To reach Zone D, where the guardhouse stood, they first had to cross Zone A—the part of the camp containing the campsites and the campfire grounds.
The moment Seojun stepped into the campfire area, his trembling hand closed around his injured arm.
Less than a day had passed since Gas Mask attacked him here. The memory of the Hamon knife flashing toward his face, its blade nearly piercing his jaw, remained painfully vivid.
Johan noticed how deliberately Seojun avoided looking at the towering pile of firewood. He reached for Seojun’s thin wrist, then slowly ran a finger along the swollen blue veins beneath his skin.
“Jun, do you want me to carry you?”
“What are you talking about? What happens if we’re attacked?”
“Are you scared?”
Johan kept his eyes on Seojun as they hurried onward.
Scared?
Of course he was scared.
A murderer or a monster could spring out at them at any moment. The campsite had become a hunting ground shared by a sadistic killer and some unknown creature. There was nothing about this place that was not terrifying.
What Seojun could not understand was how Johan remained so calm.
There was no trace of unease in his ocean-blue eyes. His gaze remained warm and gentle, completely at odds with the horror surrounding them.
Seojun could not relate to that serenity.
And yet the heat of Johan’s palm against his skin, combined with the low steadiness of his voice, stirred an uncomfortable doubt inside him.
The contradiction was unsettling.
Seojun pulled his hand free.
“Yes, I’m scared,” he admitted. “I can barely stand it.”
Johan’s hand brushed against his again before settling firmly on his shoulder, almost as though he had hooked Seojun and drawn him closer. A broad smile spread across his face.
“Don’t be afraid, Jun. I’m here with you, all right?”
Johan was a skilled quarterback and an imposing physical presence. At 194 centimetres tall and weighing 97 kilograms, he had been invaluable on the field, where his practised movements and strategic awareness gave him a clear advantage.
But this was not a game.
With death possibly waiting around every corner, a perfectly steady heartbeat seemed unnatural.
At last, Seojun could no longer suppress the question that had been troubling him.
He looked up at Johan’s faintly smiling face.
“Why aren’t you scared?”
Was Johan still riding the surge of adrenaline from their fight with the tentacled monster?
That could not be it. If adrenaline were responsible, his heart should have been pounding wildly, and any appearance of composure should have disappeared long ago.
Johan merely closed his eyes for a moment and answered with a smile.
“I understand that we’re in danger. But letting my emotions control me wouldn’t help. There’s a proper time and place for everything, isn’t there?”
“That’s...”
Seojun fell silent.
Johan was not entirely wrong.
Still, could human emotions truly be divided and controlled so neatly?
Seojun quickly shrugged Johan’s hand from his shoulder and turned to face him. Their eyes met once more.
A breath escaped Seojun that sounded almost like reluctant admiration.
If only things were as simple as Johan made them seem.
They continued forward.
Then a man in a black trench coat emerged into view.
Gas Mask.
The sight of him was enough to freeze the blood in Seojun’s veins.
Large goggles gave the killer an insect-like appearance. His head was tilted at an inquisitive angle, and the sharpened Hamon knife gleamed in his hand.
A cloud drifted away from the moon.
Cold light spilled across the campfire grounds and revealed the full menace of the figure waiting for them.
Gas Mask stood tall beside the stacked firewood, leaning against it with almost casual ease.
Somewhere nearby, someone swallowed loudly.
“Gas Mask...”
The hoarse voice belonged to Bobby, as though his throat had been scraped raw.
His eyes darted between Gas Mask and Seojun, disbelief carved into his face.
Reality, however, was mercilessly confirming Seojun’s story.
Despite his injured leg, Seojun was already moving with surprising agility.
Without a word, Johan stepped in front of him, placing his own body protectively between Seojun and the killer. His fingers tightened around the skewer, ready to hurl it at the slightest opening.
“Jun, is that the man you were talking about?”
“...Yes.”
Gas Mask casually tossed the Hamon knife into the air and caught it again in his right hand.
He appeared completely at ease.
Almost pleased.
It was as though he had been reunited with an old acquaintance.
Then he lifted his empty left hand and began counting on his fingers.
One.
Two.
Three.
With each raised finger, Seojun’s anxiety tightened another notch.
The most frightening part was that he could almost understand what the killer was thinking.
Gas Mask was counting how many throats he would have to cut for the Hamon ritual.
Any brief hope that Johan’s presence might shift the balance in their favour vanished immediately.
“There are three of us!” Bobby suddenly shouted.
His forced confidence did little to conceal the terror in his voice.
As though he had been waiting for precisely that declaration, Gas Mask sheathed the knife and drew a crossbow.
The release snapped through the campsite.
A bolt tore through the air and narrowly missed Bobby.
He gasped.
Thud!
The bolt buried itself in a tree just above his head.
Bobby slowly turned toward it, his face drained completely white.
“Uh... Uh...”
No one could truly blame him.
Had the bolt struck its intended target, it would have punched straight through his skull, tin pot helmet or not.
Gas Mask’s shoulders began to tremble.
He was laughing silently.
It resembled the performance of a mime, but there was nothing remotely amusing about it.
Seojun stood close beside Johan, analysing their options.
Using someone as a human shield would not save them. Gas Mask would simply pick them off one at a time.
And if horror-film killers were anything to judge by, Gas Mask possessed abnormal strength and resilience. He already held the advantage at range, and he would likely dominate them in close combat as well.
A bitter wind swept across the campsite.
It became painfully clear that they—not Christina—were the ones in immediate danger.
This is not really three against one, Seojun thought.
He understood his own limitations far too well.
Despair weakened his knees.
Bobby was practically paralysed with fear, while Seojun’s slight frame offered little in the way of physical strength.
At present, both of them were liabilities rather than allies.
Johan appeared to reach the same conclusion.
“Jun, Bobby,” he whispered urgently, “try not to move too much. You’ll only make yourselves easier targets.”
The tin pot on Bobby’s head had been nothing more than a weak attempt to provide reassurance.
They all knew it offered no real protection.
A crossbow bolt would pass straight through it.
Seojun drew the kitchen knife from his pocket and tightened his grip around the handle.
Across from them, Gas Mask was already reloading.
Then something entirely unexpected happened.
Something so absurd that even Seojun could never have predicted it.
“Aaaah!”
Bobby charged.
Tin pot and all, he lowered his head and sprinted directly at Gas Mask.
Everyone froze in shock.
Even the killer had clearly failed to anticipate such a reckless attack.
Bobby’s head slammed straight into his stomach.
[...!]
The impact knocked Gas Mask backwards.
Bobby, carried forward by his own momentum, toppled on top of him.
The reversal was astonishing.
Before Seojun could even process what had happened, Johan was already moving.
Despite his enormous build, he was exceptionally fast. He crossed the distance in a single explosive rush, raising the skewer to throw.
“Ah!”
Gas Mask recovered almost instantly.
He seized Bobby by the back of the neck and hurled him aside like a rag doll.
Bobby’s body flew through the air and briefly blocked Johan’s view.
In the fraction of a second Johan spent shoving him out of the way, the Hamon knife flashed toward his forehead.
Seojun moved on instinct.
He reached out and screamed Johan’s name.
The sickening sound of metal entering flesh cut through the night.
Blinding pain erupted through the back of Seojun’s right hand.
He clenched his teeth against a scream and stared directly at the killer.
Behind the shifting reflections of the gas mask, the murderous intent was unmistakable.
But Seojun refused to retreat.
He glanced down at the Hamon knife embedded through his hand.
Then his mouth twisted into a grim smile.
This was an opportunity.
He would not let it escape.
Clutching the kitchen knife in his uninjured hand, he shouted,
“You fucking bastard!”
The sudden thrill of revenge dulled the pain for one fleeting instant.
Sweat streamed down the back of his neck as he reversed his grip and drove the kitchen knife into Gas Mask’s wrist.
The blade sliced through tendon and struck bone with a nauseating scrape.
But Gas Mask’s bones were harder than Seojun’s flesh.
The killer did not even flinch.
Instead, he wrenched back the arm holding the Hamon knife.
The blade tore through Seojun’s hand as it came free.
His face twisted in agony.
“Argh—aaah!”
The pain was unbearable.
Blood vessels burst. Muscle fibres tore apart.
The adrenaline that had carried him through his brief act of retaliation vanished, leaving nothing behind but raw torment.
He screamed.
Amid the chaos, Johan saw his chance.
As Seojun collapsed into a crouch, Johan used the precious seconds Gas Mask needed to pull the Hamon knife free.
Bobby tried to throw himself back into the fight, but Johan shoved him aside without hesitation.
He appeared entirely unaffected by Bobby’s recent brush with death and gave no thought to his safety now.
Johan pressed his lips into a hard line.
Then he extended his arm.
The movement began at his shoulder.
His shoulder blades shifted beneath his clothes, and the muscles of his arm flowed with a smooth, whip-like force.
The skewer flashed silver beneath the moonlight.
It shot directly toward Gas Mask’s throat.
Johan’s eyes were dark and focused, fixed on the narrow strip of exposed flesh between the bottom of the gas mask and the collar of the trench coat.
Clang!
The attack failed.
Johan’s aim had been perfect, but Gas Mask raised the crossbow rather than the bloodied Hamon knife.
The skewer lodged inside the crossbow’s stirrup.
“You’re rather lucky, aren’t you?”
Johan’s mouth curved into a taunting smile.
Gas Mask merely tilted his head.
He seemed neither offended nor disturbed by the provocation.
The two men were similarly built, though Gas Mask appeared broader beneath the heavy layers of his clothing.
Still, the slight trembling of his shoulders suggested that overpowering Johan would not be easy.
Seojun shook his injured hand, scattering bright droplets of blood across the grass.
Without taking his eyes off the killer, Johan shouted,
“Jun, are you all right?”
“I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!”
Seojun answered immediately.
He could not allow Johan to become distracted and get himself killed.
Seojun lunged toward Gas Mask’s arm, which was occupied by the locked skewer and crossbow.
There was no telling when the killer might decide to use the Hamon knife again.
Before Seojun could reach him, another body crashed into his side.
His lighter frame was knocked off balance, and he fell.
He looked up.
A silhouette stood above him, outlined against a powerful source of light.
Of course.
It was Bobby.