He opened his eyes.

He’d opened and closed them countless times throughout his life, but never with such desperation.

Let this be the moment.
Let this be the moment where he could go back and undo it all.

Please.

And what unfolded before his eyes was a vision that felt like the heavens rewarding him for every hardship he’d endured before the regression.

He was standing atop a dueling platform, vast as a public square.

Beyond the thousands of martial artists packed into the arena seats, colossal demon statues loomed. Red, blue, and golden fiends clashed above the ring, their monstrous swords, sabers, and fists forming a canopy over the stage.

And farther still, towering over everything, stood one statue—black and imperious, arms crossed, surveying the world with arrogant contempt.

The symbol of the Heavenly Demon Sect.

“I’ve returned to the past!”

His heart pounded like it might burst.

“WAAAAAAAH!”

As if to celebrate his regression, cheers erupted from every direction. Cultists of the Heavenly Demon Sect had filled every inch of the arena.

“Right... today is—”

From the opposite end, a man stepped onto the dueling stage.

“The day of the New Demon Duel.”

At that time, his father had made a shocking announcement: he would no longer restrict the next Sect Leader to his own bloodline.

The sect had exploded with excitement. Anyone with true strength could now become the Heavenly Demon.

To prove the weight of his words, his father hosted a grand martial tournament for the sect’s advanced disciples. The New Demon Duel.

The victor would earn the right to challenge one of his two sons.

And whoever won—whether it was the challenger or one of the sons—would be granted a single wish by the Heavenly Demon himself.

It had set the sect ablaze. Countless disciples had poured in, each fighting for glory.

After ten brutal days, a champion emerged—and he had chosen him as his opponent.

“Geom Muguk! Geom Muguk!”

The crowd thundered his name. The very name the Ghost Caller had spent years trying to uncover.

Geom Muguk, the youngest son of the Heavenly Demon.

That was who he was.

As the crowd cheered him on, the tournament champion standing across from him twisted his face in annoyance.

“Hmph! By the end of this match, they’ll be chanting a different name. Don’t expect me to hold back just because it’s you.”

Back then, he’d been irritated that the man had chosen him.

It meant he was considered weaker than his brother.

But looking back now, he knew there had been another reason behind the choice.

“Why not just forfeit now?”

The bastard was already sure of his victory.

And yes, he lost that duel.

But not because he lacked strength.

Because of a cheap, dirty trick.

His opponent had bribed his personal chef and poisoned his food with a special toxin: Scattering Qi Poison—a drug that disrupted his internal energy.

It wasn’t the usual kind. It did nothing while at rest, but once engaged in intense combat, it caused his inner strength to collapse.

He found out later—it was a rare variety called Black Widow, developed by the Demonic Alliance and circulated in secret.

After the match, he told his father—but the man said nothing.

He just gave him a cold, scolding look.

You let yourself fall for something that petty?

He remembered it clearly.

From then on, he threw himself into reckless moves to make up for the defeat.

But his enemy wasn’t his brother, or any rival candidate.

It was his own impatience. His wounded pride.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the disappointment in his father's gaze.

Mistake after mistake, failure after failure—he tripped over his own feet and fell away from the line of succession.

And it had all started with this defeat.

Now, standing at the crossroads of fate once more, the first words he spoke were:

“What was your name again?”

Laughter erupted around them. The opponent’s face went stiff.

He must have thought he was being mocked.

But honestly—he didn’t remember his name.

“You insult me like this? Disrespecting me is the same as insulting my master!”

“Oh, right. You’re Gu Pyeongho.”

Gu Pyeongho—the fifth disciple of Gu Cheonpa, the Blood Heaven Blade Demon, one of the Eight Demon Lords.

No doubt he’d cheated his way through the New Demon Duel too.

“Hey, say it right. I’m mocking you, not your master. Why drag him into this?”

More laughter broke out—this time from the followers of the One Blossom Sword Lord, long-time enemies of the Blood Heaven Blade Demon’s faction.

“You little brat! If you’re bold enough to provoke me, you must think you’re strong.”

He ignored him and looked up—toward the high seat where the Heavenly Demon sat.

Even in a crowd of thousands, his father’s presence was absolute. You could pick him out instantly, like a splash of blood-red ink in a monochrome painting.

On either side of him sat the Eight Demon Lords, the sect’s greatest warriors. They kept themselves subdued only because he was present—but they too radiated terrifying power.

His father’s eyes met his own.

And in them, he read something new.

So. How are you going to get out of this ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) one?

Back then, he had never noticed that look.

“You knew.”

“You already knew I’d been poisoned.”

He’d acted indifferent, like he didn’t care about the succession.

But he’d seen everything.

The same scene was playing out again—but this time, the meaning had changed.

“You knew everything... Then—”

Reporting the poison after losing again? That would be the lowest move.

Asking for a delay because of it? The middle move.

Winning without using inner energy?

That would be the best move.

And he had to make the best move.

He wasn’t that naïve kid anymore. He had lived far longer than his father now.

Honestly, someone like Gu Pyeongho didn’t even require inner energy. He could beat him in one move.

But with so many eyes watching, he had to be careful not to reveal his true strength.

He raised his hand and drew the attention of the entire arena.

Then, in the loudest voice he could muster, he declared:

“In front of all the sect’s champions gathered here today, I will say this proudly: I will face Gu Pyeongho without using inner energy. I do not need it to win.”

A beat of silence—then an explosion of cheers.

“WOOOOOOOOOO!”

Gu Pyeongho’s face twisted.

He hadn’t seen this coming.

How does he know? How does he know about the poison?
It only activates during combat…

Driving you crazy, isn’t it?

And now, if he used his inner energy, he’d look like the coward.

Flushed with confusion, Gu Pyeongho yelled back:

“Then I too shall fight without using inner energy!”

Exactly as expected.

Some of his followers clapped weakly—but no one cheered.

The crowd had wanted a high-stakes duel of power, and instead, they were getting a dull, mundane brawl.

Sighs of disappointment echoed through the arena.

Gu Pyeongho was rattled—and that confusion turned to anger.

“You brat! Even without inner energy, my blade has no eyes. You’d better watch yourself!”

He ignored the warning and scanned his body.

There was a strange lightness to it—a foreign, youthful sensation.

Even the sword in his hand felt like a toy.

“Will this body move the way I want?”

Gu Pyeongho ripped his saber from its sheath.

He, on the other hand, dropped his sword to the ground.

Using it would’ve risked revealing too much.

The crowd roared again.

Nothing thrilled them like mockery and humiliation.

And as expected, Gu Pyeongho lost his mind.

“You may be the Sect Leader’s son, but I’ll still take one of your arms!”

Before the words left his mouth, he charged.

He closed the distance in a flash, swinging his saber down toward the shoulder.

Shhh-CLANG!

He watched the strike come.

Waited until the last second.

Then twisted and dodged.

Yes. That’s it.

His body moved instantly, faster than he expected—full of power and life.

It whispered to him:

“Did you forget? This is you in your prime.”

The days when he could run all day.

When his fists felt like they could break mountains.

“This is how hard my heart used to pound, back then...”

A grin spread across his face.

He wanted to scream with joy.

Seeing the smile, Gu Pyeongho lost it.

“You insane bastard—you’re laughing?!”

Eyes bloodshot, Gu Pyeongho went for the kill, aiming at his vital points.

At this rate, the bastard might panic and activate his energy by accident.

Time to finish it.

Dodging the saber that sought to take his arm, he stepped in close.

Gu Pyeongho gasped, too late.

His elbow struck the man clean in the solar plexus.

Thud.

He moved like a shadow, staying on Gu Pyeongho as the man staggered backward.

His fists struck in rapid succession.
The first blow crushed the man’s nose.
The second, heavier punch shattered his ribs.

Even without inner energy, they were martial artists trained from childhood.
They could beat down an ox with their bare hands.
There was no way Gu Pyeongho’s body could withstand it.

But he didn’t stop there.

As the man collapsed with a scream, he seized his wrist.

“Which hand did you use to poison the food? Was it this one?”

Still gripping his arm, he leapt high—and brought down a Thunder Step.

CRACK.

The force surged from the soles of his feet through his whole body, using his knee as a fulcrum to snap the man's arm clean.

CRUNCH.

The shockwave tore through flesh and bone like a tsunami—wrist, elbow, shoulder—every joint in the arm obliterated.

“AAAAAAAAARGH!”

Even without the scream, everyone could see it.

His sword arm and shoulder were completely destroyed—he’d never recover.

Cheers erupted from every direction.

“WOOOOOOOOOO!”

It wasn’t just a win—it was a spectacle.
A clean, crushing victory.

A few loyalists from the Blood Heaven Blade Demon’s faction tried to boo, but their voices were swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

The Blood Heaven Blade Demon himself remained seated, expressionless, watching as his disciple was ruined.
He didn’t flinch.

And as the cheers, heat, and agony finally settled…

His father stood.

The crimson dragon embroidered on his snow-white ceremonial robe looked ready to ascend to the heavens.

The Eight Demon Lords rose with him.

SHHHHHHHHHH.

Like waves cascading outward, every martial artist in the arena rose to their feet, bowing to the supreme being.

The Heavenly Demon, Geom Woojin.

The strongest man of this era.

…For now.

His father looked at him.

A gaze that pierced right through him, like it could split flesh and bone.

Back then, he had feared his father.
Especially that look—that overwhelming stare that made people feel small.

He could never meet it properly.
They’d barely spoken.

His understanding of his father had been nothing but guesses, assumptions, and rumors.

If only he could tell his past self one thing—

Don’t invent relationships in your head.
Look. Listen.
The truth isn’t inside you—it’s standing right in front of you.

This time, he didn’t look away.

What’s so frightening about that face?
All he saw now was a man—trying not to lose his authority while leading an army of ten thousand, buried beneath endless schemes and challenges to his throne.
That was the source of the coldness. The silence.
He hadn’t been able to see it back then.

And then—

“What is your wish?”

His father’s deep voice echoed through the arena.
It wasn’t loud, yet everyone heard it.

It carried power—without needing inner energy.

All eyes turned to him.
The Eight Demon Lords sharpened their senses, waiting for his answer.

“My wish is…”

He hadn’t expected to come back today.

So he answered by instinct.

“I want to go hunting with you.”

His father blinked.
So did everyone else.

No one had expected that.

They thought he’d ask for a sacred sword, or a secret martial art scroll.
They assumed he knew better than to ask for the succession.

“Hunting? With me?”

“Yes. Just the two of us.
I heard you enjoyed hunting in your younger years.
I’d like to learn from you.”

His father stared at him for a moment. Then replied, flatly—

“We leave at dawn.”

And with that, the Heavenly Demon walked away.

A single red dragon moving through a world of black and white.

The entire crowd bowed their heads.
Not a single breath could be heard in the sea of thousands.

Once the Heavenly Demon and the Eight Demon Lords exited, the noise returned.

A cruel voice behind him:

“Freak. You wasted your wish on that?”

He turned.

Gu Pyeongho was being carried off by his seniors, arms limp at his sides.

Scratching his head, he called out casually.

“Sorry, what was your name again?”

Gu Pyeongho screamed in humiliation.

“AAARGH! KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW! PLEASE, JUST KILL HIM!”

But the duel was over.
No one dared attack him now.

The others simply gave him cold looks, then turned and left with the broken man in tow.

Now that I’m back, your reckless little lives won’t be fun anymore.

He looked up at the sky—blue as youth—and smiled.

Thank you, he thought, for sending me back to the most important turning point of my life.

And thank you… Ghost Caller.
Even though you tried to betray me…
You finished the Grand Regression Art.

“I’m truly grateful.”

And with that, he grinned brightly beneath the sky that matched his age.