"Gu Mo, tell me—how many still remain in the valley?" Baek Kang-Hyun spoke low and steady, but his tone carried a blade's edge. He had no intention of quietly waiting for death.
Gu Mo—the elderly servant before him—was just a frail old man, barely worth noticing to most. Even the name Gu Mo had been given by Kang-Hyun in his youth, a courtesy most masters wouldn't bother with.
"Master…" Gu Mo's voice trembled, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope lit his eyes. But it faded quickly, and he lowered his gaze, voice turning hoarse.
"There is no one left. All who once stood by your side in Cheonghae Valley ... they're gone. Slaughtered."
Gu Mo paused, breathing heavily. "There are still a few dozen people in the valley, but they've all pledged loyalty to Han Ri."
"You should not have awakened."
Baek Kang-Hyun narrowed his eyes.
"If you remain conscious, they will make you suffer more. Han Ri and his supporters won't be content with what they've already taken."
"To die now would be a mercy. Rebirth may come sooner that way."
A heavy silence fell.
Baek Kang-Hyun felt something twist in his chest—not grief, but grim irony. No wonder the former him disliked this old man. Such blunt, defeatist talk would disgust any leader.
But oddly, it was this very man—disregarded, unloved, insignificant—who remained at his side when all others had fled or betrayed him.
Unlike Han Ri, the medicine attendant once trusted implicitly…
A flicker of warmth touched Kang-Hyun's otherwise cold expression as he gazed at Gu Mo.
He had considered sending someone loyal to alert the Black River Clan, but if Gu Mo was to be believed, there was no one left to trust.
And even if a message reached the clan, would they lift a finger?
The Vice Chief of the Clan, his long-time rival, had every reason to wish for his death. Power struggles. Clashing interests. Bitter history. Perhaps Han Ri's rebellion had backing from above—from someone who wanted Kang-Hyun out of the way without getting their own hands dirty.
His thoughts turned in circles, but no path forward presented itself. His chest felt tight.
"Damn it,… I crossed into this world and haven't even tasted its wonders yet. Am I really supposed to die here like a broken dog?"
Then—creak.
Footsteps echoed from beyond the door. A sliver of golden light pierced the gloom as the door slowly opened, casting long shadows across the dusty floor.
A young man stepped inside, dressed in a black martial robe with a slim blade at his waist. His build was lean, his posture confident. Pale brows arched over eagle-sharp eyes, his thin lips pressed into a cold line. The high cheekbones and hollowed cheeks gave him a cruel, hungry air.
Even without the memories, Baek Kang-Hyun knew who this was.
Han Ri.
Yet the servant he remembered—timid, humble—was nowhere to be seen.
The man before him was different.
Yes, Han Ri had once been no more than a lowly first-class herbal servant, but now he stood at the top of Cheonghae Valley, and Baek Kang-Hyun—who once ruled this place—was reduced to a prisoner.
It was a complete reversal of fate. A shameful humiliation.
In his past life, Kang-Hyun had been fond of studying physiognomy. One glance at Han Ri's face told him all he needed to know—those cold, sunken eyes, that thin mouth, the narrow chin—this man was born with a cruel, venomous disposition.
And such people… were always the most dangerous.
Han Ri stepped into the room, his gaze immediately locking onto Kang-Hyun. When he saw that the old man had regained consciousness, the corners of his lips curled with pride. His tone, though coated with fake concern, carried a cold undercurrent.
"Old Baek, you're finally awake?"
"You fainted so suddenly the other day… Han here was nearly frightened to death."
"You should know, everything I've cultivated, everything I've achieved—it's all thanks to your guidance."
Baek Kang-Hyun narrowed his eyes and stayed silent.
Though he held the rank of Chief Elder in the Black River Clan, his signature technique, the Everlasting Pulse Art, didn't come from the clan's archives. It had been passed down to him by his own master—his true legacy.
After his master's death, Kang-Hyun was the last inheritor of the art. While the technique was categorized as an upper-tier, common-grade method, its value was extraordinary. Even across the entire Sangha Province, few martial clans possessed something comparable.
Back in Cheonghae Valley, there had been dozens of medicine servants. Among them, two or three had shown exceptional martial potential. In hopes of continuing the legacy, Kang-Hyun had taught them the first three layers of the technique.
Han Ri had been one of them.
But Kang-Hyun had been cautious. He never revealed the full art. Only fragments—never the core.
Now, in hindsight, that wariness had likely saved his life.
Han Ri's smile faded. His expression darkened, his voice laced with killing intent.
"Old thing, don't play dumb. Give me the rest of the Everlasting Pulse Art. If you're smart, I'll let you die quickly."
"Otherwise…" Han Ri narrowed his eyes, the corners tightening into a slit. His gaze grew long and narrow, like a snake in the dark, venom dripping from its invisible fangs.
"Everyone in the Black River Clan who still bears the name Baek… will die with you."
Kang-Hyun let out a quiet snort of laughter. "You? You think you have that kind of reach?"
A thin smile tugged at Han Ri's lips.
"Heh… Han doesn't. But do you think I'm the only one who wants your life?"
Kang-Hyun's heart sank slightly. So there really was someone behind him.
He had just opened his mouth to press further when suddenly, the air before his eyes warped.
His vision blurred. The edges of the room twisted unnaturally. An oppressive pressure tightened around his forehead.
He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his temples hard.
An illusion? Ki deviation?
No. It wasn't from Han Ri. It was something else.
This old body was already decaying from within. Even if Han Ri hadn't betrayed him, he wouldn't have lived long.
He opened his eyes again, expecting the hallucination to fade.
But instead—it became clearer.
There, in front of him, a line of glowing golden text floated silently in the air.