Meanwhile, in the pavilion where the Four Heavenly Demon Lords had vanished, an eerie sound began to come from the young man who slept alone.
Crack—.
Snap—.
Creak—.
With the cracking of bone, the young man’s body began to shrink, until it was the perfect size of a newborn.
His original clothes fell over him like a blanket. A black shadow fell across the sleeping infant.
Growl—.
It was a tiger.
It came close, sniffed the child, then took him in its jaws and began to run.
After a long dash, the infant stirred awake.
With his tiny baby fists, he struck the tiger’s head—
and the great beast’s skull tore free and flew away.
Thud—.
Headless, the tiger collapsed, and the baby dropped to the ground.
Another black shadow swept toward the falling child, snatched him up, and climbed into the sky.
It was a giant eagle. Clutching the baby tight so as not to drop him, the eagle flew off somewhere far.
Night had settled over a martial sect. A middle-aged man stood with his hands behind his back, looking up at the sky with a sigh.
Behind him, a woman was offering rites in the ancestral shrine, her care meticulous.
She prayed and prayed again with desperate fervor.
“O gods of Heaven and Earth, please grant me a son. I beg you. I beg you.”
Her voice brimmed with longing.
Knowing well that longing, the middle-aged man watched her with a complicated expression. He looked up again, frustrated—and had the sudden feeling that something was falling out of the empty sky.
“...Hm?”
He sharpened his gaze to see what it was.
“Th-that...”
He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Even on a second look, it seemed he had seen correctly. Regaining his focus, he hurled himself upward.
Whoosh—.
Soaring high, the man caught what was falling.
Disbelief filled his features.
As he drifted down, the woman came toward him.
“Master, what is that?”
“Ah—a baby....”
“Pardon?”
“Th-the baby... was falling from the sky.”
The wife glanced upward, covered her mouth, and wept in rapture.
“Master... i-it seems Heaven has answered my prayer.”
It made no sense.
Heaven sending down a baby?
Impossible.
It had to be a child with some story behind him.
Thinking so, he bent to look again—but the woman gently took the infant from his arms.
“You mustn’t hold a baby like that.”
With careful, tender hands, she cradled the child against her breast.
The baby’s heartbeat sounded in her ears; tears of joy ran down her face.
“Master... this is our son.”
Seeing her so happy, the middle-aged man could not say otherwise. He had watched, at her side, all the hard years she had endured.
He looked at the infant in her arms.
Strangely, the child seemed to resemble him.
Could Heaven truly have sent this child to us? the man thought.
The notion drew in affection—until it felt as if the baby were truly his own.
Yes.
A Heaven-given bond.
Perhaps the reason we had no child until now was to meet this one, he thought, studying the infant closely.
“Master, look. Doesn’t he somehow resemble us?”
“He does, doesn’t he?”
Joy warmed him, the feeling that the child was truly his growing stronger.
“Master, please give him a name.”
“A name....”
He lifted his eyes to the sky and pondered.
A precious child sent by Heaven could not be given just any name.
After long thought, he clapped, inspiration found.
“I shall name him Wigang—one who steadfastly carries Heaven’s righteousness.”
“Jeok Wigang. Perfect. As you say, Master: our son will uphold righteousness above all.”
“I am Jeok Rihyeon, and you are Yu Hwayeon. He is our son—what else could he be?”
Yu Hwayeon smiled at Jeok Rihyeon and looked back down at the infant.
“How wondrous. Even after falling from the sky, he sleeps so peacefully. He is no ordinary child.”
“Hahaha. A child sent by Heaven—if he were ordinary, that would be strange.”
“Ah? Master—his eyes are opening.”
“Oh! Where?”
Ugh. What’s this? Why is it so noisy? thought Wigang.
He opened his eyes—and two enormous faces were peering down at him.
Startled, he froze.
What are they? Giants? He tried to swing a fist—but what he saw was a tiny baby hand.
Huh? What’s wrong with my fist? Something was off. He stared at the two huge faces before him.
Had they done something to him? If so, they had chosen poorly—he would make them regret it. He gathered himself—
“My son. Have you opened your eyes? Hohoho,” said a tender voice he had never once heard in his life.
A son?
“Hohoho. Look at those eyes. I’ve never seen such beautiful eyes. Wigang—this is your mother. Mother.”
Wigang? Mother?
“Hohoho. And I am your father. Father.”
Father? He reached for memories and found none. He could not recall ever having had parents.
But it was the thing he had longed for most—parents.
At first, he had resented Heaven.
Why did everyone else have parents while he had none?
That resentment had twisted him. He came to hate the sight of others’ happiness and withdrew into the mountains. It had been easier that way.
And yet now there were people before him calling themselves his parents.
Wait... my hands are small. He lifted his head and looked down.
He lay, small and helpless, in the hand of the man who called himself father.
He had become a newborn.
No way... I’ve gone back to the past? He scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. The guess quickly hardened into certainty.
So that’s it. I’ve returned to the past. Jeok Wigang... that was my true name.
Wigang widened his eyes, trying to etch his parents’ faces into memory so he would never forget.
My parents... I truly—truly missed you.
Tears welled—then crying burst forth. Feelings dammed up for so long broke like a flood.
Wah! Wah!
“He must be hungry. What should we do? I have no milk....”
“I’ll find a wet nurse at once. For now, feed him a little gruel and soothe him,” said Jeok Rihyeon.
“Yes, Master.”
Yu Hwayeon patted Wigang. “There now, my little one. Hungry, are you? Come, my child.”
Wigang burrowed into Yu Hwayeon’s arms.
The warmth of a mother—felt for the first time—was endlessly soft.
That comfort drew in drowsiness.
He fought not to sleep, desperate to hold his mother’s face a little longer in his eyes.
He feared that when he opened them again, all this would be gone.
That if he woke, it would prove a dream.
He struggled, but it was no use.
Mom... don’t leave... he thought, clutching Yu Hwayeon’s finger as he slipped into sleep.
Yu Hwayeon’s face, holding Wigang, was the face of the happiest person in the world.
The next day, Wigang opened his eyes.
He looked around—and there was someone else nearby.
“Oh? Madam! The young master is awake.”
“Truly?”
Patter—.
Someone came running, urgent and quick.
“Our Wigang is up?”
The face he had prayed would never vanish stood before him.
This was no dream.
This was real.
He had truly come to the past.
Joy welled up; happiness. Laughter bubbled out.
Gurgle—.
“Oh my! Did you see? Look how our Wigang smiles. Has anyone ever smiled so sweetly?” said Yu Hwayeon, fussing over him.
“What are you smiling at?” asked Jeok Rihyeon.
“Master! Our Wigang is beaming.”
“Truly?”
Whoosh—.
In a flash of Lightfoot Arts, Jeok Rihyeon appeared beside the cradle. Seeing Wigang’s bright face, he smiled as well.
Just looking made him smile.
He is my son, Jeok Rihyeon thought. I’ll raise him so that no one can look down on him. To do that, I must grow the sect—so that one day I can pass Wigang a house he need never be ashamed of.
He looked at Wigang and spoke gently. “My son. Your father will pass you a magnificent sect.”
Then he rose and addressed Yu Hwayeon.
“In the days ahead, I will be busy. If I’m to grow the sect, I can’t go on as before.”
“Grow the sect?”
“Yes. I must make it better—for Wigang.”
“If that is so, I will help, Master.”
“Hahaha! With my lady’s help, ten thousand troops are nothing. I rely on you.”
“Oh, Master...”
It was a beautiful sight.
This—this was the world Wigang had longed for.
He looked at his parents and made a vow.
He would never lose them again.
If anyone tried to steal this happiness...
He would reveal a power he had never shown before.
Lying in the cradle, Wigang thought of his junior brothers.
The ones who called him Senior Brother.
Every time they were struck, they would grumble and lament, “We were once the Four Heavenly Demon Lords.”
Four Heavenly Demon Lords. Being called that seemed to be their pride.
They never tired of charging in.
They tried every trick in the book.
Even so, it had been fun.
A place once always silent had become lively, and only then had it felt like a place where people lived.
The sense of loneliness had vanished.
So he had tried to treat them well.
But they kept climbing over him.
Rank mattered.
As long as he was Senior Brother, it was easier for everyone if the top rank was clear.
So when they tried to rise, he gently put them back in place.
But he never struck with true force.
A wrong blow could kill.
He had been strong since childhood.
He did not remember how old he had been, but once a tiger leapt to eat him.
To live, he threw a punch with all his might—and when he came to his senses, the tiger was gone and the trees before him lay felled.
That was when he realized his strength was no ordinary thing.
The tiger had not fled; it had been reduced to nothing without a trace.
From then on, he took care with his strength. The villagers who raised him might be hurt.
He used that power to split wood and help the village.
Then, one day—
He went to the mountain to cut wood. When he returned, the village was a ruin.
Bandits had come down to plunder.
The villagers he loved began to die one by one.
In that instant, he lost his reason.
He plunged into the bandits and unleashed his fist—
and the first strike erased them, bodies shredding into nothingness.

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