Baek Kang-Hyun opened his eyes—and froze.
In the dim flicker of an old oil lamp, he saw a ceiling laced with cobwebs and rotting wooden walls oozing dampness and decay. A musty smell lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp sting of old herbs.
He lay on a wooden board, a rough bundle of straw beneath him, covered by a threadbare quilt full of holes and dust.
Where… was this place?
His throat tightened as he tried to speak, but before the words could form, a torrent of fragmented memories surged into his mind—blinding and chaotic.
His vision darkened. For several agonizing minutes, his thoughts spun wildly. But then clarity returned. Slowly, painfully, he understood the truth.
He had crossed over.
His soul now resided in the body of an aged martial artist—an elder of the Black River Clan in Sangha County, a border province under the rule of the martial kingdom of Daeguk.
But the world around him was clearly far from anything he knew in the modern era.
The flickering yellow lamp, the warped wooden walls, the straw mattress—everything felt too raw, too real.
As the fragments of memory settled, names and impressions became clearer.
The Black River Clan, with its iron grip over Sangha and neighboring Gwangseo County, was a powerful martial faction. With over ten thousand members and dozens of renowned masters, it held undeniable influence in the local murim.
His predecessor was once formidable, a 6th Layer Ki Expert, famed for his skill in the Seongrim Pulse Technique —a body refinement method once praised as revolutionary. As a result, he was elevated to the position of Chief Elder, respected and honored.
And yet, why was he lying here, broken and dying?
Baek Kang-Hyun furrowed his brow.
Though he had inherited the body intact, the memories were fragmented, incomplete. The holes left him disoriented and gave him a splitting headache.
As he lay there, still dazed, the pungent scent of boiled herbs wafted in from beyond the creaking wooden door. A faint creak echoed as it opened, and an old man in tattered hemp robes walked in, hunched and shuffling with careful steps. In his hands, he carried a chipped wooden bowl filled with steaming liquid, thick and bitter.
Baek Kang-Hyun stared at him. The closer the man came, the stronger the stench. It was overwhelming.
"You…" Kang-Hyun rasped. His voice felt foreign in his throat—dry and thin, like wind scraping against cracked earth.
The old man froze. His shoulders trembled. Slowly, he turned, and his cloudy eyes widened as he saw Kang-Hyun awake.
Tears welled instantly in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.
For a few quiet moments, the two simply stared at each other.
Then, the old man wiped his face with a shaking hand and whispered, "Master… You've awakened."
His voice was hoarse and low, like dry leaves rustling in the wind. So faint, Kang-Hyun barely heard it.
Master?
He blinked. His gaze drifted downward, and only then did he truly realize—he was no longer the youthful man from his past life. The body he now inhabited was old, frail, and worn thin by time and Ki corrosion.
A bitter taste rose in his mouth.
So this is how it begins…
The flood of information was overwhelming. Baek Kang-Hyun sat in stunned silence, unable to fully process the chaos within his mind.
Not only had he crossed—but he had done so into the body of an old man, half a step away from the grave.
"Damn it all... how am I supposed to rise from this?" he muttered bitterly.
His limbs were weak, his Ki barely a flicker. The body he now inhabited was frail and dried out, like a battlefield long since abandoned. He turned toward the chipped bowl left by the old man. Thick, dark broth still steamed faintly, bitter roots floating lazily within it.
"Master," the old man said softly, his voice weathered, "this medicine… it will clear your mind for a little while."
Baek Kang-Hyun didn't answer. His golden eyes—sharp and fierce despite the ravaged shell of his body—remained locked on the man. That glint in his gaze hadn't dulled. If anything, it shone with even colder clarity now.
The old man hesitated. Then he continued with a trembling voice, "I… I thought you had passed on. But the heavens… you live. Still, this fate may not be reversible."
He paused, casting a nervous glance toward the door. "Han Ri has united the medicine servants. Most of the valley follows him now. They've sealed off the entire Cheonghae Valley. There's no way out."
Baek Kang-Hyun endured the man's account without expression. But as the pieces came together, the truth behind his predecessor's downfall burned like cold iron in his mind.
Though once a 6th Layer Ki Expert and Chief Elder of the Black River Clan, Kang-Hyun's past arrogance had cultivated enemies throughout the martial world. His prowess in the Pulse Art of Seongrim and his unyielding nature as a famed medicinal martialist earned him both reverence and resentment.
In his youth, he'd walked proudly, wielding both his blade and his tongue like whips. But time erodes all things. As his Ki faded and his Muun dimmed, so too did his authority. And in the shadows of that decline, Han Ri, a lowly herbal servant, rose with ambition.
He had poisoned Kang-Hyun's daily Snow Mountain Silver Brew, adding Ki-melting powder to corrode his core. Then he orchestrated a silent coup, imprisoning him here—stripped of power, pride, and position.
Kang-Hyun's expression remained unmoved, but deep inside, a storm raged. Betrayed not by a worthy rival, but by a mere servant?
A wounded tiger devoured by dogs…
He felt no anger—only ice-cold clarity.
He tilted his head slightly, strands of jet-black hair spilling over his shoulder, tied back with a worn golden crown pin. His long locks shimmered with a faint, bluish sheen, giving him an eerie, noble air even in decay. Sharp, narrow eyes the color of molten gold gleamed in the dim lamp-light, and the smile playing at his lips was not one of amusement, but of calculation.
He had the face of a man who had once stood at the peak—and intended to return there, even if he had to crawl through corpses to do it.
Baek Kang-Hyun stared up at the wooden rafters, the spiderwebs, the dust. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:
"Han Ri... you stole from a dying beast. But the beast still has fangs."