The principle of the Reverse Technique was not particularly complicated.

Simply put, it was akin to performing plastic surgery using internal energy.

With shaped internal energy, one could modify the bone structure, stretch or compress the skin, and fix it in place.

Higher-level Reverse Techniques might differ, but there was no need to aim that high for now.

As long as the face looked different at first glance, that was enough.

And Seo-jun, even back in his peak days, had entertained himself by playing cat’s cradle with internal energy.

"Like this?"

Stretch—! His facial muscles and skin shifted here and there.

Watching the sight up close, Red-faced Beggar’s jaw dropped.

“You crazy bastard... That’s disgusting! Get that face out of my sight!”

Although Red-faced Beggar had seen all sorts of strange things in his time, watching a face grotesquely twist and turn in real-time was enough to churn his stomach.

Grinning as he experimented with his newfound control, Seo-jun quickly completed a new face.

“How does it look?”

Red-faced Beggar cracked open an eye, glanced at Seo-jun’s face, and burst out laughing.

“Whose face is that? Damn ugly.”

“This is your face.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“…Unbelievable.”

Looking dejected, Red-faced Beggar fell silent.

Of course, neither of them was being completely serious.

Despite Seo-jun’s skill with internal energy, his artistic sense wasn’t particularly refined, so he hadn’t managed to replicate Red-faced Beggar’s face exactly.

Red-faced Beggar grumbled.

“Why the hell did you ask about the Reverse Technique if you already knew it?”

Seo-jun shamelessly lied.

“Just wanted to see if you knew how to do it.”

“You punk…”

With a loud belch, Red-faced Beggar gulped down the alcohol from his gourd.

“Want a sip?”

He offered some to Seo-jun, who promptly declined upon seeing the oily stains around the mouth of the gourd.

“No thanks.”

“Heh, more for me, then.”

While they were chatting, the booming voice of a referee rang out.

“- The Beggars’ Union’s Sam-gu!”

Seo-jun perked up at the mention of the Beggars’ Union.

“That him?”

“That’s right. Sam-gu. He’s almost thirty—perfect timing for this match.”

So, he was twenty-nine? That made him an elder brother.

Not that Seo-jun planned on calling him that. Even if his face looked like that of someone in their forties, if he had a problem with it, he could always go hit the transcendent level first.

“- The Mount Hua Sect’s Yun Baek!”

This time, the name was one Seo-jun recognized.

“Yun Baek? That Yun Baek?”

Enhancing his vision to take a better look, he confirmed it was indeed Yun Baek.

He was the “Baek-hyung” who’d had drinks with him before leaving Seomseo and who had served as a referee during the Mount Hua sparring tournament.

Who would’ve thought that connection would lead here?

“Maybe Yun Jak is around too?”

The thought of Yun Baek, Yun Jak, Chun-bong, and himself drinking together brought back fond memories.

“Do you know him?” Red-faced Beggar asked.

Seo-jun nodded.

“Probably friends.”

“‘Probably’? What does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if Baek-hyung feels the same…”

“Youngsters these days... Where’s your social skill?”

As Red-faced Beggar chuckled, he let out a sigh while glancing at Sam-gu.

“Honestly, I wish he’d just get beaten badly for once.”

“What? Me?” Seo-jun asked.

“Not you. That punk Sam-gu. Raised too pampered in the Beggars’ Union, and now his arrogance pierces the sky. In the martial world, not knowing your limits will get you killed early.”

Raised pampered in the Beggars’ Union? Was that even possible?

Seo-jun smirked at the absurdity but gestured toward the sparring grounds with his chin.

“Then cheer for Baek-hyung.”

“That’s a bit…”

“Fine! Do whatever you want.”

The match began.

Sam-gu of the Beggars’ Union versus Yun Baek of the Mount Hua Sect.

Sam-gu made the first move.

Sauntering forward with a casual gait, he suddenly twisted his waist and unleashed a fierce strike with his cudgel.

Yun Baek calmly deployed the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Style, parrying the attack and attempting a counter.

“Oh.”

Not taking his eyes off the match, Seo-jun asked, “Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?”

“On who will win.”

“I’ll bet on Mount Hua.”

“Well, so will I.”

“Heh, pointless then.”

At first glance, Sam-gu seemed to have the upper hand.

His cudgel moved swiftly, dominating space and forcing Yun Baek to lose his rhythm a few times due to the Beggars’ Union’s trademark unpredictable fighting style.

“Damn it…!”

But even Sam-gu knew.

None of his strikes were landing cleanly.

The pesky plum blossoms were spreading out, restricting his movements, while Yun Baek’s sword steadily closed in, pressuring him.

It wasn’t a typical Mount Hua sword style.

Mount Hua’s techniques were usually known for their brilliance and aggression, but Yun Baek’s approach was different.

He focused on defense, using the plum blossoms to gradually secure his victory.

“What kind of cowardly nonsense is this?”

Grinding his teeth, Sam-gu unleashed his Dog-Bashing Cudgel Technique.

Contrary to its crude name, Sam-gu’s technique resembled the ferocity of a wild beast.

“Reckless charges are not the mark of a man, but of a fool,” Yun Baek chuckled as he lightly flicked his sword.

The cudgel swung toward his shoulder with great force, but Yun Baek’s sword vibrated against its edge, scattering plum blossoms and deflecting the blow.

Swish!

The force of the strike caused Sam-gu to lose his balance, and his eyes widened.

“You…!”

Using the momentum from his swing, he leapt into the air, twisting his body and kicking multiple times in succession.

Pabababack!

His feet left faint afterimages in the air as he attempted to strike.

Yun Baek smirked.

“You worked hard.”

Already half a step back, safely out of range, Yun Baek initiated his next technique.

Plum Blossom Scatter (梅花紛紛).

The countless red plum blossoms that had spread throughout the sparring grounds began to flutter. The petals, faintly fading, were drawn to the wind of Yun Baek’s sword, swirling chaotically as they surrounded Sam-gu.

“Argh…!”

Though beautiful in appearance, the petals were fragments of sword energy.

As Sam-gu’s screams echoed within the storm of blossoms, the match came to an end.

“- Winner, Yun Baek of the Mount Hua Sect!”

A Shaolin elder had already leapt onto the sparring stage to disperse the blossoms, revealing a bloodied and defeated Sam-gu sitting on the ground.

Yun Baek clasped his hands in a martial salute.

“It was a good match.”

“Damn it…!” Sam-gu groaned.

Forcing himself to return the salute, Sam-gu stormed off the stage in frustration.

“Man, what a personality.”

Clicking his tongue at the sight, Seo-jun caught himself and straightened his posture.

He wasn’t exactly in a position to criticize someone else’s personality.

“This generation sure has a lot of talent,” Red-faced Beggar remarked.

“Really?” Seo-jun asked, tilting his head.

“Absolutely. That brat Sam-gu, as much as his personality sucks, has real skill.”

Seo-jun thought back to Sam-gu’s fighting style.

It exuded a primal and instinctive quality.

In contrast, Yun Baek’s swordsmanship felt composed and restrained.

It wasn’t a flashy display of raw talent but rather a testament to relentless training and effort.

“Impressive.”

Seo-jun occasionally mocked people’s lack of talent, but when he saw such clear results of dedication and effort, he couldn’t help but be impressed.

Not that he mocked effort itself—he mocked people.

When Seo-jun made jabs like, “Why can’t you do this? Maybe you should quit martial arts altogether?” it was simply another way of saying, “I really don’t like you.”

As a casual spectator, Seo-jun quietly continued to observe the Yongbong Gathering.

The second and third matches didn’t feature anyone he recognized.

That is, except for a woman named Hwangbo Hye-ji.

He’d never met her, but considering her affiliation with the Hwangbo Clan, he figured it was safe to say they were halfway acquainted.

Hwangbo Hye-ji’s opponent was from an unfamiliar sect, and the match concluded with her straightforward victory.

Then came the final match of the day.

“- Namgung Myung of the Namgung Clan!”

His little brother.

“- Yeong-ryeong of the Emei Sect!”

A woman from Shaolin.

Her head wasn’t shaved, and her long, tied-up hair reached down to her waist.

As Seo-jun continued fiddling with his face using the Reverse Technique, he spoke up again.

“Wanna bet for real this time?”

“For the record, I’m betting on Namgung Clan.”

“Well, so am I.”

“Figures. A Namgung betting on Namgung only makes sense.”

Scratching his head, Red-faced Beggar nodded as if being generous.

“Heh, fine. Emei isn’t going to go down that easily, though.”

The referee declared the start of the match.

It began with a peculiar stillness.

Both sides drew their swords, studying each other.

Instead of charging, they analyzed the trembling tips of each other’s blades, taking small steps to anticipate their moves.

Suddenly, Namgung Myung stepped forward decisively.

The path his sword carved made Seo-jun’s eyebrows twitch.

“Starting with the Sovereign Sword Form?”

 

Thud—

With a resounding impact, silence descended over the sparring ground.

Clang!

A shattered blade rolled across the floor.

Yeong-ryeong from the Emei Sect swallowed hard. Namgung Myung’s sword had cut through her blade and now rested against her neck.

“…I concede.”

“Well fought.”

With a dazed expression, Yeong-ryeong saluted. Namgung Myung returned the salute as the referee loudly announced:

“- Winner! Namgung Myung of the Namgung Clan!”

Waaaaahhhhhhhhh!

The audience erupted in cheers at the most exhilarating victory of the day.

Seo-jun blinked as he watched in awe.

“…Wow. My little brother’s pretty damn strong.”

That wasn’t just the Sovereign Sword Form at work—it was sheer mastery of swordsmanship.

Yeong-ryeong couldn’t read Namgung Myung’s sword movements at all, while Namgung Myung had completely read and countered hers.

As Seo-jun belatedly joined in the applause, Red-faced Beggar let out a hollow laugh beside him.

“Ha… what a dirty trick. You’d really make a bet on this?”

“Hey, I didn’t know either.”

“Shut it! Tch…”

Grumbling, Red-faced Beggar clicked his tongue.

Seo-jun chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

“Treat me to a meal next time.”

“Feel good about mooching off a beggar?”

“Feels amazing.”

“You little punk.”

Even during the Yongbong Gathering, Seo-jun blatantly ignored the Great General’s glares and slipped away the moment the sparring concluded.

He’d already informed his companions beforehand that he’d be back late due to some business.

And what business was that?

“Kekeke, vermin. Ah, ah. Mic test, mic test. One, two. Hmm… no, maybe I should go deeper.”

In an isolated area, Seo-jun used the Reverse Technique to alter his appearance and even adjust his voice, checking his reflection.

Though he lacked a mirror, anyone at his transcendent level could easily visualize their appearance in their mind.

His new look wasn’t half bad.

In short: middle-aged swagger.

Lacking artistic sense, he’d borrowed inspiration from a real figure—specifically, the Demon of Dissociation, who had once generously donated his Absorption Technique to Seo-jun. Then, he’d added a touch of his own creativity.

“If that guy were in his forties, he’d probably look like this.”

With a smirk, Seo-jun admired his handiwork.

The concept? An arrogant, insufferable martial arts geezer. A legendary grandmaster of the dark arts.

This setup should work perfectly. Being older would also help avoid unnecessary misunderstandings.

His name? Cheon Seo-jun.

A future legend who would someday evolve into Cheonma Seo-jun, the Celestial Demon.

“Alright then, time to stir some chaos.”

The martial world’s troublemaker was on the move.