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The Flute of Ten Thousand Waves was undeniably important—something they had to recover no matter what. But right now, Risa came first. She needed a hospital.
As Beomjin stood, preparing to carry her, something gleamed on the ground. Half-buried in dirt was the black military knife—the one Ryu Jin had used when Beomjin blocked with his own hand.
He picked up the knife, then lifted Risa onto his back.
The insects’ chorus had gone silent beneath the night sky. Through the dark forest path, Beomjin pushed forward until they reached the road.
“Unnie… just a little more. Please.”
Seoyul clutched Risa’s hand, voice shaking. Risa gave her a faint smile. Her heartbeat had slowed. Beomjin told Seoyul to keep talking to her—keep her awake—and hurried his pace.
As Seoyul kept close behind, her head suddenly turned sideways.
“Mister, I smell something.”
“A smell? What smell?”
“…This way. There’s a disinfectant smell coming from here.”
Beomjin glanced the same direction—but he couldn’t catch anything.
When he hesitated, Seoyul insisted—firm.
“It’s real. Please trust me. There must be a hospital that way.”
Risa’s weakening breathing made the decision for him.
“Alright. Let’s go. I’m going to run—don’t fall behind!”
“Yes! I won’t lose you!”
They raced downhill toward the city lights. Before long, even Beomjin smelled it—the sharp sting of disinfectant.
And then—a green cross came into view.
“Unnie! The hospital!”
“Just a little more!”
Risa’s lips were turning blue. Her breathing grew shallower. Her pulse faded against his fingertips. Her body… was getting cold.
Now Seoyul took the lead like a human navigator. The smell thickened—signs became clear.
EMERGENCY.
Before the sign even fully entered sight, Beomjin kicked the doors open.
“We need help! Please—she’s critical!”
He stopped in front of the reception desk with Risa slumped over his back, soaked in blood and sweat.
Without needing further explanation, nurses rushed in and lifted her onto a stretcher.
“We’ll start emergency treatment. Please wait in the lounge.”
Risa’s lips were cracked and dry. Her eyelids half-closed. As the stretcher wheeled away, she struggled to turn her head.
“Unnie! You’ll be okay—you’re getting treated now!”
Seoyul ran alongside and held her hand.
Then—the emergency room doors shut.
Only bloody footprints and their trembling breaths remained.
Beomjin wiped the sweat from his eyes, staring at the closed doors for a long time.
“She’ll be okay, right?”
“…She will. With her stubbornness, she won’t die until she wrings the life out of those bastards first.”
A tiny laugh flickered on Seoyul’s exhausted face.
“Yes. She will.”
Beomjin sank deep into the waiting room chair, wiping his temple with the back of his hand.
The clock ticked past 1 a.m.
The cold press of metal touched his waistband—and only then did he remember the knife he had taken.
He pulled it out—Ryu Jin’s blade.
“Mister… what’s that?”
“Their weapon.”
He turned it in his hand—the edge was freshly sharpened, and the leather grip had been replaced recently.
Then something caught his eye—a carved pattern along the blade. Lines like tiny runes, shimmering faintly.
He scraped the grooves with his nail—a powder clung to his fingertip. Not dirt. Not sand. It smelled metallic—mineral-like.
“Why… would this be on the blade?”
His hand stilled.
At the end of the handle—inside the wolf’s eye engraving—
two characters:
Wolf Blood.
The Wolf-Blooded Order.
The name cut deep into his memory.
Now, he understood why they attacked—and why they took the flute.
Those known as [Heirs of the Wolf’s Blood]—were a mercenary order.
Originating in the late Goryeo era during national turmoil, their ferocity became legend. A group of wolf-blooded Beast-Blooded who sold their fangs to the highest bidder.
Before the regression, Beomjin had clashed with them—unearthing their involvement in an assassination of Special Beast Investigation Unit agents.
Whether Jin Geonmyeong hired them or they were acting on their own was uncertain.
But he knew exactly where to find them again.
Their largest stronghold was in Daegu—a labyrinth of abandoned mines converted into an underground hideout.
Now he understood the mineral dust.
He stood—knife in hand.
He had their scent.
He had their trail.
He would get the flute back.
“Mister… where are you going?”
“…We have to get the Flute of Ten Thousand Waves back.”
The stab wound in his palm had almost fully healed.
“Right now? By yourself?”
“Yeah. Seoyul, you stay here and protect Risa. You’ve done your part. The rest is mine.”
“No.”
Seoyul answered without hesitation.
“I failed to protect what I was supposed to. And unnie got hurt trying to protect me. I can’t just stay here and wait. I’m going with you.”
Her voice trembled—but in her eyes burned a solid, unshakable resolve.
“…This is dangerous. I can’t take you with me.”
“I already regret what I did. I’d rather fight than sit here. If you don’t take me, I’ll follow alone.”
Beomjin let out a long breath.
Her motivation wasn’t just guilt anymore. She understood the meaning and weight of the flute… and that she had a duty to protect it.
“…Fine. But don’t leave my side—not even a step.”
“I promise.”
With her answer, Beomjin headed to the reception counter and made a call.
The person on the other end—Chae I-rang, Risa’s partner and boyfriend from the Special Beast Investigation Unit. Even at this early hour, he picked up quickly.
Beomjin briefly explained everything that had happened.
“…We have to pursue them. We can’t stay. Risa needs you with her.”
Silence lingered deeply over the line—then a slow, restrained breath.
“…Understood.”
That was the end of the call.
“What did he say?”
“He said okay. He’ll handle things here.”
Beomjin looked out through the hospital’s glass doors—the horizon faintly brightening before dawn. A strange silence held the sky.
“It’s time to go. The first train will be moving soon.”
They quietly left the hospital.
Cutting through the cold dawn air, Beomjin and Seoyul made their way to the train station.
Destination: Daegu.
Where the Wolf-Blooded Order lurked.
Before the sun rose, they boarded the first train.
Exhausted from the night’s battle, they closed their eyes and rested until they arrived at Daegu Station.
As they stepped out of the station—they encountered someone they never expected.
“…Why are you—no, how are you already here?”
Beomjin stared, stunned. I-rang remained stone-faced.
“I sent a friend to take care of Risa. I have something else to handle. You said the Wolf-Blooded Order, right?”
“…Yeah.”
The previously expressionless I-rang nodded sharply—a violent crack of conviction.
“They crossed the line. Right now, that’s all that matters to me.”
Their gazes met. Seoyul gripped Beomjin’s hand, inhaling nervously.
“Where to?”
I-rang’s voice rumbled low—fangs hidden but ready to pierce the throat of whoever stood in his path.
“Do you know where they are?”
“I know the general area.”
I-rang swung a backpack onto his shoulders and moved ahead.
“Follow me. I know exactly where they’re hiding.”
“You do?”
“…I’m a wolf too. Their blood and mine… are the same.”
Through the thickening dawn fog they exited the station, climbed into a waiting car, and sped out of the city.
The dense mist slithered through trees knotted like bones. I-rang turned off the road and drove into the forest as an abandoned mine entrance appeared.
“We walk from here.”
They hid the car between the trees and stepped out. After spraying themselves with scent-masking powder, they climbed the mountain trail.
At the end of the sloped path—as if a massive log had collapsed and crushed the entrance—a rust-stained iron gate creaked, blocking the way.
Up close, the abandoned mine entrance was more ruin than structure. Half-collapsed, its gate twisted in multiple places, the surrounding wall crumbling into rubble.
“If the Wolf-Blooded Order are here… this is where they’ll come.”
I-rang adjusted the black pack on his back, his voice a dull blade in the pale gray light.
Beomjin scanned the entrance—and spotted a mark above the gate. The same symbol engraved on Ryu Jin’s knife.
“…Looks like the place.”
At his confirmation, Seoyul sharply sucked in a breath and pointed.
“Mister—there!”
Down the slope below—a familiar truck was parked.
The one that had shoved them off the cliff.
Beomjin, I-rang, and Seoyul slipped past a broken section of wall, avoiding the ancient CCTV camera hanging by a loose wire.
No guards at the entrance. Only parked vehicles, stacked crates, and old mining equipment rotting in piles.
I-rang moved like he was walking a battlefield he had memorized—silence and darkness did not shake him in the slightest.
Dim ceiling lamps flickered. The single passage soon branched into multiple irregular tunnels—metal beams, wooden braces, scattered mineral debris filling every path.
“This is… too quiet.”
Beomjin muttered. Seoyul nodded behind him—nose lifting.
“Mister.”
At her whisper, Beomjin turned instantly—a faint but familiar scent drifted from deeper inside.
A few steps forward—and the narrow passage opened into a wider chamber.
On the opposite wall, a door. Beside it, a table cluttered with a laptop, charger, lighters, cigarettes—all tossed carelessly.
A lantern swung from the ceiling, its shadow puppets dancing on every surface.
Footsteps.
A short man wandered out from a corner, thumbs tapping a huge phone, humming off-key. He slouched into a chair, propped his feet on the table—laughing to himself.
Beomjin and I-rang exchanged a glance.
I-rang signaled—then ghosted forward.
One clean motion—arm around the neck.
Within seconds, the phone clattered to the ground and the man sagged unconscious.
They tied him up and hid him behind stacked crates, then took his phone and slipped through the next door.
As they moved deeper, they found a storage room—piled high with crates. Clothes. Medical supplies. Rations.
But no flute.
No wooden case.
However—
“I smell it. The box’s scent.”
Seoyul whispered like a tracking hound.
Beomjin felt it too.
The flute was here.
“Wait.”
He gently pressed Seoyul down behind cover.
Voices.
Two people muttering as they walked the side passage—scent unmistakable.
Beomjin held his breath.
First shadows—then the people themselves emerged.
“Damn them… damn them…”
Ryu Jin’s voice scraped against the walls. Ryu Hwa followed silently, tension coiled in every step.
They headed toward the exit—the same rusted gate Beomjin’s group had slipped through earlier.
A beat of silence—then the gate groaned shut behind them.
Empty-handed.
No flute. Not even a stick.
Beomjin watched their departure, eyes narrow.
Chase them now?
Or go deeper into the hollowed-out dark?
This was a moment to choose.
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