02
#2 My Way
In the Manbyeong Cheol Clan, Cheol Gun-ak had once been a boy merely surviving day by day. He’d had only two reasons to live.
‘Mother.’
But his mother died.
One reason vanished.
“Ah, Great Young Master,” sighed Grandma, now his sole reason to endure. Her voice echoed in his mind as if she’d crossed into the afterlife to greet him—or perhaps this was the life-flash before death.
Cheol Gun-ak kept his eyes closed and apologized inwardly. ‘I’m sorry.’
As a child, he’d been frail. Rather than dream of avenging his dead mother, he resolved to protect Grandma, the only family he had left. So, like the weakling he was, he hid. Staying unnoticed until the clan forgot him—that was the best strategy for a boy who couldn’t fight.
“The sun’s high! A man of the North should’ve been training since dawn!” Grandma often chided, her lectures always the same: A true man of the North faces his enemies, never hides.
Young Cheol would smile faintly. Who cares about being a ‘man of the North’? I just need to keep Grandma alive.
She never stopped her lectures, but she never forced him to change either.
‘The Grand Preceptor was wrong… but so was I.’
When the North fell, he’d failed to protect her. His last reason to live vanished, replaced by a vow to destroy the Dark Emperor. But vengeance couldn’t fill the void—
“How long will you lie there—?!”
The sharpness of Grandma’s voice jolted Cheol awake.
“This isn’t the afterlife…?!”
Throb—
Pain flared in his left hand.
‘The Imperial Jade Seal…?’
A shard of the Seal—the same one that had scratched the Dark Emperor—glowed radiantly in his palm.
“I know you’re exhausted from presiding over your mother’s rites yesterday,” Grandma said, oblivious to the shard’s light as she briskly straightened his bedding.
‘Did the Seal reverse time?’
The Jade Seal had dimmed after the Ten Nights War, yet here it blazed in his hand. The conclusion was unavoidable: the Seal had hurled him back.
“But you’re the Cheol Clan’s eldest son!”
Grandma fixed him with a stern glare.
“You must steel yourself now more than ever!”
“Grandma.”
“Don’t tell me you’re skipping breakfast again!”
Her eyes were still rimmed red from grief, yet she forced cheerfulness for his sake.
‘Back then, I never noticed.’
Cheol smiled bitterly. He’d mistaken her strength for resilience, not realizing she’d been masking her pain.
“No. Just… thank you.”
She blinked, baffled. “Did you have a strange dream?”
“Yeah.”
“A man of the North isn’t swayed by dreams.”
The familiar scolding made him nod.
“I know. I am a true man of the North.”
“…?”
“You’d be shocked if you knew,” he muttered, thinking of how he’d bitten the Dark Emperor’s throat even as his body split in half.
Grandma clicked her tongue, dismissing his cryptic words, and hauled the folded bedding away.
“Then this ‘man of the North’ will eat well. Wash up first—I’ll bring breakfast.”
She hurried out, pointing to a basin of water. Cheol approached it and stared at his reflection.
Young.
No scars marred his skin; his features still soft with youth. He’d truly returned.
‘Confirmed.’
The Jade shard in his palm pulsed—proof his battle on Hainan Island hadn’t been a dream. He’d begged the Seal countless times in his past life. To be back now, with all his memories, was surreal… and bitter.
‘Annoying to return to this damned clan, but it doesn’t matter.’
Grandma was alive. That was enough.
This timeline held promise: the Northern Lord—the only one who’d ever wounded the Dark Emperor—still lived, and the North, though strained, stood unbroken.
As Cheol washed his face, he vowed: I’ll lose nothing this time. Not Grandma. Not Mother’s vengeance.
‘My way.’
He rose and stretched. His body—untrained, unmarred by pain—felt foreign. Given yesterday’s funeral, he guessed his age: nineteen.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he began what he needed most to protect what mattered:
The Chukrong Demon Art.
He reignited the superheated divine power Superheated Divine Power within his dantian. Unlike his past life, the flames manifested before the North’s fall. Slowly, he guided the searing energy through blocked meridians.
“Grh—!”
He gritted his teeth. Agony seared his veins—like fire coursing through his bones. The pain would worsen as the flames grew, but he welcomed it.
‘Dark Emperor… this time, I win.’
Creak—
The door opened. Not Grandma, but a timid maidservant—her hair in twin buns, hands trembling under a breakfast tray.
“G-Great Young Master…”
She avoided his gaze, setting the tray down.
“B-Breakfast. I’ll… collect it later.”
“Where’s Grandma?”
“Sh-She…!”
The girl’s eyes welled. Cheol’s instincts flared.
‘That day… it’s today.’
A memory he’d buried out of shame resurfaced: the jagged scar that later marred Grandma’s face, from brow to lip—a wound she’d dismissed until he learned the truth.
‘They threatened her over my meals.’
“Take me.”
Grateful for this second chance, Cheol stood, slipping two chopsticks into his sleeve.
“Lead the way.”
“N-No! She said not to tell you—!”
He met her tearful stare. “Now.”
His icy tone stifled her protests. She trembled, awed by the aura radiating from the clan’s “weak” heir—now as imposing as the North’s legendary warriors.
“Y-Yes!”
She scurried out. Cheol followed, ignoring the clan’s murmurs.
“He’s actually moving?”
“About time.”
“Tch. Stubborn old hag—must’ve inherited it from the late Madam.”
“Explains a lot.”
Their sneers burned his ears. The Chukrong flames within him roiled.
‘Back then, my world was just this clan…’
Years in the Central Plains had blurred these memories. But now, he saw clearly:
‘Every last one of you deserves death.’
Creak—
The maidservant opened a hall door. Inside, Grandma knelt, blood dripping from a gash on her cheek. Before her stood a sneering goateed warrior—a lackey of the Third Young Master—holding a crude dagger.
“Can’t break your pride, eh? Let’s see how much blood you’ll shed—”
No explanations needed.
Whish—!
Cheol hurled a chopstick.
“Guh—!”
Imbued with superheated energy, it struck the warrior’s gut.
“G-Great Young Master?!”
“Young Master!”
The warrior clutched his stomach, incredulous. Grandma paled, ashamed he’d witnessed her shame.
Cheol ignored them both.
‘Kill.’
The cut on Grandma’s face—once a mark of his failure—fueled his rage.
‘I’ll slaughter every enemy.’
He strode toward the warrior, who smirked despite his wound.
“What’ll you do, brat—?!”
Snap—!
Cheol drove a chopstick through the man’s forearm, pinning it to the floor. With his free hand, he seized the warrior’s throat.
“Me?”
Yank—
He pulled the chopstick out, letting the dagger clatter into Grandma’s blood.
“I’ll make sure…”
Stab—!
He pierced the warrior’s shoulder, avoiding fatal spots.
“Ghk—!”
The man gagged, pain stifling his screams.
“…you don’t die easy.”
Cheol’s expression remained cold, his strikes precise—each aimed to maximize agony.
“One death won’t repay what you’ve done.”
Stab—!
He embedded the bloody chopstick between ribs. The warrior trembled, terror dilating his pupils.
Yesterday, the weak Cheol Gun-ak had died.
Today, the Invincible Martial Emperor awoke.
Translation: Philia Scans