Chapter 1: The Unkillable

Thunk. Pitter‑patter.

A raindrop hitting his cheek felt cold.

A half‑collapsed thatched hut.

Through the gaping roof, a drab landscape was visible.

How long had it been since he last looked up at the sky?

Before long, faint thunder resonated, and torrential rain began to pour.

He had to move.

He knew it in his mind, but his body, slowly cooling, did not obey.

Mu‑ak leaned his back against the wall.

He exhaled a thin breath and waited for the death that approached.

Creak.

A rusty hinge sounded, announcing the unwelcome guest’s arrival.

The pursuers seemed to have arrived here through the downpour that turned from a shower into a raging storm.

“What on earth is this mess?”

The man at the front lifted Mu‑ak’s funeral garment and spoke.

The first thing that caught the eye was the long scar slashing across his lip.

He was Naraksal, the second‑in‑command of the Killing Veil, the villain who had dethroned Mu‑ak and led to the current situation.

Naraksal, who had paused to look down at Mu‑ak, wiped the raindrops trickling down his cheek and twisted the corner of his mouth.

“Who would have thought that the Killing Veil’s top assassin would end up like this.”

“…Your voice is the same as ever.”

Mu‑ak laughed, coughing up blood.

Naraksal ignored that and gestured to those who had followed him.

His underlings, given orders, slowly approached and very carefully searched Mu‑ak’s clothing.

They acted as if searching for something, but finding nothing, they shook their heads.

“Hah.”

Naraksal exhaled a sigh, opened his eyes bleakly, and spoke.

“Where are the secret manual of divine skills and the Great Elixir Pill that you stole?”

“…”

“A pity indeed. If you had handed them over quietly, this catastrophe could have been avoided.”

Mu‑ak raised a hand and wiped the blood from his mouth.

At that simple motion, all the assassins except Naraksal flinched.

Mu‑ak was the finest assassin of the Killing Veil.

With one gesture, he could extinguish the lives of a dozen or more.

Naraksal viewed those underlings contemptuously, clicked his tongue, and lightly swung his arm.

Shing—.

A sliver of lethal aura sliced through Mu‑ak’s limbs.

The pool of rainwater on the floor dyed crimson.

Naraksal shrugged, as if unable to bear looking at that gruesome sight.

“I heard you even used hidden needles inside your tongue. Since you have no means to resist further, why not tell us willingly? Then I will kill you peacefully.”

He said this was the only mercy he could show, flicking the tip of the blade.

“When did you ever become so kind?”

Mu‑ak’s head tilted.

Perhaps from bleeding too much, his vision blurred.

Wondering how much life was still permitted, an intense cold enveloped his body.

In a low voice, Mu‑ak announced his end.

“Search thoroughly. You will never reach it in your lifetime.”

With that, he bit down on his tongue.

He intended to take his life.

Naraksal let out a short sigh and raised his blade.

Even for the sake of possibility, a killing confirmation was necessary.

But just before consciousness faded, Mu‑ak faintly smiled.

“This is… a gift… for you…”

“…What?”

Crack.

His chest swelled and hundreds of hidden needles were expelled.

Explosive Bloodburst.

A self‑immolation tactic that detonated hundreds of needles implanted in the heart simultaneously.

Bah‑bah‑bah!

Seeing the venom‑coated needles embed deeply in the bodies of Naraksal and the other assassins, he closed his eyes.

—

An assassin lives close to death.

At the moment one witnessed another’s death up close, they could faintly sense what lay beyond by the touch at their fingertips.

But everyone described it differently.

Some said there was nothing—emptiness.

Others claimed one passes through purgatory, cycles of reincarnation, clears all past deeds and karma, then lives a new life.

If he had been given the chance to return to that time, Mu‑ak would have vehemently warned them not to talk nonsense.

Clatter.

Mu‑ak sat on his bed, eating a pale porridge.

It seemed to be the food they called stew in this place.

“Please eat slowly. Your health is still not very good.”

The healer, who watched his every move, spoke in a polite voice.

Mu‑ak nodded obediently and looked at the mirror hanging beside him.

“….”

Bright red hair and eye color.

Fair, smooth skin and youthful appearance.

That form was infinitely distant from his original self.

No matter how much he denied it, he could not reject the fact that he had inhabited another body.

If only it were only that, there would be reason to make allowances.

He could think it as reaching reincarnation, as described in the Buka.

…The problem was that the view outside the window by the mirror was quite unlike that of the Central Plains.

‘Not only reincarnated, but in another world.’

Mechanically eating the stew, Mu‑ak inwardly gave a bitter smile.

This place was the Leipzig territory on the empire’s frontier.

A dreadful epidemic had swept the area, and everyone had suffered, and even the youngest of his house, himself, had supposedly survived a near‑death ordeal.

…No, perhaps he had died.

Otherwise, he could not have entered this body.

‘Was it because of the explosion bloodburst?’

Could it be that by exploding his heart with the Bloodburst tactic, this situation had occurred?

Truly, it was a second life he had gained without meaning to.

Creak.

The door opened.

Those who could come and go freely here were only the healer, servants, and his siblings.

At this hour, only one person could come.

“You were awake.”

The boy in the mirror bore a striking resemblance.

His older brother by three years, Carius, approached swiftly and stood before Mu‑ak.

“Carl, how is your health?” he asked.

“…It’s fine,” Mu‑ak replied.

“Carl”—more precisely, Carlos Leipzig—was the name of the body he inhabited.

Mu‑ak spoke with Carius about various everyday matters.

Although his original self was gone, fragments of its memories sporadically lingered in his mind.

How many memories could a seven‑year‑old truly possess?

Adapting and blending them into a plausible persona wasn’t difficult.

‘At first, I was bewildered,’ he thought.

In their world, discipline and composure defined an assassin.

Though initially disoriented, Mu‑ak quickly assessed the situation, as befits the famed foremost assassin in the Central Plains.

In this world, the balance of power wasn’t martial arts sects but rather regional nobles.

A central imperial family existed, but local lords directly governed their domains and collected taxes, not via tribute to a central authority.

The Leipzig clan operated similarly.

Mu‑ak felt fortunate to be born into the youngest position of this noble family.

Had it been in a lowly commoner’s body, he’d have perished the moment the plague struck.

“…I’m talking too much. Rest more,” Carius said, possibly mistaking Mu‑ak’s daydreaming for fatigue. He patted his head gently and left.

‘First, I need to heal fully,’ Mu‑ak resolved.

At seven years old, fresh from surviving the epidemic, his body was clearly weakened.

After a brief pause, Mu‑ak judged that now was the best time to learn his martial art.

‘My martial art is…’

Silent Shadow Kill Technique—a top‑tier assassin skill considered unbeatable, earning him the nickname “Unkillable”.

‘…No.’

He shook his head.

He had no intention of continuing as an assassin in this life.

Learning an assassin’s technique would inevitably make him one again—but he already experienced where that path led.

‘I have another martial art.’

Over his assassin career, he acquired many skills—famous ones like Huashan’s Divine Flame Technique or Plum‑Blossom Sword Technique, and secret legendary skills unknown to the world.

But from the start, he really had only one choice:

Primordial Unity Divine Art

The secret art of Divine Warrior Shin Muhyuk, which he stole after killing his grandson, the succession heir.

Once word spread that he had acquired that manual, the martial world was thrown into chaos.

If he had yielded it as Naraksal demanded, he might not have died so miserably.

Yet even Mu‑ak, as an assassin, found Primordial Unity Divine Art irresistible.

‘I memorized the entire manual and burned it, leaving no trace.’

With Shin Muhyuk’s heir dead, that technique likely vanished from the Central Plains.

Of course, that had little relevance now.

‘….’

Mu‑ak gazed at his youthful body.

It was ideal for learning martial arts.

Moreover, the medicinal herbs and potions consumed to recover from the plague still coursed through his system—it was perfect.

A week passed.

“You have fully recovered. There is no longer any issue with going outside,” the healer pronounced.

“Is that so? Good work,” Mu‑ak replied.

He had grown accustomed to life as Carlos.

His small stature, soft face, and fidgeting limbs…

—and even the stern likeness of his father, who, despite being gruff, seemed concerned, though he rarely showed joy when hearing of his youngest son’s recovery—that stemmed from a promise made while Carlos was ill.

“Father,” Mu‑ak called softly.

“Hmm…” Count Leipzig responded with a slight grunt, his expression mixed.

Though his youngest had healed, the father could not rejoice fully because of the promise they had exchanged.

“Do you really need to attend the social gathering?”

“You promised me that I could, once I was better.”

Mu‑ak’s eyes sparkled as he looked at his father.

Though he had briefly toured the interior of the Leipzig estate, the strict security prevented him from exploring beyond it.

He was eager to see, with his own eyes, this world’s scenery, so different from the Central Plains.

He needed to understand this world and meet others—social gatherings were designed for that.

In the Central Plains there were similar events: nobility, those from prestigious families, or aspiring martial artists gathered to network.

Mu‑ak had infiltrated such gatherings before as Mu‑ak, and hoped to find useful information this time as well.

“Hi, I’m Dimitri!”

“Nice to meet you, I’m–”

However, he had overlooked the age demographic.

Even the youngest martial gatherings he’d infiltrated had mostly people in their twenties or older.

But this particular society gathering was filled not with teens but children aged five or six.

Naturally, no substantive conversation was possible.

‘I overlooked their ages.’

Bored, Carlos quickly exited.

He concluded that exploring the city would yield more nourishment.

With dozens of children at that party, missing it for a few hours wouldn’t raise suspicion.

He pulled a shabby robe hidden in a flowerbed onto his small frame and stepped outside.

The elegant outfit he had worn for the gathering stood out too much.

Especially wandering alone in the market, he’d be an easy target for thieves.

Snap!

Someone reached out and grabbed him.

A rough hand covered his mouth, followed by a hood placed over his head, sealing his vision and movement.

“Whoa! What a stroke of luck! Seeing you walking alone, I’m glad I trailed you!”

The abductor spoke with a slightly excited voice.

They hurriedly left the street and ran into what looked like a warehouse.

“….”

Carlos sneered.

He sensed someone following but never expected them to be so obvious.

Thanks to that, things became easier than expected.

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