'Why...'
Why now, of all times.
Why this exact moment.
There was no need to agonize over the reason.
That phrase about readjusting one's karma.
That bet.
The starting point could only be here.
But if that's the case...
'Couldn't you have given me just a little more time?'
Ban Brother being here meant the other beggar kids had all met different fates.
That boy wasn't the type to abandon his dying beggar brothers and flee.
So his presence here meant that Wi Sowol herself was the only beggar kid he could still save.
In the girl's silence, the boy strained his failing lungs and shouted even louder.
"...Get a grip! Get up now. Run. Run to the mountains and never come back."
The Ban Clan Boy desperately urged the girl on.
He knew it.
He was already too late.
His wound was deep, and the bandits would soon realize he'd escaped.
"There's no time...!"
"I'm fine."
Surprise flashed across the Ban Clan Boy's face at the girl's words.
Her voice was so clear, it was hard to believe she'd been deathly ill just days ago.
Even for a beggar kid who'd seen it all, staying this calm in the face of blood-soaked brothers defied common sense.
Besides, the girl he knew was the smartest among the beggar kids.
She'd teach herself letters from scraps of torn books, and when fights broke out among them, she'd talk them down and make peace without him, their leader, needing to step in.
Such a girl couldn't possibly not grasp how dire this situation was.
And yet...
"Don't worry. I'll handle it."
Why did those words bring him such relief?
The boy, who'd been holding on through sheer desperation to protect his last remaining sibling, felt his body crumble in that instant of ease.
The girl's slender arms caught his falling body, wrapping around it.
In that moment, what the boy felt wasn't her warm body heat, but a chilling numbness that dulled his senses.
"Rest now."
'So cold...'
But it wasn't an unpleasant cold.
The girl gently stroked the back of the boy who'd come running for her sake.
Frost formed along her touch.
The ice that bloomed across the wounds etched into the boy's back stanched the bleeding.
She was controlling the frigid energy of her Nine Yin Absolute Meridian to temporarily stop the blood flow.
If anyone versed in martial arts had witnessed this, they wouldn't just be shocked—they'd be utterly dumbfounded.
By the fact that someone born with an Absolute Meridian could wield its energy with such precision.
Having accomplished this astonishing feat, the girl calmly moved on to the next step.
She pressed a few acupoints to bolster the boy's vital energy as much as possible.
Hemostasis and basic first aid.
But it wasn't enough.
The wound was deep, and he'd lost a lot of blood getting here.
If she could transfer her energy directly, that might help, but the power she harbored was far too sharp and icy for that.
In the end, she'd have to borrow someone else's strength for what came next.
And to do that, she first had to deal with those who'd harmed them.
She gently pried the sword from the boy's hand, which still clutched it even in unconsciousness.
That's right.
This was the first sword she'd ever held in her life.
The boy had likely never wielded one before either.
As his ragged breathing steadied somewhat, the girl belatedly reflected on the Ban Clan Boy's aptitude.
In her past life, it had lingered only as a sad, painful memory.
She'd buried it deep in the recesses of her mind, rarely recalling it.
But thinking back now, this boy with no martial arts training had snatched a sword from an adult man trying to kill him and turned it against him.
He'd taken a mortal wound, yet endured long enough to make it here, revealing not just his prodigious talent but also exceptional bone structure.
A natural genius.
With a proper master, he could have become a peak expert shaking the martial world.
A talent that, through ill fortune, withered unknown in some forgotten corner.
But not this time.
The girl gripped the sword tightly in her small hand and stepped out of the shelter.
She faced those waiting ahead.
"What the hell? Another beggar brat?"
"You got done in by a kid like that? Middle Seven must've been a total retard."
"Nah, the one who killed Middle Seven was different. This one's shorter."
The three thugs traded words among themselves.
Yes, they were just thugs.
Not martial artists.
To the girl's eyes, honed by over a decade in the jianghu, they were nothing more than amateurs.
Their tone already dismissed her as good as dead.
And that's exactly how they saw her.
A tiny frame barely managing to hold a sword.
Matted hair covering her face—no telling what she even looked like.
A bit plump for a beggar, maybe, but only by beggar standards.
The proud sons of the great Black Dao wouldn't dream of falling to a whelp like that.
"Hurry up and finish her. Big Brother's pissed as hell that Middle Seven got offed."
"Tch. Think he'll let it slide if we tear her limbs off?"
Irritated, flippant mutters.
Those were the last words those two ever spoke.
Moonlight swept the ground.
A fragment of pale moonlight sliced through red rain and vanished.
Not even proper martial arts—just a simple swing—and the two thugs' heads lolled askew.
"Huh...?"
The last one couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
What?
What happened?
Why are those two just standing there?
Before he could find answers, his eyes met the girl's.
Eyes swirling with red energy.
Those unwavering crimson orbs held only one emotion.
Killing intent.
And that was the answer he sought.
Sssring—
The sound of flesh parting and bone severing rang out clear and pure, impossibly so.
A perfect slash, mastered in the art of severing a human neck, achieved its purpose without a hint of discord.
The girl, having turned three grown men into corpses in a single breath, calmly flexed her arm.
Her senses felt numb.
Proof that even this brief motion overwhelmed her untrained body.
Without a single proper technique under her belt, relying on will alone to channel the Nine Yin Absolute Meridian's yin energy through her underdeveloped flesh—backlash was inevitable.
But this was fine.
It was enough.
Enough to deliver retribution to those who'd shattered their poor, wretched, but happy days.
Yes, more than enough.
"If you go back, I hope things turn out different," she'd said once, asking if he regretted it while discussing karma.
He'd answered firmly.
I have no regrets.
Even if forced to walk that blood-soaked, corpse-strewn path again.
I'd seize the sword without hesitation.
"My mind hasn't changed."
So this time too, he—she—grasped the sword once more.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Wi Sowol.
She tucked the still-unfamiliar name deep into her memories and walked toward her destination.
Sabak—
Her footsteps were remarkably light.
Unintentionally, even in this unfamiliar body, every action already followed the principles of supreme martial arts.
To the gatekeepers, Wi Sowol's appearance was like a ghost materializing.
"Hey, you..."
"Sto..."
They couldn't even finish their words.
They met their ends.
Gleaming sword light brushed their necks.
Leaving crimson trails.
As their bodies toppled, the girl placed her slender fingers on the gate above and shoved hard.
The gate, left unbarred in trust of the guards, swung open at her touch.
True to its new build, it opened smoothly without a creak, and her small foot stepped through.
She advanced without pause.
From behind her unflinching, fearless back came a thud—something slamming to the ground.
On the floor lay the plaque, split clean in two.
One swing.
In that brief stroke, Wi Sowol hadn't just severed the two guards' necks—she'd cleaved the gate plaque as well.
Without turning, she counted the approaching presences.
'Two on each flank. One ahead heading back... to fetch the boss.'
Putting on sect airs, huh.
Their response was surprisingly organized.
Different from the ragtag thugs slaughtering beggar kids outside.
These were warriors.
True martial artists who'd cultivated techniques.
'Doesn't matter.'
Third-rate, second-rate small fry.
Wi Sowol lightly launched herself at the foes charging with assorted weapons.
She parried the falling axe-saber overhead with her sword, smoothly deflecting it in a yielding circular motion.
Her untrained body. She knew from vast experience that brute force wasn't always best.
As she deflected the axe-saber, Wi Sowol swept her blade in an upward arc. The thrusting sword tip caught on hers and bounced skyward.
In spear terms, it was a blocking technique; with a sword, it approximated the "leap" form of the Eight Eternal Strokes.
She evaded the blade whistling from behind by lightly leaping aside.
No footwork, just wild hacks at openings—blind swings no better than flailing. Wi Sowol wasn't so easy to fell.
Using her Nine Yin Absolute Meridian's chill like inner energy to hover midair, she shifted stance.
Leveraging her small frame, she kicked off the dropped axe-saber and rebounded.
Rotational force gathered at her toes, converting to repulsive power, then back to rotation, erupting in a pale, icy mist.
The foe creeping closer for an opening had no chance to react—his upper body shredded in the whirlwind.
"A master! Fall back!"
Too late, they realized the girl they'd underestimated was no ordinary brat, and hesitated, retreating.
"Just hold out till the boss—no, the sect leader arrives!"
Hope that the sect leader's arrival meant victory.
That force kept their flight instinct in check, rooting them in place.
Wi Sowol didn't care.
No, better this way.
Saved her the trouble of chasing them down.
Today.
All here would die.