Chapter 3: A Second Chance, A Poisoned Body

Luckily, after years of training, I still had a few secret techniques up my sleeve.

They say you never forget the basics, and they were right. Muscle memory kicked in as instinct took over, the same way you reach for the brake when a deer bolts onto the road.

In the instant before my soul was scattered, I drew my sword and slashed toward the mortal world.

It was desperation and hope, all rolled into one—a Hail Mary pass with the clock ticking down. I could feel the sword hum, like the last chorus of your favorite song before the radio cuts out.

On that sword’s energy, I attached a wisp of my original spirit.

It took every ounce of willpower I had, the kind of strength you find at the end of a double shift, running on nothing but cold coffee and stubbornness.

Relying on that strand, I was finally reborn after two thousand years.

I didn’t know what to expect. Time had worn me thin, but I held on—like a letter found decades after it was mailed, waiting for someone to open it at last.

But this time, all my arrogance and pride were gone.

I woke up feeling like a ghost of my old self, stripped of swagger and bravado. The weight of my failures sat heavy on my chest, more real than any wound.

The crushing defeat of my previous life nearly shattered my spirit.

I spent nights staring at the ceiling, haunted by regrets, the way you remember your worst mistakes at 2 AM when you can’t sleep. It was a hard lesson, but one I couldn’t ignore.

The so-called number one genius swordmaster of Silver Hollow—what a joke.

If there were a trophy for wasted potential, I’d have my name etched on it in gold letters. I couldn’t help but laugh at my own expense—sometimes, the truth is just that bitter.

Genius is nothing more than the entry ticket to meet truly great beings.

It was like getting a backstage pass, only to find out the real stars don’t even know your name. All that talent, all that work, and it barely got me a foot in the door.

Once, I saw no one as my equal, thinking myself the very child of destiny.

I’d strut down Main Street like I owned it, convinced the universe had a plan just for me. Turns out, destiny’s a lot less personal than I thought.

Now I finally understand: there is always someone stronger, always a sky beyond the sky.

I learned to look up and see the limits of my own horizon. There’s always another mountain, always another storm coming. Humility isn’t just a lesson—it’s survival.

Reborn in this life, I no longer care to be number one in the world.

These days, I just want a quiet life—a little house on the edge of town, maybe a dog and a garden. The kind of existence where you can watch the sunset without worrying who’s out to get you.

All I wish for is peace and stability, a simple, steady life.

Give me backyard barbecues, Sunday morning cartoons, and the sound of rain on the roof. After everything, that’s the only prize worth fighting for.