Namgung Se-ga, the warrior, was reincarnated in Romance

The foundation of breath control begins with *tonap* (expelling old energy and inhaling new energy). It is a process of breathing, eating, and sometimes reading. It was a time of deep reflection on what had been taken in and expelled from within my body.

Namgung Jeongyeon knew that he did not consider himself to be Michael Ernhardt.

A day passed, a month, a year, and even after ten years, nothing had changed.

In a way, it was natural. The memory of death was not particularly vivid. He knew that it had been more than two years since the *Jeongma Great War* broke out, but he did not live to see the third year.

When he squeezed a ball of rice made from barley mixed with sand and put it into his mouth, when he tested the well water by feeding a rat to drink it, when he stayed up all night for seven days and nights and still sprang up with a start before thirty minutes passed, wiping his parched cheeks, during all those moments, Jeongyeon struggled to discern whether he was alive or dead.

In most cases, he felt alive, but at times, he felt as though he were dead.

Martial artists are strong. They were warriors who learned how to wield swords. They could not master the art of slaughtering people so easily.

The common folk, who lived from day to day, were slaughtered by the likes of the burly *Heukdo* (black bandits).

A third-rate martial artist could crush and kill a group of black bandits. A second-rate martial artist could easily kill a third-rate one. A first-rate martial artist could instantly kill a second-rate one.

No matter how strong someone was, a stronger person always appeared. The days when one could thank the vastness of the martial world and hold the spirit of *Ho-yeon* (lofty righteousness) were long past.

Jeongyeon knew that the applause he received at ten years old for punching black bandits was not so different from the applause he received at forty-two for swiftly slashing through the necks of demon bandits. This, he had been taught, was *righteousness*.

But even those he had killed were ultimately human. He had seen the common folk he had saved return to the mountains as bandits after losing their wives and children. In times when one had to kill evil to avoid being killed, Jeongyeon had severed the arms of that man, knowing that he would not live long.

Was that righteousness? Or was it just justice?

It was a long meditation.

Before being reborn, he often had nightmares.

In his dreams, Namgung Jeongyeon had been a bug, a butterfly, a crane looking down from a high mountain peak, and a beggar crying with a bowl for alms in front of him. At that time, he felt that others knew what he should do better than he did.

The Five Great Families were bloodline-linked sects. In the Namgung family, except for the in-laws, everyone bore the surname Namgung. Jeongyeon, like others in his generation, had received the character *Yeon* (演), meaning “to flow” or “to connect,” as part of his name.

It was a name meant to signify flowing, connecting paths. A name that should not be severed wherever one went. When the *Jeongma Great War* broke out, though many talented warriors had reached the peak, half of those who had once been first-rate died.

He pulled the children who called him “uncle” behind him.

In truth, he wanted to protect them. He didn’t want to lead them to death. They were children of cousins, cousins’ children, and disciples he had personally raised. They were like his own children.

Reluctantly, he led them back into the battlefield. It was the head of the clan’s command. The will of his ancestors, who had handed him the *Changcheon Muae* sword, which had the meaning of both vast skies and boundless freedom. He could not refuse, and once again, many perished.

“Go east,” they went east.

“Go west,” they went west.

“Die,” they died.

And so, they died, and then, like a dream, woke up again. In his place, there were two children, younger than his nephew, who called him “father” and “mother.” Having lived his life trying to survive, he did not know how to die.

Upon listening closely, he realized that the one who called himself “father” was a timid boy who, at a young age, had suddenly acquired a wife and children, not knowing how to handle them. The one who called herself “mother” was a delicate girl who, after growing up in privilege, lost the joy of life after facing her first cold treatment.