Children Who Lost Their Memories
The wooden box contained black pills.
The instructor spoke in a stern voice.
"These pills will invigorate your vital energy. Take one each. They're precious, so don't you dare spill them."
That stuff's supposed to be a tonic? Yeah, right.
Won Seung didn't buy it. His suspicions hardened into certainty when he saw the instructor hand a pill to the first child and watch him swallow it.
Won Seung's eyes darted slyly. He'd long mastered the art of dodging pills. Back home, when the maids tried to force bitter medicine on him by calling it "good for you," he'd pop it in his mouth, pretend to swallow, and tuck it under his tongue. It was a simple trick, but as long as he kept a straight face, they fell for it every time.
Should I risk it...?
He hesitated for a moment. Getting caught by the maids only meant a bit of fuss, but here? Who knew what they'd do. Still, watching them inspect every mouth convinced him he had to avoid that black pill. He steeled himself.
Finally, it was Won Seung's turn.
"Swallow it."
The instructor held out the pill.
Won Seung took it, made a show of gulping it down with a grimace, then opened his mouth wide. The pill was already hidden under his tongue.
The instructor, seeing the boy's innocent expression, never dreamed he'd pull such a stunt. As the man turned to the child on the opposite bunk, Won Seung wiped his mouth with his sleeve and spat out the pill.
Once all the children had "taken" their pills, the instructor stood in the central aisle, watching them lined up at the ends of their bunks.
A moment later.
"Ugh..."
The first boy groaned and toppled backward. The kids nearby jumped in surprise—his face was beet red.
All the children's eyes went wide. But it was too late. Before they could even process what was happening, one after another groaned and collapsed.
Won Seung let out a groan of his own and flopped sideways. Once every child lay unconscious, the instructor shut the door and left.
"Ugh..."
"M-Mommy..."
The children writhed in feverish delirium, some calling for their mothers.
Listening to the groans echoing through the barracks, Won Seung sighed inwardly.
This place is hell.
He thought of his mother.
She must be searching desperately for him right now.
The idea of enduring ten years of training here felt utterly hopeless.
Mother, your son's life has turned into a real ordeal. You know that, right?
The imperial capital, Huangdo, was always buzzing with rumors. One more joined the mix: the disappearance of Jeong 3-pum Yebu Left Minister Won Seongji's eldest son.
Won Seongji flew into a rage and sent men to search, but they found nothing. His birth wife, the Lee Family Wife, had fallen ill from grief, or so the talk went.
The gossip in official circles died down quickly. Word spread that Won Mansion's principal wife, Joo Gunju, had imposed a gag order to protect the family's reputation. Then came whispers that the cloying medicinal smell from the annex was unbearable, so the bedridden Lee Family Wife had been sent to a suburban villa. After that, talk of Won Mansion faded away.
Won Seung had no idea his existence had been erased from Huangdo. He hadn't been that big a deal anyway, so even if he'd known, it probably wouldn't have hurt much.
Man, I'm starving.
Right now, Won Seung's top concern was when he'd get his next meal.
After swallowing the black pills the day before, the children had suffered raging fevers all night. Even past breakfast and lunch the next day, none had woken.
When the hell do we wake up?
The perfectly fine Won Seung groaned incessantly to mask his hunger. By the end, he almost felt genuinely sick.
Fortunately, as evening fell, children began stirring one by one. Won Seung "came to" right on cue.
"Head straight to the mess hall once you're up."
At the supervising instructor's words, the children shuffled unsteadily to the dining hall. Won Seung suppressed the urge to run and trudged along like the others.
After eating and regaining his wits, Won Seung observed the awakened children. They looked dazed, souls seemingly sucked out. He mimicked their vacant expressions.
Jang Chil showed up at the mess hall around lunchtime on the second day. Won Seung started to call out joyfully, then froze, glanced around, and lowered his hand.
On the way out after eating, he trailed Jang Chil and spoke softly.
"Jang Chil."
Jang Chil shuffled on without responding. Won Seung nudged him, and only then did he turn—his eyes were utterly empty.
"Snap out of it."
"Huh? What'd you say?"
Spotting an instructor approaching from afar, Won Seung brushed past Jang Chil and hurried ahead.
What the hell was in those pills?
It wasn't poison, at least—the kids endured high fevers for two or three days, then woke up fine.
Soon enough, Won Seung realized the truth: the pill had wiped their memories. Jang Chil, who'd slept beside him the first night, didn't recognize him. He'd even forgotten his own name and hometown.
At least Jang Chil became No. 7. Small mercies?
Won Seung counted himself incredibly lucky for dodging the pill. If he'd taken it, he'd have lost everything and could never return to Won Mansion.
Pity welled up for Jang Chil. Staring at his blank face in the mess hall, Won Seung made a silent vow.
I'll tell you your name and hometown later. You should go back home someday.
About ten days later, the pill's aftereffects faded, and the children's eyes returned to normal. But their emotions had dulled—they were perpetually listless, never laughing, crying, or bickering like kids their age.
Though amnesiac, the horror of that first day lingered, making them obedient to the instructors' every command.
One day, the instructors gathered the children in the training yard and pointed to the tent from their first day.
"No. 1, enter the tent."
The children filed in one by one.
When Jang Chil emerged, Won Seung sidled up.
"What happened?"
"Nothin' much. They asked my name and origin."
Jang Chil scratched his head.
"Couldn't answer my origin, so no dinner tonight."
Won Seung caught on immediately.
They're screening for kids who didn't lose their memories.
His turn came. Entering the tent, Won Seung went slack-eyed.
The man from day one looked up from his documents and asked his name.
"Uh..."
Won Seung scratched his head sheepishly. The man sighed in pity.
"It's on your chest. No. 50!"
"Oh, No. 50, sir."
"Answer properly or no dinner. Where's your hometown?"
"......"
Better to skip a meal than fall for their game.
"Do you even know where you are?"
"......"
Won Seung stared blankly. The man frowned.
This kid had seemed sharpest on day one, but now he was the worst off.
Soul Oblivion Pill hits smart kids harder, huh? Looks like it.
The man muttered to himself, then waved him out without further questions.
"Get out. No dinner for you."
Around six or seven kids were weeded out this way. They were dosed with Soul Oblivion Pill again and didn't reappear for over ten days.
Having taken it twice, their aftereffects lasted longer than the others'.
Once the children regained their senses, training began in earnest.
The instructors showed no mercy.
From dawn till dusk, the kids climbed cliffs and dashed through mountains. Sometimes they wandered deep into the woods at midnight. Two fell to their deaths from cliffs; one was mauled by a wild beast and died after days of agony.
Another tried fleeing at night, got caught, and was killed. After that, no one dared run.
Half a year later, the children scaled mountains and cliffs like wild beasts. Venom glinted in their eyes, their bodies hardened.
The food was decent—chicken and pork appeared at every meal. Eating was their only joy.
It wasn't mindless brutality. When some kids overdid strength training to show off and got beaten by an instructor:
"You're still growing. Push too hard, and it'll stunt you. Follow orders!"
The instructor who'd killed a child on day one was surnamed Jang—Jang Gyo-du. Instructors never gave full names.
After that first day, Jang Gyo-du was rarely seen. As head of this mountain camp, he mostly stayed in his office.
Once the shock of his massacre faded and Won Seung realized they weren't killing willy-nilly anymore, fear gave way to rage.
Ten years like this? My prime wasted rolling in the dirt like a dog?!
He'd lived lavishly as Won Mansion's eldest young master. The injustice boiled his blood. But he never showed it.
The amnesiac kids had come to accept the training as normal. Won Seung played along outwardly. If they sensed the blade he hid in his heart, they'd kill him for sure.
Another half-year passed, and Won Seung adapted to mountain life. With better development and stamina than most, he consistently ranked around tenth in any drill, just as he wanted.
After a year, training evolved. A scholar with a writing brush arrived from outside to teach literacy. Outsiders teaching were called "masters" instead of instructors.
Won Seung, seeing writing after so long, read fluently in excitement. The literacy master took notice.
"What a literary prodigy. And your handwriting's excellent."
Most kids were illiterate, so Won Seung stood out despite trying to hide it. Luckily, they didn't care much for reading and writing—no envy or jealousy.
Mornings were for letters; afternoons, martial arts. Instructors hauled out weapons from the eighteen general categories, stocked the yard, and taught in rotation.
Evenings brought personal cultivation. Won Seung favored Clear Mind Heart Technique—breathing to build and circulate energy.
Clear Mind Heart Technique cleared his head and sharpened focus.
Thanks to it, the rage boiling in Won Seung's heart subsided somewhat. His outward ferocity calmed, but the deep grudge only hardened.
Facing his second mountain winter, Won Seung scratched two lines by his bunk's headboard. Two years gone—he was eight now.
Five more had died in that time, leaving ninety kids.
If five die a year, that's forty more in eight years. But that'd leave fifty survivors. Doesn't add up.
Jang Gyo-du had said only about twenty would live.
Means the training's gonna get harsher.