A Regressor’s Tale of Cultivation Chapter 798 Chapter 794: Primordial Chaos (4)

A biting chill settles in.

The moment that sensation registers, the youth surges from the depths of the water.

Cough, cough!

He retches, spitting out mouthfuls of water, his gaze wandering vacantly across his surroundings.

Huuuuuuup—

Instinctively, he begins the breathing techniques he practiced throughout his entire existence, warming his core and purging the frigid liquid from his lungs.

Simultaneously, his mind sharpens. He organizes fragmented memories and assesses the reality of his current situation.

Tuk— Tuk—

The boy strikes his head lightly, utilizing a subtle application of force to eject the water trapped in his ear canals. Standing up, he finally grasps the truth of his circumstances.

"...The past?"

In his previous life, he was a blind old man who had constructed a massive altar by connecting the constellations, performing a grueling, final ritual.

His final prayer was a simple plea: if a next life existed, let him be spared from misery. Then, he had passed away.

Now, that same soul has regressed to a specific moment of his youth, back to the day he nearly drowned.

The former blind man, now a young boy, makes a rapid calculation.

There is no time to indulge in nostalgia.

Huup—

He inhales deeply once more, using his breath to seize absolute mastery over his physical form.

Igniting the life force within his small frame, he bursts forward with a velocity that should be impossible for a seven-year-old child.

Though this unnatural exertion withers a portion of his lifespan, the boy does not hesitate.

Action is the only priority now.

Paatt!

Moving at a transcendent speed, he reaches the dilapidated thatched cottage he once shared with his mother.

He throws the door open and rushes to her side.

Checking her pulse instantly, he prepares to do what he failed to achieve before his regression.

Tuk, tuk, tuk!

He strikes various acupoints across her body, desperately stimulating her waning life force.

His knowledge of the ways to end a life is limitless.

In his first life, countless souls had perished by his hand.

The mechanics of the human frame and the essence of life were simple concepts to him.

He had spent a lifetime cutting, dissecting, and peeling back the layers of mortality.

Before long, his mother’s eyes flutter open, and she offers him a faint smile.

"My child... my dear baby..."

"I am here, Mother. I am right here."

The boy grips her hand tightly, his voice trembling with emotion.

A spark of vitality returns to her eyes, filled with maternal warmth and resolve.

"It is freezing out there. You must remember to dress warmly."

"I will, Mother. I promise to stay warm."

"That is good... such a... good boy..."

With those final words, she gazes at him with pure affection and falls silent.

Whoooooosh—

A bitter gust of wind rattles the house from the outside.

The boy bows his head low.

Despite his efforts to jumpstart her life force by opening her meridians, he was already too late.

Ultimately, the only thing his regression changed was his presence at her bedside to hear her final breath.

The conclusion remained the same.

The boy understood this reality all too well.

In his former life, even the transcendents who ruled the Cosmic Great Desolation cowered before him, surrendering their ancient wisdom in fear.

Even the masters of galaxies—where countless stars cluster—and the terrifying divine spirits capable of consuming those very galaxies...

Even the deities who manipulated the lifespans of mortals and spirits alike...

Every one of them had knelt in terror, answering his every whim.

By the end of that life, he had the opportunity to transcend the cycle of birth and death, to join the pantheon as a divinity himself.

The envoy of the Chief God, the sovereign of the Cosmic Great Desolation, had even offered him the Seat of the God of War. He could have enjoyed eternal, undying existence.

Instead, he rejected it all. In a lonely corner of the vast Astral Realm, he built an altar of starlight and prayed unceasingly until his death.

Even if he became immortal...

The agony, the misfortune, and the crushing grief of that life could never be balanced.

He had wished to erase his own identity, to become fuel for future generations, and to be reborn as something entirely different.

"The first... principle of history..."

Time that has flowed past does not return.

The past is [absolutely] unchangeable.

Even if a being possesses the power to reverse time...

History will merely repeat itself within that reversed timeline.

This was the grim truth he learned while hunting and slaughtering gods and transcendents during his first life.

"If this is the law... then why was I sent back at all...?"

The boy lets out a pained groan directed at whatever unknown force facilitated his return, sobbing bitterly over his mother's remains.

Even the God-Killer, who had slain deities, could not alter the current of established history.

He couldn't even extend the fleeting life of a mortal mother.

On this, the first day of his return, the former blind man realizes deep in his soul that the past cannot truly be undone.

After laying his mother to rest, the boy begins the slow process of reclaiming the Cultivation he once possessed.

It is a power that can reshape reality through sheer will.

A hidden technique that isolates the self from the world's influence, allowing one to bypass natural laws and perform miracles.

The Star Extinguishing True Chapter, Revised.

Darkness World.

He seals his senses of hearing, taste, touch, and smell. Even the basic sixth sense shared by all living things is suppressed.

He directs his entire focus toward his intent—the seventh sense—allowing him to perceive the fundamental structure of existence.

The Law of Causality, appearing like a vast web, enters his vision. The boy severs several threads of causality around him and draws them inward.

Having consumed these fragments of law, he recalibrates the principles governing his own body. He leaves the cottage and begins to walk down the path.

In his hand, he clutches his mother’s pearl hairpin, her only keepsake.

He travels slowly toward a specific destination: the neighboring village across the mountain.

He enters the village market to find a person from his previous life.

"Hah, please... a single coin for a wretch... just one coin..."

Though his hearing is sealed, he perceives the vibrations of the Law of Causality through his seventh sense. The boy stares at the face of the crippled beggar pleading before him.

'So, this is what he looked like?'

He crouches down in front of the man and speaks.

"Hey, you."

"Aigo, Young Master! Please, show mercy to this wretch with a single coin."

The boy contemplates.

'The course of history remains fixed. However...'

The boy has sacrificed his other senses, but unlike his first life, he is not blind. He was there for his mother's final moments and heard her last words.

Even if he couldn't save her life...

'Could a small change... just a tiny one... be possible?'

Clinging to a sliver of hope, he thinks back to the time before his regression.

He remembers the first life, when this crippled man had approached a blind boy with feigned kindness, offering friendship.

Back then, the man didn't act like a servant to a master.

"Let’s be friends. I’ll be your legs."

Recalling that old bond and hoping that perhaps people can change, the boy makes a proposal.

The crippled beggar looks at him in confusion and stammers a question.

"W-Why? Why would someone like you want anything to do with a beggar like me...?"

"I am a beggar as well. I’ll carry you on my back, and we can beg together. What do you say?"

"B-But... you don't seem to have any injuries... why would you want to be with a cripple...?"

The boy remembers the man from his previous life. That man had tried to sell his mother's hairpin to a merchant, only to be caught and slaughtered by the boy in a fit of rage.

'Was he truly evil by nature? Or was it his circumstances that drove him to it?'

"...I was blind once, too."

"W-What...?"

"But..."

The boy gives a small smile and continues,

"I prayed to the Heavens... I prayed until the Heavens finally restored my sight."

"W-What...?"

"So... I want us to be friends. Travel with me, and we will pray together. Perhaps the Heavens will heal your legs as well."

Smiling softly, he lifts the crippled man onto his back. Overwhelmed by this unprecedented kindness, the man is stunned for a moment before he begins to sob quietly against the boy's shoulder.

"Kkeuk... kkeuk..."

The beggar is weeping, his emotions finally overflowing.

Listening to the man's heartbeat and the resonance of his soul, the boy realizes the man is genuinely moved.

"Stay with me. Even if the Heavens ignore us, I will find a way to fix your legs."

The boy ponders the mystery of his regression.

Even now, he doesn't understand the mechanics of it.

One theory is that his mastery of killing techniques reached a pinnacle where his footwork and skills transcended the boundaries of time itself.

Another possibility involves the altar he built. It was modeled after one he saw in a hidden cavern where he found the Star Extinguishing True Chapter—an 'altar of wishes.' Legend claimed that a wish made there would be granted by God. Perhaps his final prayer was answered in this manner.

Lastly, at the moment of his death,

He felt the touch of a transcendent being upon his soul, awakening something dormant within him.

He doesn't know which of these three paths brought him back.

But one thing is certain.

'Past time doesn't return, and the flow of history is immutable. But... if it's something minor...'

Like retaining his sight by sacrificing other senses.

Like being present for his mother's passing.

Or making this first encounter with his crippled friend slightly different.

Destiny might be fixed, but the nature of the connections within it might be malleable.

'If these are small things... can I change them?'

Though the logic escapes him, his return likely stems from his own desire to escape his misery.

'In this life... can I find salvation?'

Can he find a reward for the suffering of his first existence?

The boy holds onto hope, and this crippled friend is his first experiment.

He begs alongside him, but unlike before, he teaches the man tricks and breathing exercises. He hunts a tiger on South Mountain to provide him with wealth from its hide, and he slays a man-eating flood dragon beneath a bridge, feeding its Inner Core to his friend.

As a result, the man gains riches and regains the ability to walk.

"Th-Thank you, Blackie... thank you so much...!"

A year passes.

In that time, the friend gives the boy the name 'Blackie.'

It is the same name from his previous life. Because the boy always wore black to mourn his mother, the friend called him 'Blackie.'

"It's nothing. We are friends."

Blackie embraces him and smiles.

One year—the exact amount of time they spent together in the first life. During this period, he found a glimmer of hope.

And today is the anniversary of their meeting—the day the friend betrayed him and sold the keepsake in the original timeline.

'The merchant who would have tempted him... I've already killed him.'

He senses no malice or greed within his friend's heart.

He healed his legs. He removed his tempters. He eradicated the poverty that might fuel his greed. He showed no weakness, like blindness, for the man to exploit.

Because the circumstances have changed, betrayal should not follow. The ripples of intent he senses confirm that the boy's heart is not wicked.

'If it's just a little... I can change it.'

Of course, since the boy's lifespan was destined to end today, he might still face death.

But just as he was there for his mother,

The manner of his friend's death could be different. He could remember him as a true friend rather than a traitor.

If Blackie can achieve just that...

Then the part of his heart that suffered in the first life—the knots of pain and resentment—might finally be healed.

With that thought, he vows that if his friend remains loyal, he will slay even the gods of lifespan to save him.

Then, night falls.

Puuuk—

Blink—

Blackie gazes down at the blade buried in his flesh.

"Y-You monster... what kind of eight-year-old doesn't even scream when stabbed...!?"

Blackie looks up. It is the village butchers.

He knows them to be men of low character who occasionally kill for money.

Crack—

Blackie shatters the blade with his bare hand and pulls it out. He seizes the butcher who stabbed him and hurls him aside with one hand.

Kwaang!

The man crashes through the ceiling, vanishing into the night as a broken mass of flesh.

Blackie’s eyes are cold and clear.

"D-Don't move, you freak! If you move, I'll kill your only friend!"

"Heuheuk... B-Blackie..."

He looks at his friend, held captive by the other butchers.

In this life, his friend did not betray him.

Those attacking him now are merely common thugs with no connection to him.

That realization alone brings him a sense of peace.

Crunch—

In a heartbeat, all the butchers are dead.

The room where Blackie slept is obliterated by a sudden burst of pressure and shockwaves. The manor courtyard, bathed in moonlight, comes into view.

"Do not fear. You will not die today."

Under the moon's glow, a horde of assassins, bandits, and mercenaries—perhaps sent by an instigator—surround them with weapons drawn.

Blackie looks calmly at his friend, who is still just a child.

"Because you are my friend. Even if your time is up... I will destroy the power of the god who governs lifespans to keep you alive. So do not worry..."

Puuuk—

"...Fri...end..."

Blackie lo