Chapter 3: Dust-Bound Gateway

As Gun-woo strode from the shadowed threshold of "Tales of Antiquity," the antique book clutched firmly under his arm felt like a silent companion whispering secrets through its leather cover. The summer evening's warmth caressed his face, a stark contrast to the cool, cloistered air he left behind. His heart was an erratic drummer, setting a vivacious cadence that mirrored his mounting anticipation.

With each step along the cobblestone, his eager mind ran wild with thoughts of battles and stratagems hidden within the pages of "The Endless War Chronicles." The allure of reading under the halo of his desk lamp already cast a hypnotic spell that drowned the city's din around him.

Passing by street vendors peddling marinated meats and sizzling pancakes, Gun-woo's eyes focused ahead, all too aware of the urban river's current that swirled around his island of calm intention. His physique, a fortress of strength and discipline, seemed impervious to the playful jostling of the after-work crowd. Agile despite his size, he navigated the throngs with the grace of a dancer, each step deliberate and sure.

Upon reaching his apartment, a modest dwelling perched high in one of Seonjin City's less ostentatious high-rises, Gun-woo was greeted by its familiar embrace. He entered, shrugging off the armor of his professional attire as if shedding a layer of skin that no longer fit. The confined space transformed in his presence, becoming the chamber of a scholar-warrior rather than a mere abode.

The living room, sparsely adorned yet meticulously organized, was testament to Gun-woo's orderly mind. A robust wooden desk stationed by the window served as his command center, a neat array of precisely arranged volumes outlining its edges—a library of tactical literature and martial philosophies.

He placed "The Endless War Chronicles" upon this altar of learning, regarding it for a long moment. The last golden rays of the sun played upon the book's surface, dust motes dancing within the beams as if stirred by the ancient spirits that resided in the text.

Now wearing a comfortable, worn t-shirt and loose sweatpants, Gun-woo settled himself into his chair—less a seat and more a throne from which he ruled over his private realm of knowledge. He lit a small desk lamp, the gentle glow bringing warmth to the room and casting an amber spotlight on the book.

As Gun-woo lifted the front cover, the book creaked a complaint at its own opening—a sound loud in the quiet room, like the groan of an ancient door long sealed. The paper felt thick and grainy under his fingertips, and a faint, almost inaudible crackling filled the air as he turned each page. There, in the preface, was an image of the world on which "The Endless War Chronicles" was based, a map marked with mysterious lands contoured by the legend of countless battles.

Gun-woo examined the map with rapt attention, tracing mountain ranges that scaled the page, winding rivers that meandered into unseen oceans, and forlorn deserts that sprawled beneath etched-in caravans and silent, watchful citadels. The cities were points of gathered might, each promising tales of sieges and the tumult of armies clashing under banners now lost to time.

A faint, musty scent rose from the paper, and Gun-woo breathed deeply, the aroma of ink and age mingling with the palpable sensation of another realm reaching across the divide. It was as though he could hear the distant thunder of hooves and the clashing of steel echoing from the chapters ahead, the haze of gunpowder and the cry of eagle-eyed hawkers setting an unseen stage.

His eyelids grew heavy as the darkness outside thickened, the only sound the soft turning of pages and the rhythmic thrum of his own heartbeat. The cadence of warfare and martial resolve that leapt from each sentence began to blur the lines of reality and fiction.

Gun-woo's eyes fluttered closed, succumbing to the weight of exhaustion. His head dipped, the last coherent thought that flitted through his mind was of the ancient wars, of generals and soldiers locked in eternal struggle and of himself, vibrant in the maelstrom...

He dreamed. The dream was vivid—battlefields stretched before him, not as a reader but as a participant, the stench of blood and mud potent in his nostrils, the clamor of combat resounding in his ears.

And there, amidst the darkness weaving between dreams and wakefulness, Gun-woo's adventure truly began, for when he next opened his eyes, it would not be to the familiar sights of Seonjin City, but to the chirping dawn chorus of an unknown forest deep within the world of "The Endless War Chronicles."