In the martial world, there are a few long-standing, unspoken traditions.

Things like: a grown adult shouldn’t butt into the affairs of late-stage young warriors, or even if someone’s young, if they’re stronger than you, you call them “Great Hero,” or that the Tang Clan’s poisons and stealth arts are revered while the Sal Valley’s poisons and stealth arts are dismissed as cowardly tricks.

These traditions are written nowhere, yet they’ve been established through atmosphere, survival instinct, and political reasoning—an unwritten code, so to speak.

It wasn’t for nothing that Seo Mun-Hwarin was once pointed at and criticized. Despite her age and cultivation, she jumped into the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering—a playground for the late-stage juniors.

Because I had ties to Seo Mun-Hwarin, and because I’ve always been someone with a bit of a rebellious nature, I never thought much of these unwritten rules.

But now that I’ve experienced it myself, I found myself subconsciously seeking the shelter of those long-held traditions.

“He’s using sorcery…!”

I never thought a day would come when I’d utter those words.

Well, generally speaking, there are two types of “sorcery” often mentioned:

Real sorcery and fake sorcery.

Most of it is fake. Orthodox warriors—especially those like myself, paragons of virtue—tend to take immense pride in the martial arts passed down by their sects.

So, when they witness some lofty technique they can’t comprehend, they deny their own inferiority by shouting:

“Sorcery!”

I used to hear it all the time before the regression. Since I wasn’t affiliated with the Tang Clan back then—just a wandering warrior or part of the Black Lotus Sect—people cried sorcery over everything I did.

Even if I merely stole a bit of their martial essence or disrupted their flow with killing intent, they’d yell “sorcery!”

Ultimately, the kind of sorcery I was accused of was always the fake kind—accusations born of insecurity and resentment.

But real sorcery exists.

Though rare even among demonic sects, it is practiced. And in the case of the Demonic Cult, about three or four in ten practitioners can use genuine sorcery.

True sorcery doesn’t just refer to incomprehensible techniques. It truly affects the human psyche and creates strange, supernatural effects.

For instance, soul manipulation techniques, which disrupt a person’s rational mind and turn them into puppets. The Black Lotus Sect often used them during interrogations.

There’s also Illusion-Eye Demon Magic, a technique frequently used by the Demonic Cult, which causes hallucinations and auditory delusions just by making eye contact, disrupting judgment.

Broadly speaking, poison-induced core cultivation could be classified as sorcery as well.

There are many kinds of sorcery, but they all share one thing in common: they affect the mind.

Unlike martial arts, which begin with strengthening the body, sorcery works on the mind.

That’s why I now call what’s happening to me sorcery.

Hah…

The Ironblood Hall in the distance, and Seol Lihyang—the Demonic Sound Ice Witch—pacing nervously near the entrance, seemingly unaware of my presence.

The scene was familiar. And yet, it was something I could never see again.

“This is insane.”

Before the regression, I heard someone in the Orthodox–Unorthodox Alliance say: Sorcery is essentially a more convenient corruption of Taoist spells or Esoteric Buddhist techniques.

And though the Blood Buddha may be insane, he’s a master of Esoteric Buddhist sorcery—enough to hijack bodies and reincarnate repeatedly.

I’m sure he’s prepared horrors beyond anything I can imagine in order to shatter my mind.

But pain, rage, and despair—they’ve long walked beside me like old friends.

Whatever comes, I’m not going down that easily.

I’ll endure and endure again, and eventually, I’ll find the opening—strike it—and tear myself free from this nostalgic yet hollow illusion.

With renewed resolve, I stepped forward.

And—

“What the heck? You were taking so long I thought maybe you’d lost a limb or something, but you’re fine. You’re going to rest today, right? Just so you know—if you say you’re training all night again, I’ll kill you.”

“???”

Not the angry accusations I was expecting.

Seol Lihyang greeted me warmly—surprisingly so.

For reference, assuming I’d lost a limb means she was deeply worried, and threatening to kill me meant “please don’t make me worry like that again.”

So yes, this was her being affectionate.

I couldn’t comprehend the situation for a moment, so I took a slow, careful look at her.

Her face was far more mature than the current Seol Lihyang. Her black hair was longer, and her dark eyes held deep, repressed emotions.

Her complexion was pale enough to be worrisome, and deep shadows were cast beneath her eyes.

Her Pure Yin Physique had begun to emit a far more direct sensuality, affected by seduction techniques.

A woman who seemed fragile, even devastated—but whose affection for me reached me with pure clarity.

The woman before me was the Demonic Sound Ice Witch.

The same woman who once held a pear in her hands, resting in my embrace with her eyes closed.

And the moment I remembered that—

I found myself pulling her into a hug, tightly, as if never wanting to let go.

Squeeze.

“Wh-What’s with you all of a sudden?! Did something really happen, Blood Wolf? Should I call the Clan Leader? Or take you to the Medicine Hall?”

“Just… just stay like this for a while. That’s enough.”

“Uh, okay. As long as you’re alright.”

There was confusion and awkwardness in her voice.

But soon, her hands—previously hesitating—gently tapped my back.

Just like in the past, when I’d be struggling alone, and somehow she always knew and came to offer her warmth.

I thought I was prepared—but not for this kind of situation.

The feeling of her skin, the scent that filled my nose, the emaciated body—except for one area affected by her uncontrollable Yin energy—and her skin, cool to the point of cold.

Even more than the blurry memories from the past, this felt unmistakably like Seol Lihyang.

I didn’t know why the Blood Buddha showed me this illusion—how he accessed memories protected by the mental restriction—or whether he could see this scene too.

Thoughts swirled through my mind like soap bubbles.

But no matter how large the bubble, it always floats atop water.

And the water beneath it all…was longing.

A deep, aching yearning—something I couldn’t share with anyone, something I wasn’t even sure was real, something I’d kept buried alone.

Now, it rose again and took form.

I didn’t let go of Seol Lihyang for a long time.

***

“Ehehe. Did you miss my embrace that much? I mean, even a sword-obsessed maniac like you can’t stay indifferent when I push this close.”

Once we broke the hug, Seol Lihyang smirked, her shoulders lifted in smugness.

She must’ve had a lot bottled up.

Thinking back to my Blood Wolf days, I could understand.

Back then, I was obsessed with the sword and sick of the tangled grudges of the martial world.

It wasn’t until she was on the brink of death that I finally learned to face my own feelings. It must’ve been incredibly frustrating for her.

Still, that smug expression was annoying no matter how you looked at it.

“Fine. Like you said, Ice Witch, I should rest for a while. I guess that means we won’t be slicing fruit together anytime soon.”

“…What?”

“I was thinking of picking up another pear on the way today, but it’s good I didn’t.”

“Wha—Blood Wolf, what the hell?! Wait! Stay right there. I’ll go get one!”

“You eat it. I’ve got no appetite.”

“Y-Youuu…!”

Seol Lihyang stomped her feet in frustration at my declaration that there would be no “night activities” for a while.

To be fair, back then, she couldn’t control her Yin energy, so I’d been helping her suppress it.

It dealt with the immediate danger, but also caused some unexpected side effects.

Her desires grew a little stronger due to the excessive Yin influence—and she developed a slight dependency too.

I ignored her, like a puppy denied a treat, and walked deeper into the Ironblood Hall.

The layout was familiar. But the details inside were not.

There were many servants moving about. And some familiar faces—people I recognized as servants from the Tang Clan, just in different clothes.

Unlike my memories—where unused parts of the building were often cracked and crumbling—everything here was clean and well-maintained.

No cold wind blowing in through broken walls, and firewood that used to be strewn about was now neatly stacked in the storage.

It looked nice, sure—but it felt a little off.

Clearly, it wasn’t a perfect replica of my memories.

I organized everything I saw in my mind as I walked.

At some point, Seol Lihyang had gone quiet and was now dragging her feet with a gloomy expression. And before I knew it, I had arrived at the Clan Leader’s office.

Gulp.

I swallowed dryly and gripped the doorknob. If I opened this door, Seo Mun-Hwarin would probably be inside.

Not the current her, but the version from before the regression—the leader of Ironblood Hall.

And with her came the image etched into my Heartscape—her final moments.

A snowy white field. A single camellia falling upon it. And red petals spreading across the pure white ground.

Perhaps because this place was such an accurate recreation of Ironblood Hall—even if there were minor discrepancies—that image came rushing back.

I steadied my wavering mind and opened the door.

Inside was—

“Hey. That’s enough, Poison Empress. This is my office, not your playroom.”

“Oh my, Ironblood Hall Master, could it be you’re getting shy? Don’t worry—it’ll suit you perfectly. I picked it with care. Even the Sword Demon won’t be able to look away.”

“I-Is that so? Still, this is a bit much…”

Waist-length white hair. A petite frame. A cute face and speech that didn’t match her age.

She was slightly taller than her present self and carried herself with more dignity, no longer as bound by her rejuvenated body.

But yes, that was definitely Seo Mun-Hwarin.

And she wasn’t alone.

White hair as well—but instead of letting it flow freely, it was pinned neatly with a hairpin.

Long bangs covered half her face.

The visible eye shimmered deep green, hinting at her martial realm.

Her green martial outfit, while clean, was worn—almost as if she’d cared for it dearly, despite having only one.

Tang Sowol. The Poison Empress.

The woman who poisoned me beneath the full moon, and who died with an unfulfilled promise—her heart pierced by the Heavenly Demon.

Seo Mun-Hwarin was not alone. Tang Sowol was with her.

There was no sign of Seo Mun-Hwarin hiding some lewd outfit she’d tried to gift her with.

They were simply both there.

Smiling, waiting for me.

Two people who could never meet. Who could never exist together.

Only then did I understand.

The true nature of the illusion the Blood Buddha was casting.

And how those under the spell of the Yoryeong had their bodies stolen so easily.

“…So this is the Pure Land, huh.”

The Blood Buddha wasn’t shattering people with painful memories.

He was slowly melting their will… with the sweetest fantasy.

And that’s why no one could resist.

Jingle…

Somewhere nearby, a gentle bell rang.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep