Chapter 2: The Prodigal Son Returns (1)

“This is maddening.”

Shut away in the Ancestral Hall, Yeon Hojeong muttered to himself.

“Merciless as ever, I see.”

After the memorial rites, his father had returned to the office and decided his punishment in a single phrase:

“For three days, remain in the Ancestral Hall and spend the time repenting before our forebears.”

With that, his father had immediately turned to his duties without so much as a glance at Hojeong.

Oddly enough, that coldness was reassuring. With the passing of time, memory often dulls or distorts—but his father was exactly as he remembered.

That gave it all a sense of reality. It confirmed he had truly returned to the past.

...Of course, being locked away for three whole days wasn’t exactly welcome.

Resting his head against the wall, Hojeong’s face once again filled with doubt.

“How is something like this even possible?”

That had been the question occupying him most since he was first confined.

He didn’t know if an afterlife existed, but he was certain at least that the dead didn’t return to the past. If everyone who died went back in time, the world would already be in chaos.

In other words, his return was anything but ordinary.

“I need to know the reason. A phenomenon without cause will one day become a problem.”

The same was true of martial arts. Every accomplishment beyond sheer effort had a reason behind it. Ignore that, and it could one day cost your life.

That was why he couldn’t simply rejoice over his return.

Lost in thought for a long time, he sighed.

“Damn it, this isn’t the kind of problem you solve by brooding on it.”

At the very least, you needed some foundation of knowledge to draw inferences.

After a while, Hojeong abandoned the worry.

“Anyway, there’s no sign of anything suspicious, so for now that’ll have to be enough.”

His body had returned with him, reverting to that of his youth.

But his soul—his hon—remained that of the Lord of the Black Emperor’s Citadel, the First Grandmaster of the Demonic Path, the Dark Emperor.

His senses, sharpened far beyond human limits, whispered to him: It’s fine. You won’t find answers by fretting. Let it go—for now.

Casting off his worries lifted his mood.

“To relive a life already spent... to cast away regrets, to undo missed chances...”

His chest quickened with excitement.

In his younger years, he had made many mistakes. More accurately, they were the desperate flailing of a timid boy unable to adapt to his surroundings.

And he regretted them deeply.

If only he had been calmer, more cautious, braver—

His past could have been so very different.

As he smiled bitterly at the thought, his eyes suddenly widened.

“Wait a second. This isn’t just any small matter, is it?”

It wasn’t only the mystery of his return that struck him.

He sprang up without realizing.

“How old am I right now?”

It had to be earlier than twenty-six years ago, since the clan still stood and peace prevailed.

That meant he wasn’t yet twenty.

“Judging by Jipyeong’s appearance, he’s about fifteen or sixteen. Then that makes me eighteen or nineteen?”

No matter how great the martial skill he had gained, this was far too far back. Just seeing his father and brother wasn’t enough to pin down the exact year.

He had lived too long, forgetting the past and running headlong forward.

“Then...?”

The weather marked it as autumn.

Which meant—at shortest, six months; at longest, a year and a half remained until the annihilation of the clan.

“Damn it all!”

Urgency clenched his heart. This wasn’t the time to sit calmly through punishment.

Hojeong hurried to open the doors of the Ancestral Hall.

Clatter!

“Ah?!”

He froze, staring at the boy standing just outside.

Skin pale as snow, tall for his age but with clear eyes and a youthful, endearing face.

“Jipyeong?”

“Brother? Where are you going?”

“Uh? Oh... well...”

Come to think of it, even if he went out, he had nowhere to go. It had been nothing more than an instinctive reaction to realizing time was short.

Yeon Jipyeong blinked rapidly.

“You’re not supposed to leave the Ancestral Hall, right? Didn’t Father say three days of punishment?”

“...Right.”

“Geez! You can’t. The Flying Hawk Squad is patrolling nearby. If they catch you, Father will...”

Jipyeong drew a hand across his throat in a cutting gesture. Menacing enough, though with such an innocent expression it was almost comical.

“But why are you here?”

“Heh, there’s a shortcut from my quarters through the woods behind the hall. I dug a little crawl hole.”

“A crawl hole?”

“Yes.”

“What for...?”

From his robes, Jipyeong pulled out a thick bundle and held it up proudly.

“Tada!”

“...?”

“...”

“What’s that?”

Scratching his head shyly, Jipyeong mumbled:

“Rice balls.”

“Rice balls?”

“Even if it’s punishment, isn’t making you starve a bit much? Surviving three days on nothing but water—I don’t think that’s right.”

“What if Father finds out?”

“Eh, like he’d punish me over this.”

Oh, he very well might.

Still, with rice balls already delivered, Hojeong couldn’t exactly refuse.

“Come in.”

“Yes!”

Delighted, Jipyeong bounded in and quickly unwrapped the bundle. Steam rose faintly from three hefty rice balls.

Hojeong picked one up—it was nearly the size of his face.

“You must be hungry. Eat up. I’ll bring more tomorrow.”

Staring down at the rice ball, Hojeong turned his gaze to Jipyeong.

His younger brother’s face beamed with unclouded joy. Yet beneath that smile, Hojeong could sense a faint, restless unease.

And he knew better than anyone what that unease was.

“Jipyeong.”

“Yes?”

He hesitated, unsure how to begin.

Now that they faced each other, his past mistakes felt sharper, heavier. Everyone has regrets, but none pierced him deeper than those tied to his younger brother.

And it wasn’t something to delay.

After struggling a moment, Hojeong spoke plainly.

“I’m sorry—for everything.”

The apology was so sudden that Jipyeong was startled.

“Huh? Sorry for what?”

“I was a wretched fool. I let petty pride—pride worth less than stew meat—turn me into a small man who envied his own brother. Instead of supporting your growth, I resented it.”

He bowed his head.

“I’m sorry. From now on, that won’t happen again.”

“B-Brother! Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”

“I’m not apologizing to beg forgiveness. I just want to admit my wrongs and tell you I won’t repeat them. That’s all.”

Back before the annihilation of the Yeon Clan—

Hojeong had harbored bitter hatred for Jipyeong.

Not for any other reason than this: Jipyeong’s talent outshone every record in clan history.

Hojeong’s own gifts were respectable, but compared to his younger brother, they were nothing. What Hojeong had built over five years of blood and sweat, Jipyeong could achieve in under three.

In childhood, their bond had been strong, closer than most brothers.

But when Hojeong turned fifteen, rumors spread that the position of Young Clan Lord might go to either brother.

From then on, Hojeong closed his heart. He grew jealous, resentful, even treating Jipyeong as if he didn’t exist.

“What a fool I was.”

What was that petty title of Young Clan Lord worth?

Only after the clan fell, and his kin lay dead, did he realize how pathetic it was to let positions come between family.

And he realized too—

That despite himself, despite all his denial, he had always loved his father and brother.

It had taken him far too long to understand. And by then, he had already missed the chance to say so.

So he had carried that truth, buried in his heart, for the rest of his life.

“I won’t drag this ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) out. I’m sorry. Over and over, I’m sorry. Even if you hate me until your dying day, I won’t resent you for it.”

“Brother...”

Jipyeong’s eyes brimmed red.

It was because he had sensed something at the rites—something different in his brother’s gaze—that he had dared to bring rice balls. Hopeful that maybe, just maybe, his brother no longer despised him.

And he had been right. His brother no longer hated him, no longer looked on him with contempt.

“Uuuhhh...”

Overcome, Jipyeong burst into tears.

Hojeong felt a pang of pity mixed with awkwardness.

His brother was a kind soul. Such a reaction was only natural.

But to Hojeong, who had lived as master of the Demonic Path, this was rare indeed.

The weak, pitied? Nonsense.

The weak were to be crushed, killed, exploited. That was the law of survival in the demonic world. Pity was for prey, not kin.

And in that gulf of time and feeling, he knew once again—he had truly returned to the past.

After a while, Jipyeong managed to compose himself.

“I’m sorry. I made a scene before you.”

“What nonsense. I told you, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“No... it’s all my fault. Why are you the one apologizing?”

He meant it, every word. That only made Hojeong feel more guilt—and gratitude.

Settling down, Jipyeong grinned, relieved that their bond was mended.

Hojeong, almost without thinking, threw out a line:

“They say if you cry and laugh at the same time, you’ll grow hair on your ass.”

“Huh?”

“....”

“...?”

Hojeong had no talent for jokes.

Some things, he thought with a dry cough, should never be forced. His face hardened a moment later.

Even that shift in expression was enough to make Jipyeong tense.

“Jipyeong.”

“Yes?”

“How old are you right now?”

His brother blinked. Such a question, out of nowhere?

“Fifteen.”

“Then I’m eighteen, aren’t I?”

“Uh... y-yes?”

Relief washed over him. Not six months, but a year and a half remained.

Still—not enough to relax.

“You—how far have you come with the Flying Swallow Heart Method...?”

At that moment, sounds came from outside the hall.

“Second Young Master.”

The voice was rigid, impersonal. Jipyeong’s face drained pale.

“We know you’re inside. I’m coming in.”

Creeeak.

The door swung open, and a burly man entered.

At his left waist hung a longsword; on his back, a heavy saber. His eyes were sharp, his entire body radiating military discipline.

It was Kang Yun, Captain of the Flying Hawk Squad.

“It’s time you came out.”

He didn’t spare Hojeong so much as a glance.

Hojeong nodded.

“Go on.”

“...I’ll see you in three days, Brother.”

“I know.”

Jipyeong rose.

Kang Yun spoke.

“You must take everything you brought with you.”

“Huh?”

Kang Yun said nothing more, only fixed Jipyeong with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Jipyeong bit his lip.

“These rice balls—I worked hard to bring them. Doesn’t repentance still require strength?”

“That is not for me to judge. What I know is this: the Yeon Clan’s system of reward and punishment applies equally to kin. This was the Clan Lord’s decree, and it must be carried out as such.”

The words brooked no dissent.

Hojeong bundled up the rice balls and handed them to Jipyeong. His brother bowed his head low.

“I-I’ll buy you something delicious in three days.”

“I know.”

Kang Yun’s eyes flashed.

Everyone in the clan knew the brothers did not get along. But today, something seemed different.

“Let’s go.”

“...All right.”

Jipyeong’s steps dragged, heavy with reluctance.

As Kang Yun moved to shut the door—

“Captain Kang.”

“Yes, Young Master?”

“The rice balls were at my request. When you report, note that.”

Kang Yun’s eyes flashed once more.

“I will.”

Thud.

The doors closed.

Hojeong smiled faintly.

“Never thought such a stiff atmosphere could feel this thrilling.”