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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: cyno
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After sending Jin Wooyong out—
“Ugh…”
Byeolak staggered uncharacteristically, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Though he rarely felt fatigue, exhaustion weighed heavily on him now.
“Haa…”
Entering the Mental Realm was fine.
No matter how broken, his mental fortitude wasn’t so weak as to crumble from that.
But the *Realm of Memories* being opened—that was something even he couldn’t ignore.
“…Ghk.”
Fragments of memories surged, and Byeolak stifled a groan before quickly lying down and pressing his own *sleep acupoint*.
*Thud.*
Just like that, he sank into a deep slumber.
Forgetting, for a moment, that the *Moonlight Axe* containing Jin Wooyong’s soul lay beside him.
—
“Asleep?”
Jin Wooyong’s voice echoed in the void—a question asked without expecting an answer.
“Tch, out cold already.”
Confirming Byeolak was asleep, Jin Wooyong quietly slipped out of the *Moonlight Axe*.
His plan? To peek at the memories he hadn’t fully seen earlier.
“No respect, not even answering an elder’s question.”
*(Though whether he even counts as an elder now is unclear.)*
Jin Wooyong was a figure from ancient martial history.
Even in his time, there were extraordinary warriors—some so enigmatic they were called “wandering eccentrics.” Among them were ancient freaks who had lived for eons, like immortals.
But the lifespan he’d glimpsed in Byeolak’s memories dwarfed them all.
“I can’t just leave some unknown man by my descendant’s side. Understand?”
(Not that he’d admit his real reason was sheer curiosity.)
Unbothered, Jin Wooyong infiltrated Byeolak’s body again, slipping into the world of the unconscious.
“Now, where’s that door?”
The space was pitch-black, different from the Mental Realm he’d seen earlier, making navigation tricky.
“Ah, there it is.”
Since the mind is interconnected, Jin Woong soon found the *Realm of Memories* he’d seen before.
*Creak—*
As the door opened, the *Realm of Asura* sprawled before him once more.
“Hah… It really does stretch endlessly.”
Memories hung like paintings, each oozing blood—a sight impossible to stomach.
Jin Wooyong trudged forward and grabbed the first memory within reach.
It was about Byeolak’s father’s enemy—*”Blood Sea Tai-Tai”*—and a *”pink-haired girl.”*
Purely by chance, it was the closest one.
“……”
As the fragmented memory began replaying—
Jin Wooyong was dragged back into stunned silence.
—
### A Machine of Regression
Amid endless cycles of death, I naturally learned to kill my emotions.
I began acting solely on reason, discarding luxuries like feelings.
Only by turning myself into a *”tool of regression”* could I endure without corruption.
That’s why, after stopping *”Blood Sea Tai-Tai’s Massacre”* two years post-regression point, I spared her daughter.
Originally, *Blood Sea Tai-Tai*—a martial world outlaw—would’ve slaughtered countless warriors sent to punish her, then joined the *Blood Cult* to escape the wrath of the *Divine Monk*, enraged by his disciple’s death.
Not out of loyalty to the *Blood Demon* or belief in the cult’s dogma—just survival.
As the *Blood Demon’s* subordinate, she’d commit unspeakable atrocities.
To cut off that future, I joined the hunt as the *Divine Sword.*
Since my father’s death was *pre-regression*, I’d long let go of vengeance.
Only efficiency. Only justice.
So I killed her.
But she had a nine-year-old daughter.
A girl with suspiciously pink hair, resembling her mother.
A child *Blood Sea Tai-Tai* had hidden in every cycle—one I never knew existed until then.
Had I still harbored hatred for my father’s killer, I wouldn’t have spared her.
*”Killing the family of the one who killed mine”*—against justice, but a natural thought for anyone with familial love.
But emotionless me saw only an *”innocent child.”*
The innocent weak must be protected, even at the cost of your life.
So I saved her, even clashing with fellow martial artists.
For several cycles, it repeated.
As the *Divine Sword*, I killed *Blood Sea Tai-Tai*, recited scripted lines, and spared the guiltless daughter.
The crack in that routine came during an ordinary cycle.
A rural village ravaged by *Blood Cult* indiscriminate slaughter.
There, I found the pink-haired girl’s corpse.
I’d saved her from orthodox factions, but without strength, she died where my gaze couldn’t reach.
From the next cycle onward, I took her with me sometimes.
But that had limits—being near me only exposed her to greater danger.
So eventually, I started creating martial arts for her in advance.
No fancy names.
Just practicality—no *”Supreme Ultimate”* or *”Yang Energy”* fluff.
Simple. During hunts for *Blood Sea Tai-Tai*, I’d scribble mental techniques and moves in a notebook and hand it over.
No emotions. Just repeating predetermined actions.
I was a machine of regression.
Luckily (or unluckily), after that, I never found her corpse again.
She’d die in the end, but I’d done my best.
Even in this final, non-regressing cycle, it was the same.
*I wonder how that pink-haired girl is doing now?*
—
“…This is impossible.”
Jin Wooyong’s voice trembled.
Even after the memory ended, he couldn’t shake its impact.
“Regression? Cycles? What kind of madness is this?!”
This wasn’t some *”rejuvenated old master”* nonsense.
A *genuinely unique* existence—unparalleled in thousands of years of martial history.
Unless his memories were fabricated.
“Not delusions. Too meticulous.”
Jin Wooyong’s gaze swept the *Realm of Memories*.
Thousands—no, *tens of thousands* of scenes like the one he’d just witnessed were displayed everywhere.
“Are you truly insane…?!”
Staring in disbelief, Jin Wooyong slowly moved to another section.
Then another. And another.
He tore through them all.
From the *”Family”* section—Yoo So-eun, Namgung Su-a, his son, Namgung So-so, Namgung Bin—
To *”Comrades,”* *”Allies,”* *”Archenemies,”* *”Villains”*—
And finally, the *”Friends”* section—the *Divine Monk*, Okhwa, Dongfang Bubai…
In the real world, reviewing them all would’ve taken decades.
But here—
“Hah… Haha…”
Jin Wooyong absorbed them in mere moments.
“Truly… an unbelievable man…”
Awe spilled from his lips unbidden.
“Even *he* gave up in the end…”
Suddenly, Jin Wooyong remembered his old friend—the *Sword Saint*.
The one who’d single-handedly halted the *Sun-Moon Holy Cult’s* invasion of the Central Plains.
Who’d once confessed to him about a *”regression ability”* before clutching his robes, begging for help, then stabbing his own pressure point to end it all.
Back then, the *Sword Saint* had revealed the world was on its *”ninth cycle.”*
Meaning—he’d lost his mind after just *nine* regressions.
*But this guy?*
From what Jin Wooyong had seen, Byeolak had regressed *thousands* of times.
In those countless cycles—*he never broke.*
Not once did he give up.
Not once did he *corrupt.*
He killed those he had to kill—again, and again, and again.
He saved those he had to save—again, and again, and again.
In a living hell spanning millennia—
He never lost his *”justice”* or *”will.”*
And in the end, he saved a world that even Jin Wooyong had seen as hopeless.
(Though he’d later been framed by his brother and fallen from grace.)
“A madman. A true madman.”
A *righteous* madman.
A man so great it left him speechless.
A man who, even if he’d practiced demonic arts, could never have matched this level of insanity.
—
“Master Jin. What are you doing in my consciousness?”
Byeolak’s voice cut through the void as he opened the door to the *Mental Realm*.
His form was as gruesome as before—mangled flesh, drenched in blood.
But to Jin Wooyong, who now knew the truth, those wounds looked like *medals of honor.*
As a man of *justice* (despite his brutish exterior), Jin Wooyong felt something beyond admiration—*awe*—for Byeolak, who’d clung to righteousness through unimaginable suffering and still achieved salvation.
“Son-in-law.”
Jin Wooyong plopped down cross-legged.
“I told you, I’m not your son-in-law.”
Byeolak didn’t even sound angry, despite the intrusion.
Smirking, Jin Wooyong declared:
“Worry not. You have my blessing.”
“…?”
“You may take my descendant as your own.”
Thrilled to have secured the *best possible son-in-law*, Jin Wooyong was in high spirits.
—
### Epilogue: The Pink-Haired Girl
“I’m indebted to you for your care.”
A woman with brown hair tied tightly back bowed respectfully.
Namgung So-so, the *Hidden Flower*.
“Go safely. Your body isn’t fully healed—don’t push yourself.”
The woman returning the bow wore a tattered bamboo hat, pink hair spilling from beneath it.
*Hong Lian*, the *Killing Saint*.
“I’ll repay this debt without fail.”
“Just focus on your own path.”
“Also… I hope things work out with… *him*.”
“Spare me the empty pleasantries. Do I look like a fool who can’t read people?”
“……”
“Rest well. If your vitality runs low, come back anytime. I’m not so poor I can’t share a bit with my sister-in-law.”
“Thank you for everything.”
Debating whether to visit the *Sword Venerable* or the *Namgung Family* first, Namgung So-so left.
Hong Lian watched her go, then muttered under her breath—
*laced with killing intent.*
“Come out.”
“……”
“Should I chop off your limbs and leave you paralyzed?”
“…Greetings, *Killing Saint*.”
From behind the cottage where Namgung So-so and Hong Lian had stayed—
A man crawled out.
Slitted eyes stretched unnaturally wide, white hair stark against his features—
*Bai Yingshiwang*, the *White Shadow Death King*.
Former leader of the *Martial Alliance’s White Shadow Division*.
Current right hand of *Namgung Bin*.
And—*unknown to all*—a *top-tier assassin* of the *Killing Bones*.
“Sorry.”
“Where should we start?”
Drawing a dagger, Hong Lian approached.
Her smile stretched ear to ear—*a killer’s grin.*
“Our *precious little traitor*.”
“I’m sorry.”
“When I first saw you, do you know how shocked I was? A runaway from the *Killing Bones*—coming to *hire* the *Killing Bones*?”
“Sorry… I’m sorry.”
“Did you think we were a joke?”
Her narrowed eyes raked over his trembling limbs.
“Choose.”
“I’m sorry—!”
“Which limb should I take?”
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