27 — Chapter 27

“What!?”

Beomjin shouted without meaning to, circling the mound quickly. No holes, no gaps—nothing looked tampered with. But Senior Ahn’s opinion was different.

“Come here.”

Hands clasped behind her back, she moved to the rear of the mound. Brushing away leaves, she tapped at the soil covered by grass and weeds with the tip of her shoe.

“Here. They dug in right here.”

“It looks perfectly fine. How could there be a hole?”

Beomjin stomped down where she pointed. It just felt a little soft, nothing more.

“I think you’re mistaken—”

But as he jumped in place a third time, the ground collapsed.

“Whoa!”

His right foot was swallowed into the earth. It took several frantic digs with a shovel before he could pull it free. Beneath the sod was a narrow tunnel just big enough for a person to squeeze through, stuffed with sacks of soil to keep it from caving in.

“Told you it was here.”

Senior Ahn beamed, miming scooping dirt with her hands.

“What are you standing around for? Start digging!”

---

In just ten minutes, Beomjin and Jinyoung were dripping with sweat.

More unsettling than the labor was what it meant: they were widening a grave’s tunnel, preparing for him to crawl inside.

Digging into a tomb with his own hands—never had the saying “digging your own grave” felt so literal.

“This should be enough. Try going in.”

Jinyoung wiped sweat from her brow and set her shovel down.

He wanted to argue, but both she and Senior Ahn were watching, waiting.

The mountain was silent except for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the faint chirp of insects.

Beomjin shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and slid into the hole.

It was worse than he’d imagined. The air was thick and clammy. Every movement showered him with soil into his eyes and mouth. He had to writhe like a worm just to inch forward, and the deeper he went, the stronger the stench became.

“See anything?” Jinyoung’s muffled voice drifted in.

“No!!”

Frustration burst out in a harsh shout. If she was that curious, she could crawl in herself!

The tunnel slanted upward and suddenly opened wide. Inside was the tomb chamber: a cramped space, not even tall enough to stand, littered with shattered coffin wood and unrecognizable debris.

“Ah, fuck. This is insane.”

He wiped grime from his face, swept shards of pottery, wood, and stone into the sack, and filmed the chamber with his phone. Whether there was any evidence left, they’d judge later.

Turning or breathing was torture. Every twitch sent soil raining down. The damp air pressed on his lungs like a weight.

As he finished recording, voices filtered in from outside. Jinyoung’s was among them—along with men’s voices. More than one. Who had shown up?

“What’s going on out there?”

His shout barely carried. No way they’d hear him.

He had to get out. But twisting around was impossible. He folded himself up, shoving inch by inch, grunting with the effort.

The earth trembled.

Buried in dirt, the vibration was bone-deep.

CRASH!!

With an explosive rumble, the tomb collapsed. Soil crushed down, shoving him violently.

“Puhahh!!”

Beomjin clawed his way free, spitting mud from his mouth, blinking grit from his eyes. Somehow, he was outside.

The sight before him: Beast-Blooded men swarming the area. Part of the mound had caved in, and a handcart was wedged into the breach.

“What the hell…? Who are these guys?”

He didn’t need to ask. Two were already sprawled on the ground, eyes rolled back. The other four were trading blows with Jinyoung.

But the men were even more shocked than he was. Seeing someone erupt from a collapsing tomb, covered in dirt, Beomjin rise to his feet—they screamed in terror.

“Uwaaah!”

“What the hell!?”

“These bastards—grave robbers!”

At Jinyoung’s shout, the Frog swung his shovel down.

CLANG!

Beomjin threw up the sack he carried. The stones inside clashed with the shovel, sparking.

He shoved the startled Frog, knocking him over. The man’s fists flailed, but Beomjin’s vertical punch crushed down like a hammer. Foam spilled from his lips as his eyes rolled back.

Meanwhile, the Boar Beast-Blooded hurled the handcart aside and charged Jinyoung head-on. His massive shoulder smashed into her.

THUD!!

She braced, but his strength was overwhelming—more than even she could handle.

“Heh. So the Bear’s got some bite after all, huh?”

His breath reeked of cigarettes as he yanked her hair.

“Aagh!”

Unbalanced, Jinyoung staggered. His kick slammed into her thigh.

WHUMP!

“Urgh!!”

She hit the ground hard. Clutching at his leg only drew more vicious stomps.

“You little brat!”

He raised his other foot, ready to stomp her face—

CRACK!!!

Beomjin’s straight punch shattered his right cheekbone. The Boar reeled, knees buckling, eyes glassy. His head turned slowly toward Beomjin, as if begging for another blow.

Beomjin obliged.

Another fist smashed his left cheek. Sweat and spit sprayed like mist as the Boar toppled stiff as a log.

Beomjin extended a hand to Jinyoung. She gripped it and rose—then her face went pale.

“Watch out!”

An arm coiled around Beomjin’s neck.

The Snake had slipped in silently, clinging to his back. His forearm crushed Beomjin’s windpipe. His face reddened, veins bulging like wires.

Too strong. His neck felt like it would tear apart.

Five seconds—then death.

Beomjin made his choice. He leapt, slamming down with all eighty kilos, using the Snake as a cushion.

“Gkkhh!”

The Snake’s strangling grip faltered under the impact. Beomjin seized his wrist, twisting hard. The man resisted, but Beomjin ripped himself free.

He lunged, snatching the Snake’s hood.

“Eek!”

The Snake jerked aside, and Beomjin only tore the edge. The hood slipped, revealing half his face.

Dark-skinned, mid-to-late thirties, a scar over his left brow—a hardened look.

“So. Not easy, after all,” the Snake muttered.

“…What…?”

Beomjin froze. That face—familiar. He couldn’t place it, but the memory clawed at him.

The Snake snatched up the shovel and flung it at Beomjin’s head.

“Look out!”

Jinyoung shoved him aside. By the time they looked up, the Snake had vanished into the trees.

“Haigo, that was terrifying. That guy’s a real monster,”

Senior Ahn bustled over from wherever she’d been hiding. She checked Beomjin and Jinyoung’s foreheads, clucking her tongue.

“You two okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m fine too.”

Beomjin exhaled deeply. “I’ve seen that Snake before. I’m sure of it.”

“You have?”

“I don’t know where, and I can’t remember if we actually met, but that face—I know it.”

“Don’t go making friends with thugs like that,” she scolded.

He tried to recall the face, but of course, memory failed him when he needed it most.

“So, what happened while I was inside the tomb?”

“We were waiting for you when these bastards came crawling up. Judging by what they said, they came back to check again. But the Snake wasn’t there before—where did he pop out from?”

“He was there. Lurking at the back.”

Senior Ahn narrowed her eyes knowingly.

“Either way, it’s clear now. This tomb was looted.”

“That’s right. They proved it with their own feet,” Jinyoung muttered, rubbing her aching side. She’d need an x-ray later; the pain was sharp.

“Was the flute inside?”

“No. Nothing worth taking. I scraped up whatever I could grab, but…”

He emptied the sack.

Not a flute shard—just dirt-caked rubble.

“This is it? Just junk like this?”

“That’s why I filmed the inside too. There wasn’t even space for anything else to be in there.”

“Then did we—or they—search the wrong tomb?” Jinyoung scratched her chin.

“No. This is the one. No doubt. The flute was never here to begin with.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because something that should’ve been inside wasn’t.”

“…Should’ve?”

“The corpse.”

---

The tomb held no human remains. Not a bone, not a scrap of cloth. Not even a trace of decay in the soil.

“If those guys came back again, it means they didn’t find what they wanted either.”

Beomjin crouched beside Senior Ahn, sifting through the debris. Among the broken pottery, rotted wood, and scattered stones, a reddish shard caught his eye.

“There’s something here.”

He pulled out the red-tinged fragments. Senior Ahn quickly joined, brushing dirt away. The crimson hue deepened as they cleaned.

It was volcanic rock, sharp-edged as if shattered. Had it cracked blocking the shovel strike? Faint characters were carved on the polished side, but blurred.

“It looks like Chinese characters, but I can’t read it.”

“Here, let me feel.”

Closing her eyes, Senior Ahn traced the grooves with her fingertip. After several passes, she nodded.

“Geu… looks like the character for ‘refuse’.”

Jinyoung leaned in.

“And this one’s ‘open’. The next is… I thought it was ‘Ga,’ but no…”

Senior Ahn pressed harder with her fingertip. “Not ‘Ga.’ It’s ‘O’ — the paulownia tree (梧). The last one’s too damaged to read.”¹

She handed the fragment back.

“So what does it mean?”

“I don’t know. I can read the characters, not their meaning. That’s for smart youngsters like you.”

Fair enough.

inyoung quickly searched on her phone. Her eyes widened.

“It’s pulling up… the Stele of King Munmu’s Tomb.”

At that, Senior Ahn pointed over the mountain.

“Out there’s King Munmu’s tomb—those big rocks in the sea, that’s what they call it. But I’ve never heard of a stele for it.”

What the hell was this?

The Flute of Ten Thousand Waves wasn’t in the tomb. Instead, they found a clue pointing to something that didn’t exist.

Beomjin’s thoughts churned, but Senior Ahn spoke up.

“There’s an old hermitage nearby, where the tomb’s caretaker once lived. Want to go check it out?”