The Bedrock of Transcendence
The aftereffects of the foundational ritual had finally run their course. Jinseong's body was perfectly healthy, without the slightest trace of lingering complications.
If this had been before my regression, I would have begun another ritual the moment I recovered.
In his previous life he had performed one unidentified sorcery ritual after another the instant his body healed, as if trying to test every unknown ceremony that existed. A mercenary colleague who had been fairly close to him had scolded the sight, asking if he thought he was a game character spamming skills the moment their cooldown ended.
Now that holds no meaning.
It was not that his nature had changed. Jinseong's past was also his future. Though time had twisted and folded until he returned to the past, the difference between now and the moment he had ultimately burned his own body along with an unidentified sorcery—unable to overcome its backlash—was not particularly large.
No matter where the flame blooms, its essence remains the same. Even if the flesh and the era change, if the mind and soul stay identical, the essence likewise remains unchanged.
Whenever he discovered an unknown sorcery he would learn it; whenever he found an unidentified ritual he would perform it alone. Sorcery was everything to him. It was his life itself.
He had simply come to a realization. He understood that repeating the past would only produce a flame that bloomed for the briefest instant.
The foundation has already been laid. What I need now is a robust body and wealth.
A robust body. The phrase appeared everywhere—in gyms, in the military, on construction sites. Anyone whose work relied on physical labor had encountered it. Yet the “robust body” Jinseong required was slightly different from the common usage.
The body he intended to create was not something formed merely by building stamina and muscle.
Robustness. The supreme foundation forged by knowledge and talent.
Had the matter ended with simple physical conditioning, his previous life would not have reached such a hollow conclusion. A mercenary’s body was his only capital. They were treated as literal consumables that could be bought with money—far more disposable than regular soldiers. Consequently, mercenaries often needed stamina equal to or exceeding that of elite special forces.
In the midst of battles where one’s head could roll at any second, the only things capable of protecting one’s life were personal stamina and combat ability. For that reason, Jinseong’s body in the past had been rather excellent. He carried firearms, grenades, and various sorcery materials, so his physical strength rivaled that of any average mercenary. Moreover, knowing numerous recovery rituals meant he had little need to fear injury.
Or so it should have been.
His kidneys burst. His lungs shriveled. His intestines were severed in half. His testicles lost function and he became a eunuch. The extremities of his body rotted; mold bloomed across his skin. Recovery was useless. The burst kidneys regenerated only to burst again. The shriveled lungs contracted once more. Even when the severed intestines regrew, the newly formed sections turned into cancerous lumps. No method could prevent the mold from returning, and the body continued to decay. The lost reproductive ability never came back. Treatment provided only temporary relief. The human body could not endure the cycle of constant injury and forced recovery; the untrained internals accumulated scars that created endless problems.
Jinseong’s flesh could overcome disease yet never uproot it. It could treat wounds yet never fully restore the original state. One of his closer colleagues, seeing the sight, grimaced in horror and spoke.
This was right after he had barely made it back from the nightmare of the European civil war. Perhaps the man had asked because he believed they were close enough for such a question. Or perhaps it had simply been a casual probe. What was certain was that the donkey-like fellow had been confident Jinseong would answer.
Yet Jinseong had replied:
The colleague had snorted and called it nonsense. Jinseong, however, had kept the thought regardless of the mockery—through the brutal life of a mercenary, through the collapse of the world, even when the Chinese berserkers killed him, even when he was reviled as the Parasite Warlock and shunned by all, and even until the final moment he burned his own body because of the side effects of the sorceries he had learned so recklessly.
He did not regret his path.
Yet having returned against the current of time and regained a healthy body, there was no reason to repeat the past exactly. Humans are creatures that learn from past mistakes and advance.
The reason I failed to achieve transcendence was the limit of my flesh.
The叠 burdens of mercenary work and ritual backlash had piled until even momentary recovery became impossible. Despite every means at his disposal, he had barely clung to life. All of it stemmed from the woefully inadequate limits of his original body. From the beginning he had tried to endure everything with an ordinary person’s physique; complications had been inevitable.
Yet for a sorcerer to create a robust body is no simple matter.
Even among martial artists, few possessed the “robust body” Jinseong envisioned. Internal cultivation—accumulating ki and wielding supernatural power—was far more popular than external training that tempered the flesh, not only because the latter was extremely difficult but because it demanded specialized knowledge beyond simply gathering and refining energy.
Examined in detail, it required at least university-level understanding.
Telomeres related to lifespan. Synapses related to reaction speed. The immune system related to resistance. Adrenaline and endorphins closely tied to combat. The liver related to detoxification.
..... .... ...
The list of elements that composed the human body continued without end. Among them, Jinseong desired longevity and resistance.
I am a sorcerer. Anything beyond what is necessary would be mere greed.
The sorcery he primarily used was primitive and forgotten. Unlike modern sorcery—the so-called “refined” variety that stripped away symbolism and minimized side effects—these carried severe backlash but offered correspondingly enormous returns. Therefore, if he steeled himself, he could substitute for combat necessities such as reaction speed, memory, and regenerative ability.
When laying foundations, the base is most crucial. It is truly regrettable that I cannot practice what I preach.
The problem was that Jinseong currently possessed no method to strengthen his immune system and telomeres.
Money and connections.
The reason was straightforward. He had neither money nor connections. More precisely, he lacked the funds and personal network required to approach the INNER CIRCLE that knew how to reinforce the immune system and telomeres.
Only tycoons who have accumulated power across long histories may access it.
Long ago—perhaps from the moment humanity first formed tribes—those with power wished to maintain their authority for as long as possible and feared the poisons their rivals might feed them. Life-extension and detoxification techniques had advanced brilliantly, yet the desires of the powerful remained unfulfilled.
And now, in the modern age, those desires had borne partial fruit.
“Om—”
The information age, dazzling scientific progress, capitalism in which money could achieve anything, a global population of seven billion, and the frequent emergence of geniuses. All these factors had combined to produce a meaningful method of strengthening telomeres and the immune system.
But the powerful would never release it to ordinary people. Naturally, this “marvelous secret that extends lifespan and removes the fear of poison” circulated only among the wealthy and influential. It became knowledge reserved exclusively for them, locked inside a fortress ordinary citizens could not even approach.
Lifespan, immunity….
Immunity was the most critical. Once transcendence was achieved, lifespan would lose all meaning, but immunity was indispensable. Without it, he would likely meet the same end as before.
“Money must come first.”
Connections, money, and power were one and the same. Possessing any one of them allowed one to obtain the other two by some means.
Jinseong drew a small tube from his inner pocket—one engraved with a bluish eye motif.
“O head, o head. Where is the most brilliant piece of gold?”
He brought his lips close and whispered. The eye motif bulged outward as though alive, then glared at him.
Crack.
The eye became a mouth. Like the maw of an elongated fish, it gaped wide and sank teeth that sprouted all the way to its palate deep into Jinseong’s hand. It drank greedily from the blood that flowed for a long while before, seemingly satisfied, it transformed into smoke and retreated back into the tube.
What remained was the now-gray eye emblem and the golden smoke that glittered brilliantly—visible only to Jinseong’s eyes.
He began to walk, following the golden trail.
“How auspicious.”
Jinseong looked at the shabby building and smiled crookedly. On the second and third floors of the run-down structure hung signs that read Daemo Capital and Sambon Money.