Survival Guide for the Reincarnated

“I will carry out the Palace Lord’s will. I shall depart for Cheonyeomeng as soon as possible and make it a bridge between Seolsan and the Central Plains.”

Seol Jungcheon then turned his gaze back to Seol Horyeong.

“While Hyeon Seollin receives his ‘punishment,’ you must hold Seolsan firmly.”

Seol Horyeong nodded.

A smile spread across Seol Jungcheon’s lips—a genuine one, the kind not seen in a long time.

“Now begin your first duty as Lesser Palace Lord. Announce your name to all the people of Seolsan, and proclaim the beginning of a new era.”

Seol Horyeong pressed the jade token to his chest and bowed.

“I accept—!”

With Seol Horyeong’s proclamation, all those gathered in the Thousand-Year Ice Hall bowed in unison.

It was undeniably a historic day.

Seol Jungcheon sat down with a satisfied expression. His two sons, Seol Horyeong and Unhwi, stood side by side—it was like seeing both the past and future at once. One to uphold Seolsan’s tradition, the other to forge a new path.

A genius and a genius.

At that moment, Seol Jungcheon clearly understood his own role.

To protect the future those two would create.

To endure—firmly—as Palace Lord.

A gentle smile rose on his lips.

***

As soon as the succession ceremony ended, Unhwi made his way to the prison beneath the main palace.

He stopped before the deepest cell—where Yang Seoljin was confined—and spoke in a low voice.

“Yang Seoljin.”

At the coldness of that voice, colder than expected, Yang Seoljin—who was bound to the wall—lifted his head. His face was pale, but his eyes still held arrogance.

Yes.

Arrogance.

“Hyeon Seollin... what an unexpected visitor.”

Gone was the respectful and courteous man from their last private conversation. Now his hidden madness and conceit had fully emerged. While Seol Jungcheon or others might find this change unsettling, Unhwi did not.

After all, this was the Yang Seoljin he remembered.

Unhwi said nothing as he stepped in front of him. His gaze was calm.

“Would’ve been nice if you brought a sip of water.”

Unhwi tilted his head slightly.

“What use is water to a cripple dreaming of reviving the Celestial Demonic Sect?”

Yang Seoljin’s eyes trembled slightly.

Unhwi took a step closer.

“Do you remember what you told me that day? Something about a ‘stronger, greater Seolgung that none in the world could challenge.’”

“I did. And what of it?”

Unhwi’s eyes gleamed cold.

“That ‘strong’ Seolgung you envisioned—wasn’t it ruled by the Sect Leader of a demonic cult perched above Seolgung itself?”

Yang Seoljin’s eyes widened.

“I’ll admit, your plan to turn the Everlasting Snow Palace into a mere sub-sect was grand enough to be called ambitious. But you reached for something you could never devour.”

“How did you—?”

“There’s no reason for me to tell you how I found out. But do you remember how your eyes changed when you mentioned the Original Blood Sect over tea that day?”

“Even if they did—there’s no way someone like you could’ve read it.”

“I didn’t want to read it. But there was a significant gap between the Yang Seoljin I knew and how you acted that day.”

“...A gap?”

“You revealed your hand far too easily. A ‘great’ Seolgung... unfortunately for you, the Seolgung you dreamed of will never come to pass. In its place, the true Seolgung shall be built.”

Then—

Yang Seoljin’s eyes flashed.

“I told you this once: if you and I stood together, Seolgung’s future would be bright. Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“It’s not too late. Take my hand. I’ll give you Seolgung. And the Central Plains, too.”

Unhwi let out a quiet, derisive laugh.

“How pathetic—how you can’t even distinguish between things that can be said and things that shouldn’t.”

“...What?”

“If you’d managed to turn all of Seolgung upside down without any of my eyes noticing, I might have held you in higher regard.”

In his past life, Yang Seoljin had succeeded—but only to a certain point.

What mattered now was the present.

“You exploited the Palace Lord’s mental lapses and poured your efforts into laying groundwork. But in the end, that’s all you achieved.”

“You little... bastard...”

“If it were me, I would’ve started assassinating the Northern Polar Descendants one by one without wasting time.”

“I didn’t... think of that—”

“Sure you did. You even handpicked the secret realm that eldest brother was to enter. I’m not talking about whether you acted—I’m talking about your timing.”

“......”

“If it were me, I would’ve started five years ago. If, while the Palace Lord was clinging to legends, his descendants were killed off one by one... the pressure would’ve been unbearable. That pressure would’ve clouded his judgment, and you could’ve set the stage to seize all of Seolgung. And if, around this very time, you’d fabricated a few decent excuses and summoned the Blood Command Corps of the Original Blood Sect, you could’ve conquered Seolgung in less than a day.”

“You... right now...?”

“If I think about it—what you’re good at is hiding your schemes, not making decisions. The timing of the takeover likely wasn’t even your own—it must’ve been decided by Yu Cheong above you.”

“......”

“In the end, you’re nothing more than a puppet. And you want to do something with me?”

It was absurd.

“There’s a limit to how pathetic one can be. Besides—your meridians are completely shattered. Even if you had Original Blood Vital Qi, you’ll never return to being a martial artist. So give up your empty delusions.”

“...Come... here...”

“I didn’t quite hear that.”

“I said come here!! You arrogant little bastard! You dogshit! Do you know who I am?! My master will—!”

“Yu Cheong won’t move.”

“...What?”

“You don’t need to know the details. Just understand—you’ll be a very valuable card for us moving ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ forward. Don’t even think about escape.”

“......”

“You’ll live in this place for quite some time... along with your failure.”

Unhwi said no more and walked toward the door.

Only Yang Seoljin, engulfed in despair, was left behind.

“Seol Unhwi!!”

Yang Seoljin screamed one last time.

“Come back here! I’ll smash your skull to pieces!!”

Unhwi didn’t even turn his head.

“Your ‘skull-smashing’ dream... take comfort in it, if you must. Not that it’ll happen.”

Unhwi’s steps grew heavy as he made his way to Juche’s cell. When he opened the door, Juche sat cross-legged.

As Unhwi entered, Juche slowly opened his eyes.

“Hyeon Seollin-nim.”

Juche’s voice was calm, but the sorrow within it was unmistakable.

Unhwi slowly sat before him.

“I heard you said you wanted to die. Is that true?”

“Yes. More precisely, I asked to be given the chance to die.”

Unhwi stared at him deeply.

Thinking back, he didn’t know much about Juche. In his previous life, Juche had already disappeared. In the kingdom Yang Seoljin had built, the name Juche was nowhere to be found.

Unhwi considered two possibilities.

That Juche had collaborated with Yang Seoljin and been discarded—or that he died protecting Seolgung.

In truth, the latter had happened. Juche was not a traitor.

“Juche. What is the most important thing to you?”

Juche hesitated before answering.

“As of now... cleansing my sins.”

“Through death?”

“Yes.”

Unhwi slowly stood up.

“Soon, the martial world will be swept up in chaos. One way or another, we’ll be forced to fight the Thunder Vein Demon Sect—and possibly even the Original Blood Sect.”

Juche said nothing.

“In times like these, a martial artist of the Peerless Manifestation realm seeking death out of self-blame—what good does that serve?”

“......”

“That’s not responsibility. It’s evasion.”

Juche’s eyes widened.

“But... because of my incompetence...”

“About five hundred died. And likely more from their involvement. Maybe even up to a thousand. But that’s already happened. If you truly regret it—shouldn’t you be thinking about how to set it right?”

Juche couldn’t answer.

“Seolgung has finally come together as one. If a master of Peerless Manifestation shirks responsibility at a time like this, that would be the real betrayal.”

Unhwi’s gaze sharpened.

“The Baeksul Mourning Legion should not be dissolved. It should be reforged, made stronger than before. And if you stand at its center, it’ll happen all the faster.”

“Hyeon Seollin-nim...”

Unhwi took a step closer. His presence loomed like a mountain.

“I’ll make you a promise. When the time comes, I’ll personally choose the place for your death.”

“The... place of my death?”

Unhwi nodded.

“That place will be one where you can properly appease their souls. I swear it—on my life.”

Juche’s eyes went wide.

He dealt in intelligence—he knew what that meant.

If Unhwi said it, then it would happen.

He had never once broken a promise.

Unknowingly, Juche’s eyes grew wet.

“Within today, the Palace Lord will visit you. When he does—tell him your decision.”

“...Thank you.”

Satisfied, Unhwi turned and left the prison.

Even if Juche had been incompetent, abandoning a Peerless Manifestation-level martial artist at a time like this would be foolish.

Why had he failed to manage the Baeksul Mourning Legion?

There was only one reason.

One that was all too typical of a martial artist.

He’d spent everything chasing realm advancement.

That pursuit had made him negligent—but now that he truly desired to atone, such mistakes wouldn’t repeat.

Unhwi chose to believe that.

***

Bingseol Academy, located on Cheongunsan in Yangryeong Province, had recently gained immense fame.

After all, who was No Cheonmyeong?

A man once hailed as the greatest genius of his generation.

It was widely known that, with Seol Unhwi’s help, he’d broken through a 50-year bottleneck and entered the Union of Heaven and Man. But even that was no ordinary ascension.

Just months ago, he had killed Hyeol Unam, a high-level expert of the Original Blood Sect—and more recently, he stood his ground against Juche, a master of the Peerless Manifestation realm from the Baeksul Mourning Legion.

To call his potential staggering would be an understatement.

But what was No Cheonmyeong’s “affiliation”?

No one would say he belonged to the Everlasting Snow Palace—and even fewer would say he was one of Seol Unhwi’s subordinates.

Though Unhwi’s position resembled more that of a nation’s heir—perhaps even a prince—than a mere successor to a martial sect, such affiliation wasn’t official.

No Cheonmyeong had no current allegiance.

He could be called neutral—much like Yangryeong Province itself, positioned between the outer and central martial worlds, his own position straddled the line between a Central Plains master and a washed-his-hands elder.