Seongjin moved as he had learned in the merchant guild.
He loaded the equipment onto the cart, cinched the ropes tight, then deliberately left space at the front for provisions. He pressed down the corners, checked the knots again with his fingertips. Between short breaths, the damp smell of earth rose up.
"Why leave the front empty?"
A man who looked well past twenty asked. His skin was rough, and a red band hung over his shoulder.
A band marked him as a squad leader.
"Rations will be issued soon."
Seongjin answered without stopping his hands.
"When they arrive, I plan to load them inside and cover the top."
"Hm… not bad."
The squad leader nodded. Fatigue and approval passed through his eyes at the same time. Seongjin wiped his hands and bowed.
"I'm Park Seongjin. Son of Park Jinsul. Younger brother of Park Seongil."
The man's eyes widened.
"Ah. That family."
He took Seongjin's hand in both of his.
"Loyalty."
A brief silence followed.
"So… they're all dead."
Seongjin lowered his gaze.
"My brother isn't. He's missing."
"I see…"
The squad leader let out a long breath.
"I can't quite bring myself to say that's the same as dead."
After a moment, he looked Seongjin up and down.
"But you're too young."
"I can do the job."
Seongjin's reply was short and clear.
"Tch—that's not what I meant."
The man shook his head.
"I mean, should someone this young really be sent to the battlefield?"
Seongjin brought his heels together. His posture was straighter than that of many adults.
"If I do well, there won't need to be cases like this again."
The squad leader lifted his eyes.
"So you're saying we did something wrong?"
"I'm saying we didn't win."
"That's the same thing."
"That's an unnecessary argument."
The squad leader let out a dry laugh.
This was a recruit who didn't get dragged into pointless disputes. In that laughter were anger, resignation—and just a trace of affection.
Just then, the supply carts arrived from the rear.
It was the ration issue: sacks mixed with rice and coarse grains, dried beans, dried greens, salted vegetables, and a small amount of jerky.
Seongjin went straight to work.
He untied the large sacks, divided them into smaller ones, tucked them into the gaps around the cart, and bound them again. His hands moved with the precision and speed of someone long accustomed to trade.
When he opened the jerky sacks and cut the meat with his knife to divide it, the squad leader exclaimed,
"You were born for the army."
"Please set aside your share as well, sir."
"Thanks. Again."
The squad leader smiled.
Seongjin turned his head and scanned the area.
"They said there would be grain powder too—"
Before he could finish, someone shouted,
"No grain powder this time!"
"Damn it—."
Grumbling broke out among the soldiers. Brief laughter scattered. A breeze passed through, kicking up dust on the carts, sunlight cutting through the haze.
Seongjin wiped the sweat from the back of his hand.
His gaze lingered far away, on the western sky. It was the light of a battlefield he had not yet seen.
As that light settled into his eyes, a realization came to him.
The place where he now stoodwas a place left empty by those who had never returned.