all day. Horse sweat, human sweat, iron and leather, the stench of blood—all mixed, weighing down the air.
"How many more days are we going?"
Someone muttered.
"Only the one with the map knows."
"Still… isn't it too quiet?"
"The quieter it is, the worse it gets."
At night, wolves howled somewhere in the fields.
They couldn't light large fires, so they kept small embers hidden. Metal bowls were set over them to boil water.
Someone sniffed and said,
"Smells like home."
Seongjin could not sleep.
He took out the identity tag wrapped in leather and stroked it with his fingertips. Within the faded grain of the wood, it felt as if his father's name, his brother's name, and his own were bound together.
His lips moved, but no words came.
Oh Jinchul sat beside him, spreading a leather mat and stretching his legs.
"Can't sleep?"
"Yes. It's unfamiliar land."
"There's no battlefield that isn't unfamiliar."
"War is always the first time."
He struck flint, coaxing a small spark.
"They say kids these days can read."
"I learned a little."
"My mother said—you need letters, so your name remains even if you die."
Oh Jinchul gave a short laugh.
"Leaving your name behind isn't always a good thing."
The wind stirred, and the ember flickered, close to dying.
From far away, a drum sounded—not an attack, but the signal marking the end of the day's march.
"Sleep,"
Oh Jinchul said, rising.
"Tomorrow we go farther than today."
Seongjin pulled the horsehide cover over himself and lay down.
Between drifting dust, starlight blinked faintly.
Watching it, he wondered—
Can a person really go this far?
The road backmust be even farther.
He closed his eyes.
The sound of horses breathing, someone's snoring, the canvas of tents rustling in the wind followed one another.
The night of the march was long.
And what waited at its end—no one yet knew.