Time, cruel and unfeeling, continued to pass.

And the world still belonged to Hwa Mugi. According to whispers on the wind, he had grown even stronger. Relentlessly training, he walked the path toward martial enlightenment—toward the ultimate essence of martial arts.

The Supreme Martial Alliance he commanded was overseen by twelve of his most powerful followers. The world had given them a name: The Twelve Zodiac Kings.

Though the martial world had been unified under a single ruler, life had not improved. Corruption festered under the Twelve’s reign. Those who flattered them rose in fame. Those who opposed them died. People whispered that life had been easier when the world was split between good and evil.

Meanwhile, the Righteous Alliance, the Demonic Alliance, and the Heavenly Demon Cult remained sealed away. None dared lift the seal. Everyone knew—it could not be undone unless Hwa Mugi was dead.

By the time most assumed the man had died in some nameless valley, he returned.

He had once been young when he first visited. Now, his hair was streaked with gray, his shoulders broader, his spirit seasoned and refined beyond compare.

He was different now. Tanned like someone who had walked across the whole world. Scars that hadn’t been there before ran across his skin. Time had made him more formidable, but his eyes—clear, cold, and quietly resolute—were still the same as the day he first appeared.

He placed a box down and opened it.

Inside was the glowing core of a Ten-Thousand-Year Flame Carp.

“It really… exists,” the Ghost Caller whispered, voice trembling.

“How did you get it?”

“I searched every possible place. At this point, I could probably draw a map of the entire continent with my eyes closed. Climbing, swimming, diving, camping—you’re looking at a grandmaster in all of them.”

“That’s incredible.”

“No, the real miracle is that I didn’t go insane during the search.”

For a moment, the Ghost Caller had the strange thought that maybe… it wasn’t a Flame Carp’s core at all. Maybe it was this man’s will itself—so fiercely determined it had solidified into a crystal. He almost imagined that blue will pouring out of the man’s body, forming the core by sheer force.

Then the man spoke again.

“All right. What’s next?”

“You’re not going to brag a little?”

Surely he had stories—great, harrowing tales of adventure. If it were him, the Ghost Caller thought, he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about it.

“I’ll brag later—when I’m standing over his corpse. I’ll tell him everything, over and over, until his body rots into a mummy. ‘I did all this to kill you,’ I’ll say.”

“…You making jokes now? That’s unsettling.”

The Ghost Caller wanted to sit and chat with this man. Laugh, talk about life and the martial world. But, as always, the man was in a hurry.

“All right, then. What’s the fourth ingredient?”

“Money.”

“…Excuse me?”

“How much?” the man asked without hesitation.

“Five hundred thousand silver taels.”

An absurd amount. Unthinkable for most. But the man didn’t even blink.

“I’ll be back.”

The Ghost Caller knew that even if he’d said five million or fifty million, the man would’ve stood up just the same.

Maybe, as he left, he’d toss out a line like, “Maybe I should just kill everyone and be done with it.” But no—he was the kind who pressed on. No matter how crazy the path, he would walk it without complaint.

“Wait,” the Ghost Caller said.

“Hm?”

“I’ll cover the cost. My family has been saving for generations for this Art. That money—it’s meant to be used for this.”

“Why?”

“Because completing the Regression Art isn’t just your dream. It’s ours, too.”

“…Thank you. Truly. That’ll save me a great deal of time.”

The man smiled, sincerely.

“In that case, will you drink with me tonight?”

“Just one cup. Then I’ll leave.”

“You cold bastard.”

They sat together on the stones in the courtyard, passing a large cup back and forth beneath the stars.

“When we first met, we were both so young,” the Ghost Caller said.

“My body’s older, but my mind’s still the same. I’m fighting to stay young.”

“Why struggle so hard?”

“Because I’m going back. Whether it’s when I’m fifty, sixty, or even a hundred—I’ll still be the same man who came to you that night. My time stopped that day.”

If he’d heard this before, the Ghost Caller would’ve thought it admirable, but foolish. Not anymore. Now he understood better than anyone just how terrifying this man’s will truly was.

“If the Art succeeds,” the Ghost Caller said softly, “and you really do go back… can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“If you go back… find me.”

“And then?”

“…Stop me from getting married.”

The man blinked, then let out a real, genuine laugh.

It was the first time the Ghost Caller had ever heard him laugh.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Please, stop me. Just tell me to stay single. That would mean more to me than five hundred thousand taels.”

“…All right.”

The Ghost Caller told him the exact year he had married, then added,

“Promise me. Swear you’ll stop me.”

“I swear.”

They emptied the rest of the bottle.

“What’s the final ingredient?” the man asked.

“You already know.”

“…What is it?”

“The Hidden Demon Soul.”

The man’s gaze darkened.

“It was your father’s sacred relic,” the Ghost Caller said.

“I know. He never let it out of his sight.”

“Do you have it?”

The man shook his head.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I don’t.”

“What if… Hwa Mugi has it?”

“Then I’ve wasted °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° all these years. Still, even if it’s with my sect, retrieving it won’t be easy.”

The Demonic Cult remained sealed, ruled now by a new cult master. Though crushed under Hwa Mugi’s might, they had spent the years building strength in the shadows.

But there was no chance they would welcome him back. Not as the dead son of the previous cult master. No… they’d try to kill him the moment he reappeared.

“Still… I hope it’s there.”

“Don’t take too long,” the Ghost Caller said. “I’m getting old.”

“Don’t you die before I return. And thanks—for the drink.”

He drained the last of it, then stood and walked away.

The Ghost Caller watched his back for a long time, standing there in the yard as the man vanished into the distance.

But this time… he didn’t come back.

There was no news of upheaval within the Demonic Cult. No rumors. No disturbances. And yet the Ghost Caller never stopped listening.

Years passed. The Ghost Caller aged. His hair turned white, and the flowers of the underworld bloomed on his face.

And still he sat on the porch each day, staring at the spot where the man always stood.

Then one day… he rubbed his eyes.

A figure was stumbling toward him.

It was him.

The man who had left to retrieve the final piece… had returned.

But he was no longer the same.

His face was so disfigured he was nearly unrecognizable. His right eye was gone. His left arm, gone. Blood soaked his clothes. His body was a ruin of flesh and pain.

The Ghost Caller could only stare, words failing him.

The man collapsed at his feet.

And handed him the final piece:

The Hidden Demon Soul.

The Ghost Caller stared at him, voice trembling.

“How… how did you manage to retrieve the Hidden Demon Soul?”

“…Take me to the place where the Grand Regression Art can be performed.”

He was too weak to explain further.

The Ghost Caller rushed to support him, leading him to the ceremonial chamber. Everything was ready. Everything had been waiting—for this moment.

The final ingredient, at last.

The Ghost Caller placed the Hidden Demon Soul at the center of the altar. And like a dragon receiving its eyes at last, the soul lit up—radiant, alive. Strange symbols and patterns began to shimmer around them.

He stepped forward and began to chant.

Red and blue light surged around the room. The Thunder Bell rang with a deep, sonorous echo. Fragrant smoke curled from the Divine Incense Burner.

As the Ghost Caller's incantation reached its peak, the sacred ingredients combined—merging into one—and a swirling vortex of light began to form. It shimmered like a doorway, a rippling gate to somewhere beyond.

“We did it!”

His face overflowed with emotion. A moment hundreds of years in the making. His family’s lifelong dream—fulfilled at last.

He turned to the man, still slumped against the pillar. He had lost too much blood and had slipped into unconsciousness. Rather than shake him awake, the Ghost Caller stood silently for a moment… and whispered,

“…I’m sorry.”

He had made up his mind.

He would use the Art himself.

“I’m truly sorry.”

He was the only one who knew how agonizing the man’s journey had been. How long and hard he had suffered to gather these relics. And yet… these materials were one-of-a-kind. They could never be collected again.

“I’ll find you,” the Ghost Caller murmured, “and I’ll warn you of what’s to come. I swear it.”

He turned toward the light.

“This has always been my family’s dream. My dream too.”

But just as he took a step toward the portal—

“Urgh…”

He froze.

Suddenly, the Ghost Caller realized something was wrong. His energy centers—his core meridians—had been sealed. He didn’t even know when it had happened.

A voice spoke behind him, groggy but clear.

“How could you?”

The man was awake.

He rose to his feet.

“How could you? You, of all people?”

The Ghost Caller turned slowly. His voice was shaky.

“Listen—”

But the man staggered forward and grabbed him by the throat. The Ghost Caller’s body, old and fragile, felt like it could snap with a touch.

“…Maybe I lost my mind for a moment,” the man muttered. “God, I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”

The Ghost Caller thought—So this is how I die. And maybe, just maybe, he deserved it. No one else in the world knew how hard the man had worked to gather everything. Only he knew.

But then the man let go.

“I’m selfish. Of course I am. Maybe that’s why I could gather all this in the first place. I never cared about anything but my goal. But you… I understand you. If it had been anyone else, I might’ve killed them right here. But not you.”

He didn’t judge the Ghost Caller. Instead, he looked at him with warmth.

“Thank you. For waiting for me all these years.”

The Ghost Caller’s eyes welled with tears—of guilt, of sorrow. If only… if only we’d said goodbye a little better.

And at that exact moment—

The world stopped.

“Huh?”

The man spun around, startled.

Everything was frozen. A butterfly that had been mid-flight hovered motionless in the air. The grass that had been rustling lay still. The tears falling from the Ghost Caller’s eyes were suspended in space.

The man wondered if he was hallucinating, bleeding out on the edge of death.

But then… a figure appeared.

An old man. Calm, smiling.

“You passed every trial.”

The man blinked. “Who… are you?”

“I’m the one who can send you to the past.”

“!”

“How can a mere mortal defy the laws of heaven?” the old man continued. “You thought some relics and sacred artifacts could make that possible?”

With a wave of his hand, the five sacred ingredients the man had spent his life collecting appeared around them—floating, glowing, whole. Though they had vanished with the completed ritual, they now returned.

And the man understood—this being wasn’t human.

“These weren’t the true requirements,” the old man said. “The real material… was your will. Your sacrifice. Everything you endured to gather them.”

The ingredients evaporated like mist.

“You passed the test. You gave up your entire life for a single purpose. And your final trial—forgiving the Ghost Caller—was the hardest one of all. And yet, you passed it with ease.”

The man trembled.

He had spent his whole life believing the heavens were indifferent. That if there was a god, it was silent. But now… here it was. Before him.

And his awe turned to fury.

“So it takes this much pain for you to answer? Is that what you are? A god that only shows up when people bleed to death for decades?!”

The old man chuckled softly.

“Don’t be so bitter. Others see me more easily than you do. Some speak to me every day. But your wish… your wish wasn’t something I could grant lightly.”

The man said nothing.

He knew. This wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about power or fame. His wish… was to go back in time.

“Send me,” the man said. “Send me back.”

“And once you’re there?”

“I’ll kill the one who must die. And save the ones who must live.”

Hwa Mugi must die. Everyone else must be saved.

That was the first step.

But there was something more.

“…And I want to live my life the right way. I think… maybe the reason I’ve been so desperate to return isn’t just revenge. It’s regret. I regret the life I lived.”

“What do you regret?”

“…Everything. I never lived a life of my own. I was always pushed—by others, by fate, by pain. One direction, then another… until it all ended.”

He looked at the old man.

“Was it you? Did you push me?”

The old man laughed.

“After your revenge… what kind of life do you want?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll follow my father and become the next Heavenly Demon. Maybe I’ll vanish into the mountains. Maybe I’ll chase after every beautiful woman I see. Maybe I’ll punch every piece of trash that dares show its face. Or maybe I’ll become trash myself. I haven’t decided anything.”

The old man smiled.

“I’m curious too. I look forward to seeing what you choose.”

“…Thanks.”

“When we meet again—let’s have a drink.”

With those final words, the old man vanished.

Again?

The man had a strange feeling. That someday, they would meet again.

And at that moment, time began to move.

The butterfly resumed its flight. The grass swayed in the wind. The tear, suspended in air, finally fell to the earth.

“…I’m sorry,” the Ghost Caller whispered again.

The man stood silently, watching him cry.

He had no idea.

No idea that the Art he’d devoted his life to was blessed by the heavens. That in the end, it was never the materials—it was the path. The final decision may rest with the heavens, but the Ghost Caller had created a bridge that reached them.

The Ghost Caller looked up.

“Please! I know I’ve no right, but don’t forget your promise! Stop my marriage! You must stop it!”

The man snorted, smiling faintly.

Even now—ancient, near death—the old man was still asking the same thing.

“Still in hell, old man?”

“A deeper one than ever. I know it’s shameless… but if I resist, tear my wedding clothes apart!”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“Good. Then it’ll be the perfect punishment for trying to betray me. Enjoy hell again.”

“No! Please! Wait!”

But the man turned and walked toward the vortex of light.

The moment he stepped in, it burst into brilliant light—swallowing him whole.

The Ghost Caller stood frozen, overcome with emotion.

But in the end, all he could scream was—

“I want to go too! DAMN IT, I want to go toooo!”