The Second Salvation Myth of a Retired Regressed Hero

Reincarnation. Possession. Time travel. Any of those explanations.

It defied rational logic. The great hero Enoch Ruszvolnik had undoubtedly perished at the hands of the previous Demon Lord – an indisputable fact so self-evident that it had become part of history itself, beyond any doubt.

And yet his instincts as the captain of the Demon Lord’s elite assassination squad screamed in convulsions that the being before him was none other than Enoch Ruszvolnik himself.

While his reason vehemently denied it, his intuition grabbed rationality by the collar, shaking it violently. Confusion reigned.

But his body, rigorously trained as an assassin, mechanically moved towards its target.

The target’s identity didn’t matter. He simply had to assassinate the target – that was all there was to it.

Shhh-

Doyun and the minister simultaneously inhaled. Their first breaths.

One second passed.

The minister already had a jet-black dagger in his other hand, swinging it silently towards Doyun’s neck in an utterly stealthy attack without the whisper of cleaving air.

Doyun arched his neck back, evading the dagger. But mid-slice, it whirled around, the reverse grip stabbing towards his throat.

Twisting his head, Doyun dodged the consecutive strikes, but the blade’s tip grazed along his jaw to ear, leaving a long gash. Simultaneously, the other dagger thrust towards Doyun’s heart while the previously evaded one hammered down towards the top of his head.

The relentless onslaught only accelerated without respite. Soon, the minister’s blades had multiplied into scores, encircling Doyun from all angles in a tightening noose.

It was an assault Doyun couldn’t fully withstand. Leaping back while twisting his body, he could only evade the lethal strikes targeting his vitals.

It was the pinnacle of evasive maneuvering using a hero’s combat senses, but Doyun’s body couldn’t keep up, inevitably suffering cuts from the blades he failed to fully avoid.

Red lines were carved across his shoulders, collarbones, chest, sides, and thighs as crimson droplets scattered through the shadowed air.

The first breath ended. Four seconds had passed.

‘I can’t win.’

Before his feet could touch the ground, Doyun had already reached that conclusion.

While his eyes and combat senses tracked every strike, his body couldn’t follow his mind’s commands.

Compared to Enoch’s prime, the current Han Doyun was utterly lacking. His physical specs as a divine beast weren’t too far behind, but the mana differential was staggering.

Calculations whirred in his mind, the outcome clear – his head would roll in 10 seconds.

But Doyun’s golden irises remained utterly calm, the threat of death an everyday occurrence for him.

He had always fought battles he couldn’t win, yet always prevailed – thus earning him the title of ‘hero’.

For one born a lowly peasant who had toppled the Demon Lord, nothing was impossible.

Doyun swiftly assessed the battlefield.

He detected the minister’s breathing subtly trembling – undoubtedly the ‘bewilderment’ slipping through even an assassin’s steeled composure.

The reason was easy to surmise.

‘This dagger style is the Shadow Blade of the Demon Lord’s elite assassination squad.’

Moreover, the technique’s mastery was perfection itself. While the Holy Stone’s influence had reduced his output, his skills ranked among the squad’s strongest.

‘One I fought 100 years ago.’

Just as Doyun had recognized him, the minister must have seen Enoch in Doyun, his confusion stemming from that.

Victory was impossible. But from the moment Doyun had lured him to this secluded area, he had been prepared.

‘One breath.’

If he could capitalize on the minister’s disarray for just one breath, it would suffice.

An instant’s opportunity. With his calculations complete, Doyun moved.

And so, Doyun and the minister inhaled their second breaths.

Four more seconds passed.

As Doyun spun through the air to land, he planted his right foot on the ground. The minister didn’t miss it.

Just before Doyun’s outstretched ankle touched down, the dagger slashed towards it.

Soundlessly, the jet-black dagger passed through Doyun’s ankle. Yet Doyun landed perfectly unharmed.

The minister narrowed his eyes.

It had clearly seemed to slice through the ankle, yet his hand felt no impact – Doyun’s signature evasive technique demonstrated against Torn during the tournament.

And simultaneously, it was the same evasion the minister recalled from facing Enoch a century ago.

The minister’s breathing hitched ever so slightly.

‘Five seconds.’

The second breath ended, and the third began.

Imperceptibly, Doyun’s breaths became faster.

The minister swung his dagger towards Doyun’s side – a lethal strike that could bisect his waist if it struck true.

But it was a feint, the real attack being the soundless, invisibly slashing blade aiming for Doyun’s neck – the Shadow Blade’s Phantom Sword technique.

Yet Doyun was intimately familiar with this move. Spinning his body, he evaded both strikes by a paper-thin margin.

Using that rotational momentum, he drew his sword from its sheath.

The emerging blade shone brilliantly wreathed in golden sword-ki, accelerating mid-swing to seemingly vanish, leaving only a golden afterimage trailing behind as the blade transformed into light itself.

The draw imbued with Localized Acceleration – the true Golden Brilliant Sword, unlike the previous feint.

Just as Doyun was familiar with the Shadow Blade, the minister recognized Doyun’s skill without missing a beat, simply dodging the strike with a bend of his body rather than flustering at the dazzling swordplay.

But his pupils still trembled greatly as he watched the golden afterimage.

The sword accelerated with manifested sword-ki, exactly as the minstrels had portrayed Enoch’s signature move seared into the minister’s memories.

The minister’s breathing hitched again.

‘Eight seconds.’

The third breath ended, and the fourth began.

This time, Doyun was one breath ahead.

Doyun’s iron practice blade couldn’t withstand the sword-ki, shattering into shrapnel mid-air despite only cleaving the empty void, the instant it reached its target.

The fragments still glowing with residual golden aura twinkled like a scattered starfield within the shadowed space, resembling a yellow galactic river.

Amidst that starry expanse, the minister’s blade whirled.

The jet-black dagger devoured light, leaving a dark trail as if painting the void itself in blackness.

Another relentless onslaught like before – dozens of visible sword strikes coupled with invisible Phantom Sword feints targeting Doyun’s vitals from blind angles.

Evasion was impossible. Doyun had already expended his turn in that exchange of blows, and his wounded body wouldn’t respond properly.

The 10th second’s assault to claim Doyun’s life.

Within that brilliantly shining galactic river, countless blades scythed in a black crescent arc, the dark moonlight butchering Doyun’s body in crimson streaks.

A blade gouged his eye, robbing him of sight on one side. His shoulder was deeply cloven, arm dangling limply. His punctured lung drowned him in his own blood, severed fingers spinning through the air. Doyun’s body was reduced to tattered ruin.

The onslaught persisted relentlessly. And in its final moments, the minister’s left dagger buried itself in Doyun’s side.

Ten seconds.

‘It’s over, Ruszvolnik.’

His right hand slashed towards Doyun’s neck – the predetermined 10-second death sentence.

But Doyun had already grasped the flow of the battle.

‘Deflecting a ton with four ounces.’

He had been one breath ahead of the minister all along.

Kwaaaang!

Doyun’s right foot stomped into the ground, the shockwave rippling outward in concentric circles, shaking even the building itself.

The first resounding noise amidst their otherwise silent duel where even sound had been devoured.

As the tremors caused the minister’s blade to miss its mark, grazing Doyun’s throat in a hair’s breadth to cleave empty air instead, even the tiger’s whiskers bristled from that shockwave’s impact.

The minister whipped his missed strike into a reverse grip mid-swing, thrusting towards Doyun’s throat.

But in that moment, he realized.

‘Ah.’

His instincts screamed.

‘Retreat.’

He should have disengaged without counterattacking. There would be no more chances to kill Ruszvolnik.

One breath – he had fallen short by just one breath to take the kill.

Looking down, Ruszvolnik grinned smugly, gripping the minister’s hand impaled in his own side to prevent its withdrawal.

And then.

‘Danger…!’

Kwaaaaaang!!

With a deafening roar like a raging storm, the building’s wall exploded inwards.

Doyun witnessed a thick hurricane gust past his vision, a whirling vortex of razor winds horizontally scything through the area where he and the minister had stood.

And at its center, an ivory-white javelin rotating as it cleaved the air, embodying the ‘Revolving Heaven’ piercing technique of formidable penetrative force.

Thud…

“…”

The minister’s body was flung far away, slamming through the opposite outer wall and burying into the rubble.

Between the shattered building wall and the minister’s remains was a perfectly cylindrical air tunnel, an echoing aftermath akin to vastly magnifying a bullet’s path.

“Tsk…”

From the billowing dust cloud, someone gripping that ivory javelin emerged, footsteps heavy.

“What sort of ruckus is this?”

Brushing his bangs aside with his palm, he muttered in vexation, thick tiger-like facial folds rippling.

“You’re late.”

The one who had inherited the ‘Ruszvolnik (Warrior)’ title, known as the ‘White Tiger’ of Vielorn.

“Noisy bunch.”

The hero, Haineken.