Prologue
Sometimes, memories of his past life come to mind.
Even though he did not want them to.
“Child, won't you come with me?”
A robe with red flowers embroidered on its sleeves caught his eye.
The robe was fluttering yet neat, and the middle-aged man's smile was full of playfulness to reassure the child.
In the silence of the night.
The middle-aged man approached the child bound in chains and slowly reached out his hand.
Then, the child pressed his hands against the floor and hesitated backward.
The rough stone floor touching his palms was cold.
The black market that opened only during the full moon.
Even within it, the product at the very bottom was the child.
“Hahaha. Do not worry. I have come to take you home.”
The middle-aged man smiled gently and waited leisurely with his hand outstretched.
As time passed, the child, who realized that the person standing in front of him would not harm him, raised his head.
But the child could not look straight at the middle-aged man.
Seeing this, the middle-aged man thought the child was avoiding his eyes because of the continuous whipping, and turned his gaze to glare at the black merchant who had become a cold corpse.
However, the eyes, which appeared only blurry to the middle-aged man, clearly captured something else beyond his hand.
Not the outstretched hand, nor the benevolent smile, nor the red plum blossoms, but the sword hanging from the middle-aged man's waist.
The child was looking at the sword.
And the moment he realized that he was that child in his memory looking at the sword.
Seo-jun woke up from his sleep.
“Ah...”
His face naturally grimaced at the morning sunlight squeezing through the curtains.
It was not simply because of the morning sunlight.
“It has been a while since it appeared in my dreams.”
Jin Seo-jun.
Although he did not know why, who did it, or how, he recalled the memories of his past life at a young age.
He had glimpsed the past of a prodigy saved by a passing Taoist, the efforts of a promising and envied rising star, and the responsibility of a giant pillar supporting the orthodox faction.
And in his past life, he.
The Sword God.
He was called that.
“What is the point of being the Sword God in a past life.”
Seo-jun chuckled, drew the curtains, and began to tidy up his bed.
The autumn of his twenty-third year.
It was the start of a daily routine just like any other.
No, or so he thought.
Beep.
Until a text message arrived.