At the heart of Hamon Campground lay a wide, open clearing. A towering stack of firewood stood at its center, surrounded by several triangular tents.
An eerie silence hung over the deserted campsite. The firewood showed no sign of ever having been lit, and the tents appeared untouched. That meant the main characters of the horror movie were probably staying somewhere else.
Considering the miserable state of the triangular tents, sleeping outside on a mat almost seemed preferable.
Could they be in the cabins?
The word “cabin” made them sound far more luxurious than they really were. In truth, they were only marginally better than the tents.
Even so, Seojun hesitated.
His thoughts drifted toward the nearby lake—and more specifically, toward the man-eating monster said to lurk beneath its surface.
Of course, he could not afford to stand around deliberating. He had to decide on his next move immediately. With Gas Mask still pursuing him, his options were severely limited.
The problem was that, unlike the path leading away from the restaurant, the campsite now offered two possible routes.
Zone D, which contained the restaurant and the management building, had a sign pointing toward the campground entrance. That had allowed Seojun to confidently take the opposite path earlier.
Zone A, however, was effectively the center of Hamon Campground.
If Seojun had possessed the luxury of time—and the assurance that nothing was trying to kill him—he could have explored both paths.
But with a relentless murderer breathing down his neck, every second mattered.
If he failed to head directly toward Zone B, where the cabins were located, his life could very well end here.
Lost in thought, Seojun stared at the towering stack of firewood.
Which way should I go?
If Christina, Johan, Airi, and William had been as noisy as the Gold-Silver-Bronze trio, finding them would have been effortless.
Unfortunately, they were all reasonably well-mannered intellectuals.
Christina aside, aren’t the others probably having fun like young people normally do? Maybe they’re drinking, singing, or even lighting a bonfire.
Having naturally excluded Bobby from his count, Seojun silently cursed Gas Mask for chasing him at the worst possible moment.
As he shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, a rustling sound came from the bushes.
Without thinking, Seojun dove into the nearest tent.
He had wasted too much time.
His heart hammered against his ribs, and a crushing sense of impending doom settled over him.
Seojun held his breath in the suffocating silence, terrified that even the faintest sound might reveal his hiding place.
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps echoed across the campsite.
Then came the sound of fabric tearing.
The disturbing rhythm continued.
Footsteps.
Tearing.
Footsteps.
Tearing.
After hearing it happen three times, Seojun understood.
Gas Mask was systematically cutting open every tent with the Hamon knife and checking inside.
“Huff... huff... huff...”
Panic surged through him.
His breathing became ragged and uncontrollable, slipping between his fingers in faint, frightened bursts. His eyes widened until they began to sting, fixed unblinkingly on the entrance of the tent as the sounds gradually faded away.
“Haah... Haah... Haah...”
He clamped both hands over his mouth, but his breathing still thundered inside his ears.
Seojun bit down hard on his left thumb.
The sharp pain briefly dragged him back to his senses.
His eyes fluttered shut, only to snap open again a moment later.
Is he gone?
The disturbing sounds had disappeared.
The campsite had returned to the same silence that had greeted Seojun when he first arrived.
With trembling fingers, he lifted the tent flap by the smallest possible amount.
Just one quick look outside.
That was all he needed.
He stretched his neck slightly and peered into the campsite.
Clouds had swallowed the moon, plunging the surroundings into even deeper darkness.
Fortunately, his eyes had adjusted by now.
Seojun carefully scanned the area.
A faint sigh of relief escaped him.
I need to move.
Rubbing his stiff neck, Seojun glanced downward.
It was a meaningless gesture, nothing more than an attempt to relax his rigid body.
Then—
Their eyes met.
Gas Mask was lying in wait directly in front of the tent.
His masked face somehow seemed twisted into a sinister grin.
The knife in his hand shot forward.
“Ah!”
This time, Seojun was the one who fell backward, the world spinning around him.
Avoiding the fatal strike had been nothing more than blind luck. It had certainly not been the result of Seojun’s reflexes.
“Uh... ugh...”
Terror seized him and rooted him in place.
Unlike in the restaurant, he could not even force himself to stand and run.
All he managed was a pathetic backward crawl.
Even after wriggling out of the shredded tent, Seojun continued dragging himself across the ground.
Tiny stones tore into his palms and knees, leaving them stinging and bloody.
Still, he could not find the strength to rise.
Gas Mask loomed over Seojun’s fallen body, appearing even more terrifying from below.
He did not deliver the final blow immediately.
That brief, chilling mercy only made Seojun’s fear worse.
His feeble struggle did not last long.
As Gas Mask advanced, Seojun realized he had nowhere left to go.
He turned his head.
A familiar sight entered his vision.
The enormous stack of firewood.
Only then did Seojun realize that the tent he had chosen was positioned directly beside it.
“Ah...”
A faint sound slipped from his throat, barely louder than a whisper.
Was this what surrender felt like?
His eyes burned, yet no tears came.
Was this really the end?
Memories flashed through Seojun’s mind.
The years he had spent trapped in ‘Wraithwood Warren.’
His parents’ volatile moods.
The hallucinations that tormented him.
The countless meteor showers.
Gas Mask raised his arm once more.
For a moment, he resembled a solemn priest preparing to spill the blood of a willing sacrifice.
But Seojun knew better.
Gas Mask was no priest.
He was merely a deranged murderer.
He might have wielded a Hamon knife, but the lunatic wore a gas mask instead of a chef’s hat. He was nothing more than a mismatched villain—a tired horror movie cliché from “The Murderer of the Bloody Lake.”
That was right.
He was only a character from “The Murderer of the Bloody Lake”!
Anger suddenly boiled inside Seojun.
“Ah! You don’t even get a sequel!”
In a burst of rage, Seojun swung whatever he had managed to grab and shouted the first insult that came to mind.
[......!]
To his astonishment, Gas Mask staggered backward.
Blood began to seep from beneath his trench coat.
Seojun stared at him in stunned disbelief.
He had assumed he was holding nothing more than a piece of firewood.
Then the clouds parted.
Moonlight spilled across the campsite, finally revealing the object clenched tightly in Seojun’s hands.
It was an axe.
“Whew... whew...”
Even without seeing Gas Mask’s face, Seojun could tell.
The murderer was in pain.
He was certain of it.
Nervously, Seojun ran his tongue over his dry lips and tasted the metallic trace of blood.
But beneath the fear, a fierce sense of triumph surged through him.
He had actually managed to wound that damned murderer.
The axe suddenly felt almost weightless in his hands.
It was more than a weapon.
It was hope.
...No.
Snap out of it.
Reality was merciless.
Clinging to such fragile hope could easily lead him straight to his death.
The first strike had succeeded only because of the darkness and Gas Mask’s momentary distraction.
It had nothing to do with Seojun’s skill.
The realization sobered him immediately.
Seojun steadied his trembling arms and forced strength into his weakening knees.
Then he rose to his feet.
He held the axe out in front of him with determination, swinging it defensively with his arms while retreating with his legs.
Coordinating all four limbs at once was f*cking exhausting.
“......”
Gas Mask remained motionless, apparently still dazed.
Instead of charging forward, he tilted the Hamon knife and aimed its blade threateningly at Seojun.
Should I tell him to stay back?
The thought crossed Seojun’s mind, but he dismissed it almost immediately.
He had the distinct feeling that the moment he opened his mouth, that bastard would attack.
It was not exactly a premonition.
It was more like an instinctive warning buzzing sharply inside his ears.
The axe was undeniably intimidating.
Even so, Seojun’s chances were far from promising.
His strength was nearly gone, and every breath felt heavy, as though a tremendous weight were pressing down on his chest.
In a confrontation between Seojun, who had picked up an axe by pure accident, and an experienced murderer, who was more likely to win?
Especially when that murderer was the enormous Gas Mask, whose massive build was obvious even beneath the trench coat.
Seojun’s brief surge of confidence quickly faded.
In its place came a deep and unexpected humility.
He accepted the truth.
I can’t win.
There was only one thing left to do.
After putting a little distance between himself and Gas Mask, Seojun spun around and ran with everything he had.
He could not afford to be selective about the direction.
He simply fled along the path leading away from Gas Mask.
Naturally, a route chosen in such desperation was not the correct one.
Seojun was heading even farther from the place where he hoped to find Christina and the others.
The path ahead was swallowed by darkness.