Where Am I?
Ten Perfect Assassins No. 50
Written by Ilhak
1
Clunk!
"Ow!"
Won Seung jolted awake from the impact of his head smacking something. Thick canvas shook, letting in fleeting glimpses of light.
A cart?
He was lying on his side against the cart wall. A cool draft slipped under the flap covering the window. He tried to roll over, but someone was pressed against his back, pinning him in place.
Why the hell am I in a cart...?
What was going on? Puzzled, he furrowed his brow.
It was that little punk Sochu!
His half-brother, just a year younger, was always pulling pranks with him. Recently, Won Seung had locked Sochu in the storehouse for a whole day. This must be payback.
They must've loaded him into the cart while he slept.
Suddenly, someone tapped his head.
"Hey, if you're awake, get up. It's cramped because of you."
"Huh?"
As Won Seung struggled to sit up, the person behind him shifted to give him space. He turned and rose, confirming it was indeed a cart interior. But he wasn't alone.
It was packed with kids who looked about five or six years old—easily ten of them crammed in tight.
Won Seung blinked in surprise.
Who are these kids?
One beside him spoke up.
"So you're not dead after all."
"What? Why would I be dead?"
Won Seung trailed off into a cough. The air reeked of kids' sweat and the grimy stench from their ragged clothes. Even more shocking, the same smell wafted from his own body.
He glanced down at his clothes and flinched. Gone was the fine silk he usually wore; instead, he was in threadbare rags.
What the hell happened?
Won Seung racked his brain. His father and mother had gone out, so he'd snuck into the kitchen for some dried fruit. Then he'd gone back to his room and dozed off—that was his last memory.
Damn you, Sochu! What did you do to me?
He could guess the situation, but he wasn't too worried. His father, Won Seongji, was a high-ranking official at Jeong 3-pum rank, with immense power. A few men sent out would track him down in no time.
Won Seung vowed revenge when he got back. Pranks between half-brothers sometimes escalated to this brutal level.
His head itched, and he scratched absentmindedly—only to freeze again. His once-lustrous long hair had been hacked off unevenly, like a chestnut burr.
This is going too far. Rags and a butchered haircut.
He worried his father's men might not recognize him. On the other hand, this could be an interesting adventure.
His father wasn't exactly clean-handed, so the Won Mansion was vast. Still, it felt confining to a lively six-year-old.
Won Seung often roamed the markets from morning till night.
Since I'm out, might as well sightsee on the way back.
The thought of escaping the stuffy house to play freely made his eyes sparkle.
First, he needed to figure out where he was and where they were headed.
"Where's this cart going?"
No answer from the kids. Some had their heads buried in their knees, not even twitching.
The one next to him grumbled.
"Dunno. We've been going nonstop for four days."
Won Seung's eyes widened.
"Four days? You saying I've been out for four days?"
"Yeah. That's why we thought you were dead."
Hunger hit him suddenly. Four days asleep meant no food or water.
He looked around—no sign of anything edible.
Then the cart halted, and the flap opened. A burly man in black robes peered in.
"We're walking from here."
The man had a massive sword at his side and a vicious scowl. As the kids sluggishly rose, he yanked out the blade and slammed it into the cart floor.
"Move it—now!"
The kids yelped and scrambled out. Won Seung followed.
Mountains everywhere. The cart had stopped on a mountain pass, with a small uphill path along the ridge ahead.
Another man was there too—a long-faced one who looked horsey, also in black.
"Follow."
The burly man led, the kids trailing in a line. The horse-faced one brought up the rear, watching like a hawk.
This is insane! No food or water for four days, and now hike a mountain?
Won Seung lagged, then spoke to the horse-faced man.
"I'm hungry. Starved for four days."
The man scowled.
"Say that again. What?"
"I'm... hungry."
The man pulled a steamed bun from his satchel and tossed it over.
"Lucky you woke up. Otherwise, we'd have dumped your corpse. Eat while you walk."
Won Seung didn't buy the threat.
Bullshit. There's a reason they're taking us.
The man handed buns to the other kids too.
Won Seung munched as he followed.
Kidnapping kids into the mountains? Weird. Not begging, that's for sure.
He recalled an old servant warning him about beggar kings snatching kids for alms.
At least not that.
The young master of Won Mansion couldn't beg on streets.
The rugged path wore the kids down. Too much for five- or six-year-olds, but no one dared complain against the burly man's glare.
They followed the ridge all day, descending a valley at dusk. It was wide, dotted with several large log cabins.
The burly man pointed to a row of identical wooden huts.
"Pick any empty one to crash in. When the bell rings, head to the mess hall for food."
Inside the first hut, bunks lined both sides of a central aisle, already half-full with kids lying or sitting. Plenty of girls mixed in, all filthy—hard to tell boys from girls by face alone.
"Too crowded. Next one."
The second was the same. The last hut at the end had space.
Won Seung flopped onto a corner bunk. Half a day's hike had blistered his feet, stinging badly. At least his shoes hadn't worn through.
The kid from the cart followed and lay nearby, unfazed. Small but sturdy.
"You walk like it's nothing. My feet are blistered."
Won Seung kicked off his shoes to show them.
"I could walk days no problem."
The kid showed his bare feet—thick calluses on the soles, tough as rocks.
"What's your name?"
"Jang Chil."
"Family name?"
"Family name? Oh! Father's Jang."
"Jang Chil, then."
"You wake up in the cart too?"
"Nah."
The kid picked his nose.
"Dad took a silver tael. Said follow 'em, won't starve, live well wherever."
"Your dad sold you?"
Shocked, Won Seung pressed. Jang Chil shrugged like it was nothing.
"Big family. Plenty of hands without me."
Won Seung remembered Teacher Gong's words.
—The world's gone mad. Kings ignore the people, people mock the kings. Parents sell kids, kids abandon parents—like it's normal.
Teacher Gong, hired by his father when Won Seung was three, taught more about the world's rot than books. Won Seung figured the old man's bitterness came from flunking exams and sinking to tutoring kids.
Now it seemed he wasn't entirely wrong.
For a moment, Won Seung wondered if he'd been sold for a tael too. His father was filthy rich—wouldn't bend for roadside silver, let alone sell him.
Who needed a single tael, then?
Mom adored him—no amount of silver would sway her. The cash-strapped ones were the servants. He shook his head.
No. They like me. Wouldn't do it.
Then it hit: inner quarters servants might hate him. His stepmother, Joo Gunju, despised his birth mother in the outer quarters. Tensions ran high between their staffs.
Those inner-quarter bastards would sell me for sure.
Sold for a measly tael—humiliating.
I've got hundreds stashed. Could've just asked me.
Lost in thought, Jang Chil started snoring.
The bell rang soon after. Won Seung shook him.
"Bell. Let's eat."
Kids rushed out. About a hundred swarmed the mess hall on a low hill.
Won Seung and Jang Chil hurried too.
"Whoa!"
Jang Chil gasped on entry. Most kids did, shouting in awe. Long tables groaned under whole poached chickens.
"Grab rice porridge and your own veggies from those bowls."
Two men in gray robes ladled from cauldrons. Kids grinned, thrusting plates forward. Veggies sat untouched—everyone bolted for the chickens.
Won Seung and Jang Chil claimed a table fast.
"Glad I got sold now."
Jang Chil tore off a drumstick, plopping it on his porridge, mouth watering.
"Don't sell out for one chicken."
Won Seung quipped, snatching a drumstick himself. A latecomer eyed the legless bird and pouted.
One chicken per four kids. Late birds got wings and breast.
Everyone stuffed themselves. The trek-frightened kids loosened up with full bellies, chattering away. Good food eased fears of a brutal fate.
Won Seung thought of pigs. No free rides—they fatten you up for slaughter, more meat that way.
Not gonna eat us, right?
He scanned the room. Teacher Gong once claimed border folk used people for dumplings. He'd scoffed—why use scrawny humans over pigs?
Now... maybe.
As he imagined himself as filling, a gray-robed man spoke.
"Done eating? Shut up and bed down. Training starts tomorrow—this is your last easy night."