" What is your name again, Youngest Disciple?" Eldest Senior Brother would often ask me.
In fact, it wasn't just him—my other seniors did the same.
At first, I assumed they were just having trouble remembering it. However, even after I was certain that they had memorized it, they repeated the question as if joking.
They would then say my name again with a smile.
I couldn't help smiling back. " It is Luan, Luan Badniker."
Initially, they mistook Badniker for my first name or believed that my last name was "Lu" and my first name was "An."
Later, I told Eldest Senior Brother that "Luan" was my name, and he nodded as if he understood.
"There used to be a naming format like that," he had remarked.
In this way, my origins seemed to be a bit unusual among my master's five disciples.
My family—the Badnikers were born with immense power due to the ancestral fairy blood flowing through their veins.
They were a monstrous family, unmatched in talent across virtually every field. Their fairy-like good looks were an added bonus.
However, I was different.
Appearance? Objectively, I wasn't unattractive. If anything, I was good-looking. In comparison, though, my family members were so stunning that it was absurd. I was like a plain piece of glass among the finest jewelry.
There was also the matter of talent. It wasn't that I lacked potential—I had none at all.
It wasn't that I didn't understand martial arts. Even though I had no talent, I wasn't stupid. On the contrary, I was good at memorizing and a quick thinker.
My master told me as much. He was stingy with praise, so I knew it was true.
The problem stemmed from my strange constitution, which prevented me from receiving blessings. This was akin to a curse, especially for someone born into a Great Family—a lineage of heroes' descendants.
At the age of fifteen, I failed to receive any blessings during the blessing ceremony.
It was unprecedented in history as the Badnikers typically received at least three blessings and sometimes as many as five.
Naturally, it was unprecedented in a negative way.
I hadn't believed I was that bad before the ceremony.
Tales of heroes, continental powerhouses, and adventures fascinated me, and I longed for such experiences.
That made my despair all the more intense. I honestly wished I could die.
My siblings showed me no sympathy. Most of them looked down on me, treating me like a piece of filth.
The contempt was unbearable. Not long ago, we had been playing with wooden swords together.
"It's okay. You are a Badniker and can participate in the second blessing ceremony. Until then, I will train you," my mother proclaimed.
However, the hatred toward me was so intense that I lacked the confidence to endure until that moment.
Hence, I behaved however I pleased. I didn't even attend an aristocratic school.
In other words, I became a rascal—spending my family's money freely and often verbally abusing my attendants.
My lowest point was when I sold the Badniker family's treasured sword.
I must've gone insane. Why did I get involved in gambling at that time?
That was one of the craziest things I ever did.
Rumors of that spread far and wide, both locally and abroad.
Naturally, my actions tarnished my family's honor. The more radical ones among my siblings drew their swords to kill me.
To be honest, I couldn't understand my father's decree at that time. As the head of the family, he stopped them.
I wasn't killed, but they severed the tendons in my right arm and exiled me to the empire's outskirts. In truth, it was no different from being completely disowned by the Badniker family.
Nevertheless, I still didn't get my act together and continued living like trash.
Afterward, I wandered, first as a knight, then as a bard, and finally as a mercenary.
Although I had no blessings and my arm was damaged, my swordsmanship was decent. I somehow managed to ensure my survival, though peace always eluded me.
Of course, I could only blame myself for all of this.
My pride, rooted in my prestigious family lineage, made it difficult to fit in anywhere. Whenever others tried to approach me with an open mind, I dismissed them, relying on my heritage and status to keep them at arm's length.
Then, when I was twenty, my mother died in a mysterious accident, and I completely lost my grip on reality.
I wandered the continent as though searching for a place to die.
At twenty-five, I finally did. I was caught in the war sparked by the worshippers of the gods of disaster.
My damn life is finally ending here...
As my body turned cold, I felt the sensation of death as surely as I could.
Suddenly, I felt as if I was floating.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in a mountain valley that was shrouded in fog.
"Eh?"
I wasn't wounded anymore.
I was standing there in a daze, unable to understand what was happening when an old man with messy hair and tattered clothing suddenly appeared.
"Hello," he said.
"H-huh?"
The old man grinned. "You will be my disciple starting today."
Naturally, my response was a justified retort to his nonsense. "Old man, you are crazy— ack!"
Before I could finish, the old man struck me hard in the face, forcibly turning my head to the side and nearly dislocating my jaw.
"Why are you speaking so rudely to your master? Do you want me to beat you to death?" he demanded.
"W-who do you think you are? Do you even know who I am?" I asked.
"You? You are my disciple, you son of a bitch."
He punched me again, accompanied by a refreshing laugh.
The conversation didn't last long—I had already been beaten.
That had to be the most painful day of my whole life.
I was astonished that I didn't pass out, but it wasn't because I had exceptional pain tolerance. The crazy old man was just extremely skilled at inflicting pain.
By the time I finally regained my senses, one simple truth had been ingrained in my mind:
I must not offend this old man!
The crazy old man smiled and nodded with satisfaction. "It seems you are finally ready."
From then on, hell—no, training began.
It made no difference what it was called. For me at the time, training was hell, and hell was training.
The words master and demon were synonymous. After all, Bai Luguang was both. Not even all of my relatives who had treated me like garbage combined were as hateful as him.
I couldn't help but resent him... at least initially.
"Stretch your back. Looking at the world from a lower perspective narrows your vision. Didn't I tell you to keep your legs close together? Do you want me to bust your balls, you bastard?"
"Save your breath and keep your head cool. The world is too vast for you to let training get you all worked up. It's full of things that will anger you, just like weeds in a meadow."
"I told you to rid yourself of the servility in your eyes. Who are you looking at? You are the disciple of Bai Luguang, the First Under Heaven. There is no need to bow to anyone but me."
" Hahaha. You have finally assumed a pretty good stance. Well done."
Well done.
I couldn't even remember the last time I heard that.
It had been so long since I stopped receiving compliments. Even my mother, whom I had always looked up to, never praised me despite comforting me.
Instead, I had only been met with unbearable scorn, disgust, and maltreatment that made me feel like nothing more than filth.
The demon, or the one I thought was a demon, eventually became my benefactor.
I was well aware of how hopeless I was. It seemed impossible to correct my flawed mentality without Bai Luguang's violent methods.
In any case, the hellish training continued for nearly a decade.
I took pride in my growing strength, so I started having fun. However, it was also disappointing.
There were only two people on Spirit Mountain, my master and me. Though I was growing stronger, I never got the opportunity to test it properly.
It was impossible not to feel frustrated.
Of course, there were the occasional visits from my seniors, but I was the youngest among us not only in seniority but also ability.
All my senior brothers were extraordinary; each one was a formidable talent handpicked by our master during his travels around the world.
Since my senior brothers rarely visited Spirit Mountain, I had no choice but to fight the monsters that inhabited the area by myself. However, when I reached a certain level, they stopped being worthy opponents.
In the end, only my master could act as my sparring partner. However, although we sparred more than twenty times a day for ten years, I never even managed to graze his collar.
The days passed like this until the incident with my master the previous day.
"Y-Young Master Luan has woken up!"
"O-oh my god! Oh, Baal!"
"Are you okay?"
I woke up as the fifteen-year-old Luan Badniker.
Damn!
***
If someone asked me about the time I wouldn't want to go back to the most, I would tell them about when I was fifteen years old without hesitation.
What was life like for me back then?
I was definitely going through all of that right now.
The moment I woke up, I felt pain throughout my body. I could endure this much, though.
" Uuuhh... "
It was hard to open my eyes due to the swelling.
"Are you okay, Young Master Luan?"
"I'm really glad that you are awake."
"Didn't the butler cross the line this time?"
I struggled to grasp the situation.
My eyes were heavy and difficult to keep open. Still, I glanced down at my arm.
The sight of the bony limb, which appeared to be no more than skin draped over a skeleton, indicated that I had somehow returned to the past.
"Waz going oon...?"
For the record, I said, "What is going on?"
Damn. The inside of my mouth is too damaged.
Fortunately, one of the servants managed to understand my toothless pronunciation. "Don't you remember? You sparred with Arjan, the butler."
Arjan?
"Then you know what happened. The butler went too far."
I remembered Arjan.
She was a young butler in the Badniker household, always dressed in a black suit, a tie, gloves, and a monocle.
I had heard that my father saved her during the territorial war ten years earlier. Since then, she had remained loyal to our family.
"When did that happen?"
After some practice, I managed to speak without mispronouncing words.
"Three days ago," a servant replied.
I had been unconscious for three days?
"What about Arjan?" I asked.
"She is reflecting in the annex and has had nothing but water for the past three days," the servant replied.
"Did I order her to do that?"
"No. She did it voluntarily..."
I couldn't remember this incident very clearly. What had I done to end up like this?
I frowned before the memory resurfaced.
Ah, that's right! I had touched Arjan's sore spot while she was watching the training.
" Then we can start a war! If a war breaks out, I can become far stronger than the butler or the family head!" I had proclaimed.
Arjan had remained silent.
"Am I wrong, Arjan? I heard that heroes are born in times of trouble and war!"
Wow.
I only realized it now, but I was such a huge asshole when I was fifteen.
Arjan was a war orphan. She was only five years old when the war that ravaged the kingdom claimed the lives of her entire family. In a sense, it was almost inevitable for things to break down like this, especially since I had threatened to start a war before someone like her.
One might wonder how a servant could beat up their master. Sadly, Arjan's status in the family was higher than mine.
This incident happened right after I sold the treasured sword. Unlike me, Arjan had earned my father's deep trust and was treated with great respect. She even worked in the main house.
Perhaps my treatment was comparable to that of the lowest-level servant in the family—perhaps just slightly better.
Plus, my father must've entrusted my education to Arjan.
The violence was severe, but evidence showed that it was educational.
Nevertheless, Arjan had reduced me to this state before retreating into solitary confinement and punishing herself. This showcased how strict and unyielding she was.
"Give me a mirror," I said briefly.
One of the servants handed me a mirror.
I looked at my reflection and nodded.
My face was swollen, with lumps and bruises. I looked like the dumplings my master had made for me several times.
My wounds still looked rough on the surface, but they were slowly healing, and the swelling was starting to subside.
If I used the Supreme Art of All Time, wouldn't I already be up and moving by tomorrow or the day after at the latest?
I should rest more first.
It wasn't an exaggeration. I really had no strength left in my body.
I felt weighed down, as though something heavy was pulling my eyelid down.
Still, I forced myself to ask, "By the way, what time is it?"
"It is past 11 p.m. now."
So that was why I was sleepy.
"I understand. You can leave now."
"Huh?"
"I'll call you back if I need anything," I said.
"Ah, I understand."
At this time, I heard a commotion outside the door.
"Y-you can't do this. This is Young Master Luan's room—"
"Then I came to the right place."
"Young Master Luan has just woken up!"
"Isn''t that a good thing? I find it a bit troublesome to collect from an unconscious person."
There seemed to be some type of altercation going on with someone.
The moment I heard the word "collect," though, I jolted wide awake, almost as if I had been doused with cold water.
Creak!
Moments later, the door swung open, revealing a dapper old man.
His white hair and wrinkles indicated that his life was reaching its end. Nevertheless, he still had a straight waist and broad shoulders that even a suit couldn't hide.
The old man surveyed the room with an indifferent expression. The servants who met his eyes quickly lowered their heads in dismay.
Finally, his gaze settled on me.
The old man bowed respectfully. "Excuse me, Young Master Luan. My name is Kayan, a collector."
A brief silence ensued.
Fifteen years old—the worst time of my life, a period I never wished to revisit.
At this age, I had undergone the blessing ceremony, only to be deemed incompetent and effectively disowned by my family.
Even the butler had beaten me severely.
In the end, my arm's tendons were severed.
"I have come to carry out the collection under the family head's orders," Kayan stated.
The man who had once severed my tendons now stood in front of me again with the same purpose as before.
Shit!