My head throbbed as if a blacksmith were hammering an anvil inside my skull. I groaned, my hand instinctively reaching up to clutch my temple. The pain was sharp, unrelenting, and for a moment, I couldn't think, couldn't remember.
"Where… am I?" I muttered, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar to my own ears.
I opened my eyes slowly, the dim light of the room making my headache worse. The ceiling above me was cracked, the plaster peeling in places, and the air smelled of dust and damp wood. I turned my head slightly, wincing at the stiffness in my neck, and took in my surroundings.
The room was small and rundown, with a single window covered by a tattered curtain. The walls were bare, save for a few patches of mold creeping up from the corners. A rickety wooden table stood nearby, its surface cluttered with a few odd items: a small wooden stick and a plain, unadorned sword.
I sat up slowly, my body feeling heavy and uncoordinated, as if it didn't quite belong to me. My hands—pale and calloused—trembled as I ran them through my hair.
"What happened?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Fragments of memory began to surface, like shards of glass cutting through the fog in my mind. A battlefield. A sword glowing with a sinister purple aura. A figure cloaked in shadows, their voice cold and mocking. And then… pain. Darkness.
"I died," I said aloud, the realization hitting me like a blow. "I'm pretty sure I died."
But if I was dead, then why was I here? Why did I feel so… alive?
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my movements slow and deliberate. My body felt weak, as if it hadn't been used in weeks. I stood, my legs trembling beneath me, and took a few shaky steps toward the table.
The wooden stick caught my eye first. It was simple, made of dark wood, with no markings or carvings. But as I picked it up, I felt a faint, familiar energy—Qi.
"This… this has Qi in it," I murmured, my brow furrowing. "But it's so weak. What is this thing?"
I set the stick down and picked up the sword. It was nothing like the weapon I had wielded in my past life. This was a common blade, the kind any soldier or mercenary might carry. But as I gripped the hilt, I felt a spark of something—a connection, however faint, to the martial arts I had once mastered.
My thoughts raced. "Where am I? Who is this body? And why… why can I feel Qi in this stick?"
I walked to the window, pushing aside the tattered curtain. Outside, the world was unfamiliar. The streets were narrow and cobblestoned, lined with small, rundown buildings. People moved about, their clothes simple and worn. In the distance, I could see the towering spires of a castle, its silhouette stark against the gray sky.
"This isn't Murim," I said softly. "This is… something else."
As I stood there, more memories began to surface—memories that weren't my own. A grand estate. A family of magicians. A trial. Shouts of " Disgraced" and "Exile!"
I staggered back from the window, clutching my head as the pain flared again. Images flashed before my eyes: a stern-faced man with a long beard, a woman with tears in her eyes, a crowd of onlookers jeering as I was cast out.
"I'm… an exiled nobleman," I whispered, the pieces falling into place. "My family… they were magicians. But I… I couldn't use magic. They called me a failure. A disgrace."
I sank onto the bed, my mind reeling. "And my name… my name is…"
It came to me suddenly, as if it had been waiting just out of reach.
"Leon," I said, the name feeling strange on my tongue. "My name is Leon."
I sat there for a long time, staring at the wooden stick and the sword on the table. The stick, with its faint trace of Qi, and the sword, a reminder of the life I had lost.
"What am I supposed to do now?" I whispered to myself.
As if in response, a knock came at the door. I tensed, my hand instinctively reaching for the sword. "Who's there?"
The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. She was young, with dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. She carried a tray of food—bread, cheese, and a cup of water.
"You're awake," she said, her voice calm but cautious. "I wasn't sure you'd make it through the night."
I stared at her, my mind racing. "Who are you?"
The woman set the tray down on the table and crossed her arms. "I'm Mira. I found you unconscious in the forest yesterday. You were lucky I did—those woods are crawling with bandits."
I frowned. "The forest? I don't remember…"
Mira raised an eyebrow. "You were in pretty bad shape. Feverish, muttering things I couldn't understand. Do you remember how you got there?"
I hesitated. "It's… complicated."
Mira studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, you're safe here, for now. Eat something. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks."
I glanced at the food, my stomach growling despite my confusion. "Thank you," I said quietly.
As Mira turned to leave, I called out, "Wait. Why are you helping me?"
She paused at the door, glancing back at me. "Let's just say I know what it's like to have nowhere else to go."
When she was gone, I sat down on the bed, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. I looked at the wooden stick and the sword on the table, then at my hands—hands that weren't my own.
"Leon," I said again, testing the name. It felt foreign, yet familiar.
I didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: my old life was gone.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wooden stick and the sword on the table. The faint trace of Qi in the stick and the weight of the sword in my hand were reminders of the life I had lost. My old life. The life of Baek Kang-Ho.
'Baek Kang-Ho,' I thought, the name echoing in my mind like a distant thunderclap. 'The Heavenly Demon. The man who unified the Central Plains. The man who fought against thousands of martial masters. And yet… here I am. Leon Lancaster. A disgraced nobleman who can't even use magic.'
I leaned back, my head resting against the wall, and closed my eyes. The memories came flooding back, unbidden, like a river breaking through a dam.
Flashback:
The Central Plains were a land of chaos, divided by warring factions and rival sects. Martial artists roamed the land, each seeking power, each claiming to be the strongest. But among them, one name rose above the rest: Baek Kang-Ho.
I was Baek Kang-Ho.
I had started as a nameless orphan, wandering the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back. But I had a gift—a talent for martial arts that surpassed even the most seasoned masters. I trained relentlessly, honing my skills, pushing my body to its limits. And when I was ready, I set out to conquer the Central Plains.
It wasn't easy. The factions were strong, their leaders ruthless. But I was stronger. I fought against thousands of martial masters, each battle a test of skill, endurance, and willpower. I defeated them all, one by one, until the Central Plains were in peace unified under my rule.
They called me the Heavenly Demon, a title born of fear and respect. My sword, glowing with a sinister purple aura, became a symbol of my power. My techniques were unmatched, my strength unrivaled. I was invincible.
Or so I thought.
The final battle took place on a desolate plain, the sky dark with storm clouds. My opponent was a man I had once called my disciple. His face was hidden beneath a hood, his voice cold and mocking.
"You've grown weak, Master," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "The Heavenly Demon I once admired would never have let sentiment cloud his judgment."
I tightened my grip on my sword, the purple aura flaring to life. "You think this is weakness? Sparing lives, seeking a better path—that's weakness to you?"
The disciple chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "Sparing lives? You spared mine once, and look where it's brought you. Betrayed. Broken. Alone."
My eyes narrowed. "I saved you because I believed you could change. I still do."
"Change?" The disciple's voice rose, tinged with anger. "The world doesn't change. It devours the weak. You taught me that."
"No," I said, my voice steady despite the pain coursing through my body. "I taught you to rise above it. To be better."
The disciple stepped forward, his blade shimmering with a dark, malevolent energy. "And yet, here we are. You, clinging to ideals that mean nothing. Me, ready to claim what's mine."
I raised my sword, the purple aura flaring to life. The ground beneath me cracked, the sheer force of my energy rippling outward. "If you've come to kill me, then do it. But don't pretend this is about strength. This is about your greed."
The disciple lunged, his blade slicing through the air with terrifying speed. I parried, the clash of our swords sending shockwaves through the ground. We moved like shadows, our strikes precise, our movements fluid. Each blow was a testament to our shared history, our years of training, and the bond that had once united us.
"You could have joined me," the disciple said, his voice strained as our blades locked. "Together, we could have ruled this world."
"I don't want to rule," I replied, my voice firm. "I wanted to protect."
The disciple's eyes flashed with anger. "Protect? From what? The world doesn't need protecting. It needs to be remade."
I pushed him back, my sword glowing brighter. The purple aura intensified, swirling around me like a storm. "And you think you're the one to do it?"
"I know I am," the disciple said, his voice cold. "And you're the only thing standing in my way."
The battle raged on, each strike more brutal than the last. My body screamed in protest, my wounds bleeding freely, but I refused to fall. I couldn't. Not yet.
But then, it happened. A moment of hesitation, a split second of doubt. The disciple's blade pierced my chest, the cold steel a stark contrast to the burning pain that followed. I staggered, my sword slipping from my grasp.
The disciple leaned in, his voice a whisper. "Goodbye, Master. May your ideals die with you."
I fell to my knees, my vision blurring. I looked up at the stormy sky, my thoughts a whirlwind of regret and resolve. *If I could do it all over again…*
And then, darkness.
Flashback Ends:
I blinked, the memory fading as quickly as it had come. The inn was still bustling around me, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the air. But I felt… disconnected, as if I were still caught between two worlds.
'That was my end,' I thought, my hands trembling. 'But why am I here? Why was I given this second chance?'
I didn't have an answer. Not yet.
[A/N: Hey guys, please support this novel by powerstones and comments.. Thank you and I appreciate your support]..