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Chapter 1
Crackle. Snap! Crackle!
The blazing flames roared skyward, climbing as though they might pierce the black heavens, painting the world in blood-red light.
A man, Mun Haegang, stood frozen, staring blankly at the sea of fire. He couldn’t open his mouth.
“….”
The vast manor burned with a ferocity that shook the earth, and yet inside its walls there was an eerie, suffocating silence.
No frantic cries of fire, no desperate pleas for salvation.
A clan that had, only half a day earlier, been filled with laughter and chatter, was now reduced to ash in an instant.
It felt too unreal.
“….”
All his life, he had lived passively.
Never once had he moved for his own will or his own desire.
And yet—just once, he had dared to act with courage.
That single choice had brought ruin to this great clan.
Step. Step. Step.
From behind him, shadows fell. Figures no longer bothered to conceal their presence; they revealed themselves openly.
“It burns well.”
The voice was calm—far too calm for words spoken while watching flames that seemed to reach the sky.
Without looking away from the inferno, Haegang opened his mouth.
“Did it really… have to be this way?”
“Did you not know what would happen when you took our hand?”
The response was not an answer, but a question spoken with chilling indifference.
He couldn’t even call it shameless.
If only he hadn’t taken those old men’s hands, the Hyeoljo Clan would never have been wiped out tonight.
Nearly thirty years of his youth had been given to this family.
And now, as it turned to ash, he could do nothing against these butchers.
“People who claim to walk the righteous path…”
The only thing left to him was powerless criticism.
But even that, the old man cut off with a flick of his tongue.
“Let us not prattle about empty righteousness. Who is here to listen of orthodoxy and virtue? Hollow debates mean nothing.”
“….”
The hypocrite’s mask fell away, revealing a hideous face beneath.
The man who had always shouted about loyalty, righteousness, and cooperation until he spat blood—the head of the Wudang Sect—was filthier than Haegang had ever imagined.
“Enough useless words. Speak of something worthwhile. The Hyeoljo Clan’s secret art—the Blood Gold Manual. You have it, do you not? As the clan’s steward, surely you kept it in hand?”
“….”
Haegang turned his head, seeing the lined, disgusting faces of the elders gathered behind him.
“Do you know…? I’ve lived my life as a coward who never once found the courage to truly try.”
One of the elders waved his hand in exaggerated denial.
“Do not belittle yourself. All the martial world knows that the Hyeoljo Clan flourished only because of you, the so-called ‘Dormant Dragon Scholar,’ the most brilliant strategist in Guizhou.”
The Wudang master’s words were echoed by another elder, the patriarch of the Zhuge Family, whose beard stretched down to his navel.
“Indeed, indeed. Martial prowess is nothing without wisdom. Men like you are the true treasures of the world. Were there but two more like you in my house, I could retire without a care.”
The urge to twist their necks surged within him again and again.
But if he had the strength to do that, this tragedy would never have come to pass.
Ignoring their flattery, Haegang continued.
“I lacked courage to face the heart of the woman I loved. I hid behind excuses of poor talent and threw myself into a martial clan, though I never once trained with sincerity.
The price? Watching the woman I cherished suffer for over ten years at the hands of a fool she married.
The pain of that sight pushed me, for once, to act.
And that single act of courage… destroyed her family.”
The more he spoke, the more wretched his life sounded.
Was there ever a man as pathetic as he?
When she extended her hand, he had turned away, claiming his low birth and humble background made him unworthy. He had smothered his feelings under the excuse of “knowing his place.”
Had he at least gone forth, returned triumphant, and stood proud before her, his life would not have been so miserable.
Instead, unable to let go, he lingered in the shadows, studying books like a scholar, only to later throw himself into martial life. From the bottom he climbed, until he became steward of the clan.
Yet he never felt fulfillment. The higher his position rose, the blacker his heart burned.
Watching her brilliance fade year after year beside that fool of a husband was no different than living in hell.
Thirty years.
Three cycles of the land, and still the clan’s fame only grew while her face grew ever darker.
After the patriarch fell ill, bruises appeared on her face. And when he died, not a day passed when her face was unmarked.
She would not last much longer.
And so, he had taken a hand he should never have taken.
“It is a shame she died. I warned you more than once to protect her. But the Hyeoljo resistance was fierce. In that chaos, how could we spare attention when assassins rained down upon us?”
“You lived among the martial world, you understand, don’t you?”
Bitter honey on the tongue—sweet to taste, deadly to swallow.
The righteous sects had been scheming against Hyeoljo for years, perhaps decades.
The patriarch’s three sons dying young.
The marriage that brought in a worthless son-in-law.
The intensifying factional strife within the clan these past ten years.
Why hadn’t he seen it?
Why only now, when her family lay in ashes, did he realize these beasts’ intentions?
They had called him “Dormant Dragon,” but it was nothing but hollow flattery. He was a fool, who fell for obvious schemes and delivered his clan into the jaws of their enemies.
Dormant Dragon? Even a dog on the street would laugh.
He should never have stepped into Hyeoljo to begin with.
Better to have lived as a petty man, resenting the world, jealous of those born with talent and background. At least then, his regret would not be so bitter.
Haegang lifted his head, gazing at the blazing night sky, and spoke with a hollow smile.
“If there is a next life… I will be born even as a dog, if only to guard the Jo family with all I have.”
With those words, he shattered his dantian, detonating his true essence, and hurled himself backward.
Against monsters such as these old men, what else could a weakling do?
“You fool!”
“What are you doing?!”
The elders reached out belatedly, but it was far too late.
The inferno swallowed him whole.
His body burned, but the pain of flesh was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
The searing fire that melted his skin, the guilt of having stolen everything from the woman he loved—he writhed in torment.
And then, like a lie, the pain vanished.
Thud!
“Ugh!”
Instead of fire, a dull blow struck his side. He groaned—and froze as he saw the face before him.
“Are you listening?! Are you going to enter the Son-in-law Selection (Yeongseo Chochin) or not?!”
(Historically, chochin meant a family seeking to bring in a son-in-law.)
Her frowning brows, lips like a little duck’s beak, wide clear eyes brimming with spirit and sharpness—
It was her.
Not the weary, withered face, marked with bruises and sorrow.
But her radiant, youthful self, shining without a trace of shadow.
Tears slid down his cheeks.
“You—you’re crying? I didn’t hit you that hard… just a tap…”
The woman he owed a debt he could never repay, no matter how many lifetimes—standing before him, bright and full of life as in their youth. His tears flowed before he could stop them.
“Did it hurt that much?”
Was this what they called the final flashback before death?
If so, then even in this illusion, he wanted to say what he never could.
He reached for her face. Her eyes wavered in surprise.
Her eyes, her nose, her lips—everything was just as it had been in her youth.
“One little tap and you’ve gone blind? What’s with that creepy groping?”
She slapped his hand away, her cheeks faintly flushed.
“Yeonhwa…”
How long had it been since he called her name like this?
“Yes, I’m Yeonhwa. Jo Yeonhwa. So? Are you entering or not?”
“….”
“I told you, Father is holding the Son-in-law Selection! Anyone can participate—so long as they’re not from the righteous sects. That means… you can join too, right?”
Of all the moments in his life he regretted, it had to be this one, flashing before his death.
I’m just your friend… how could I stand among the greats of the martial world…
Back then, he had shrunk away, pathetic beyond words.
He wanted to redo that moment. The first step in a lifetime of regret.
If only he had forced out the courage then, might his life have been different?
Compared to her brilliance, he had claimed to have nothing, and so he hadn’t even dared to try.
But now—whether dream or illusion—he would not repeat that mistake.
He nodded. Hard. Again and again.
Her eyes widened with surprise at his fierce resolve.
“Of course I will! Not just to enter—I’ll beat them all and marry you!”
“Wh—what? Uh… yeah…”
For a moment, she faltered. Then a smile touched her lips.
But before his chest could swell with joy—thud!
“Ugh!”
She had driven her fist into his chest, knocking the breath out of him.
“Say one word of regret later, and I’ll break your legs!”
She shouted as she vanished into the crowd.
As the pain in his chest subsided, realization dawned.
This was far too long for a deathbed vision.
Could it be…?
“Ah…!”
He had returned.
To the age of fifteen—
to the very beginning of his regret-filled life.
