BFLT 1

Episode 1 — The Immortal Sword (1)

Baek I-gang suddenly spoke up.

“Running. I mean, sprinting.”

His maid, Sohwa, blinked and answered with wide eyes.
“Yes.”

“I’m slow at it. Don’t know why — no matter how much I practice, I never get better.”

“I know.”

“Don’t say that you know. I’m really slow. I’ve never not come in last since I was a kid. Even the fat kids who weighed twice as much as me beat me in a race.”

“Well, Young Master, you didn’t have any friends, did you?”

“You shouldn’t nitpick like that.”

“‘Nitpick’? What’s that?”

I-gang ignored her puzzled look, cleared his throat, and went on.

“Anyway, the other kids made fun of me. They said I was slow, called me a turtle, and kept teasing me — running away and laughing.”

“So you did have friends, then?”

“Ahem.”

Sohwa smiled faintly, and I-gang smiled back, understanding it was a joke.

“Anyway, I used to chase them. They thought I’d give up because I was slow.”

“And you weren’t fast.”

“Right. But I caught every single one of them. Then I kicked their butts.”

“How?”

This wasn’t a story he made up. It was I-gang’s real memory — a fragment from his past life before he was reborn as the frail young master of the Baek Clan.

“Because I didn’t give up.”

“……”

“Kids aren’t that fast anyway. They run for a while, then they look back. Since I was slow, they thought I’d be out of breath and quit.”

“I… see.”

“Of course it was hard. I probably suffered more than the ones I chased. My chest burned, I could taste blood in my throat. But…”

“Ah…”

“I didn’t give up. You understand what I’m saying?”

“……”

“This time, too — I’ll never give up.”

“Y-you really are so… grown-up, Young Master.”

I-gang gently wiped the blood from Sohwa’s lips with his sleeve — though his sleeve was already soaked with blood.

A dagger had struck Sohwa in the back while she shielded him, and I-gang had dragged her into this hidden storeroom to hide.

“Those assassins want to capture or kill me, but I won’t give up.”

“Good…”

“I won’t surrender easily. And even if they catch me, I’ll fight to the end.”

“You’re so weak, though…”

“And if I’m captured, I’ll escape again. I’ll take the medicine, fix my body, and live to a hundred.”

“……”

“So… rest now.”

Sohwa could no longer reply. She only stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Rest well, Sohwa.”

He brushed a trembling hand over her eyes, and her pale eyelids slowly fell shut — never to open again.

Her face had gone white as snow. That gentle smile of hers would never return.

I-gang clenched his lips tightly.

Since his birth as Baek I-gang, Sohwa had been like a sister to him — the only one who treated him warmly despite his exile to a remote manor for being too weak to learn martial arts.

But there was no time for grief. Heavy footsteps echoed above them.

Thud, thud, thud—

“He’s down here somewhere!”
“Check again! There must be a secret passage!”

They were right above the trapdoor.

When I-gang first found the hidden passage beneath the floor, he’d thought he’d been saved. He had carried Sohwa through it, but she hadn’t made it far.

Now, he laid her body down carefully, covering her with his coat.

“I swear I’ll come back and give you a proper funeral.”

His frail body couldn’t carry her corpse. Blood welled on his bitten lips.

From above came the shout:

“There’s blood here!”

If they’d found the blood, it was only a matter of time before they found the passage.

I-gang grabbed a lantern and ran deeper into the tunnel.

He couldn’t just die easily — he had made a promise to Sohwa.

“Haah… haah…”

The tunnel stretched long. His breath grew ragged — a body like his couldn’t endure much.

When he’d first realized he’d been reincarnated as the son of a martial clan, he’d been dumbfounded. At least he hadn’t been reborn as a beggar or an eunuch — the Baek  was one of the Seven Great Houses, founded by the legendary swordsman known as the Immortal Sword.

But there was one fatal flaw: he had been born with Absolute Yin Severed Meridians — Taeeum Jeolmyeok (太陰絶脈) — a condition that prevented him from gathering inner energy and doomed him to die before the age of twenty.

Because of that, he had been sent away to live quietly outside the main estate. He had accepted it, planning to live peacefully until his short life ended — never expecting to face death like this.

The tunnel came to a dead end.

“Damn it…”

No exit. And no miraculous skeletons, hidden manuals, or ancient pills like in martial-arts novels — just a rotting ceremonial rope and a rusted sword half-buried in dust.

‘This thing couldn’t cut butter.’

The blade was no longer than his forearm, and rust had eaten through its edge.

“Still… tetanus is guaranteed if I scratch them with it.”

He muttered bitterly, gripping the hilt. The pursuers’ footsteps drew near.

Soon, black-clad men appeared.

“Found him!”

Their leader stepped forward — a man with blood-red eyes.

“So this is the young master of a noble clan, scurrying like a rat.”

It was the first time since his rebirth that I-gang had heard someone curse him outright.

He couldn’t let that stand. His blood wouldn’t allow it.

“Watch your tongue, lowborn.”

“Hooh…”

He straightened his back, acting as befit a son of the Baek Clan.

“If you dare point your filthy blade at the heir of the Baek family, name yourself. Kneel and beg for mercy, and I might spare your life.”

Outwardly calm — inwardly terrified.

‘Don’t take off the mask…’

But the ambush attacker hesitated only briefly, then tore off his mask.

“Even a sick tiger cub is still a tiger. Very well — I’ll give my name. I am Jeokpyo.”

A name Lee Kang had never heard before. But revealing it meant one thing — Jeokpyo had no intention of letting him live.

“So you’re not here to kidnap me. You came for my head.”

“Bright and brave, despite your frailty.”

“A compliment from an assassin means nothing.”

“Your head will serve my lord well.”

“Then I’ll cut out that insolent tongue.”

Lee Kang raised the rotten sword, assuming the first stance of the Cheonyeonggeom, the Baek signature sword art.

Though the last three forms had been lost to time, even the remnants of the technique were formidable — if one could wield them properly.

“Brave for your age. I’ll grant you an honorable death.”

Jeokpyo dismissed his men and drew his sword himself.

Woohoo-—

The blade thrummed — he could channel energy into it. A true martial artist.

“I’ll even give you the first strike.”

“Ha!”

I-gang laughed dryly. An assassin pretending to be chivalrous? Ridiculous.

But he wasn’t in a position to mock. No matter how he swung, the result would be the same: his head would roll within seconds.

His body trembled. Death was so close he could feel its breath.

“Will you just stand there forever?”

Cold sweat trickled down his back. Then, faintly — a whisper, echoing like from another world.

“That’s not how you hold a sword.”

“H-huh?!”

A bald old man with a half-transparent body floated right beside him.

“Hmph. My descendant — timid and reckless, what a sorry sight.”

“W-what the hell?!”

It could only be a ghost. What else floats through walls like mist?

“What trickery is this?”

Jeokpyo’s tone was frigid. I-gang was equally baffled.

“You don’t see it? That thing — that floating guy right there!”

“Mind your manners before the Grandmaster, child.”

To the assassins, I-gang was pointing at empty air.

“Pretending to be mad now? Pathetic.”

I-gang realized they couldn’t see the ghost.

“Hmph. You’ve never learned swordsmanship, have you? Your stance is a disaster.”

“I have… severed meridians. Taeeum Jeolmyeok.”

“Your tongue is as short as your breath. I’ll forgive it — you’re still young.”

Calling him “descendant,” the ghost had to be an ancient ancestor of the Baek Clan.

If this wasn’t madness, then ghosts truly existed — and if ghosts existed, so did the afterlife.

‘I was trying so hard to act cool, but I’ll see you again soon, Sohwa.’

The thought brought him an eerie calm.

“Tch. I’ll just kill you quickly, boy.”

Jeokpyo lifted his sword — no more mercy.

I-gang raised his rusted blade in response. He knew he’d die, but he’d at least swing once before he did.

His trembling stopped. For the first time, he faced death head-on.

The ghost’s voice came, low and solemn.

“Meeting a descendant in peril — fate truly works in mysterious ways.”

There was dignity in that tone.

“I am Baek Seongcheon, the Immortal Sword. Lend me your body, child.”

“What…?”

lee-kang’s fleeting calm shattered again. The ghost claimed to be the legendary swordsman — the Immortal Sword himself.

“I will borrow your body for a moment.”

A chill raced down lee-kang’s spine — and the ghost vanished.

“Enough of this nonsense!”

Jeokpyo slashed, furious — a strike too sharp for lee-kang to block.

But then — his right arm moved on its own.

KA-AANG!

Steel met steel. A perfect parry — utterly impossible.

“No assassin dares lay a blade upon the body of a Baek clansman.”

It was his voice, yet not his voice. Deep, resonant — commanding.

Jeokpyo and his men froze.

“In exchange for your lives, I shall show you the Seventh Form of the Cheonyeong Sword.”

Lee Kang body shifted into a strange stance — one he had never seen before.

‘The Seventh Form?’

He knew only six remained. The seventh had been lost.

“Repent, you wicked ones.”