Absolute Regression

Chapter 492: Anxiety Must Be Silenced With Skill

As soon as Hui finished speaking, he drew his sword in an instant.

The King of Killing spewed blood and fell backward. Before his body hit the ground, he had already died while still standing.

Though he was currently nothing more than the leader of the Underworld, this was the moment the King of Killing—future monarch of assassins and a seat-holder among the Twelve Zodiac Kings—met his death.

Hui left no lingering sentiment over the man’s death or the life-or-death battle he had just endured.

Splat.

Hui shook the blood from his sword and sheathed it again.

As though the blood carried away all remnants of the battle, he didn’t spare a glance at the King of Killing’s corpse.

The killing was over. Hui had returned to being someone who protected.

Geom Mugeuk walked up to him, bowed with sincere formality, and said only what needed to be said in that moment—a moment that demanded no excess words from a bodyguard.

“Thank you for protecting us.”

Hui looked at Geom Mugeuk in silence for a moment. In truth, it was Hui who should have expressed his thanks.

Had Geom Mugeuk not unleashed the Nine Calamities Demon Art when the King of Killing charged in with his assassins, Hui would have lost his life then and there.

And that wasn’t the only way the Young Cult Leader had helped. He had fought the entire time with the resolve to protect Hui. Hui, too, always displayed his greatest strength when fighting with the desire to protect someone.

Myungshin watched the two of them.

The talkative Geom Mugeuk and the taciturn Hui.

So vastly different, and yet, Myungshin suddenly felt they were somehow similar.

Why did he feel that way?

Then, out of nowhere, he recalled the sight of Geom Mugeuk standing there after cutting down the assassins.

That solitary figure reminded him of the aura Hui gave off now.

Myungshin shared his thoughts.

“For some reason, you two seem alike.”

At that, Geom Mugeuk responded playfully.

“There’s a lot I have in common with this gentleman here. We’re both handsome, dashing, and silent.”

Hui offered a faint smile, while Myungshin gave a dumbfounded look at the word "silent."

In that lighthearted moment, the three men exchanged glances.

Even Hui’s gaze toward Myungshin had softened compared to before the battle. He still disliked assassins, but at least for today, they had fought as comrades who risked their lives together. ᚱ𝘢ℕÔ𝔟Ës̩

Geom Mugeuk checked on Hui’s condition.

“But are you all right? Any injuries?”

He knew Hui had avoided serious harm, but Hui’s body was soaked in blood.

“I’m fine. Fortunately, it’s just superficial.”

Hui opened his shirt.

“Thanks to this, the gift from the Young Cult Leader, I was able to fight more aggressively.”

Though he hadn’t won solely because of the Supreme Silkworm Cloth, Hui still gave the credit to Geom Mugeuk.

This is the kind of person Hui was.

A man who passed credit to others and lived quietly, protecting people from behind the scenes.

That way of life was what had ended the King of Killing today.

“You were amazing today, Uncle.”

Hui gave a faint smile. Geom Mugeuk had wanted to praise him all he could today, but Hui was visibly awkward in such moments.

So he changed the subject quickly.

“I’ll leave the cleanup here to this local Branch Division.”

“Please do.”

Now, Myungshin turned to Geom Mugeuk and asked,

“What should I do?”

“Why are you asking me?”

Because it was up to him. If Geom Mugeuk had told him to become a subordinate, he would have done so. If Geom Mugeuk had ordered his death, he would have accepted it.

Of course, that was a thought born from not yet knowing who Geom Mugeuk truly was.

“You should live your own life from now on.”

Myungshin hesitated for a moment before cautiously asking,

“Is it really okay for me to leave like this?”

Geom Mugeuk nodded. Myungshin could feel it—Geom Mugeuk genuinely intended to set him free.

Then, without meaning to, Myungshin murmured aloud.

“What am I supposed to do with my life now?”

It wasn’t a question for Geom Mugeuk. It was one directed at himself.

And Geom Mugeuk found joy in that uncertainty.

“Isn’t this the best part? This moment, when nothing has been decided. It’s exciting to pick what to pursue, and fun to plan the future. So enjoy this moment.”

You really are...

Myungshin didn’t know how many times he’d thought those exact words about Geom Mugeuk.

He now spoke honestly.

“You said once that it would be nice if there were a great assassin out there—someone who would accept a single coin from a child who’d unjustly lost their parents, and kill an evil man on their behalf. But you misjudged me. I’m not the kind of man who would take a single coin as a commission out of generosity. Even when I lived by a principle of justice, I still chased money.”

Geom Mugeuk looked at him with a clear and steady gaze.

But in the past I lived through, you did live that kind of life. Then again, there’s no guarantee you’ll do so again in this life.

That was before the regression. In this life, they were living differently.

“Take your time deciding how you want to live.”

“I’ve already decided.”

Geom Mugeuk blinked in surprise.

“You’re deciding something so important just like that?”

“That’s exactly why. Because it’s so important, overthinking won’t lead me to a proper answer. I’d just make a poor choice after too much thought. In times like this, it’s often the first thought that’s the right one.”

That was the thought that came to Myungshin’s mind.

He had lived his entire life as an assassin—what other kind of life could he possibly lead now? Running a tea house or opening an inn and living a leisurely life? Dealing with troublesome customers would only make him boil inside.

“I’m thinking… maybe I’ll run a small ironworks.”

If nothing else, crafting weapons and mechanical devices was something he truly loved.

“That suits you well.”

Geom Mugeuk pictured him working in a modest forge. A man who had weathered such turbulent storms—fate surely wouldn’t leave him alone. Perhaps, one day, righting injustice for the price of a single coin might happen in that very forge.

“If the day ever comes when you’re hammering metal and suddenly think, ‘This isn’t it,’ go find Artisan Gwak of our cult’s ironworks. Just say I sent you, and he’ll meet with you. That man will give you your answer—whether it’s about the monotony of work or the weariness of life.”

Myungshin’s eyes gleamed with a strong light at Geom Mugeuk’s considerate gesture.

“Why are you doing so much for me?”

“It’s not solely for your sake. With your skills, our Artisan Gwak will surely be inspired in some way. And if both of you benefit from it, won’t that be a good thing for our cult as well?”

That was what Geom Mugeuk said, but Myungshin could feel it—this was truly for his own sake. Still, he didn’t say anything like “I won’t forget this kindness.” Gratitude was something one answered with action, not words.

“If I happen to make something good from time to time, I’ll send it your way.”

“We’re not the type to refuse a gift. I’ll gladly accept it.”

The two shared a smile as they looked at each other.

Myungshin clasped his fists and bowed deeply. His final farewell was exceptionally respectful.

“I believe the Young Cult Leader will become a Heavenly Demon the likes of which the world of murim will never see again. I hope you achieve your great cause.”

Moved by the sincerity of his words, Geom Mugeuk also bowed in earnest. Myungshin had spent a lifetime bound to an organization, after all.

“I truly hope you live freely from now on.”

After nodding, Myungshin turned to Hui and offered a formal bow.

“Meeting you taught me that a life spent protecting is far more difficult—and far more worthwhile—than a life spent killing.”

Hui also returned the gesture respectfully.

“May you live well, wherever life takes you.”

With that, Myungshin left the place behind.

Geom Mugeuk watched him until his figure vanished completely from sight.

“Watching someone begin a new life… just witnessing it feels good.”

Hui could sense a certain yearning in Geom Mugeuk’s gaze. Perhaps this Young Cult Leader, too, more than anyone else, longed for such a free life.

Geom Mugeuk turned to look at Hui. Before they knew it, the longing that had filled his eyes had vanished without a trace.

“Uncle, let’s head back now.”

And so, Geom Mugeuk and Hui walked shoulder to shoulder, leaving that place behind.

*         *         *

Father was working on something inside the residence of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult’s secret estate.

He was so immersed in his work, with his back turned, that I couldn’t even greet him properly.

“Don’t tell me… you’re making a weapon capable of conquering the murim?”

It almost felt like that.

Then Father turned around toward us. When I saw what he was holding in his hands, I burst out laughing.

“No, never mind. You’re trying to conquer fish, aren’t you?”

What he was crafting was a fishing rod.

On the way to Shaanxi, I had beaten Father twice in fishing matches. He had promised a rematch on the return trip, and it seemed he was already preparing for it. Of course, he had complete faith that we would return safely.

“We’re back, Father.”

“Mission completed, Cult Leader.”

As we gave our formal greetings, Father—naturally—tended to Hui before his own son.

“You’re injured.”

Before coming in, Hui had changed out of his bloodstained martial uniform, but Father noticed immediately.

“It’s just a few scratches.”

I couldn’t just let that worried look toward Hui pass by unchallenged.

I raised my hand and shouted toward Father.

“Your son is standing right here! I could have internal injuries you can’t see!”

Father didn’t even pretend to hear me and got up from his seat, walking over to one side of the wall.

He searched through the artifact pouch placed there. He usually used Void Telekinesis to retrieve items—what was so important that he had to fetch it himself?

What he brought out and handed to Hui was a small, pure-white bottle.

“Apply this.”

It was none other than Golden Wound Medicine used exclusively by the Heavenly Demon. Naturally, it was incomparable to ordinary Golden Wound Medicine.

“I can’t. I couldn’t possibly use the Cult Leader’s medicine.”

“Apply it.”

With that single firm word from Father, Hui couldn’t refuse any longer.

“Thank you.”

Father looked at the bowing Hui with deep eyes. For Hui to be this injured, he knew just how intense the battle must have been.

“Father! I also have a cut!”

Father responded with a faintly amused smile and held out his hand.

The artifact pouch opened on its own, and this time, a different bottle flew out and landed in front of me.

“That’s the most indifferent use of Void Telekinesis I’ve ever seen.”

And it didn’t end there. After checking the bottle, I shouted again.

“This is too much! I already have this kind of Golden Wound Medicine!”

The one given to Hui was the highest-tier medicine exclusively used by the Heavenly Demon, while mine was a lower grade of the same medicine.

Hui, catching my gaze, lowered his head with an awkward expression.

“If you don’t want it, give it back.”

As Father extended his hand again, I quickly tucked the bottle into my clothes.

“Still, it’s the first Golden Wound Medicine you’ve given me, Father. I’ll be sure to apply it—again and again.”

Father rose from his seat.

“You’ve let that man get hurt, so you must be punished, don’t you think? Come with me.”

If you’re going to put Hui in front, then it’s your responsibility to protect him. In that sense, he had broken the promise.

“You’ve misunderstood! I tried my absolute best not to get hurt because I thought it would upset him if I did! I mean, yes, maybe I tried a bit too hard… but still! Father!”

Father took him to a secluded clearing near the secret estate of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.

There, he drew his sword and spoke.

“Let’s make sure there’s no need to apply medicine from now on.”

I could tell. Through a spar, father was going to offer a lesson. This wasn’t a punishment—it was a reward. A reward for both of them returning safely, and a way for Father to express his joy in his own way.

‘Thank you, Father.’

I took my place, ten or so steps away from Father.

And today’s sparring match was unlike any other.

Father did not display any killing intent. And yet, there was a force that completely dominated the space.

It was the aura of the Heavenly Demon Sword.

It was as if Father was telling him to feel only the energy of the sword.

‘If that’s the case…’

I, too, withdrew all of myintent. Not even a shred of energy remained. I did my best to conceal even the faintest trace of presence as I slowly drew the Black Demon Sword.

The sensation of the Heavenly Demon Sword’s aura.

The sensation of the Black Demon Sword’s aura.

It had been a long time since he had focused so intently just to feel the energy of the Black Demon Sword.

‘Now that I think about it, I’ve been far too negligent.’

Pursuing mastery in the Nine Calamities Demon Art, using the Heavenly Time Secret Art, increasing his internal energy—

He had paid attention to so many other things that he had neglected the Black Demon Sword.

Suddenly, he remembered the first time he had met Lee Ahn before the regression.

Even then, he had reflected the same way.

He had taken her presence for granted, just like people take air for granted without realizing how precious it is.

It was the same with this sword. He had fought countless enemies with the Black Demon Sword, yet he had treated it as something expected, not something appreciated.

“I’ve been so foolish. Thank you for this lesson, Father.”

A faint smile formed on his father’s lips. It was undoubtedly a smile of satisfaction.

In this way, Father never stopped giving him lessons and inspiration.

And today’s lesson didn’t end there.

“Show me the Nine Calamities Demon Art.”

I unleashed the Nine Calamities Demon Art before father—holding nothing back, hiding none of my progress.

My father needed to see the full extent of my current abilities. And I hoped that this display would become a new source of inspiration to further drive father forward.

‘Father, how much has my Nine Calamities Demon Art changed from yours?’

After watching the performance, Father once again began to lecture on the core formulas of the Nine Calamities Demon Art.

Though it was the same martial art, and though I had heard the lecture many times before, today it felt different.

Because my realm had changed—and so had Father’s. The same words now felt entirely new. Every single exchange with my father seemed to push my skills further.

Ask, respond, reflect, perform again—through this repeated training, night eventually fell.

At some point, the moon had risen high, and I stood beside my father, quietly looking up at its fullness.

Then, Father suddenly asked,

“What is it that makes you anxious?”

It was the first time he had ever been asked that. Since my regression, Father must have seen the changes in his son—and sensed the deep unease hidden within them.

“You gave birth to a perfect son, but there’s one kind of anxiety I still carry.”

“What kind of anxiety?”

“A fear that a great evil, envious of you and me, will one day come to devour us.”

Father’s expression showed he couldn’t understand it.

“Didn’t you say we are the only ones who can devour such evil?”

His father remembered exactly—he remembered the words I had spoken about the demonic path.

“I suppose I’m afraid of meeting one too big to swallow.”

How would Father interpret this anxiety?

After quietly gazing at me for a moment, Father stood and drew his sword.

“Then you need to grow your mouth and stomach.”

That simple, crystal-clear answer was the very definition of the path he had to walk. Yes—anxiety must be silenced with strength.

I jumped up, mouth wide in a grin.

“Yes, no matter how big it is, I’ll swallow it whole!”

And so, the martial training with Father continued through the night.

The moon that had watched over us sank, its place taken by the stars of dawn. Then even the stars retreated, and the morning light crept in to claim the sky.

As that radiant, red-tinged light began to wake the earth, the shadow of one man stretched long across the ground.

The entire night, as I trained, one person had stood with his back turned—silently watching over both of them.