It took me three days to face reality.
At first, I wasn’t sure what to believe. I thought it was some terrible dream. But as one day became two, and two became three, I had no choice but to accept it.
I didn’t wake from the dream.
This was reality.
‘Ten years ago….’
I sat motionless in the mercenary barracks, gathering my thoughts.
I should have died at the hands of the Sorcerer Archduke. Instead, I had returned ten years into the past.
There was plenty of evidence. Mercenaries who should have been in their graves were alive and well, and the battered club beside my pillow was unmistakably the weapon I had used as an apprentice.
‘…I’ve returned to the past.’
For some reason, at the moment of my death, I had regressed ten years into the past.
I thought it was absurd. But when the reality before my eyes was this tangible, I had no reason to deny it.
I had regressed. I accepted that much. The remaining questions were how and why.
Even after spending half my life traveling the world as a wandering mercenary, I had never heard of anyone turning back time.
Then who had turned time back, and for what purpose?
Was I truly the only person who knew about this?
Why ten years, of all times?
One question after another rose to the surface of my consciousness.
Still, I had one possible lead.
‘…Could this pendant…?’
I stared at Renia’s pendant swaying against my chest. The recess at its center stood wide open. Inside, a strangely shaped rune glowed faintly.
Renia had said that the pendant contained the final rune, which she had yet to decipher. If there was a reason for my regression, this object was almost certainly responsible.
If Renia had anticipated even this when she gave me the pendant….
“That brat saddled me with a needless task.”
I had been given a chance.
A chance to set the world right.
I wasn’t a hero striving to save the world, much less a saint.
I was simply a mercenary.
And once a mercenary accepted a commission, he was obliged to carry it out.
Looking at the pendant, I recalled the message Renia had left me in my previous life.
“She went and hired me all on her own, after all.”
My contract with Renia seemed to remain in force even now that I had returned to the past.
Her goal had been to kill the Sorcerer Archduke.
“This time, I’ll make sure to kill him.”
Then all I had to do was fulfill her wish.
Seven years from now, the Sorcerer Archduke would plunge the continent into chaos.
That was when he openly raised his forces, so he must have been steadily laying the groundwork long before then.
As soon as he raised his army, he destroyed the prestigious houses of magic, including Benheim, and seized their secret tomes. He must have intended to use them as nourishment to reach the Ninth Tier.
That left me roughly five or six years.
‘I’ll have to start preparing now.’
It could be enough time, or it could fall short.
To defeat the Sorcerer Archduke, I had to become stronger than I had been in my previous life.
First, I needed to check the condition of my body.
***
I focused my awareness and examined my body.
Having endured a mercenary’s hard life since childhood, I was reasonably well conditioned. But there wasn’t a single speck of mana inside me.
Compared with the body I had possessed when I was known as the Sword God, this was a wasteland that couldn’t even measure up to a dried-up spring.
At this point in my life, I hadn’t been in any position to begin learning about mana.
To use mana, one had to form a mana core within the body. The methods for forming one were sold at exorbitant prices under the name of mana cultivation methods. They cost far more than a boy doing odd jobs for a third-rate mercenary band could afford.
But before anything else, I was a swordsman who had reached the level of a Sword Master with nothing but an old sword.
Even without learning a separate mana cultivation method, I could begin using mana through instinct alone. And I could become a Sword Master within the next seven years.
I had done so in my previous life. If I followed that same path, I could reach my former level even faster this time.
‘No.’
But I had no intention of repeating the same steps as before.
Even after giving everything I had, I hadn’t managed to take so much as one of the Sorcerer Archduke’s arms. The gulf between us had been greater than that between heaven and earth.
Then I had to become stronger than in my previous life. To face humanity’s most fearsome mage, the Sorcerer Archduke, I needed to reach a higher level.
Just then, I remembered something Renia had told me several times.
- Whenever I look at you, Reagan, I feel it’s a pity.
- A pity? What do you mean?
- Your circumstances haven’t matched your talent. If you had grown up in a good environment and developed your skills systematically, you would have reached a level far beyond someone like me by now.
- …There’s no point talking about that now.
There had been no point.
But things were different now.
I had returned to the past with knowledge and experience of the future.
As Renia had said, I now had the means to build my strength systematically from the very beginning.
“A Sword Saint…. Or the Ninth Tier.”
A Sword Master was the limit for a human warrior, while the Seventh Tier was the limit for a mage. That was the prevailing view. But before my regression, I had known two mages who had surpassed that limit.
Renia, who had reached the Eighth Tier, and the Sorcerer Archduke, whose attainment surpassed even hers.
There were already precedents.
Then I could do it, too.
“Let’s give it a try.”
I steeled my resolve.
Now that I had chosen my goal, it was time to work out how to achieve it.
“First….”
I raised my head and looked at the ceiling. As befitted a mercenary camp, a torch attached to the top of the tent swayed precariously.
“…Maybe I should collect my overdue pay.”
***
“What? Reagan’s acting strange?”
“Yes. He must have eaten something bad.”
Mercenary Captain Gerkin frowned at his subordinate’s miserable expression.
“What did he eat? A bowl of poisonous mushroom soup?”
“No, it’s…. He seems like a completely different person.”
“A different person?”
“He used to do nothing but work without a word of complaint, but for the past few days, he hasn’t been eating or sleeping. Yesterday, he beat one of the senior men like a dog in midsummer! He even beat a fellow recruit who tried to stop him! Doesn’t it seem like an evil spirit has possessed him? We should call a shaman who knows what he’s doing….”
“Shut up. What nonsense are you spouting in broad daylight?”
“It isn’t nonsense! Most of the mercenaries living with him are afraid of him! At this rate, someone’s going to bite through his tongue and kill himself….”
Listening to his subordinate’s complaints made Gerkin’s temples throb.
In the end, these idiots couldn’t handle a single rebellious underling, so they had come running to their captain for help.
Gerkin heaved a sigh deep enough to sink the earth.
“Isn’t that just puberty?”
“…Ah, that might be it!”
His subordinate nodded vigorously at Gerkin’s words.
Puberty.
Certainly, boys that age tended to develop a baseless confidence.
“Fine. Call him in. A good scolding should bring him to his senses. It’s about time I tightened discipline anyw….”
CLACK.
Before Gerkin could finish, the barracks door opened.
The person who entered was Reagan, a boy with ash-gray hair.
“Haha. Speak of a tiger, and he comes.”
Gerkin grinned at Reagan.
A moment later, a powerful sense of unease washed over him.
‘Did this boy always have eyes like that?’
Reagan. A boy who had just turned eighteen, and the lowest-ranking member of the Black Tusk Mercenary Band under Gerkin’s command.
He had felt sorry for the parentless boy living on handouts, so he had given him food and shelter in exchange for odd jobs. That had already been five years ago.
Over those years, Gerkin had come to think of Reagan as a wooden puppet.
He seldom spoke, and whatever task he was given, he carried it out no matter what—even if it ruined his body. He was a boy who resembled a tool.
Gerkin wasn’t a slave trader, but he knew well that a boy like Reagan would make a first-rate slave. He had even planned to sell him to a slave trader once his body was too worn out to be useful.
But the air Reagan gave off now was markedly different from just yesterday.
Gerkin might have been only a third-rate mercenary, but he had lived by the sword for over a decade. He could tell.
Those weren’t the eyes of an ordinary boy. They belonged to a seasoned swordsman who had repeatedly braved death and cut down dozens of people.
“…There you are, Captain. I have something to discuss.”
Perhaps those eyes had intimidated him.
Gerkin failed to react until Reagan approached and spoke.
Reagan sat in the chair across the table and announced without preamble,“I’m leaving the mercenary band.”
“…What?”
Gerkin frowned at Reagan’s face. His expression was calm. If anything, his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
He wanted to nod immediately, but doing so would undermine his authority as captain. Frowning, Gerkin lowered his voice as much as he could.
“Boy, it hasn’t even been three years since you joined my band.”
“I know. But I still intend to leave. Mercenary work doesn’t seem to suit me.”
“…Hmm. If that’s truly what you want….”
It had been nice having someone he could work for so little. A pity, but it couldn’t be helped.
Just as he thought that—
“How much severance pay will you give me?”
“…What?”
“Something has come up, and I need to travel a long way. I’ll need money for the journey. I’ve worked without pay for over three years, so you should at least give me my overdue wages. Didn’t you say you were holding that money for me until I came of age?”
Give me money.
To Gerkin, a mercenary to the marrow, those words were like touching a dragon’s reverse scale.
“What the hell have you been talking about this whole time? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. I’m perfectly sane. You should pay what you owe me. Did you think I didn’t know you were exploiting me and planning to sell me to a slave trader once I became useless?”
Reagan frowned as he spoke. How had he found out? While Gerkin was momentarily struck speechless at having his intentions exposed, Reagan continued to lash him with words.
“I know you gambled away all the money you promised to give me later. I also know you embezzled the advance for our recent commission and went drinking with your cronies. Did you think the men let it pass because they didn’t know? Keep living like that, and you’re asking for a knife in the back of your head.”
Gerkin’s face alternated between red and blue under the rapid barrage of cutting remarks.
He had thought he’d hidden it all reasonably well. Where had Reagan picked up these stories?
“Hey, shut up! The men can hear you!”
Gerkin hastily cut him off.
Indeed, the expressions of the nearby mercenaries were darkening.
“Then you must have done something you can’t be proud of. If you don’t want to hear it, pay my overdue wages.”
Reagan spoke curtly.
“Y-you bastard…!”
Gerkin’s patience snapped. The strange air surrounding the boy before him no longer registered as something to be wary of.
“You suddenly come in here saying you’re leaving the band, and now you’ve finally gone mad! What about all the food and shelter I gave you? You little bastard, who do you think you’re demanding money fr…!”
WHACK!
At that moment, his vision flipped upside down.
A scabbard had struck his temple at the speed of light.
Somehow, Reagan was holding a scabbard.
None other than Gerkin’s own.
How had he stolen it, and when had he swung it?
The strike had been too fast for his eyes to follow.
Had a brat who hadn’t even come of age truly delivered that blow?
Gerkin’s thoughts ended there.
“You should’ve listened while I was asking nicely.”
As his consciousness faded, all he could see was Reagan scratching the back of his head in annoyance.
***
When I left the mercenary band, a purse stuffed with silver coins hung at my waist. The coins jingled, and the corners of my mouth rose. Money always put both body and mind at ease.
Meanwhile, inside the barracks, mercenaries who had each taken a blow were groaning and rolling on the floor.
“…Was that too much?”
I had been somewhat heavy-handed.
But Gerkin, captain of the Black Tusk Mercenary Band, ranked among the worst pieces of scum I had ever met.
The other mercenaries had followed his orders and tried to subdue me, so it couldn’t be helped.
Before my regression, I had wasted no fewer than five years in that band.
Five years. Five whole years.
And the money I had received when I left?
Four silver coins, in return for working myself to the bone and sacrificing my youth.
A pittance too small to keep me fed anywhere.
And Gerkin hadn’t stopped there. He had even tried to hand me over to a slave trader. Back then, young as I was, I hadn’t known where to turn for help. But things were different now.
I was a regressor. Although I had the body of a boy who hadn’t been properly trained, I still had enough strength and skill to take down a handful of riffraff.
Now I had a generous sum of money, too. I had also taken his fine iron sword as spoils, so I would be more than capable of handling any danger I encountered on the journey.
With that, I hailed a carriage.
The aging coachman frowned when he saw that I was alone. But when I discreetly opened the purse at my waist, he bowed with a broad smile.
“Where shall I take you?”
I didn’t hesitate.
I had already chosen my destination.
“Benheim.”
Now that I had regressed, all I had left were my memories of the past.
In that case, shouldn’t I go meet the infuriating woman who had saddled me with such a heavy burden?
“Please take me to Count Benheim’s domain. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
At my words, the coachman’s lips curved with interest.
“Haha. Count Benheim’s domain…. So you’re heading to Benheim, too?”
“Me, ‘too’?”
“Aren’t you going to Benheim to become a mage, like the others?”
The coachman spoke as though the answer were obvious.
“Please explain. Do I have to go to Benheim to become a mage?”
“Aha, so you don’t know anything about it, young fellow. Benheim holds examinations at regular intervals and takes in mages from outside the family as disciples. They aren’t treated as well as the inner disciples who share the family’s blood, but in a world this harsh, there’s no shortage of riffraff trying to grasp a lifeline from a prestigious house of magic. Ah, I don’t mean you, young fellow….”
“…Hmm.”
His explanation reminded me of my final night with Renia.
She had told me about her family then. Hadn’t she said that, unlike the other four great houses of magic, the House of Count Benheim wasn’t closed off, but welcomed outsiders and taught magic to talented recruits?
Judging by the coachman’s account, she had been telling the truth.
“So, are you planning to become a mage as well, young fellow?”
His question gave me pause.
Then someone’s lovely voice rose to the surface of my consciousness.
- That’s all right. Your magical talent is far greater than you think. Greater than mine, even. You would have achieved great things if you had studied magic instead of the sword.
Those were the words Renia had spoken when she gave me the pendant on our final night.
‘…She said I could succeed as a mage, too.’
Having made my decision, I gave a small laugh and answered the coachman.
“Yes, sir. I think I’ll try being a mage in this life.”
“This… life?”
“It’s a long story.”
The coachman tilted his head in puzzlement.