The door creaked.
Not kicked. Not blasted. Just opened—calm, deliberate. Like a man stepping into his own home.
Kim Minjae stood in the doorway, rain dripping off the brim of his hat, silver sword hanging sheathed at his hip. He looked exactly like Jung Min remembered:
Clean. Controlled. Sanctified like a bullet in a velvet box.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to shoot you," Minjae said, stepping inside.
Jung Min didn't answer.
Just raised his gun and fired.
The shot missed.
Or maybe it didn't.
It hit the bell above the door Jung Min had taken down years ago. It crashed to the floor with a pathetic clang.
Minjae smiled.
"I see you still like sending messages."
"I see you still like walking into traps."
Minjae didn't hesitate.
His hand snapped to his sword—draw-slash-return in a single motion.
The counter split in half.
Jung Min rolled left, fired two more shots. One went wide. The other clipped Minjae's shoulder, sparking against holy armor beneath his coat.
He didn't flinch.
"Where is the girl?" Minjae asked.
"Go to hell."
"That's not in my jurisdiction."
He lunged.
Jung Min barely had time to switch guns. The chrome one. Ivory grip. He fired point-blank—Minjae deflected with the flat of his blade.
The shot ricocheted into the ceiling. Dust rained down.
Jung Min kicked a display case at him, scattering old relics and broken charms. A flash grenade rolled out. Lit up the room in holy fire.
Minjae hissed.
"You kept the illegal stock."
"Damn right I did."
They clashed again—blade against barrel, sparks against smoke.
Jung Min ducked low, spun around Minjae's back, and drove the butt of his gun into his ribs. The Saint grunted but recovered fast, elbowing Jung Min square in the jaw.
His vision went white for half a second.
He's faster than before. No hesitation. No mercy.
"You've slowed down," Minjae said.
"You talk too much."
Another shot.
This one grazed Minjae's thigh. Enough to stagger him.
Jung Min rushed forward, slamming him into a shelf. Wood cracked. Books of false prayers collapsed to the floor.
"Tell me why they sent you," Jung Min growled.
"You know why."
"I want to hear you say it."
Minjae met his eyes.
"To erase you. You're the last loose end."
Jung Min laughed. Just once. Cold.
"Then they really fucked up, sending the second-best."
Minjae roared and shoved him back, sword raised—
—and then the basement door exploded.
Not from impact.
From pressure.
From presence.
Both men turned as the air shifted.
A low, vibrating hum crawled through the walls, deep and ancient. The whisper of something waking up.
The relic had activated.
The girl hadn't touched it.
It touched her.
"Oh no," Jung Min muttered.
He backed away from Minjae.
"That's not supposed to happen unless—"
The floor cracked.
And above them, the ceiling began to bleed light.
Not holy.
Not demonic.
Just wrong.
End of Chapter 4