At exactly 8:30 p.m., the cold night air swept across the dim neighborhood. Shadows stretched along the pavement, but Gong-heo moved like one of them—silent, intentional, alone.
Even though he lived by himself, he still tiptoed, sneaking out of his own house as if someone might catch him. Old habits die hard, and in his case, habits kept him alive.
— "I'm on my way to Bukhansan, Yehay," he whispered, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
"Let's see what secrets you're hiding tonight."
He gave a small leap, unable to contain the excitement building inside his chest.
He was dressed like a character from a forgotten legend—a dark red masquerade mask, a matching robe, and beneath it, a white ruffle-collared shirt, the kind worn by nobles in olden times. Slim black pants wrapped his legs, and on his hands, he wore short satin-silk gloves.
Tucked at his side was a weapon:
— Dark Bloom, a sharp C+ grade dagger, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
He had paid a total of ₩1,091,600 for it—₩560,800 from his recent earnings and another ₩530,800 from his bank account. All of it spent through Sylle Shop, an underground app where registered and unregistered hunters traded loot from monster drops, stolen relics, hidden dungeons, and rare crafts.
It was dangerous.
It was illegal.
It was perfect.
His messy hair ruffled in the wind as he ran—fast, focused, and free.
After four hours, Gong-heo arrived at Bukhansan Mountain. The hiking trails were faintly lit for tourists, but he didn't bother with them.
Instead, he turned toward a hidden path swallowed by trees and shadows.
He wasn't here to admire the view.
He was here to hunt.
And more than that—
To search.
— "There's got to be something… a gate… a hidden dungeon… anything that doesn't belong," he thought.
"I can feel it. Something's calling me here."
His senses sharpened. Every sound, every breath of wind, felt like a whisper from the unknown.
Then—he heard it.
A low, unnatural growl.
He crouched behind a tree, peeking through the thick brush.
— Fang Wolves.
At least twenty.
Not just any monsters. These were intelligent predators, capable of mimicking hunter movements. Their fur was black as tar, and their crimson eyes glowed with a hunger that went beyond instinct.
— "If they see me, it's over. I need to—"
Crack.
A brittle patch of leaves betrayed him.
Twenty heads turned in unison.
Red eyes locked onto his position.
Their muscles tensed.
— "Damn it."
They howled—and lunged.
He had no choice.
Gong-heo drew Dark Bloom, his eyes narrowing coldly.
— "Not bad. But you rushed your death. I'll be the one writing your end."
He charged.
In one fluid motion, he leapt, twisted midair, and hurled the dagger with deadly grace. It tore through the air, piercing the first wolf's neck before it even touched the ground.
Then—Dark Bloom returned to his palm like a cursed boomerang.
He moved like a phantom—weaving, slicing, dodging. The Fang Wolves tried to mimic him, but he was too fast, too sharp.
Five seconds.
Twenty bodies.
All dead.
He stood amidst the silence, breathing evenly. Then, he raised two fingers near his fake black eye.
His left eye began to glow, a swirling aura of shifting colors surrounding it.
— "Feed."
Scrolls, daggers, rare potions—and a glowing S-grade mage's staff—all shimmered from the fallen wolves.
And then, like stardust, they vanished—sucked into his left eye, absorbed by whatever mysterious power lay sealed within it.
— "B to AA+ drops… and one S item?"
"Heh. Lucky me."
He lowered his hand and shut the glowing eye. When he opened it again, the aura had vanished. Only his real eye remained, calm and unreadable.
— "Next."
For three more hours, Gong-heo roamed deeper into Bukhansan, collecting rare monster loot and hunting like a silent beast.
Until—he froze.
There, hidden beneath twisted roots and blanketed by moss, was a weathered tombstone.
It looked old.
Older than anything he'd seen on Earth.
Wrong—in a way that made his skin crawl.
He stepped closer, brushing the moss aside.
Symbols—no Hangul, no Kanji, no Latin. Just strange, twisted letters, softly glowing.
— "Ëîvnlæz stàw hjssñ; Cîfasgπz ōjës πœsñfåæè"
His breath caught.
The letters shifted, changed, almost like they recognized him.
Then, in his mind, he heard it—clear and ancient:
— "Aunbesh hoir feloq; Aunbesh hoir drenhk."
"Unleash your power; unleash your strength."
His eyes widened.
— "Gaeia…?"
His pulse quickened.
— "No. No way. That's Gaeia language. The world I once called home… Gaeia.
But after death... I awoke here—as Gong-heo…"
He stepped back, shaking.
— "But how? Why is this here? Who carved this?"
He stared at the stone, trembling.
— "I thought I was the only one… the only one who crossed over. The only one cursed with memory."
"But this…"
"This proves otherwise."
He clenched his fist, the silence now pressing on his chest like a weight.
— "Someone else from Gaeia has been here."
"Or worse… they never left."
He looked around. The forest was quiet—too quiet.
— "Is this fate? Or is someone watching me?"
His hand hovered over his dagger again. He didn't draw it.
Not yet.
— "I don't want more blood tonight. I want answers."
He looked back at the glowing tombstone.
Voice low. Steady.
— "Who are you?"
"And what the hell do you want from me?"
No response.
Only wind. Leaves rustling. A strange cold in the air.
But Gong-heo knew better.
Silence is never empty.
It meant something.
Something was coming.
And now... it had his name.
End of Chapter 4