Time passed again, and Jeok Wigang turned eight.
The Three-Essences Fist he practiced every day had reached its peak.
He had perfectly mastered controlling his strength.
Now, he could regulate it even more delicately than in his previous life.
Across the past three years, however, there had been troubling news for Jeok Wigang.
Namely—he did not possess a dantian, the single most important core for a martial artist.
A boy without a dantian could never inherit Jinmu Sect (True Martial Sect).
The only consolation was that a younger brother had been born—someone who could inherit True Martial Sect.
He had assumed that, now that his brother existed, all of his parents’ attention would shift to the newborn.
That assumption was foolish.
His parents showed him the same love as always.
Even when they learned he had no dantian, they comforted him with the warmest voices.
Jeok Wigang told his father:
The next sect master position should go to the second child.
His father refused again and again, but Wigang believed that establishing a successor early was the best way to prevent future conflict.
In the end, forced by Wigang’s insistence, the next successor was set as the second son, Jeok Wigun.
Once the decision was firmly made, he felt at ease.
The successor didn’t matter to him.
The peace of the family—
That was what mattered most.
But something was strange.
Nothing had happened up to the age of eight.
Before his regression, he had been raised by the villagers at the age of eight.
What was this?
Did history change because he returned?
That didn’t mean he could relax.
Misfortune could come at any time.
The uncertainty frustrated him.
He needed to gather information.
About the sect’s situation, and whether True Martial Sect had enemies.
If he learned ahead of time, he could respond.
But where would he get such information?
He asked Taecheon, the bodyguard assigned to him.
“Where do normal people get information, Taecheon?”
“What kind of information do you mean, young master?”
“Just the things people want to know. If I wanted that sort of information, where would I go?”
“If there is something you wish to learn, tell me. I will bring it to you.”
Jeok Wigang shook his head.
“No. This is something I have to find out myself.”
Seeing Wigang’s determined expression, Taecheon nodded.
He knew better than anyone that once Wigang decided to do something, he always did it—even as a child.
“There are people who deal in information. They will tell you anything for enough silver.
If you wish, I will take you to them.”
“Really? Then let’s go.”
“Please promise me one thing.”
“What is it?”
“They are not good people. Something unfortunate may happen.
You must remain at my side at all times.”
“All right.”
The place Taecheon took him to was a shabby inn of surprisingly large size.
Passing several dim tables, they climbed to the third floor—
Where a hunchbacked old man sat waiting.
“Heh heh heh... Judging by your clothes, you’re from quite a wealthy family. What brings you to a dingy place like this?”
Jeok Wigang spoke straight to the point.
“I want information on True Martial Sect.”
Taecheon glanced at Wigang with wide, startled eyes.
The old man smirked at that reaction.
“Information on True Martial Sect, hm...? You’d get it quicker by asking the guard standing next to you.”
“What Taecheon knows is internal. I want external information—
How others see True Martial Sect.”
“External, is it?”
“I want to know which sects or forces have bad relations with ours.”
“Hmmm... There are a few...”
“Tell me all of them.”
The old man looked to Taecheon.
Taecheon nodded.
“Very well. The fee is two taels of silver.”
Jeok Wigang took two taels from his pouch and set them on the table.
The old man took the silver, slipped it into his sleeve, and stood.
“Wait here a moment. I need to organize it.
Hey! Serve these guests some leaf tea.”
He ordered one of his subordinates to bring tea and slipped out a back door.
Taecheon turned toward Wigang.
“Why do you wish to know about sects that are our external enemies?”
“Because it’s my home. I have to protect it.”
“We will protect it. You may rest easy, young master.”
Jeok Wigang looked up at him.
“Thank you. But I’m going to protect it too.
The people precious to me...”
Then he added, looking straight at Taecheon:
“You’re precious to me too. So I’ll protect you.”
A faint smile touched Taecheon’s lips.
“Your words alone are an honor, young master.”
“But I meant it.”
Taecheon only smiled.
He understood the boy’s heart, and he intended to let him do as he wished.
These were experiences he needed.
While they drank leaf tea, the hunchback returned and placed a sheet of paper on the table.
“Here, the information you wanted.”
Wigang unfolded it immediately.
Fortunately, there weren’t many enemies.
“True Martial Sect has done many righteous deeds. We have no true enemies.
At worst, a few sects look at us with annoyance. But they aren’t exactly hostile.”
One name, however, caught Wigang’s attention—
And filled him with a foul feeling.
“Turtle-Wind Sect?”
“Ah! That one is an exception. It’s a sect formed by outlaw groups, and they’ve been coveting True Martial Sect’s territory.”
Jeok Wigang’s eyes turned cold.
Them?
Are those the ones who took my parents from me?
“Where is Turtle-Wind Sect located?”
“That will cost extra—
But since it’s your first visit, I’ll tell you for free.
They’re at the base of Phoenix Ridge.”
Wigang folded the paper neatly, tucked it into his robes, and stood.
As he headed out, the hunchback called after him:
“Thank you for your patronage, young master.
Come again anytime you need information.”
Wigang nodded and left with Taecheon following behind.
As soon as they were gone, the hunchback quietly called out:
“Milyeong.”
A masked man materialized from thin air.
“I have a task for you.”
The masked man’s eyes sharpened.
“Shadow the young master who just left.
If anything unusual happens, report to me immediately.”
“Yes!”
Once the masked man vanished, the hunchback sipped the cooled leaf tea Wigang had left behind and chuckled.
“Well now... It’s been a while since I’ve felt this.
There’s an interesting scent about him—
A child who doesn’t feel like a child.”
He grinned like a man who had found a delightful new toy.
“My intuition has never been wrong. Let’s see, shall we?
Let’s see if I’m right this time as well.”
On the road back to True Martial Sect.
Taecheon spoke in a tone of mild surprise.
“I had no idea our sect had enemies.”
“Not enemies—just sects that see us as a thorn in their side.
The kind that would bite if they ever saw an opening.”
“It shocked me that Swift-Strike Sect was on the list.
The sect leader is friendly with ours, and the two sects exchange often.”
“They’re not enemies. They just look down on us.
To them, we’re a sect they could swallow anytime if they wished.”
“It angers me to think True Martial Sect is treated that way.”
Wigang smiled faintly at Taecheon clenching his fist in genuine frustration.
He really was a loyal, upright man.
“I’ll protect our sect.
And I’ll make sure no one looks down on us.”
“I will help you, young master.”
“Thanks.”
“You are admirable.
So young, yet thinking so much for the sect.
And I heard you yielded the successor position.”
“My brother will do better. I have no dantian anyway. I’ll never have Qi.”
“There are masters who command the world through external arts alone.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m going down that path.”
“A wise decision. If you wish, I can help you train anytime.”
“Sure. I’ll ask when I need you.”
Taecheon smiled.
Then a strange feeling crossed him.
Wigang was eight.
But talking with him...
He forgot he was speaking to a child.
If only he had a dantian...
Then he remembered Wigang saying he would protect him.
A smile rose naturally.
At that age, he already thought first of others.
Taecheon watched Wigang’s small back as he walked ahead and made a vow.
He would protect him for life.
Thus, without realizing it, Jeok Wigang had gained a loyal subordinate.
Late at night.
Jeok Wigang stepped outside.
He was heading to Turtle-Wind Sect.
He planned to see for himself what kind of sect it was.
And if they truly were the ones who had annihilated True Martial Sect in his previous life—
He would erase Turtle-Wind Sect from the world tonight.
Anyone who threatened the happiness of his family—
No matter what they were—
He would leave none alive.
As he stepped outside, he sensed an unfamiliar scent.
A smell he had never encountered.
He turned toward it.
Even in pitch-black darkness, Wigang could see as clearly as in daylight.
He could see dozens of li away with perfect clarity.
In that darkness, he spotted a masked man hiding.
They’re already moving?
He assumed the man was a spy sent by Turtle-Wind Sect.
Watching True Martial Sect and sending information back.
If he captured him, he could learn something.
Jeok Wigang’s figure vanished in an instant.
The masked man, assigned to watch Wigang—
Panicked when Wigang suddenly disappeared.
He spun around frantically—
And then—
“What are you?”
Wigang was suddenly standing right in front of him.
The masked man jerked back in shock—
Lost his balance on the tree branch—
And fell.
But he twisted midair, regained balance, landed on the ground, channeled all his Qi into his legs, and sprinted with full speed.
He prided himself on his Lightfoot Arts.
No eight-year-old child could catch him.
When... when did he move in front of me?
It made no sense.
It felt like being haunted by a ghost.
Have I been hallucinating from lack of sleep these past few days?
He really was getting older—his body had grown weak.
No. I need to brew a tonic once this mission is over.
Thinking that, he fled deeper into the forest.
He ran and ran until he finally stopped, breathing hard.
“Haa... I must have been nervous without realizing it.
To run this far over something like that...”
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he turned back toward True Martial Sect—
And froze.
His eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
“This... this can’t be...”
Jeok Wigang was standing right in front of him.
Impossible.
He had run at full speed.
Yet Wigang had caught up—
Without a single drop of sweat.
Hands folded behind his back, Wigang slowly approached.
“Did you come from Guifeng Sect?”
His tone was casual—
The kind of crooked, swaggering tone you’d hear from street thugs.
Not from an eight-year-old child.
“It would be wise to answer properly.”

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