Was it a dream? A memory? Or a hallucination born on the knife’s edge of life and death? He couldn't tell if he was already dead, dying, or somehow, still alive. All he could see was the past. Flickers of childhood: his own face the day he first entered the Mount Wol Sect; the sweat-soaked grounds where he trained with Sahyung; the exhilarating moment he’d slipped the sect’s strict bonds to see the wider world. “Before you are a warrior, you are a practitioner. You must understand that power without principle is merely violence.” Nagging. Constant, endless nagging. It had bored him to tears. Though a disciple of the Mount Wol Sect, he had never truly embraced its teachings. His natural genius had earned him the title of “White Lotus Sword Saint,” but in the deeper truths of Mount Wol, he had been nothing more than a novice. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? Even when the lessons felt hollow, when he’d felt like an outsider in his own home… everything that defined him, he owed to the Mount Wol Sect. That was why he’d loved it so fiercely. The realization came too late. Far too late for regrets. If only he’d listened more closely to the teachings, if only he had been a little stronger, perhaps he could have changed that bitter end. If only… “Do you have regrets?” Park Jin-hyuk heard the gentle voice of Sahyung Lee Kang-min. A father, a brother, his family all in one—this was the man Park Jin-hyuk had wanted to follow to the very end. But that, too, was impossible now. Yes, I regret it. I regret it more than anything, Sahyung. “There is no need,” the voice replied, exuding warmth. “It is the Mount Wol Sect, after all.” …Sahyung. It seemed to Park Jin-hyuk that he could hear his Sahyung’s quiet chuckle. Forever kind, forever benevolent. “Because it is the Mount Wol Sect.” Tak! Even then… Puck! Huh? What was that? “Aggggggggggggghhh!” Pain! A searing pain in his head! What in the world was this? Was this what it felt like to have your limbs torn away? “B-Blood Demon?” Was that bastard still alive? Park Jin-hyuk instinctively threw a hand up to shield his head. If he wasn't dead yet, these blows would surely finish the job. “Blood Demon?” The voice that answered was not the Blood Demon’s, but a thick, grating tone he didn’t recognize. “Huh?” When he forced his eyes open, the face looming over him was just as unfamiliar. A beggar? Yes, a beggar. A novice, judging by the single knot tied at his waist. The lowest of the low. The beggar, his face scruffy and perpetually annoyed, glared down at Park Jin-hyuk. What was going on? He couldn’t make sense of anything. “‘Blood Demon’—my ass!” The beggar’s face flushed a deep red. “You lazy sack of bones, still muttering in your sleep! Everyone else is out begging, and you’re still lying here like you own the place! Hey! You think I’m a joke?” The beggar brandished a bamboo stick. Wait a second… Was this child threatening him? Him? So that’s how it was. “Huh?” The beggar flinched at the smirk that spread across Park Jin-hyuk’s face. It was a strange situation, but he felt no need to unravel it just yet. After all, who was he? He was Park Jin-hyuk. One of the three greatest swordsmen under heaven. They had called his style the true essence of the Mount Wol Sect, dubbing him the White Lotus Sword Saint. The other so-called Great Swordsmen were not even worthy of being his opponents. In his final moments, even the Blood Demon had acknowledged the supremacy of his blade. Disciples and sect leaders alike had bowed before him. And this… this beggar was threatening him? A threaaaaaaaaaaaat? “Hah? What? You’re laughing at me?” “Look here, kid.” “‘Look here?’” “I’m having a little trouble grasping the situation, but you can start by putting that thing down.” “Ha. Hahahahaha. Hahahahahahahaha!” The beggar burst into incredulous laughter. Park Jin-hyuk’s brow furrowed. How dare he? Then, the beggar swung the bamboo stick. Huh. Park Jin-hyuk was dumbfounded. How dare a mere beggar do such a thing, knowing who he was? No matter what else happened, he was going to correct this little whelp’s attitude before the day was out. First, he had to stop that stick! Park Jin-hyuk raised his right arm… …What? Huh? Slow? Why was his arm so slow? The stick was coming down fast, but his arm was rising to meet it at a glacial pace. It made no sense. With his reflexes, he should have had that stick in his grasp already. Ah! It must be my injuries. Fine, then he would just have to rely on his internal energy… Uh? What was that? In his peripheral vision, a small, childish hand appeared, reaching for the stick at a snail’s pace. Too slow and… …too short? Huh? A hand that small can’t possibly stop it! This won’t work! The stick connected squarely with Park Jin-hyuk’s head. He collapsed, convulsing on the ground as a skull-splitting agony washed away all coherent thought. “Kuaaaaaa!” Park Jin-hyuk clutched his head, rolling in the dirt. Even having his arm torn from its socket hadn’t hurt this much. “You bastard!” The beggar began to lay into him in earnest. “Situation? You want to understand the situation? Fine! But I’ll make you understand your situation first! A good thrashing is the best cure for a rotten brain! Did the heat get to you, you stupid bastard?” “Ack! Ack! You crazy beggar! Stop it this instant, or else… ack!” “Die! Die!” “Ah—it hurts! Ack!” Park Jin-hyuk’s cries began to change as the beating continued. “—You bastard! I won’t forget this! I’ll tear you limb from—” Smack! “—Stop! Just stop it, you jerk!” Smack! “—Ack! Accckk! Why are you hitting me! Ack!” Smack! “You—beggar—ah, ack! Sorry!” The thrashing continued without mercy. “…save…” Smack! “Spare meeeee!” As if to teach him that second chances weren’t free, Park Jin-hyuk was beaten to a pulp. “…Ack. My pride.” Park Jin-hyuk pulled a wad of cloth from his nose. “Ah, ahhh.” The moment he saw the red stain, his face fell. A nosebleed. Not from internal injuries, but from a common beating. How was this possible? Nothing had made sense since he’d opened his eyes. His eyelids were swollen shut, and it felt like there wasn’t a single spot on his body that didn’t ache. To beat someone so thoroughly was almost an art form. If someone hadn’t stopped the little brute, he might have kept going all day. Had he ever been hit like this in his entire life? For all the trouble he’d caused in the notoriously strict Mount Wol Sect, he had never once been thrashed this badly. To suffer such a humiliation, and at the hands of a beggar no less…! “I’m going to destroy him… That bastard! I’ll tear him to pieces.” Anger and humiliation churned in his gut. Park Jin-hyuk lay still on the ground. Acting rashly would only bring more pain to his battered body. “No, more importantly…” Heaving himself up, Park Jin-hyuk crawled to the river’s edge and stared at his reflection. An unfamiliar young face stared back. When Park Jin-hyuk grimaced, the boy in the water grimaced. When Park Jin-hyuk sighed, the boy sighed too. “…How did this happen?” Why was some unknown child’s face looking back at him from the water? It wasn’t a bad face, he had to admit. Younger was better than older, wasn't it? Though perhaps this was a bit too young. Besides, no matter how he looked at it, this face was far more handsome than his old one. He couldn’t complain about that. But he could complain about the fact that the rest of his body was just as young. Short. His limbs were short—not because he was naturally small, but because he was a child. Worse, he was nothing but skin and bones. He was so tired and hungry he could barely lift a finger. Ah, whatever. “So…” To summarize… “This means I’m alive.” Perhaps “I” wasn’t the right word. No matter how he looked, this frail child was not the White Lotus Sword Saint, Park Jin-hyuk. The Sword Saint was gone. His soul, and all his memories, now resided in the body of a young beggar. “This must be the work of some demon.” Or was it Buddhist reincarnation? If he’d known this was a possibility, he would have joined Sorim instead of the Mount Wol Sect. He wondered if the Blood Demon had used some foul magic on him. But if the demon was capable of such a feat, he would have conquered the world long ago. Park Jin-hyuk didn’t particularly care how it had happened. He only knew that this was real. This was no dream, no fantasy. His entire body throbbed with a pain that reignited his anger with every pulse. “Sitting here thinking about it won’t change anything. First, I need to figure out what’s going on.” Park Jin-hyuk pushed himself to his feet and tried to run toward the beggars’ tent. Or he tried to, at least. “Kuk!” He collapsed after just a few steps. “You hit me hard, you bastard!” Park Jin-hyuk’s eyes glinted with fury. “No matter what, I will pay you back for this.” It seemed even death couldn’t cure a rotten personality.

Chapter 4: A Saint's Final Regret