I used to think caves were just holes in the ground.
Dark. Damp. Empty.
Now I know better.
Some caves don't echo.
They listen.
I sat on the cold stone floor, spear resting across my knees, staring at the small fire Master Seon Jin had lit with a single snap of his fingers. The flames barely flickered, like they were afraid of disturbing him.
He was brewing tea.
In a dungeon.
With monsters roaming two corridors away.
Somehow, that still felt normal.
"You're gripping the spear too tightly again," he said without looking at me.
I loosened my hands at once. My palms were sweating.
"…Sorry, Master."
He finally turned his head. Just a little.
One sharp eye. Calm. Deep.
"You apologize too much. That habit will get you killed one day."
I swallowed. "Yes, Master."
He sighed. Softly. Tiredly.
Then he poured the tea into two chipped cups.
One for him.
One for me.
We drank in silence.
I don't remember when it started feeling like this.
Like we were… family.
At first, he was just a terrifying old man who could punch holes through dungeon walls.
At first, I was just a half-dead noble brat who crawled into his cave to die quietly.
But days turned into weeks.
Weeks into years.
And somewhere along the way, he stopped calling me "boy."
And I started calling him "Master."
Not out of fear.
But because the word felt right.
"Daniel," he said suddenly.
I stiffened.
He rarely used my name.
"You're distracted lately."
I looked down at my tea. The steam blurred my vision.
"…I was thinking about the surface."
He hummed. "That place is overrated."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
"My family is gone," I said instead. "My house. My title. Everything."
"I know."
"I should hate the world."
"I know."
"I should want revenge."
"I know."
I clenched my jaw.
"Then why do I feel… empty?"
He was quiet for a long time.
Then he reached out and knocked my forehead with two fingers.
Not gently.
Not hard.
Just enough.
"Because you're alive."
I blinked.
"That's all?"
"For now," he said. "That's enough."
I didn't understand him back then.
But I nodded anyway.
Because that's what I always did.
Because he was the only person left who looked at me like I still mattered.
The day the vampires found us, the dungeon smelled like blood.
Not mine.
Not monsters'.
His.
They came in laughing.
High-born ones.
Elegant coats.
Silver eyes.
Polite smiles.
They called him a relic.
They called me livestock.
I remember screaming his name.
I remember charging like an idiot.
I remember the sound his bones made when they broke.
I remember his back as he stood between me and them.
Even when he was bleeding.
Even when he was shaking.
Even when his breathing turned ragged.
"Run," he told me.
I didn't.
So he smiled.
And used a technique he had forbidden me from ever learning.
The kind that burns your life for power.
The cave collapsed.
The vampires died.
And my Master… didn't get back up.
I held him.
My hands wouldn't stop trembling.
"Why?" I kept asking him. "Why did you do that?"
He coughed blood and laughed.
"Because… you're a terrible student."
"…That's not funny."
"It is."
He grabbed my sleeve weakly.
"Live properly, Daniel."
"…I don't know how."
"You'll figure it out."
"…Don't leave me."
He closed his eyes.
And didn't answer.
After that, I trained like a madman.
Not because I wanted to be strong.
But because stopping meant remembering.
I hunted vampires.
Demons.
Monsters.
Anyone.
Everyone.
I invented techniques because his weren't enough anymore.
I reached transcendence level of martial arts because pain stopped working on me.
People started calling me a hero.
I hated it.
I saved cities.
I saved people who looked at me like I was their last hope.
I smiled for them.
I lied to them.
I told them everything would be fine.
It wasn't.
I went to Gurukul Academy once.
As a guest.
The students stared at me like I was a legend.
Some of them challenged me.
Some of them admired me.
Some of them wanted my autograph.
I taught them a few spear forms.
Gave advice I didn't follow myself.
I met people who reminded me of who I could've been.
Friends.
Rivals.
A healer girl who scolded me for overworking my body.
A swordsman who wanted to surpass me.
A mage who kept trying to analyze my techniques.
I left them all behind.
Because the Demon Lord was waiting.
Because revenge doesn't pause for friendships.
Xaldreth.
That was his name.
The Demon King.
Black horns.
Crimson eyes.
A smile that never reached his gaze.
We fought for three days.
The sky cracked.
The ground burned.
My spear shattered twice.
My body broke more times than I could count.
I used every technique I had.
Every trick.
Every sacrifice-type move I swore I'd never rely on.
And still—
He stood.
Breathing.
Smiling.
"You're impressive, human," he told me.
I couldn't even answer.
My lungs were full of blood.
My arms were numb.
My legs didn't work anymore.
He raised his hand.
Darkness gathered.
I thought of my Master.
I thought of that cave.
I thought of the tea.
I thought—
'I should've lived properly.'
The world went black.
And then—
I woke up.
In a soft bed.
With a pounding headache.
And a shrill voice screaming in my ear.
"Brother! Wake up! You're going to be late for awakening!"
I shot upright.
My body was heavy.
Soft.
Untrained.
My hands were chubby.
My mana was nonexistent.
I stared at the small girl shaking my shoulder.
Seven years old.
Red hair.
Red eyes.
My sister.
Alive.
"…What," I whispered. "The hell."
She blinked. "Brother?"
I looked around.
Noble bedroom.
Familiar curtains.
Familiar walls.
My old trash life.
My heart started pounding.
No.
No, no, no.
This was impossible.
I had died.
I had lost.
Xaldreth had killed me.
This was my first regression.
My first.
And I was back at fifteen.
The day of awakening.
My hands started shaking.
Not from fear.
From something far worse.
Hope.
And regret.
At the same time.