Chased to the Precipice
Time passed, and summer arrived.
The days grew hotter, sweat poured freely, and the villagers grew ever more irritable.
From the perspective of the shaggy-haired boy, this was far from good news.
When emotions ran high, someone had to bear the brunt.
Even the slightest excuse would be seized upon to unleash their frustrations on him.
So the boy became even more cautious.
He finished his chores as quickly as possible, avoiding the villagers' eyes, then slipped away to his hiding spot until late at night.
But incidents and accidents couldn't be prevented by his caution alone.
And so, one day while he was treading so carefully, disaster struck.
This summer brought more rain than any before.
There were days of relentless downpours lasting several days, and others where showers hammered down multiple times.
Such frequent, heavy rains made epidemics all too likely.
And unfortunately, an epidemic began to spread in the boy's village.
The whole village was in chaos.
Every household had at least one or two stricken with the disease.
These were people barely scraping by day to day; none could afford a physician or medicine.
All they could do was soak cloths in water to cool fevers or pray nightly for survival.
But the epidemic didn't fade easily.
With its vicious vitality, it laid low even the caregivers.
Soon, the sick outnumbered the healthy.
When one's self and family fell ill and suffered, the heart withered too.
And with breadwinners bedridden, survival itself seemed impossible.
At first, sorrow and worry filled the village. Later, anger and resentment took hold.
Most would blame the heavens, but these villagers were different.
All their resentment focused on one target.
Cruelly, even as the entire village suffered the plague, the shaggy-haired boy remained unscathed.
He was already seen as a bringer of misfortune; now, untouched by the plague, he became the perfect scapegoat.
"This plague is all that bastard's doing!"
"Drive him out now!"
"Better yet, just kill him!"
The villagers' resentment boiled into rage.
They glared at the shaggy-haired boy with eyes bordering on madness, as if ready to kill him on the spot.
The boy was terrified.
He spent more time hidden in his secret spot, unknown to the others.
It was cramped even when curled up, but the thought of safety eased his mind.
The village atmosphere was perilously unstable.
The madness emanating from the villagers spread like the plague itself.
The boy was afraid.
He had endured endless contempt and violence, but nothing had frightened him like this.
They hurled insults, but he'd never truly believed they'd kill him.
Now, it was different.
The terror of imminent death gripped his entire body; he trembled constantly.
Huddled in his hiding spot, the boy buried his face and wept.
He'd held back tears in every ordeal before, but not now.
It was too frightening.
The emotions were far too heavy for a child to bear.
'Please, make the plague pass quickly.'
The boy prayed through his sobs, day after day.
He believed that was the only way out of this horror.
Once it passed, their blame and anger toward him would fade too.
But his desperate pleas never reached the heavens.
"Aigo! Aigo!"
Wails echoed through the village.
A child stricken by the plague had died.
Coincidentally, it was the same boy who had chased the shaggy-haired one and fallen into the water before.
Overcome by grief, the parents wept until they nearly fainted.
It felt like the world had collapsed.
But sorrow was fleeting.
The endless grief swiftly turned to unbearable fury.
The father, slumped in wailing, suddenly sprang up and grabbed a sickle.
"Where's that little shit?! I'll kill him right now!"
"Yes! Kill him! All this happening in our village is his fault!"
"Kill him before he kills more!"
The father's spark ignited the whole village.
What had been seething hatred now burned with true murderous intent.
The shaggy-haired boy, emerging from his hiding spot as dusk fell, heard the uproar upon returning to the village.
The moment he heard their cries to kill him, his body froze, unable to move.
He shook uncontrollably.
Death felt inches away.
'What do I do? What do I do?'
That thought consumed his mind.
But no solutions came.
His head a whirlwind, the boy turned and ran.
Rustle!
The sound of his flight reached the villagers' ears.
"There! He's there!"
"Catch him!"
Torches in hand, the villagers gave chase.
Behind them, the village still rang with wails.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
The boy ran and ran.
He bolted straight to his hiding spot, crawled in, and curled up motionless.
He tensed every muscle, fearing even the slightest movement would make noise.
"Where's that little bastard?!"
"A kid like that can't have gone far. Search everywhere!"
Their voices came from nearby.
Raw anger and resentment dripped from every word.
Terror burst forth in sobs.
The boy clamped his hands over his mouth, buried his head, and wept silently.
Praying not to be found.
How much time passed?
No more footsteps or voices.
After long crying, the boy sat dazed, lost in thought.
'Is it really my fault?'
As things worsened, he began to wonder if it all truly stemmed from him.
'Am I really a bringer of misfortune?'
He had no memory of his family, so he couldn't know their fate.
But the villagers all said bad things started after he arrived.
Years of hearing it, now on the brink of death—it seemed possible.
His chest tightened.
Even surviving this, the abuse and scorn would continue.
The children's bullying too.
Fleeing the village? He had nowhere to go.
And worst of all...
'What if it's the same everywhere else?'
That truly terrified him.
Escaping one hell only to find another—he couldn't endure it.
'Would dying bring peace?'
For the first time, he contemplated death.
Once, it had only scared him. Not now.
It even seemed like the sole escape from this hellish reality.
'If I die, could I meet Mom and Dad?'
Seeing other children with loving parents filled him with envy.
'Why don't I have parents? If I did, would they protect me?'
The thought made his faceless parents ache in his heart.
'Are they dead? Or alive somewhere? No, if alive, they'd have found me.'
Unaware of the world's vastness, the boy thought thus.
'If I die and meet Mom and Dad... wouldn't I be happy then?'
That was when...
Voices of villagers searching the woods rang out again.
"Ha... where'd that rat bastard go?"
"He couldn't have run far already, right?"
"That'd be trouble! Who knows what disaster he'll bring elsewhere? We never should have taken in that pitiful brat."
"Exactly. No wonder his own parents abandoned that infant—they knew what he was."
"Ha... anyway, let's check down below. Hope he slips and croaks while we're at it."
The voices faded again.
The boy, unmoving, heard every word. Shock hit hard.
'I bring misfortune... that's why Mom and Dad abandoned me?'
A fat tear rolled from his eye.
'I... was never meant to be born.'
With that thought, he crawled from the hiding spot.
His body ached from the long cramped position, but he ignored it.
Dazed, he shuffled his feet.
He climbed higher.
Mindlessly walking led to a cliff.
As if entranced, he approached the edge.
Dawn was breaking; the surroundings lightened slightly.
The view from the cliff's end was spectacular.
But none of it registered in the boy's eyes.
'Yes. Die. I should have died when they abandoned me. Then... the village wouldn't have suffered.'
Death's shadow had deeply shrouded his heart.
No rational thought, no survival instinct amid the dark emotions.
Even his vacant gaze held no spark of life.
The boy at the cliff's edge took one step forward.
That step into void sent his body plummeting below.
"Hoo... it's been a long road. Too long."
The elderly man, exhaustion etched on his face, muttered as he walked.
Whatever had transpired, his clothes were torn, bloodstained in places.
Above all, the spear he carried was caked in far more blood.
Halting, he leaned the spear against a tree.
Then he drew a waterskin from his belt and uncorked it.
"Hm?"
As he tilted his head to drink, the old man paused.
"Dawn, when life stirs—yet death's aura hangs so thick. Why?"
Sighing, he scanned for the source, eyes darting.
Soon, his gaze fixed on one spot.
A high cliff's rim.
Too distant and lofty for certainty, but a figure stood there.
"No."
He murmured—and in that instant, the figure fell.
And the old man vanished from sight.
Even in freefall, no thoughts came.
No fear, no will to live.
All vitality drained, he entered a state of utter emptiness.
Then—
Grab.
An odd sensation.
Impact should bring pain, yet there was none.
It felt like being cradled in someone's arms.
Slowly, the boy opened his eyes.
An old man held him securely, landing lightly on the ground.
Setting the boy down, Yeom Si-woo gazed steadily.
"What filled your heart with such death?"
The boy gave no reply to the question.
Just stared with lifeless eyes.
"Frozen solid. No spark of life. Alive in body, dead in spirit—it's only natural."
Yeom Si-woo spoke with pity.
What tale could drive a mere child to this?
He'd saved the stranger out of human decency.
Yet those eyes tugged at him; ignoring felt wrong.
Left alone, the boy would seek death again.
After a moment's gaze, Yeom Si-woo stood and took the boy's hand.
"My energy is a blazing fire. May it thaw your frozen heart and reignite your will to live."
Murmuring thus, he walked on. The boy followed, face like a soulless shell.