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Behold.

Just like the seeds that are sown, sprouting into seedlings, bearing fruit, and then sowing seeds again.

Even if the blossoming flames disappear into the void, that is not the end.

* * *

“Strange. Truly strange.”

Jinseong marveled repeatedly as he gazed at his youthful body.

Even when he opened his mouth, the horrific pain that twisted his jaw was absent, and smoothly, his voice emerged from his vocal cords. Despite speaking, he felt no agony as if his lungs and vocal cords were being squeezed and torn apart.

When he raised his hand to touch his face, the countless gunshot wounds and scars from his mercenary days were nowhere to be found, nor were the numerous self-harm marks he earned during his trance-like states while learning magic.

A clean body.

He had returned not just younger but with a purified form.

What he found even more astonishing was the very place he was in.

“This place is my past; it is truly strange….”

The home he once lived in.

It perfectly matched the space he remembered.

At first, he suspected it was an illusion brought about by excessive pleasure-inducing substances just before death or perhaps the result of some unknown magic, but astonishingly, this place was reality.

‘Even after finishing reality checks and spiritual checks, this place is reality.’

Every element here existed beyond the scope of S-rank illusions or hypnosis, and his shattered psyche was adamant that this place was real, that it was the truth.

Considering all of this…

‘I have returned to the past.’

The remaining truth was a single one.

That he had regressed.

“ॐ—”

Jinseong murmured incantations soothing his mind.

This method of murmuring incantations to calm his thoughts was a piece of wisdom gained from his life as a mercenary and had become a routine. Despite the harsh and horrifying life of a mercenary, to wield power as a shaman, he always had to gather his wits; otherwise, he would not have survived.

“ॐ….”

However, the incantations that had once calmed his heart over many years now struggled to soothe him. The reality of his regression stirred a tremendous tempest within him.

‘Joy and annoyance coexist. It feels like a storm and a turbulent wave are blowing together.’

His heart was engulfed in a storm of emotions.

The strongest of these emotions was, without a doubt, joy.

The joy of potentially changing the fate that had led him to a short life, ruined by his misguided physical self. The thought that he could transcend the limits of humanity through magic and perhaps contain all the magic in the world within his mind brought forth that joy.

Magic was his life’s joy, his purpose, and everything to him.

‘Some would call it obsession, but so what if it is? I am not a penitent or practitioner seeking to break free from the cycle of reincarnation.’

Jinseong was both similar to and different from other shamans. While other shamans sought to transcend existence through asceticism, enlightenment, and practice, he pursued transcendence only for the sake of life.

His means and ends were reversed compared to other shamans.

Because of this, he could not transcend; he ended up pursuing levels of power beyond his reach, leading to his body’s collapse and his untimely death. Ultimately, he suffered endless pain in a body like a corpse until it burned away.

That was all there was to his life.

‘Should I have listened to the wise men?’

The myriad wise men he met during his mercenary career told him.

To abandon obsession.

That if he didn’t release his obsession, an unfortunate end awaited him.

And their predictions became reality.

An end where he led a body akin to a corpse and set himself on fire to die as a final act.

Should someone have witnessed it, they would have called it a shaman’s novel suicidal method, consumed by madness.

Yet, one could argue that it was the most fitting conclusion for him.

There was nothing better than magic to conclude the life he’d lived, consumed by it. Especially since the number of people dying meaningless deaths increased dramatically after World War III broke out, making mercenary deaths seem almost like a gift.

Yet surely, it was certain that Jinseong met his demise without achieving his goal.

He desired life, wished to keep living, and even wanted to continue breathing, no matter how miserable it was.

『Parasite Warlock』

That is why he was called the parasite warlock.

Utilizing magic that mimicked parasitic creatures, he fixated only on magic for survival.

He was unashamed to be a parasite to others, but he lived drawing undue costs for trust without betrayal.

He could not thrive alone but was a shaman who will inevitably survive alone.

That is how he lived as a mercenary, branded with the derisive title of parasite warlock.

‘A single failure, a second chance. However, I truly don’t understand why this has been given to me; it is remarkably strange.’

Because he had lived under such a derogatory title, most of the emotions swirling within him now were joy. But, gradually, another feeling was swelling within him — anxiety.

Why would Jinseong dislike the fortune that had visited him?

Even if money unexpectedly came in, humans would surely feel joy; after all, he had returned in time, grasping a new life. It would be a lie to say he did not want to jump around in delight and scream.

Yet, the evils of all things are often hidden on the other side.

‘Why have I regressed?’

Why, how.

Two haunting questions he learned from his mercenary life that must always arise in his mind.

Being a mercenary was tangled with money, so there were always those eager to stab him in the back; if one let their guard down, it was all too easy to die from a comrade’s betrayal. Especially after World War III, humans on Earth had lost their minds to such an extent that the term “inhuman” barely sufficed to describe them, making it all the more dangerous.

That horrific backstab could come from the nearest and most trusted of clients without hesitation. The most common situation was when clients would manipulate or distort information to avoid paying mercenary fees. The next most common was, after the completion of a task, to try to kill the mercenary with poison or an ambush.

If this was true for the clients, comrades often could be much worse than enemies, and mercenary groups functioned much like criminal organizations.

『Better to have an enemy than a comrade. At least they won’t stab you in the back.』

Such was the phrase mercenaries frequently repeated; their lives had truly descended into utter chaos.

Thus, Jinseong’s life was inevitably intertwined with the two questions of ‘why’ and ‘how.’

Otherwise, he would have died.

‘Why am I back in the past?’

Such experiences led Jinseong to doubt.

Why had he returned to the past, and how had it come to be?

Was some transcendent being toying with him, sending him back for their amusement?

Was he merely a puppet bound by strings, unable to escape fate, condemned to die in despair in the same situation over and over?

Doubts swelled within him, fueled by anxiety, growing horrifically.

“ॐ-”

Jinseong steadied his trembling mind.

‘A transcendent being is unlikely to do such a thing.’

Transcendent beings.

Entities known by various names such as transcendent species, transcendent beings, and so forth.

Gods, ashen beings, dragons, demons, deities, yokai, giants, etc….

The transcendent beings appearing in legends wielded immense power.

Literally transcendence.

They exist beyond the limits of creatures and souls, reaching a certain plane of existence.

Right now, gods could manipulate natural phenomena, and demons were unrivaled in matters of the mind and soul. Deities and yokai wielded tremendous power in their areas of expertise.

Therefore, while many feared them, they also worshipped them, continuing even after these transcendent beings found it increasingly difficult to intervene in the worldly affairs.

‘But there’s no need to overly fear them.’

While it was wise to keep a distance and remain uninvolved, there was no need to regard them as beings to be feared.

Transcendent species, without exception, loved and cared for humans.

However, how their expressions of affection would be interpreted by humans was another story altogether….

‘The transcendent beings have the power to act but choose not to, while humans have the desire to act but lack the power.’

If divided into those who could act yet choose not to and those who wish to act but cannot, one must ponder — how then do events unfold in the world?

While exceptions exist everywhere, they function primarily as games of chance, which can be deemed coincidence.

Coincidence comes by many names, yet what matters is my willingness to accept that coincidence as it is.

“ॐ-”

Jinseong quietly clasped his hands together and calmed his heart.

– Knock, knock, knock.

As he settled his thoughts, a knock sounded as if waiting for him.

When Jinseong turned his head toward the door, a ridiculously ornate door slowly opened, and someone peeked their head in.

“Um, are you awake?”

The one peeking in was a girl who appeared somewhat gloomy.

‘Iserin. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.’

As Jinseong looked at her face, which seemed much younger than he remembered, he was filled with nostalgia.

Though she glanced around, lacking confidence just like in his memories, her hair was now long and black, trailing down in a way that felt strangely like a confirmation of his return to the past, contrasting with his last memory of her having a bob haircut and her bare-skinned complexion.

“U-um, it’s breakfast time…”

With that awkward expression and stretched-out intonation, seemingly eager to insist, “I am awkward around you,” combined with a tone barely above a whisper, she embodied a fragment of the mundane from his memories.

“Oh, Brother? Breakfast….”

“I got it.”

“Yes? Yes.”

As soon as his apathetic reply escaped, Iserin promptly closed the door and disappeared like she’d been waiting for him to respond.

“Speaking of which, this household has its rules.”

Why must there be so many stipulations?

Jinseong chuckled softly as he changed his clothes.

 

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