An era when inventions like guns, automobiles, and typewriters were emerging.
An era when brilliant scientists researched magical engineering and applied it to everyday life.
During this period, businesses large and small sprung up like bamboo shoots after rain, and some entrepreneurs wielded power rivaling that of the nobility.
In particular, renowned tycoons sometimes received treatment on par with barons or higher.
In truth, the title of baron was often granted to knights or mages who had earned merit in minor wars, so this was not unreasonable.
In an age of peace, with no territory and no family history to speak of—what could one leverage to maintain the dignity of a noble?
Thus, only viscounts and above—those who held their own territories—were regarded as true nobles.
Their territories built capital. Their capital attracted talent. And their talent became power.
The cycle of power became history over time, and that history became power again.
Counts and above, in particular, wielded formidable authority grounded in vast territories.
And above them all, one house reigned like the heavens.
House Karsen, the Grand Duchy.
The de facto kings of the North.
The counts served the Grand Duke of Karsen as their liege and governed their respective territories, but the complex and tangled history between them had left the borders dividing their lands ambiguous.
In any case, every road from every territory led to Seiren, called the capital of the North, and Seiren had naturally become the hub of Northern trade.
So much so that the saying went: "If you want to make it in the North, go to Seiren!"
But to Sion, Seiren felt like a city that lacked consistency.
Some buildings looked as if they belonged to ancient ruins, their age impossible to gauge, while others were cleanly constructed and finished with fresh coats of paint.
The newer buildings, of course, were commercial structures erected by corporations or noble houses.
The homes of ordinary territory residents were mostly standalone houses with chimneys.
Wealthier entrepreneurs lived in grand estates, and there was a separate district where such estates clustered together. The so-called affluent quarter.
Beyond that, new cultural spaces like museums, galleries, and theaters were scattered throughout the city, along with academies sponsored by various nobles and small-scale magic towers.
Everything had formed along a great river that cut through the city—called "Lumenia," meaning the river of the dead Sun God.
The Lumenia River never froze, no matter how cold the weather, making it more than worthy of being called a mythical river. The people praised it as a blessing bestowed by the Sun God.
House Karsen's grand mansion was built on a high hill at the center of the Lumenia River, with the mountain concealing the buried ruins behind it.
The rooms of House Karsen's sons were on the mansion's uppermost floor, so Sion could look down on the city from his bedroom window.
The morning sun was cutting across the horizon, dyeing the city red.
It was breathtakingly beautiful, and he simply watched.
"If only the demon invasion were just a lie."
Sion Karsen truly thought so.
He then tidied his bedding, gave the black egg a once-over, and checked the operation time.
The operation was set for midnight, when the sun had fully set.
Assembly was two hours prior, at ten.
'I should make use of the downtime.'
Sion took out the vials known as the Flame-Frost Dragon's Breath. The vermilion vial brimming with heat. The sky-blue vial brimming with cold.
He set the sky-blue vial on the table. Then placed only the vermilion vial in his hand.
His physical condition had nearly fully returned, so the time had come.
"INHALE. EXHALE."
He drew thin, steady breaths, steadying his body.
An elixir of this caliber could not be fully absorbed in a single sitting.
Consistently breathing and training to fully absorb the mana contained within the elixir. That, too, was a mark of a Knight's aptitude.
POP.
He uncorked the vial containing the vermilion liquid. A sharp, heady fragrance filled the room. Dense flame domain mana beckoned Sion's lips.
Drawn by the pull of fate, he drank it in one go.
GULP, GULP.
The liquid descending his throat traced the exact shape of his esophagus.
Sion immediately sat in a meditative posture and focused on the mana that had entered his body. The power he felt was truly staggering.
It surged up to his heart, then swept through his entire body—so intense that simply maintaining consciousness was a struggle.
A faint wind blew inside the room. Not quite a gale, but enough to stir the curtains in a sealed space where no wind should have existed.
Sion's hair swayed gently. And from deep within his eyes, light began to emerge. The light grew steadily brighter, transforming into flame.
"Phewww."
That was as far as he went. The sun was already setting. The wind ceased. The flame in Sion's eyes vanished. Fortunately, he'd finished without losing consciousness.
Without Duckie's seasoned expertise, he could never have absorbed the elixir so adeptly.
Sion rose from his seat. He examined his body and felt a power different from anything before.
He also sensed that energy he had not yet dissolved still lay dormant in his Core and heart.
He clenched his fist. The power felt different from before. As the Core grew, the body was growing with it.
A strange sense of omnipotence washed over him, but he settled his mind once more.
"Rushing won't help."
The answer was steady training and time.
Sion picked up the sky-blue vial again. He had no intention of drinking this one.
Based on pre-regression experience, there was an elixir better suited to him—so the only one he would take was the vermilion vial.
Sion locked the sky-blue vial in the safe in his room, then showered and changed.
The Inspectorate uniform was normally white, but since this operation required stealth, he pulled out his disguise.
A black wig. A thick fur coat over navy suspender trousers. Black horn-rimmed glasses.
The very picture of an ordinary laborer.
Beneath the clothes, of course, were weapons—a sword and a gun, among others.
He also tucked several healing potions inside his coat.
He wouldn't reveal himself as a Mage, but he hadn't forgotten to prepare like one.
***
It felt like an eternity since I'd last stood before the Inspectorate building.
"Built over a decade ago, if I remember right, and it's twelve stories tall."
It was an impressive sight.
As time went on, construction techniques would improve and buildings would grow taller, but surpassing this particular old-world grandeur would be difficult.
That aside, the Inspectorate was a symbolic building.
The day all Northern nobles were unified under House Karsen.
It was proof that the entire North had rallied together under the ideals of justice, peace, and prosperity.
And that was why it held absolute power.
With one condition. If the Grand Duke of Karsen gave his permission, it had the power to sweep away any entrenched corruption.
That power was exactly what I needed right now. Even if I couldn't eliminate every corrupt power, crooked noble, and cartel, I needed to at least bring things within controllable limits.
I steeled my resolve and walked inside. The interior was quite spacious—at least twenty rooms per floor.
I found Room 408 as noted on the summons.
There, with Rui Daiken at the head, Inspectorate agents stood in orderly formation—all in plainclothes, and every last one an Apprentice Knight or above.
"Sion Karsen, reporting as dispatched. Good to see you, Rui."
"......"
Rui merely glanced at me and said nothing. He'd been the same before the regression—the moment he became an official Knight, he'd started ignoring me.
Had my conduct bothered him that much? Fair enough, but......
Something about the way he looked at me now grated worse than before. How to put it. The look you give something you truly despise. Dripping with contempt.
Easy there, bastard.
Rui Daiken whipped his head away and unfurled a map on the long central table.
"The areas marked with red circles are the enemy strongholds embedded in the Isra District."
The Isra District was on the outskirts of the capital Seiren. A factory zone that no one would call affluent, not even as a courtesy.
"We will now split into district teams and proceed with the subjugation. Agent Sion, if there is any erroneous or supplementary intelligence, please add your input to refine the operation."
I nodded. But there was nothing to add. Running operational refinements two hours before go-time was absurd to begin with.
He knew that as well as I did.
He'd simply wanted to justify my dispatch.
Moreover, the intelligence I'd sent was only rough locations; the Inspectorate's own intelligence division would have investigated and refined the exact stronghold data. There was no room for me to interject.
Still, as I listened to the briefing, I thought about the Red Fang and the organizations lurking in the shadows.
Why had the shadow organizations wanted to discard the Red Fang?
From their perspective, wouldn't it have been better to keep at least one group around to draw the attention of the Inspectorate and police?
Could they have been trying to avoid any connection to something?
'What happened?'
This time, I'd find out myself. And I'd claim the reputation that, before the regression, had been hers.
By ripping the Red Fang out of the North.
***
A midnight lit by a full moon.
The Northern darkness was cold.
Instead of warm sunlight, cool moonlight illuminated the world, and the streams that had trickled as the snow melted had frozen solid once more.
Smoke rose from every chimney atop every rooftop. For meal preparation. Or simply to hold onto warmth.
But in one abandoned factory in the Isra District, smoke of an entirely different kind was rising.
WHOOOOSH—
"MMPH! MMMNGH! NNGH!"
"Traitors! Burn alive!"
"This is a burning ceremony just for you!"
"Yeah. Does it hurt? Does it sting? No, wait—does it burn?"
Six men had been tied to iron pillars, with oil-soaked straw piled beneath them and set ablaze.
Men with red fang tattoos—scarred like red marks beneath their eyes—cackled with laughter.
"We should never have entrusted anything to the Hashman brothers. That son of a bitch talked, and now they've got our trail."
"Because of those sons of bitches, we have to leave this place!"
"We should never have taken in bastards like those in the first place."
"When I think about what we lost because of them...... burning them alive isn't enough."
There were those who cursed. Those who hurled stones at the burning men in a fury. Those who mocked. And those who watched the burning in silence.
This was a show of sorts. Managing a crumbling organization, keeping traitors in check.
It was the method of Jeffren, the boss of the Red Fang.
He was the only member of the organization with skill on par with a wandering Knight. Every member feared Jeffren.
The six men screamed desperately. They seemed to be pleading their innocence.
"MMPH! MMMNGH! MMPH! MMPH!"
But with stones forced into their mouths and rope sealing them shut, nothing they said was intelligible.
Their bodies bore clear signs of torture—bruises, wounds, burns, and more.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
Jeffren stepped forward and spoke.
"It pains me too, having to kill you. But then. What is this?"
He waved the newspaper in his hand.
"Out of nowhere, the Red Fang shows up in the papers. And right behind that name is the name Karsen. What the hell kind of mess is this?"
He flung the newspaper into the straw beneath the men. The fire blazed even more fiercely.
Muffled screams echoed for a while. By the time they faded, the men had become black husks of charcoal.
Jeffren turned to his men and spoke.
"Summon the officers. We leave tonight."
Jeffren's eyes held flames. The fire within them grew fiercer, like a demon of flame raging in his heart.
"......This is not where it ends."