Ten years had passed since Jin was born into this world. Ten years since he opened his eyes and realized he was no longer the martial artist he once was.
Jin just woke up and stretched his arms, rotating his shoulders slowly.
"I really can't get used to this body."
Ten years of living here, and it still felt strange. The food, the clothes, even the way people spoke—everything was different from the Murim he once ruled as a Sword Saint.
Mana was the strangest part of all. Back in Murim, qi flowed naturally. Obedient. Familiar. Here, mana felt thick and stubborn, like it had an attitude problem.
But it was close enough to qi that he could make it work… with effort.
He pushed himself up and walked out into the hallway, hands behind his back, acting like a normal noble child even though he hated the attention.
"Jin," a calm voice called.
He turned. His mother, Lady Seraphine Ardelion, stood at the entrance to the manor courtyard. Beside her was the duke, Aldren Ardelion, his father.
The moment he saw them together, he knew.
This wasn't a casual morning greeting.
"…Yeah, no way this is good."
"It's time," his father said.
Jin blinked. "Time for what?"
His mother stepped forward, eyes soft. "Training. You're ten now."
Ah. Right.
"On second thought, this is actually good. For the past five years, I've been secretly training because these damn nobles don't allow you to train until you reach ten," Jin said to himself.
The official age when noble heirs start combat training.
He followed them outside, where dozens of eyes instantly locked onto him.
Guards. Trainees. Senior swordsmen. And the two Archon-level personal guards of his parents.
They stood straight the moment the Duke appeared.
The pressure made any normal ten-year-old sweat. Jin just felt annoyed.
"Great. Now everyone's staring like I'm a baby dragon hatching out of an egg."
"Jin," the duke said. "Today, you begin with the basics."
Several young trainees stepped forward, wooden swords in hand. Jin accepted one from a guard.
Jin gazed at the wooden sword, gripping it tightly.
"This takes me back, it's been a long time since I held a sword. My fingers feel out of practice, and everything feels off."
Beside him, a trainee whispered nervously, "Young Master… y-you look pale. Are you scared?"
"No," Jin said. "Just irritated."
"Irritated?"
"Yeah. This body still doesn't listen to me."
The boy looked confused, but before he could ask more, the senior instructor clapped loudly.
"This body?"
"Positions!"
They began the basic drills.
Feet apart.
Lower stance.
Basic swing.
Repeat.
Jin struggled to keep up, his body lagging behind his memory.
"Damn, I knew it! This body is really weak. If I didn't practiced any body enhancement these past few years, I might not even be able to hold a sword properly."
"Lower your shoulders!"
"Tighten your grip—no, not like that!"
"Balance, Young Master. Balance!"
Jin exhaled.
"I know. I'm trying."
To the guards, he looked like a struggling noble kid. To Jin, it felt like piloting a malfunctioning doll.
Swing.
Adjust.
Swing.
Fix footwork.
Swing.
Bit by bit, the motions aligned. His breathing steadied. His feet settled. His arms remembered.
And then—
Something stirred inside him.
A pulse.
A glow.
A sharp, familiar warmth.
Sword energy.
A thin ripple burst out from his swing—small, but real.
The courtyard froze.
The trainees stopped mid-swing.
The instructors was stunned.
The Archon guards straightened instantly, killing intent flaring for half a second before they realized the source.
"…Did anyone else feel that?"
"That pressure—was that sword force?"
"No way… from a ten-year-old?"
Even his parents exchanged surprised glances.
Jin closed his eyes.
"Ah crap. There it is. The "genius" moment. I hate this part."
The trainee beside him stared like he had witnessed a miracle.
"Young Master… that… that was incredible!"
Jin scratched the back of his head.
"It's not incredible. It's inconvenient."
The senior instructor rushed over. "Young Master, have you trained before?!"
"No. This is literally my first day."
Gasps. Whispering. Excited looks. It was everything Jin didn't want.
But above the noise, something else gnawed at him.
A memory.
A blurry face.
Cold eyes.
A silent betrayal.
His brother in his past life—standing over him, sword in hand, like his mind wasn't his own.
Even after ten years, the image was sharp.
"Why weren't you talking…? Why did you look empty? Why did it feel like someone else was moving you?"
A question he couldn't answer yet.
But he would.
One day, he'd uncover the truth behind that betrayal.
For now… Jin looked at the wooden sword in his hand as dozens of people whispered the word "genius" behind him.
First step: survive being a noble child with ridiculous expectations.
Honestly?
That sounded harder than fighting a thousand martial artists.