Chapter-1
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This chapter contains very disturbing stuffs.
"This world... is far too cruel."
The words echoed in Lee Cheon-Hwa's mind as he stood amidst the carnage.
Bodies—shredded, broken, lifeless—lay scattered like discarded puppets, their blood painting the ground in grotesque strokes. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and suffocating. As he stepped further in, his eyes swept over the scene—limbs torn from children, women butchered without mercy.
Disgust twisted in his gut.
What kind of human could do this? he thought, though the word "human" felt almost too generous.
His master—no, Hwa Ryeon—the madman draped in genius and insanity, had once mumbled of a day like this. A vision he'd whispered about in fractured riddles 85 years ago. Cheon-Hwa had dismissed it then as one of the old man's delusions. Just another product of a mind too burdened by violence and power.
But it wasn't madness.
It was prophecy.
And now it stood before him—real, merciless, and far more brutal than anything his mind had dared to conjure.
He hated this. Hated the slaughter.
The children—innocent lives never meant to see war.
The women—dragged into a death they never deserved.
As he stared ahead, into the path still cloaked in silence and blood.Lee Cheon-Hwa's eyes scanned the charred remains of the village, his breath sharp, his jaw clenched while walking.
'It's the same... the same damn massacre as last week'.
A cold sweat broke down his back as he reached out, fingertips brushing against the soot-blackened frame of a hut. The wood crumbled under his touch, brittle, still warm. Smoke lingered in the air like the ghost of a scream.
He pushed forward, stepping over debris, and entered another hut—
Then froze.
His breath caught. His stomach turned.
There, collapsed like discarded dolls, were half-naked women and kids—limbs twisted unnaturally, eyes wide open in death. Their bodies told stories of pain, of terror he couldn't even begin to fathom.
He staggered back, hand over his mouth, trembling.
This wasn't war.
This was slaughter...
Rage boiled beneath his skin, turning his veins to ice. His vision blurred, not from tears, but from fury too deep for words.
'I'll kill them.
I'll kill thoes bastards.'
He turned, silent now. Purpose drove his feet far from the village, each step leaving behind the horror—only to carry the weight of vengeance. A cold aura seeped from his body, crackling through the air like a coming storm. His eyes—no longer human, but sharpened with wrath—locked onto the path ahead.
His hand slowly gripped the sheath of his blade.
Then—
CLASHHH!
Steel shrieked against steel as sparks erupted in the air. He was thrown back a step, boots scraping the dirt. Before him stood a man—tall, composed, with flowing white hair and piercing crimson eyes.
Lee Cheon-Hwa's expression hardened.
"...Cheon Ma."
Cheon Ma,The heavenly cult leader and The right hand man of the Blood Tyrant.
The man's lips curled into a sinister smirk.
"Well, well... hello, Cheon-Hwa. It seems you've stumbled upon my masterpiece."
Lee Cheon-Hwa's glared at the man infront of him silently.
He said nothing. No threats. No curses. Just that cold, steely gaze—sharp enough to freeze blood.
Then—he moved.
CLANG!
Their blades met in a flash of steel, the impact ringing through the scorched air. Cheon-Hwa struck with speed and fluid brutality—each motion honed with strength, precision, and fury. His movements were a storm, fast and unrelenting.
"Was this another order from your damn Blood Tyrants, you bastard?" he growled through clenched teeth, his voice like ice cracking.
Cheon Ma deflected with practiced ease, his expression amused, his stance almost lazy.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied, his smirk never fading—an infuriating calm against Cheon-Hwa's fury.
Their swords clashed again—sparks flying, footsteps tearing into the ground. Cheon-Hwa pressed forward, every strike fueled by rage and honed skill. Cheon Ma countered with eerie calm—swift, controlled, precise—but lacking the brute power that made Cheon-Hwa's blows quake the earth.
"Your master trained you well," Cheon Ma sneered, parrying a blow. His tone shifted, mocking. "That madman Hwa Ryeon really knew how to turn dogs into killers."
Cheon-Hwa's eyes twitched. That name—his master—spoken with such disdain lit something dangerous in him.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Instead, he smirked.
Cheon Ma faltered. Just slightly.
Then he saw it—the metal of Cheon-Hwa's blade glowing, bright and golden like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Strings of radiant energy danced around the sword, slicing through the air.
Cheon Ma's eyes widened.
"Shit—!"
Radiant Veil: Sunflower.
The first form of the Flower God Technique.
A sudden burst of golden threads flashed across the battlefield—like sunlight woven into deadly silk. Blades of energy whipped through the air, small, precise cuts opening across Cheon Ma's arms and chest. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, a wave of blindness striking as the world seemed to shimmer.
He stumbled back.
And in that moment of disorientation—
Cheon-Hwa stepped forward, sword at the ready, his voice a taunt sharp as steel.
"Aww... is the spoiled-ass bitch about to cry?"
A grin curled across his lips.
'This is only the beginning for taking on those innocent lives,Cheon Ma'.
Steel screamed through the air.
Cheon Ma lunged, blade flashing like a serpent of death. The slash came fast—deadly—but Cheon-Hwa's eyes sharpened, instincts kicking in. At the last second, he twisted his body, sidestepped, and retaliated with a calculated counterstrike, his blade arcing low.
But Cheon Ma was no amateur. He met the attack head-on, sparks exploding as their swords collided once again.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as the two warriors clashed—ferocity meeting fury, speed meeting precision. Each blow was a storm, each parry a thunderclap. The battlefield rang with the deafening rhythm of war.
Cheon-Hwa feinted, then sliced clean across Cheon Ma's forearm.
Blood sprayed. Flesh split.
He smirked—satisfied.
But it didn't last.
With a roar, Cheon Ma surged forward, his own blade cutting through the air—
And into Cheon-Hwa's right arm.
CRACK!
Pain exploded through his nerves. He staggered, teeth gritted, clutching the bleeding wound as he stumbled back. The sheer force of the strike sent him sliding across the ground.
Cheon-Hwa gritted his teeth, blood trickling down the corner of his lip as the pain tore through his right arm like wildfire. But he didn't falter. No—his eyes sharpened with resolve as he planted his feet firmly into the scorched ground, exhaling a slow, steady breath that hissed through clenched teeth. The battle raged around him, but in that moment, the world narrowed to a single heartbeat.
Then, with a sharp whisper beneath his breath, he activated it—
The Sixth Form of the Flower God Technique: Red Spider Lily.
A wave of crimson energy erupted from his core, laced with an eerie, venomous aura that shimmered like blood under moonlight. The ground beneath his feet cracked as countless red spider lilies burst forth in a blooming spiral of death, petals dancing in the air like falling blades. A thick, poisonous mist oozed from the blossoms, warping the air itself and sending a dizzying wave through the battlefield. The atmosphere shifted—oppressive, beautiful, lethal.
Cheon-Hwa's lips curled into a cold smile, and his eyes—now glowing an ominous, radiant red—burned with feral intensity. His sword hummed in response, absorbing the blooming energy as it ignited in a blaze of red flame. It wasn't fire—it was wrath, sharpened and refined. Each of his movements flowed like silk yet struck like thunder, his footwork impossibly fast, his blade slicing with a grace that belied the storm behind it.
Despite the pressure mounting against him, Cheon-Hwa moved without breaking a sweat. Every swing of his sword carried brutal elegance, like a god dancing through a field of blood. His strikes were relentless, each one forcing Cheon Ma further back, step by step, until even his arrogant smirk began to fade.
Cheon Ma gritted his teeth, his own sword blazing with Qi, and slashed forward with precision—
But all he managed was to graze the edge of Cheon-Hwa's fluttering robe.
Only fabric.
Only air.
He couldn't even touch him.
The poisonous lilies bloomed brighter, the mist thickened, and Cheon-Hwa stood in the center of it all like a crimson storm god, utterly calm—absolutely untouchable.
Then—something clinked.
A small object tumbled from his robe, rolling across the dirt with a soft metallic thud.
Cheon Ma's eyes locked on it, widening.
"A relic…?" he muttered, voice sharp with recognition.
Not just any relic—
The legendary artifact said to bend the laws of time itself.
Why the hell does he have it?!
Cheon-Hwa's eyes widened in horror. He dove for it, snatching it off the ground and shoving it beneath his cloak.
'SHIT!'
I almost shattered the damn thing! If I broke the relic Master gave me…
His mind instantly conjured the image—his master, Hwa Ryeon, standing over him with murder in his eyes and fists clenched.
No. Nope. Not dying like that. Not from him.
Then Cheon-Hwa felt it—the shift in atmosphere. Like a predator tasting blood.
He looked up.
Cheon Ma's eyes were locked on the relic, burning with intent.
Shit…
'He's after it.'
'He's after the relic… the one my master entrusted to me.'
And this time, Cheon-Hwa didn't just see an enemy in front of him.
He saw a storm coming...
Cheon-Hwa's blade danced against Cheon Ma's in a furious blur of steel and sparks. Every strike was heavier, every dodge tighter, and yet—his hand never strayed from the relic hidden in his robes.
Then he felt it.
An overwhelming surge of qi signatures flooded the air. One. Ten. No—hundreds.
"Oh no... no no no—this is not happening!" Cheon-Hwa's eyes widened, darting toward the horizon.
Cheon Ma's backup had arrived.
In that instant, panic set in.
'I'm only ninety! I haven't married! I haven't passed on my technique! I didn't even finish my memoir!'His inner monologue screamed louder than the swords clashing around him. 'If I die now, Master's going to scold me in the afterlife for wasting good talent!'
Cheon Ma smirked, advancing.
Cheon-Hwa took a sharp breath, glanced down at the glowing relic pulsing at his chest.
Right… Master did leave instructions.
Though vague and cryptic—as always.
"'If you're about to die… slap it and pray,'" he muttered. "That's it?! No manual?! No reset button?!" Cheon-Hwa Hwa said looking at his master in astonishment back then. A sharp pain twisted in his chest, and before he could brace himself, Cheon-Hwa doubled over—coughing violently. Thick, dark blood splattered onto his hand, the bitter taste coating his tongue. He didn't even flinch.
He stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowing.
"…Tch. As expected."
It was the price of pushing the technique too far. A known side effect of the Flower God's sixth form and first form—the body's internal meridians strained to the edge of collapse. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, already feeling the subtle tremor in his limbs.
He backed up quickly, eyes still on Cheon Ma—then hurled his sword with perfect aim.
SHINK—
A clean cut sliced through Cheon Ma's long, elegant hair.
Cheon Ma stopped cold.
"…You. Cut. My HAIR?!"
Cheon-Hwa shrugged. "It was either that or your smug face."
Then—he slammed his palm on the relic.
The artifact trembled. Ancient glyphs lit up, spinning with golden light as it began chanting in some forgotten celestial tongue.
The air thickened. The sky cracked. Power surged.
"STOP HIM!!" Cheon Ma roared, eyes wide in horror.
TOO LATE.
BOOOOM!
A shockwave of pink light erupted across the battlefield. Explosions of flower petals blasted outward like some cosmic confetti cannon. Cheon-Hwa vanished in a swirl of divine sparkles, light wrapping around him like a ribbon from the heavens.
"AAAAAAHHH—IS THIS HEAVEN?! WHY IS EVERYTHING SO FLOWERY?!"
Then—silence.
Cheon-Hwa blinked.
He stood in an endless field of flowers, the sky glowing soft gold above. Everything was calm. Peaceful. Suspiciously… too peaceful.
"…Whoa. Pretty."
Then a figure appeared—a serene, elderly man with glowing eyes and an aura so calming it made Cheon-Hwa suspicious.
"You've activated the Time Relic," the old man said warmly. "You are being returned to your past… Reincarnated, with your memories intact."
Cheon-Hwa squinted. "Wait—what do you mean reincarnated?! Like reborn? That wasn't in the contract!"
The old man chuckled and gently touched his forehead.
FLASH.
Cheon-Hwa shot up with a choking gasp.
Wooden walls. A hard bed. The faint scent of boiled cabbage and moldy socks.
He blinked. He was in an old room. Too old. Familiar.
His eyes darted around the room.
"No way… This looks just like the old orphanage—"
Then he looked down.
Ragged clothes. Tiny limbs. Bare feet.
"…Oh no."
He stumbled over to a cracked mirror, slowly raised his head—
Big, round eyes. Chubby cheeks. Baby teeth.
"NO. NO. I'M FOUR?! AGAIN?!"
His scream echoed off the walls.
Somewhere outside, a rooster fainted.
He gripped the mirror frame, staring at himself like the universe had just played the worst prank in existence.
"I'm a 90-year-old sword master in a toddler's body. I've peaked."
The end.