The flat land was silent.
Do Gyeom stood in the center, his sword still dripping with blood. Around him, the bodies of the Murim Alliance leader and the sect masters lay defeated. He was wounded, breath heavy, yet he laughed.
He had crossed the peak of martial arts. Sword and spear both obeyed him like extensions of his will. Even so, the so-called righteous sects gathered to erase him, branding him a butcher. He faced them all and prevailed.
His laughter echoed across the battlefield. "So this is what it means to reach the limit," he muttered, chest heaving.
Then it came.
An arrow pierced his back.
The venom spread fast, burning and freezing his veins. His arms weakened, his legs trembled, and the sword slipped from his hand. He turned, searching for the coward who fired, but saw nothing.
Blood foamed at his lips. His vision darkened.
"An arrow… this is where I fall?" His voice broke, rage and unwillingness spilling into the soil. "Show yourself, coward!"
His knees hit the ground. His last breath carried a curse. His last sight was his own blade resting beside him. Then, nothing.
Darkness swallowed him.
Light returned.
Do Gyeom opened his eyes to a ceiling he had never seen. Smooth, polished wood. A chandelier with glowing crystals. Curtains embroidered with gold thread. Furniture carved with care. Nothing resembled the rough world of Murim.
His body felt heavy. He tried to raise his arm, but nothing moved. He tried to lift his leg, but it refused. Even his tongue felt locked. The poison? No… this was something else.
A shadow leaned over him. A young servant with neat clothes and trembling hands. Beside him stood an older man with sharp eyes and dignified posture—a butler. Their attire was foreign, finer than anything he had known in the martial world.
"Young master Kane," the servant whispered with relief. "He opened his eyes."
Kane? The name struck him like a blade.
Do Gyeom's mind reeled. He tried to speak, but only a broken sound left his lips.
The butler bowed deeply. "Young master, you worried us. The count's household prayed for your recovery. Rest, and we will call for the physician."
Count? Household?
His confusion grew. He had died. He was sure of it. His heart had stopped on the battlefield. Yet now he lay in the bed of a noble child, with servants who treated him as their master.
Inside, his warrior's instincts stirred. This body was fragile, paralyzed, weaker than he had ever been—even weaker than when he was a child learning his first stance. His spirit boiled at the helplessness.
He forced air through his throat, desperate to ask the question burning inside him.
"Who… are you…?"
The words were slurred, broken, but they carried his confusion.
The servant's eyes widened. "Young master, it's us. Your attendants. You are Kane, heir of the Count's house, one of the Five Great Families."
The name echoed again in his head. Kane. Count's family. Another world. Another life.
Do Gyeom, the wandering martial master, had died in Murim.
Now he lived again in the weak, paralyzed body of a noble boy named Kane.
And for the first time since reaching the limit of martial arts, he felt a new path opening.