Jin Mu-Won dragged himself through the forest, every step agony. His wounds burned, his vision blurred, yet the thought of collapsing never crossed his mind. He found a cave, half-hidden by moss and stone, and collapsed inside.
For three days, he lingered between life and death. He tore strips from his clothes to bind wounds, chewed bitter roots to dull hunger, and let the rainwater dripping from the cave ceiling keep him alive.
Each night, nightmares plagued him — the bandits' faces, their screams, the crack of bones beneath his hands. Yet when he awoke, there was no regret. Only clarity.
I am no hero. I am no saint. I am a furnace. Every trial is fuel. Every life I take is iron smelted into my will.
On the fourth day, his fever broke. He rose with unsteady steps and spread the bloodstained map across the cave floor.
The red crosses burned in his mind. Each one, a lair. Each lair, bandits. And bandits meant weapons, supplies… men.
He touched the bronze token, its wolf's head glaring back at him. A mark of command. A key to their trust.
Jin's lips curled into a thin smile. "You preyed on the weak. I will prey on you."
---
Far away, the scholar from before sat with his guards around a campfire. They spoke of the massacre in hushed tones.
"Master," one whispered, "why not report the killings to the sects?"
The scholar's eyes narrowed. "And let them claim the wolf's den? No. I've seen the footprints. A boy walks this path… a boy who kills like a demon. If he lives, he will carve his mark into this land."
He gazed into the fire, voice low. "And I will be there to see it."
---
Back in the cave, Jin gathered his strength, wrapping a cloth around the bronze token and strapping a stolen sword to his back.
Before him stretched two paths: wander, recover, and fade into obscurity… or walk into the heart of wolves and carve his place among them.
His eyes burned with cold determination.
"The furnace does not wait. It devours."
And with that, Jin Mu-Won set his sights on the bandit den.