The gate behind Ji-hoon pulsed faintly, like a dying heartbeat. Its swirling violet light reflected off the wet cobblestones, the air still thick with the metallic tang of blood. He kept walking, never looking back. The corpses of the beasts he had slain were already tucked away inside his infinite inventory every claw, fang, and strip of hide carefully stored.
No one else was here. No rescue squads, no hunters, no guild banners flapping in the wind.In his old timeline, a gate closing would have drawn cameras, reporters, and scavengers within minutes. This time… silence.
The regression had reset everything. People didn't yet know what a gate was. To them, it was just a strange phenomenon an unexplained shimmer in the air. Something to fear and keep away from, but not yet a call to arms.
Ji-hoon tugged his jacket sleeve down to hide the faint cut on his arm. The wound throbbed faintly, a reminder that even with his memories and artifact, he was still far from invincible.
A pair of pedestrians stood at the corner ahead, pointing toward the gate with puzzled expressions.
"It's like… a light show? Some new building's doing this?""Nah, man. That's not normal."
He passed them without a word, head lowered. Let them stay ignorant a little longer. The world's confusion was his advantage.
When he turned onto the main street, life went on as if nothing had happened. Vendors hawked street food. Office workers laughed with coffee cups in hand. A bus rolled past, the scent of exhaust mixing with roasted chestnuts.
Ji-hoon's lips tightened. This exact street would be painted in blood in less than a month. He'd walked here once before, stepping over bodies as hunters fought desperately to push back an endless tide of monsters.
But now, none of them knew. And he wasn't about to enlighten them.
It took him nearly four hours to reach the outskirts where his grandparents lived. Public transport was still running like normal, so he kept to buses and local trains, sitting by the window in silence. The countryside blurred past fields of barley swaying in the late afternoon breeze, hills rolling gently under the fading light.
The small village came into view, tucked between two forested slopes. Fewer than two hundred people lived here, most of them elderly.
When he stepped off the bus, the air was cleaner, cooler. He followed the narrow dirt path to a modest house with whitewashed walls and a tiled roof, the kind he'd once thought would stand forever.
He stopped at the gate.
Through the window, he saw his grandmother in the kitchen, humming softly as she stirred something in a pot. His grandfather sat on the porch, carving a block of wood into the shape of a crane.
They were alive. Breathing.
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
His grandfather spotted him first. "Ji-hoon? Well, look who finally decided to visit."
His grandmother peeked out from the kitchen, her eyes widening. "Oh my goodness come in, come in! You're too thin, boy!"
Ji-hoon stepped into the yard, forcing a small smile. "I was… busy. Needed to check on something."
"What sort of thing?" his grandfather asked, but Ji-hoon only shrugged.
He couldn't tell them the truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Over dinner, he listened to their stories about the village the neighbor's dog having puppies, the late frost ruining a small patch of crops. Small, ordinary troubles. Precious in their simplicity.
But under the table, his hand clenched into a fist. He remembered their screams from the last timeline, the way their blood had stained his clothes. This time, he'd burn the world before letting that happen again.
The next morning, he asked them for a favor.
"I need to make some tools," he said. "For… hunting."
His grandfather raised an eyebrow. "Hunting? You've never shown interest before."
Ji-hoon shrugged. "Times might get rough. Better to be ready."
The old man studied him for a moment, then nodded. "The forge out back still works. Let's see what you've got."
Behind the house, the small shed still smelled of oil and ash. His grandfather had been a blacksmith in his youth, forging plow blades, horseshoes, and the occasional hunting knife. Now, Ji-hoon would use it for something far less mundane.
He closed the shed doors before pulling from his inventory. One by one, he laid the remains of the dungeon beasts onto the workbench.
The hides were thick, almost rubbery, with a faint shimmer under the light. Bones heavier than steel clinked together. Claws curved like sickles gleamed faintly, still carrying the scent of blood.
His grandfather froze mid-step. "Where did you…?"
"Trade," Ji-hoon said smoothly. "They were going to throw them away. I figured they might be useful."
It wasn't a lie. Just not the whole truth.
They began with the bones. Ji-hoon sorted them by length and density, setting aside the strongest for weapon cores. His grandfather's hands moved with practiced precision, stripping sinew and shaping handles.
For hours, the forge roared. Sparks danced across the dim shed as metal tools met bone, shaping it into something deadly. The smell of scorched hide mixed with the sharp tang of steel.
The first weapon was a hunting knife with a bone handle and a claw-shaped blade perfect for close quarters.
Next came a spear, its shaft reinforced with strips of hide and capped with a fang so sharp it could pierce stone.
Finally, Ji-hoon worked the hides into crude armor light enough for movement, tough enough to turn a knife. His grandmother joined in here, her skilled hands stitching the layers together with cord made from monster sinew.
They didn't ask where the materials came from again. But Ji-hoon caught his grandfather watching him when he thought he wasn't looking eyes sharp, as if noticing the way Ji-hoon's movements were too precise for someone who'd never hunted before.
That night, they sat together under the porch light, drinking tea. Fireflies drifted over the grass. The night was calm.
"You've changed, Ji-hoon," his grandfather said finally. "Not in a bad way. But there's something… heavier in your eyes."
Ji-hoon sipped his tea. "I've just seen things I can't forget."
The old man nodded slowly. "Then make sure you live to be the best.
Sometime after midnight, Ji-hoon woke to a sound.
A faint rustle. Then a low, wet breathing.
He rose silently, slipping on the leather armor and taking up the spear. The air outside was still, but his instincts screamed danger.
He moved along the side of the house, each step deliberate. At the edge of the field, the grass swayed though there was no wind.
A shape moved there low to the ground, too fluid for any farm animal. Two faint glimmers reflected the moonlight: eyes.
It didn't attack. It simply watched him.
And then it slipped away into the darkness.
Ji-hoon stood there for a long moment, grip tight on the spear.
"It's starting," he whispered.