The Heavenly Demon of Terror

(Samuel's POV – Missing the Past, Living the Present)

The bar lights cast a dim glow over the polished counter as Henry and I leaned back in our seats, whiskey glasses in hand.

The drinks were good—smooth, aged, expensive.

But they weren't Murim drinks.

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, letting out a slow exhale. "You know... for all the wealth and luxury in this world, they still can't make a drink like the ones we had in Murim."

Henry chuckled, taking a sip. "You're telling me. Nothing beats the firewine from the Martial Sect."

I smirked. "Or the Dragon Brew from the Eastern Peaks. That stuff could knock out even a Grandmaster."

Henry leaned back, tilting his glass. "And yet, we drank it like water."

We both laughed, the sound carrying a sense of nostalgia.

Murim.

Our second life.