0 – 00# Old Face

The first sight to greet the untarnished eyes of the newborn was a tiger’s maw. Not a metaphor, mind you, but the genuine article. A tiger, with its jaws gaping wide.

How the loving embrace of parents was usurped by the avaricious maw of a tiger, I cannot say. But in that moment, I truly believed my end had come.

If not for the threadbare old man who happened to be passing by, my second life would have withered before it even bloomed.

Yes.

Why conceal the truth?

I am a Reborn.

I have no memory of how I came to be reborn. From the hazy depths of my recollections, I can only grasp at a few scattered fragments. I loved web novels in my previous life.

Especially martial arts stories. Perhaps that is why I immediately recognized that this place, the one I had been reborn into, was a world of martial arts. How could I not?

To witness an old man in simple hemp robes tear a tiger’s jaws asunder with his bare hands…what else could it be? I lived, so I can’t complain.

Taken in by the old man, I grew up healthy and strong. At the tender age of five, I finally asked him to teach me martial arts.

“Please, teach me martial arts.”

“…I have never taught you the word ‘martial arts’. Where did you hear it?”

“I observed Master practicing in secret, and I listened to Master’s words.”

“I taught you nothing. You mean to say you watched and learned on your own?”

At first, I feared I had blundered, but thankfully, the old man willingly agreed to teach me. The first martial art he taught was the Three Styles Swordplay. Having devoured countless martial arts novels,

I already knew what the Three Styles Swordplay was. However, I agreed with the need to build a solid foundation first. Thus, I followed his teachings without complaint.

Until, two years later, the old man suddenly passed away. Orphaned once more, I was consumed by grief and despair. However, I could not simply give up.

After burying the old man and holding a makeshift funeral, I was forced to consider my future. The only martial art I had mastered was the Three Styles Swordplay.

‘I do possess a breathing technique, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what kind it is.’

It was a breathing technique that the old man had taught me by guiding the flow of energy through my meridians. I had tentatively named it “(Changgeom Mind Method)”, but, to be honest, it didn’t seem all that impressive.

Therefore, I decided it was too early to venture into the martial world. Once again, I began to train in solitude. The Three Styles Swordplay was often dismissed as a third-rate technique, but

on the other hand, there were also martial arts novels where it was described as the ultimate swordplay, containing all the mysteries of swordsmanship within just three moves. Thus, that was the only path I could see for myself.

‘A true master does not blame his tools. I will master the Three Styles Swordplay and unlock the ultimate secrets hidden within.’

My confident declaration was admirable. But if enlightenment and the ultimate were so easily attained through mere effort, would they truly be the ultimate? Twenty-five years had passed since I began my training.

I had yet to achieve any profound insights or unlock any secrets. I had only just reached the point where I could coat my blade with geomgi (sword energy). Being able to imbue the blade with Illu was only considered as being at the illu – first rate level at best.

The common trope of the Hundred Great Masters usually meant they reached the peak (jeoljeong – peak) stage. While the higher ranked masters had even reached the Chojeoljeong – Super Peak stage. I had to reach Hwagyeong (hwagyeong – Transcendent Stage) at least…

With that thought in mind, already 25 years have passed. I felt like my bones were being shaved in pain. I made sure to never miss a day. Everyday, I swung the Three Styles Swordplay’s techniques that the Old Man had taught me, into empty air.

“Huu.”

Horizontal slash, vertical slash, thrust. I swing these three moves more than ten thousand times everyday, but each time, I cannot hide my lingering regret. Just what is this regret?

‘Just a little more practice and I’ll have the Three Disasters Swordplay perfectly in hand. It feels so close, like an illusion, almost within my grasp.’

Lost in this trivial, yet inescapable obsession, it had already been a decade since I postponed my debut into the martial world. Just a little more practice, and I felt I could reach perfection.

Ensnared by that lingering attachment, I practiced the forms day after day. But alas, no more could be done tonight. Already, the moon had pushed aside the sun and now stood tall at the heart of the night sky.

If I didn’t drift off to sleep soon, tomorrow’s farming would suffer. My life was one of solitary farming in the mountains, harvesting what I could to barely scrape by, allowing not even the smallest exception.

Still, perhaps it was thanks to the small satisfaction of drawing a little closer to the pinnacle of mastery, for my steps back weren’t entirely heavy. However, an uninvited guest awaited me there, one I had not foreseen.

To call it mere coincidence felt somewhat unfair. I was simply walking the path I always favored, and like always, I was merely returning home.

And yet, a band of thugs I’d never seen before was now occupying the road? Clad in black robes and masks, swords in hand, they were clearly not ordinary.

Fortunately, they didn’t seem to have noticed me. I tried to quietly slip away on another path. But then, one of the people surrounded by the thugs saw me and shouted:

“Esteemed master, I know not who you are! But please, do not turn a blind eye to our plight!”

“…….”

The thugs’ gazes all swung toward me behind them thanks to a young man’s desperate cry, but that could wait. There was one particular word that couldn’t be ignored.

‘Master? Who’s that? Are they talking about me?’

I’m only thirty years old, you know?