Day 1: Eyes of Raw Terror
The dawn air was refreshingly cool. It was that hour when darkness still clung to the shadows. Sitting alone on the wooden porch, he wrapped both hands around a steaming teacup. He blew gently on the surface to cool it, then took a slow sip. The tea was faintly bitter, yet its deep aroma slid down his throat, warming him from within.
"Good stuff."
With fine tea to share the moment, even the chill dawn breeze brushing past felt welcome. One of the rare perks of reincarnating into this savage corner of the Murim world: discovering the true savor of tea. Back in his previous modern life, instant coffee in a paper cup had been the height of luxury. But greeting the dawn like this, savoring every nuance of flavor? No wonder folks dreamed of retiring to the countryside as they aged. Of course, the scale of "countryside" here was a bit... grander.
Lost in such idle musings while nursing his tea, a rooster's crow pierced the quiet from the village below—cock-a-doodle-doo!
'Time flies.'
He drained the rest in one gulp and rose. Time to rouse his darling disciples. By now, their room was probably a sight: eldest Seorin sprawled with blankets kicked off, drool pooling on her pillow; second Chohee mumbling in her sleep, flailing kicks at empty air; and little Hwaran wedged between her seniors, gasping for breath in the tangle.
Waking them one by one with gentle pats was one of his few simple daily joys.
"Rise and shine! Up you get, you lazy bunch!"
Crash! He flung open the door to their quarters with a shout.
"……."
"……."
"……."
But the scene inside was nothing like he'd imagined.
The three who should have been buried under quilts were already dressed neatly in their training robes, sitting side by side in the center of the room.
'...Already up?'
These were the girls who usually needed a cold, wet cloth to the face before they'd whine their way awake.
"What's gotten into you all, up so early...?"
He started to praise their diligence but froze. Something was off. They sat primly enough, but their clothes were soaked through with cold sweat. Worse, their eyes—gone was the sleepy haze; instead, they gleamed with feral intensity.
'This is... fear?'
Seorin was breathing raggedly, her slender hands clenched white-knuckled in her robes. Just last night she'd been picky about side dishes; now she looked like a battered survivor crawling back from the brink of death.
Chohee was hunched like she might whip out a hidden weapon any second. Hwaran had half-ducked behind Seorin, tears welling as she stared at him.
He stood there, studying the bizarre sight. Sweat-drenched bodies at dawn. Rigid muscles. And those eyes fixed on their master.
There was only one answer: the gnawing frustration of hitting a wall in martial cultivation.
'These kids...'
He swallowed a soft sigh. How could he not recognize it? In his own youth, he'd swung his sword day and night to break through stagnation, collapsing from exhaustion. That suffocating anxiety when facing your limits—he knew it well.
They must have lain awake all night wrestling with it, then dressed in their robes at dawnbreak, waiting for his advice.
'Not just kids anymore, huh.'
A swell of pride warmed his chest. They'd grown enough to grapple with a warrior's dilemmas. But now wasn't the time for dramatics from the master. Breaking through was their burden alone. Offering premature comfort would only bruise their pride.
Best to play oblivious, let them gather themselves and ask on their own. That was a master's role.
Feigning ignorance, he spoke in an especially gentle tone. "Up bright and early, I see."
In the silence that followed, Seorin mumbled first, voice barely a whisper. "M-Master... it's just that..."
"Enough." He raised a hand to cut her off. "Come on out. Since you're up, let's squeeze in extra training."
Worries were worries; training never stopped. That was a disciple's duty in learning the arts.
"To the Training Ground—now! Swing till your arms fall off, sweat out the knots, and those blockages will clear on their own!"
He cleared his throat theatrically and turned to leave. 'Might be a rewarding day after all.' Curious what these wall-hitters would show him next, he strode briskly to the Training Ground.
Arms folded behind his back, he slowly surveyed the disciples assembled in the Training Ground. As always at this hour, they stood in a neat row, training robes impeccable, gazing quietly at him.
Normally, Chohee would crack a joke to lighten the mood; Hwaran might stifle a yawn, eyes watering from boredom; Seorin would scold her juniors with a cough.
But today? Dead silence, not even a breath.
"Dawn gathers your energy best. Focus now—"
Before he finished: thud, thud. All three dropped into lotus position, eyes shut.
Seorin and Chohee sank into meditation instantly. Even fidgety Hwaran entered a trance without a twitch.
'...Were they always this focused?'
They regulated their qi so fluidly. Just yesterday, they'd whined about blisters from sword swings. No way they'd leap this far overnight.
Something was wrong. And as his gaze fell on them, their brows twitched, fingers jerked, breaths hitched.
....The morning scene replayed: Seorin's bloodshot eyes, Chohee's twitching lips, Hwaran's hidden tears.
Something was definitely up.
He crossed his arms, sighed softly. "...That's enough meditation. Rise."
They exhaled in relief and sprang up, drawing wooden practice swords from their belts.
"Cheongpung Geombeop, First Form: Changcheon."
At his command, all three raised their swords in unison. Blades whistled through air, kicking up Training Ground dust.
He nearly staggered back. Their strikes carried a razor killing intent born of countless real battles and brushes with death.
Imperfect, sure—their young strength couldn't sustain the arcs fully. But this growth overnight? Impossible.
'Not training results. This is...'
Eyes narrowing, he scrutinized their sword paths again.
"Hah..."
He sighed despite himself. Their blades' intent strayed wildly from true Changcheon—a mere distancing check.
Seorin's plunged to shatter collarbone and shoulder. Chohee's thrust silently to sever vocal cords, silencing screams. Hwaran's speared straight for the heart, dripping lethal promise.
A probe turned assassin’s stroke, targeting vitals only.
Bitter taste filled his mouth. When? With whom? What lunatic had these kids fought to ingrain such murder in their forms?
They acted casual, like routine morning practice, fooling him. And he'd been slow to notice.
Pubescent hotbloods with some skill—obviously snuck down the mountain at night for scraps with thugs or bandits. Last night, a real life-or-death scrape; they'd barely survived.
Tormented by doubts, they'd hidden it from him, risking it all.
Forcing calm, he nodded. "...Good."
Stomach churning, he watched them continue. Second form. Third. Killing intent thickened with each escalation.
What if they'd met a real master without me? Eye closed to this?'
His fault, really. Youth craved testing new power—just like he'd done, sneaking off to thrash riffraff behind his own master's back. Wonder how his master had felt...
'Yeah, dancing on death's edge all night—must've been rough.'
He silently waited out their ferocious practice as the sun climbed fully.
Clapping lightly, he ended it. "Morning session over. Good work, all. Wash up and let's eat."
They bowed hastily and bolted without a backward glance—like fleeing.
Sighing at their backs: 'Scared stiff like that. How bad did that bastard work them over last night?'
Still children. Traumatized from their reckless night. That terror wouldn't fade easy.
How to soothe his wounded disciples? Tricky business for a master.
The moment footsteps faded and master's presence vanished—
Thud! The three collapsed as if on cue.
"Hah... hah...!"
Seorin braced against the ground, gasping.
Chohee nodded blankly at Seorin's jeon-eum.
Youngest Hwaran was already curled on the ground, sobbing.
Just one night ago—in that horrific future—the sensation of limbs torn by those very hands still haunted their bodies.
The demon who'd one day dye the Murim in blood had just smiled at them benignly.
Cheonha Jeilma.
Blood Cult Hierarch, Cheongun.
Back when he was still their ordinary master.
All three had regressed. To this time.