Chapter 6

“One more… pill?”

The crimson Seomdan in Sun-woong’s palm looked like a poisonous mushroom.

“Are you out of your mind, old man? Do you want to see someone drop dead right in front of you?”

“He’s right, senior. This is way too dangerous.”

Sun-woong didn’t repeat himself. Beomjin glanced between his half-closed eyes and the glowing red medicine. Uwan stepped in between them to stop things.

“You said consuming two Seomdan would make your heart explode.”

“I’ve been running this shop for years, seen plenty of Beast-Blooded come through. Not even ten ever asked for Seomdan. Among them, some swaggered too much and ended up in an ambulance, others collapsed and writhed on the floor before barely standing up again.”

“And what does that have to do with now?”

“But there was one who insisted on consuming two. I begged them not to, but they wouldn’t back down. In the end, I let them, and they walked away as if nothing had happened.”

“Two? Of those? Seomdan? No way—hahaha.”

Uwan laughed harder than Beomjin, the sound half nervous, half incredulous.

Two? Surviving two was even possible?

Beomjin fixed his gaze on the elixir. If one could bring out this much power… then what about two?

He quietly reached for the Seomdan.

“Senior, do you remember who it was?”

Uwan asked, childlike curiosity coloring his voice. Beomjin perked up too—Uwan not knowing something was rare.

“Of course I remember. I was so shocked that day I couldn’t even eat dinner.”

“…So who was it?”

Jinyoung, who had been listening silently, asked at last. Sun-woong’s eyes shifted from her, to Uwan, to Beomjin.

“You work for the government unit, so you must have heard of them—the Four Guardians. The divine beasts. The Four Guardian Deities.”

“The Four Guardian Deities? You mean like the Blue Dragon and the Vermilion Bird?”

Her voice pitched higher. She stood up from her chair, clearly unable to believe it.

“Those things don’t exist! You must’ve mistaken them for something else!”

“But dragons exist. You know that.”

Uwan muttered in a low, serious tone. Jinyoung still paced, unable to calm herself.

“You’re saying the Four Guardian Deities really came here? Do you remember who they were?”

The moment the words “Four Guardian Deities” were spoken, Beomjin’s mind filled with thoughts of Dragon, his mother, and his uncle’s story of the Black Tortoise. He locked every bit of focus onto Sun-woong’s lips, desperate not to miss a word.

“I don’t remember their faces. It was over twenty, thirty years ago. Three of them came in, chatting. Two men and one woman, just like you lot.”

“Do you know what beasts they were?”

Beomjin shot the question like a rap verse. Sun-woong stared straight at him, answering as if only the two of them were in the room.

“The reason I remember it so clearly is this: one man was a Dragon, one woman a Tiger, and the last was some bird I’d never seen before. A bird, but I couldn’t tell which. I asked, but they just giggled among themselves and wouldn’t answer. Each of them ate two Seomdan and left. I only found out later—they were the Four Guardian Deities.”

“But he’s just a tiger, not a White Tiger.”

Jinyoung shoved Beomjin’s shoulder, jealousy flickering on her lips and furrowed brows.

“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t tell the difference between a tiger and the White Tiger. Just like I can’t tell a dragon from the Azure Dragon. What about you, Uwan?”

“No… you’d have to actually meet the White Tiger to know the difference.”

Tch.

Jinyoung clicked her tongue and stepped back, but her stance stayed sharp.

Beomjin’s heart pounded.

He didn’t know what kind of life his mother lived thirty years ago. She had never spoken about the Beast-Blooded. Even so, he was certain—Sun-woong had met the White Tiger, and that White Tiger was her.

“The choice is yours. I only suggested it because those Sasin managed to stomach two without issue. Seeing you reminded me of that tiger. But if you don’t want it, there’s no need.”

Sun-woong stepped back, giving him the choice.

“Beomjin, are you really going to do it? This is gambling with your life. It’s too dangerous. Your eyes and nose are already open!”

Uwan clutched at his collar, trying to stop him.

But Beomjin only focused on the Seomdan.

His mother ate two. Dragon ate two. To catch up, he had to at least start on the same line.

He wanted to hear her story—what she thought, what she talked about with them. He wanted to stand proudly before her.

He popped the Seomdan into his mouth, cracked it in half with his molars, and swallowed.

Everyone held their breath.

Thud!

His heart pounded like it would burst through his chest. Beomjin doubled over.

“Hrk! Khh… huuh!”

His throat constricted, his ribs screamed like they were being crushed. Fingers and toes tingled, then burned like fire. He wanted to collapse, but dug his nails into the floor instead, barely holding on.

Blood welled under his torn nails, but that pain was nothing compared to the fire ripping through his body. His vision spun. The legs of the people around him warped.

This is it.

With a rough gasp, Beomjin lost consciousness.

“…He’s still breathing.”

Uwan’s voice came close, thick with cigarette stench that stung Beomjin’s nose.

Alive.

Beomjin blinked open slowly, like in slow motion.

“…Didn’t you say you quit smoking?”

“What? I did quit. Wait, when did I ever say that?”

Uwan pulled back, flustered. Beomjin frowned, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t lie. I can smell it. You can’t fool me.”

His face flushed red. He stammered, glancing at Jinyoung.

“I—I did quit. But… last week I had just one. How the hell did you know?”

“It’s reeking off you… So I survived. How long was I out?”

“Barely a minute. Can you stand?”

Beomjin took his hand and rose, sucking in a deep breath.

The change didn’t feel huge. Maybe his temperature was up, but his strength and sharpened senses didn’t seem much different.

“Well?”

Sun-woong asked flatly.

“Hot.”

“Then that’s enough.”

He handed over a cup of barley tea. Beomjin drained it, but the heat didn’t subside. His skin burned hotter, like fire under his flesh.

“Haa… this isn’t working. It’s too hot. Mind if I step outside? I need air.”

Beomjin burst out the door and let the rushing wind wash over him.

Only then did he realize his nose burned. It wasn’t that nothing had changed—his senses had just gone numb indoors.

The scents of Beast-Blooded carried on the breeze, acrid like dog urine soaked into an old utility pole. He felt like he could trace their movements through the air the way footprints mark snow.

“Wow… damn. What the hell is this?”

The pressure in his eyes made him dizzy. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to steady himself, when Sun-ae sidled up.

“You all right, boy? Can you handle it?”

“Just a little dizzy. The stench around here is too much.”

The stink of Beast-Blooded mixed with trash and the musk of stray animals, tormenting his nose. Beneath it all, the iron tang of blood stood out strongest.

Beomjin tilted his head up like a hunting dog. That blood scent twisted together with the Beast-Blooded trail, tangling like vines into a single strand.

“There’s blood. Over there.”

He muttered while staring down the alley.

“Blood?”

Sun-ae’s startled voice brought Uwan and Jinyoung rushing out.

“What is it? Something wrong?”

“No, nothing happened. Kid’s just spouting nonsense.”

“What kind of nonsense?”

Sniffing hard, Beomjin drifted forward as if possessed. He had caught something else mixed in with the blood—the sharp scent of oil.

“Hey! Beomjin! Where are you going?!”

Uwan called as he headed deeper into the alley, but got no answer. Beomjin only sped up, vanishing around the bend.

“What the—seriously, he does whatever he wants.”

“Forget it. Let’s go.”

Jinyoung grumbled, but Uwan tugged her along.

“Why? He’s not even one of our agents.”

“He’s supposed to be. And what, we’re just going to stand here when a Beast-Blooded might be in danger?”

“What danger could a tiger possibly be in?”

Well, fair enough. The guy ate two Seomdan and was still standing.

Uwan just laughed helplessly.

“So, you’re staying here? Then I’ll go alone.”

Ugh, seriously. Why does he only care about him?

Jinyoung pouted but followed. After a quick word to Sun-woong and Sun-ae, they chased after Beomjin.

Beside a dark red brick wall stood a small iron door. A battered rental sign clung to it, edges warped from rain and wind.

The second floor was covered with panels that blocked out all light. The signboard above was bleached white, its faded letters unreadable. Loose power cables drooped low enough to brush the heads of passersby.

Clearly, no one had touched this place for months.

This was it. The smell came from the second floor.

“Excuse me, coming through.”

Two backpacking tourists brushed past, chatting cheerfully. They couldn’t smell the stench.

Because they weren’t Beast-Blooded.

Even so, the blood reek was unbearable. Beomjin nearly gagged, forcing it down.

He yanked on the first-floor iron door. Locked. After checking the street was empty, he pulled harder.

Ting! The wall latch popped off, but the door only twisted instead of opening.

Not strong enough?

He grabbed the handle again—but footsteps pounded behind him.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Jinyoung stormed up, glaring. She snatched the fallen latch and shoved it in his face.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Are you insane?”

“I know.”

Beomjin chuckled, half amused, half weary.

“Your obsession with the law hasn’t changed. But maybe you should know when to bend it?”

“What?”

“Forget it. Talking to myself.”

Grinning, he ignored her protests and gave the door a brutal yank.

Kang! Tang tang tang!

Metal shards clattered across the ground.

“Yaaah! You little—!”

Jinyoung’s anger flared—then died as her expression went pale.

“You smell it now?”

“…What is this?”

She clapped a hand over her nose and mouth, stumbling back.

The stench was so foul it had to be more than one person.

“Ha… shit. What kind of hell is this?”

Beomjin tried to stay calm, but his chest churned. He held out his hand to her.

She gagged again, bloodshot eyes glaring at him.

“…What do you expect me to do?”

“You’ve got a flashlight, right? Hand it over. I’m going in.”

“No way. Not giving it.”

She pulled it out instead, holding him back—then froze at the threshold, unable to go in.

“Don’t push yourself. Give it. I’ll go first. You follow after.”

Grinding her teeth, she shoved the flashlight into his hand.

Beomjin switched it on and crossed the threshold. The stench was so thick it burned his eyes.

Inside looked like a run-down bar. Dusty stoves sat amid toppled tables and chairs. Broken glasses and cracked dishes littered the floor, empty bottles rolling everywhere.

What stood out most were the footprints.

Bloody prints led toward the door, smudged at the threshold as if wiped.

Judging by the stride, about 165–170 cm tall. Women’s shoes. The steps wavered side to side, unsteady.

“Ugh! What the hell—oh, heavens above.”

Uwan, following in, nearly tripped over himself as the smell hit him. Even his dulled senses couldn’t stand it.

“This isn’t all. The real thing’s upstairs.”

Beomjin’s beam slid up the staircase. Uwan followed reluctantly, stopping with one foot on the step.

“There’s something else up there?”

Beomjin wiped his face with a hand, breathing deep before biting his lip.

“Call Heaven down here if you want. While you’re at it, call the police too.”