Survival Guide for the Reincarnated

It wasn’t an exaggeration—Joo Soa alone had killed nearly a hundred martial artists.

Each time her blade, steeped in the utmost softness, swept through the air, petals scattered like a storm, bursting into explosions that blinded her enemies—and in the instant their vision faltered, she pierced through their throats.

Watching that spectacle, Chief Seong had felt genuine joy.

Because it proved that Unhwi’s eyes had not been wrong, and that the martial art Unhwi had created was flawless.

“What’s the big deal? Wonyang and Murin did even better than me. They’ve reached the Triple Blossoming Purity Stage, and now they’re not only fighting on par with Five Origins experts but each killed at least three.”

Chief Seong smiled faintly.

It wasn’t a lie.

And in a way, he was proud.

What did it mean that Unhwi had come to Cheonsu bringing only him?

At the very least, Joo Soa, Namgung Wonyang, and Han Murin must have known exactly what that meant.

To put it bluntly—Unhwi hadn’t brought them because they were still too weak.

But if each of them advanced even a single stage further, they would be able to stand at Unhwi’s side.

Above all else, what a martial artist needs most for growth is experience.

And the experience gained today at Cheongpa Port would serve as immense nourishment not only for Joo Soa but for everyone else as well.

Joo Soa scratched her head, glanced at Chief Seong, and then turned her gaze away.

“But... are we sure that person’s really all right?”

Her eyes fell on Han Murin and Hwa Muryeong, who were speaking with grave expressions.

A little farther off, Namgung Wonyang stood with her arms crossed, watching the two silently. But of course, the “person” Joo Soa was talking about was Hwa Muryeong.

Chief Seong replied, “You can see it for yourself, can’t you?”

“...It’s strange, honestly. For someone from the Soul Demon Flame Palace, she’s not drawing her sword first for once.”

The Soul Demon Flame Palace’s purge had been notorious.

Vice Lord of the Blood Shadow, Dong Yuseong.

He had been a master among masters, and when he was purged, most who had sided with him were slaughtered.

“...I was just wondering. Is Han Murin really going to be all right?”

There’s a limit to how long Han Murin’s identity can be hidden.

Until now, it hadn’t been a major issue. Even though he was one of Unhwi’s subordinates shaking the whole martial world, his realm was only at the Triple Blossoming Purity Stage.

His rate of growth was extraordinary, but whatever Han Murin accomplished would ultimately be buried under Unhwi’s own achievements.

Especially for a group like the Soul Demon Flame Palace, which had no direct connection to Unhwi, it wouldn’t have mattered much—but now, the situation was different.

The martial art Unhwi had created for him was the Demonfire Sky-Piercing Sword Art.

It wasn’t a true demonic art, but it leaned closer to that side than to the righteous path.

And it radiated a blue demonic flame.

After today’s battle at Cheongpa Port, Han Murin’s name would naturally reach the Soul Demon Flame Palace.

“His identity will be exposed.”

“...That’s what I’m worried about. Are we sure it’ll be okay?”

“Don’t worry. The Young Lord always has his reasons.”

Even if those reasons led to war with the Soul Demon Flame Palace.

For now, what mattered was handling what lay directly ahead.

Chief Seong fell silent and looked down at the three bodies sprawled before him.

***

Han Murin was nineteen now—just short of adulthood.

The massacre had happened ten years ago. That meant he had been only nine. But he remembered everything.

The moment his father was decapitated before his eyes.

The moment his brothers and sisters fell, one after another.

The moment every person he had trusted turned their back on him.

All those horrors were burned into the eyes of a nine-year-old child.

Han Murin spoke.

“I thought you’d betrayed him, Sister.”

There had been many who followed and believed in Vice Lord of the Blood Shadow, Dong Yuseong.

And if one were asked to name the foremost among them, all would have chosen Elder Hwa Muryeong.

Hwa Muryeong’s expression stiffened.

She, too, remembered that day vividly—the helplessness, the paralysis.

And because of that, she could not answer his words.

What could she possibly say?

She had been blind and foolish back then, unaware that the purge was already underway.

“I’m glad to hear you didn’t turn on him after all.”

Han Murin’s voice was calm, but something chilling ran beneath it.

“Murin...”

When Hwa Muryeong called his name in a trembling voice—

“Flame Sword Sovereign Shin Jueon.”

The instant Han Murin spoke the name, Hwa Muryeong flinched.

He went on.

“I’m going to tear out his throat and exterminate every last one of his kin.”

Hwa Muryeong fell silent.

There was no rise or fall of emotion in his tone.

He spoke as casually as if commenting on the day’s weather, and that made it all the more horrifying.

Hwa Muryeong, too, had lived through bitter years—but what Han Murin had endured was on an entirely different scale.

For a nine-year-old child to have survived such a calamity at all was a miracle. How deep, then, must the hatred buried within him be?

Had it cooled and hardened over the years, or had it burned hotter with every passing day?

Listening to him now, Hwa Muryeong knew the answer.

That hatred had never cooled—it had grown, feeding on itself, burning ever higher.

“Will you really go through with this together?”

Han Murin reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

That touch was strangely familiar—just like the one Unhwi had once given him.

Warm, carrying absolute trust—

But at the same time, an immense killing intent began to pour out.

The essence of what made up Han Murin as a person—

The thing Unhwi had drawn out of him and then tempered further—

A single, all-consuming obsession toward the complete annihilation of one organization.

That killing intent was so pure, so overwhelming, that even Hwa Muryeong, at the Mythic Stage, had to swallow hard.

This wasn’t mere anger.

It was the very reason Han Murin existed.

His purpose in life—the fire that made him open his eyes each morning.

For ten years, not once had he forgotten that goal:

To erase Shin Jueon and his entire bloodline from existence.

“Will you help me?”

His voice remained calm, but in his eyes, hellfire raged.

Hwa Muryeong could not answer right away.

Yes, she too sought vengeance on the Soul Demon Flame Palace—she wouldn’t deny it. But the look in Han Murin’s eyes was too alien.

This was not simple revenge.

It was an overwhelming will that ruled his entire life.

And if that will ever reached its end—

If he achieved that vengeance—would his fire not go out with it?

What would become of him then?

She herself could never escape her guilt from that day. But her life’s end goal wasn’t the annihilation of the Soul Demon Flame Palace.

And now, she understood what she had to do.

“...Yes. I’ll help you.”

She would help Han Murin destroy the Soul Demon Flame Palace—

And when all his goals were burned away, she would stay to protect what remained.

Hwa Muryeong spoke firmly.

“Let’s do it together, Murin.”

A faint smile rose on Han Murin’s lips—

A smile like that of a devil.

***

Mukse Society’s field operative Ma Jangsik leaned against a tree.

Not far from him stood a man and a woman in black long robes.

Hwa Munyeom had given an order:

“Take two operatives and wait here for whoever comes out.”

So he had summoned two.

Ma Jangsik held some rank in the Mukse Society—enough to command a couple of subordinates.

And truth be told, he was curious.

Who would come out?

It had been about three hours since the Secret Realm opened.

No one knew what was happening inside, so they planned to wait a full day if necessary—but who would emerge?

Hwa Munyeom had said there was a chance both might come out together, but Ma Jangsik thought differently.

He was certain Jang Icheong would emerge alone.

Genius or not, some things are impossible.

Even now, he could barely believe Unhwi had defeated cultivators of the Mythic Stage—but fine, genius could explain that much.

If Seol Unhwi was a once-in-several-centuries prodigy, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

But the Celestial Being Stage was different.

Once a person reached that realm, they could hardly be called human anymore. For someone not yet even twenty to defeat such a being—it would shatter the very order of the martial world.

It shouldn’t happen, and it couldn’t.

And yet—

Rustle.

A sound of something collapsing made Ma Jangsik’s eyes snap wide.

He turned his head sharply. The two operatives he had brought were lying on the ground.

There was no blood.

How...?

He couldn’t understand.

He had spread his sensing field across a wide radius precisely to catch any presence emerging from the Secret Realm—

Yet he hadn’t felt a thing.

A presence approached from behind.

The moment he turned his head, his body crumpled to the ground.

As his consciousness faded, his eyes filled with shock, his mind overcome by terror.

And who could blame him—

For the man walking by, hands clasped behind his back and chuckling softly, was a white-haired old man.

Anyone else would have reacted ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) the same.

The old man’s gait was unhurried, eerily at ease, as if out for a stroll—turning his head now and then to admire the scenery.

He looked utterly different from the Flame King Hwa Munyeom.

And in his left hand, he carried a severed head.

The head faced Ma Jangsik directly. Its dead eyes seemed to stare straight into him, and he shivered. The expression was peaceful, as though the owner hadn’t even realized he was dying.

But Ma Jangsik recognized him instantly.

Once, Jang Icheong had enlisted Baek Mujin of the Ihwa Sword Heaven Sect to ambush Unhwi from behind.

Why Baek Mujin? The reason was simple.

Baek Mujin had belonged to the sect’s Black Shadow Division, and before being dispatched to the Heavenly Alliance, Jang Icheong had been that division’s captain.

That was why he could call Baek Mujin—former superior and subordinate.

The current captain of the Black Shadow Division was Dragon-Snaring Sword Beom Seong, a master at the Celestial Being Stage and Jang Icheong’s sworn brother.

And that head—was his.

Yes.

The old man.

Why... why is he here...?

Then the old man stopped walking and slowly turned his head.

The instant their eyes met, Ma Jangsik felt as if he were being dragged into an abyss.

Without a word, the old man raised his finger to his lips.

A warning not to speak of this meeting to anyone.

And Ma Jangsik’s consciousness faded into darkness.