The coldness. The pain of one's regret. All of it fills Yeong-jeon's heart like a flowing river with no stone to block its flow, a stream that continues to flow down.

Numb.

Yeong-jeon's heart sunk into an endless void of unknown emotions. There, he felt numb.

He was unable to open his eyes but the vision of the past played as the numbness sprouted.

The memories of his vulnerable years: where he would constantly beat the disciples for 'training'; when he finally shared a drink with his father. These memories momentarily halted the cold, warming his heart slightly.

He was the best talent in all of Chengdu and, arguably, the best in the world. Yet, he didn't make use of it fully; although he knew of the sect's teachings, his heart didn't let it in fully, like learning something from a book rather than experiencing it.

And in that, he felt regret. And an unexplainable worry for his comrades, friends, and brothers.

He had lost so much, he didn't want to lose anyone anymore. If this is the afterlife, he wishes to not meet his father. He wanted for his father to live a long and fulfilling life. If his father died alongside the others, who would teach the children of the Thunderous Mountains of Chengdu?

"Do you feel regret?"

Yeong-jeon's eyes sprung open. But, there was nothing, only a pitch-dark void. He had been unable to open his eyes until now. Why now? The voice sounded familiar, a voice he feared to hear in the afterlife.

"Yeong-jeon, do you feel regret?"

"Father?"

Yeong-jeon shook his head incredulously. He rejected the idea of his father joining him in the afterlife.

He blamed himself for all of this.

If he had taken the teachings to heart. If he had been given a day to change his ways. If only he was stronger, maybe, he could have shared a drink with his father.

Too late. He realized it all too late. He had taken it all for granted. He had only realized its value once it was taken from him. He clutched himself, wanting to cling to something as he shed his tears.

"Yeong-jeon."

Yeong-jeon glanced up, seeing a faint image of his father, smiling down from above. He wanted to speak but it only came out as a gasp. He reached out his hand, trying to grab something he could not reach.

As they met eyes, his father spoke in a calming tone as if trying to comfort his son's wavering heart.

"Do you have regrets?"

How can he not? He had lived a peaceful life until it was stripped away from him. All his friends and brothers were slaughtered, and they died without even being able to close their eyes. It was unfair. The only fair thing for everyone was death. And yet, he failed to even behead the Heavenly Demon, the man who had caused this bitter end.

"Yes, father. Regrets, I have so much. Please, Father, let me hold your hand..."

"There is no need for regrets, Yeong-jeon," his voice stern and benevolent. "Expel all these negative emotions; that's my only request, Yeong-jeon."

As Yeong-jeon sunk into the darkness, a bright light began to expel from his father's faint image, consuming everything.

"Father! Don't leave me here!"

"Live a fulfilling life, Yeong-jeon."

As the light consumed everything, Yeong-jeon closed his eyes so as not to blind himself. He felt weightless, as though he was being carried away by a current, but instead of the chilling void, there was warmth — a warmth that seemed to wrap around his weary soul.

He wasn't sure how long he remained like that, suspended in the comforting embrace of the light. His father's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to expel his regrets, to live without the weight of the past. But how? How could he let go of the guilt, the pain, the failure?

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The light began to fade, and as it did, he became aware of a soft breeze brushing against his skin.

Tak!

The sound of a coin being tossed into a broken cup awoken Yeong-jeon. He opened his eyes, clutching and hugging himself as he lay in some alley, he glanced up and saw a man who had tossed him a coin.

'Who the hell are you?'

The man scoffed at the sight and walked away.

He stared down at the small, tarnished coin, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. His hands were grimy, his clothes tattered and stained with mud. He lifted one hand to his face, feeling the grit on his skin. It was real. All of it.

He wasn't dead. But he also wasn't the same man he had been before. His hands were short. He inspected his body, and all he saw were bruises that were a bit bright purple, giving a sign that it was a fresh bruise.

"What..."

He rubbed his face, inspecting its features. This was not his old body; it was rather softer but a bit rougher, almost like it hadn't bathed in days.

He gazed down at his hands, smaller and less calloused than they should have been. It wasn't just the physical change that troubled him; it was the overwhelming sense of displacement. This body wasn't his.

He stumbled to his feet, feeling the weight of his limbs and the sluggishness that came with fatigue. His mind, still spinning with the remnants of his encounter with his father, couldn't comprehend how he had come to inhabit another person's body.

'Reincarnation..?'

This was the only answer he thought of at the moment.

He staggered as he walked, his mind racing with an answer to questions that endlessly appeared in his mind.

'If I do reincarnate... then, I must hurry to my sect!'

Thud!

As he staggered, he bumped into a man more than double his size, the man wore a beggar's clothes just like him, tattered and dirty.

The man scoffed.

"You have the strength to stand up and slouch? Then why aren't you begging?! Huh?"

Yeong-jeon glanced up and scoffed too.

He was once renowned as the 'Reverend Thunder of Chengdu', and this beggar was barking orders at him. Unacceptable. How dare such a weakling order him like some sort of a dog begging for crumbs.

"You dare?" Yeong-jeon muttered, his voice filled with disdain. "Do you know who I am?"

The beggar let out a laugh, a guttural sound that echoed in the alley. "You have the guts to boast in front of me? Aren't you a lower-class beggar?" He shoved Yeong-jeon, causing him to stumble back.

Yeong-jeon's instincts flared, his warrior's pride demanding action. But as he tried to summon the strength he once commanded with ease, his body faltered. This was no longer the powerful physique he had cultivated over years of training. His new body was weak, malnourished, and bruised, unfit for the battle.

Before he could react, the man pulled out a bamboo stick from his back and raised it against Yeong-jeon.

"Maybe if I beat you again, you'll learn!"

Yeong-jeon scowled.

"How dare y—"

Thwack!

The man started to repeatedly beat Yeong-jeon with the bamboo stick.

Yeong-jeon was a prodigy of the Thunderous Sky Sect. He had honed his body and mind from any hardships. This was a new body but still, the same mind. Training his mind endlessly in his previous life, he achieved the ability to not react to most damage that came his way.

But the mind differs from the body.

'You only caught me off guard!'

Thwack!

"Stop, you f—"

Thwack!

"I'll slice yo—"

Thwack!

As the beating continued, his threats turned into small whines of help.

"Sorry! He—"

Thwack!

"Spare me, b—"

Thwack!

As he was beaten to a pulp, he lost consciousness; after that, the beating stopped, and the man dragged Yeong-jeon to the nearby beggar branch.

"If I actually kill this kid, I'm in huge trouble."

Yeong-jeon's body was limp as the large beggar dragged him through the muddy alley, the stench of filth filling the air. Every inch of his new form screamed in agony, bruised and beaten beyond recognition. He had never known such weakness, and his pride, once indomitable, was now shattered.

His mind swam in darkness, echoes of his former self clawing at the edges of his consciousness. The Reverend Thunder of Chengdu, reduced to this? He could hardly believe it.

In the haze of his unconsciousness, memories resurfaced. The fierce battles, the respect he commanded, and the weight of responsibility he had once borne. But those memories felt distant now, almost as though they belonged to another person.

"Get up, you worthless scum!"

A rough voice jolted him from the void. His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself in a dimly lit room surrounded by other beggars, all ragged and worn.

The man who had beaten him stood over him, sneering. "This is the beggar's branch. You're nothing here, just like the rest of us."

"Beggars of lower class like you don't deserve a name!"

The lower-class beggars looked at each other with a frown.

Yeong-jeon lay on the cold, filthy ground, his body aching from the savage beating. The man's words echoed in his ears, and his pride screamed in defiance, but his body betrayed him, weak and broken. He could hardly muster the strength to move, let alone respond.

For a moment, he thought about giving in to this new life, letting himself fade into the background like the other beggars around him. But the image of his father flashed in his mind, along with his words.

-Expel all these negative emotions.

But how could he? Everything was gone for him. No, he can't let everything go to waste like his past life. What if after this life, there was no more chance? What will his father think if they meet?

He will be disappointed if he shows his face like this to his father.

"I won't remain like this," Yeong-jeon whispered to himself, though his voice was weak. His body may have been broken, but his will was still alive.

The sneering beggar leaned down, grabbing Yeong-jeon's chin and forcing him to look up. "What did you say?"

Yeong-jeon glared back at him, eyes burning with defiance. "I said... I won't stay like this forever."

The beggar finally let go of his chin and turned away. "You'll learn, eventually," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Or you won't. Either way, it's no skin off my back."

One of the lower-class beggars stepped out and approached Yeong-jeon, offering a hand.

Yeong-jeon wiped the dirt off his lip and took the beggar's hand, slowly standing up.

The beggar smiled and he held Yeong-jeon's body, using himself to support the beaten child.

"I'm Dong-rae. How about you?"

"Yeong-jeon."

"Why… are you helping me?" Yeong-jeon asked, his voice low as Dong-rae helped him shuffle toward a spot away from the crowd of beggars.

Dong-rae smirked, his grip firm but not harsh. "No reason. Not everyone here is cruel for no reason. You're new, and you got beat pretty bad. That's enough reason for me." He shrugged. "Besides, in this place, it's better to have a friend than an enemy."

"Well, you better wash yourself by the river. Come, I'll lead you to it."

Yeong-jeon nodded and let Dong-rae lead him into the riverbank, deep in the woods.

As they reached the riverbank, the sound of rushing water filled his ears. Yeong-jeon knelt by the water, looking into the murky depths. His reflection stared back, a ghost of the man he once was. His features were still familiar, but the fragility of his new body was evident.

Yeong-jeon plunged his hands into the cool water, the sensation both refreshing and painful. He scrubbed at his skin, hoping to wash away the physical dirt and the emotional weight pressing down on him.

If he really did reincarnate, did the war end? If so, who killed the Heavenly Demon? There were so many questions in his mind as he washed his face.

But only one question emerged as the most important.

'The sect!'

"Thunderous Sky Sect!"

Dong-rae raised an eyebrow as Yeong-jeon let out a shout.

"Thunderous what...?"

Yeong-jeon glanced at Dong-rae with a confused look, tilting his head as the water dripped from his face.

"You don't know...?"