Bloodhound’s Regression Instinct

Chapter 178

Upon arriving at the village, Yan surveyed his surroundings. It was a domain where agriculture held more sway than commerce or any special industry.

“Hmm, it’s quite the ordinary hamlet indeed.”

He had hoped to find some unique feature of this village to explore further, but it proved difficult. Apart from the purple wildflowers blooming here and there, there was nothing that distinctly marked where he was.

Rubbing his palms together, Yan looked around curiously.

“Well, shall I start looking for Father?”

Just as he was about to focus on his search…

Thud.

Something hit his knee and fell to the ground.

Bounce, bounce-bounce.

It was a small ball.

As Yan picked up the ball with a puzzled tilt of his head, a child came running over. The child shrank back upon seeing Yan, probably thinking of him as a strange outsider.

“Um… that.”

The child timidly pointed at the ball in Yan’s hand.

Yet, Yan said nothing, just gazing intently at the child.

“Over there…”

When the child called out again, Yan finally snapped back to reality.

“Ah, here you go. But what’s your name?”

“…Yan. Thank you!”

The child blurted out his name and then scampered away as if fleeing.

Yan let out a chuckle watching the child’s retreating figure. Confronting a reflection of his younger self felt oddly disconcerting.

Still, if he followed this child, or rather, his younger self, he might just find his father.

With quiet steps, Yan trailed behind the child.

* * *

Yan’s Shadowing

For a long while, Yan shadowed his younger self, only to witness a scene that left him dumbfounded.

“Hey! Your job is just to fetch the ball, got it?”

“Why do you keep trying to join in if you can’t even do that right?”

“I want to play too… You said if I fetched the ball for an hour, you’d let me.”

“We did? When did we say that?”

“You’re lying~.”

“No, I’m not!”

Thump!

A larger boy shoved young Yan forcefully.

Yan’s younger self fell to the ground, powerless.

“Ouch!”

The gang laughed at him once before returning to their game of ball.

Yan watched the unfolding scene with a blank expression.

He never imagined his younger self had been treated this way.

And there he was, sniffling after such bullying, tears welling up as a bonus.

Seeing this stirred something in Yan’s chest.

It was hard to define the feeling… somewhere between embarrassment and absurdity.

Even if it was just a fabricated version of himself, watching such humiliation wasn’t pleasant.

Yan crouched beside his younger self, still in a heap on the ground.

“Crying over just one hit?”

“…He’s bigger and stronger, how can I win?”

Yan sighed deeply.

Whether this vision was close to reality, he couldn’t be sure.

‘Did I really used to be like this?’

But there was no one to give him an answer.

Shaking his head, Yan picked up a thin twig nearby.

Young Yan flinched at his sudden move, perhaps thinking he was about to be hit.

Yan sighed again and crouched down beside him.

Swoosh, swoosh.

He began to draw in the dirt with the twig as if it were a chalkboard.

“…What’s this?”

“Look.”

It was a crude drawing, but young Yan recognized it as the famous ‘technique.’

Below it were instructions on how to move.

“Got it memorized?”

“Yes. But…”

“Right, seeing it in action helps you remember better. Watch closely.”

“…Yes!”

Young Yan looked up with bright eyes, and Yan couldn’t help but smile.

“There are exactly three ways to take down someone bigger than you.”

“Three?”

“One is to overpower them with sheer force.”

Yan’s aura intensified slightly.

Young Yan’s face turned pale.

“How’s that?”

“…I can’t even begin to think about that with my current strength.”

“Right. Now for the second. Give me your hand.”

Yan extended his palm. Young Yan hesitantly placed his hand on top.

Yan grasped the small hand and twisted.

“Aaah!”

Young Yan screamed as the pain from the twisted joint surged.

Yan released him and explained.

“That’s the second method, joint locks. With the strength difference between you and that big guy, there’s nothing better.”

Yan then demonstrated a few joint locks.

Bending an arm, twisting a wrist, inserting a hand between shoulders to control movement, and more.

All were joint locks easy for young Yan to attempt.

Young Yan’s eyes sparkled.

“And the third?”

“The last one.”

Yan picked up a fist-sized rock from the ground.

Young Yan frowned, not understanding.

“When that big guy is off guard, hit him on the back of the head with this. Or target the nose or groin. A hit there will cause pain to anyone.”

Young Yan shuddered at Yan’s words.

“…But then Bill might cry.”

Yan clicked his tongue.

Too soft.

After all, a fight is to subdue or take down the opponent.

To ignore the simplest yet most effective method just because someone might cry…

“Do as you wish. It seems you’re interested in the second method, joint locks. But be careful, use it wrong, and you could cripple someone for life.”

“Cripple?!”

Young Yan’s eyes widened in alarm.

Of course, it was nearly impossible for a child’s strength to use joint locks to cripple someone.

But Yan enjoyed teasing the trembling child, warning that if he wasn’t careful, the big guy might never use his hand again.

That’s when it happened.

Young Yan, who had been talking to Yan, suddenly looked up, smiled brightly, and waved.

“Dad!”

‘Dad?’

Yan turned his head swiftly.

A man with a notable beard approached, a hearty laugh on his lips.

It seemed he was Yan’s father, Argon.

Yan squinted at him.

‘This doesn’t match what I’ve heard.’

Damian, Owen, and Theo had described his father as a mighty warrior who had pioneered the second realm.

But the man approaching emitted no such aura.

His walk was no different from an ordinary person’s, and while his body was sturdy, that was all.

Young Yan jumped up and ran to embrace the man.

“Dad!”

“Have you been playing well?”

“Yes!”

Young Yan seemed to have a good relationship with his father.

Argon, that is, the father, pulled out a worn handkerchief from his pocket and dusted off young Yan.

Young Yan chattered away about all the trivial events of the day.

Yan watched them, lost in thought.

The sight of father and son was beautiful.

Seeing a scene he couldn’t remember from his past life with his own eyes made his heart ache.

Then it happened.

Argon, holding young Yan, approached.

“Ha-ha, I hear you helped Yan. Thank you.”

“…Not at all.”

Yan replied, studying his father’s appearance.

Short hair, dusky skin, and strong arms caught his eye.

Argon turned his head towards Yan, who was staring intently.

“If you’re free, would you join us for dinner at our place? It’s a modest meal, but…”

Such an opportunity falling into his lap.

Yan quickly accepted, lest his father change his mind.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

* * *

Argon’s Humble Abode

At the end of Argon’s guidance, they arrived at the house where he and young Yan resided.

It was a small and modest log house, indistinguishable from those of ordinary commoners.

Yet, the front yard was adorned with the same purple wildflowers they had seen earlier, creating a beautiful scene regardless of its size.

“Heh, it’s a bit small, isn’t it?”

Argon elbowed Yan’s side as he spoke.

But there was no shame or embarrassment in his laughter.

Instead, his gaze upon the house was filled with warmth and pride.

‘Such a small house for a lord.’

Yan chuckled at his father’s simplicity, but then he remembered that he, too, a lord, had lived in a house of similar modesty.

Was this a case of like father, like son?

Yan shook his head.

Perhaps meeting the father from his memories was making him more sentimental.

Together with Argon and young Yan, he entered the house.

Inside, there was a living room connected to a stove and about three rooms.

“Do you have a place to stay at the moment?”

Argon asked as he hung his coat on a chair.

When Yan said he did not, Argon pointed to one of the rooms.

“Then you can stay in that room. It was meant to be a storeroom, but we never seem to have enough stuff to store.”

“Really? Then I’ll impose on you for a few days. Thank you.”

“Ha-ha, it’s nothing, my friend. I’ve been feeling lonely with just my dark-haired son around.”

“Dad!”

“Just kidding, you rascal.”

Argon ruffled young Yan’s hair.

Yan watched the scene blankly for a moment before quickly nodding.

“Understood.”

“Let’s have a meal first. I’ll whip up something quickly, so wait in the room for a bit. If you’re bored, feel free to play with my son.”

* * *

A Meal Tinged with Memories

About thirty minutes had passed.

Argon emerged into the living room, donning a comically large apron and carrying a pot brimming with meat stew.

“Son! Guest! Dinner’s ready, come on out!”

Yan, who had been teaching his younger self joint locks, stepped into the living room.

Argon was ladling stew onto the plates.

“Father, let me do that.”

Young Yan rushed over to help Argon with the meal preparation.

Feeling a bit awkward, Yan joined them, setting the spoons at the table.

With the meal preparations complete, the three sat down at their respective chairs.

“There’s bread here if you need more, just tear and eat.”

Yan looked around the room.

And then he remembered…

“Your wife… I haven’t seen her. Is she out on some errand?”

The atmosphere turned heavy at Yan’s question.

Young Yan’s face, bright with anticipation for the stew, hardened, and Argon pressed his lips together tightly.

Yan quickly waved his hands in a gesture of apology.

“If it’s uncomfortable, you don’t have to say anything.”

“Hmm, sorry about that. It was sudden of you to ask.”

But Argon, deciding there was nothing to hide, answered with a bittersweet expression.

“My wife passed away to the heavens five years after Yan was born, so, two years ago.”

Yan’s face turned ashen at the unexpected news.

Damian, who had informed him of his father’s imprisonment, and Owen, who occasionally spoke of his father, had always avoided discussing his mother.

Now, hearing this, Yan understood why.

‘…She had passed away.’

Shaken by the news, Yan slowly spoke.

“Ah… I apologize. I shouldn’t have brought up something so discomforting.”

“Ha-ha, no, it’s not your fault. I should’ve told you earlier. Let’s leave the gloomy talk aside and eat.”

The meal resumed.

Yet, the mood was significantly more subdued than before.