I'd spent a long time thinking about regression. All that rambling in front of the Demon King right before I died—listing off "if only this, if only that"—wasn't for nothing.
What am I trying to say?
From here on, I'm going to correct my wrongful past one by one and prevent humanity's extinction—and it starts with setting my own black history straight.
CLANG—!
Yoen was caught off guard—he hadn't expected me to deflect his blade. And for good reason. Though the gap was slim, at this point in time I couldn't wield mana, and he could.
And that wasn't all.
He'd been scrapping in back alleys his whole life, so he probably had more real combat experience than I did.
Despite that, the reason I'd charged at him back then was pure recklessness born of insecurity. Only by doing that...... did I feel like I could say something—anything—to Father.
The problem was that the defeat on this day became a trauma. And that trauma wreaked havoc across my entire life.
But.
'Trauma is something you overcome.'
I didn't earn the title of humanity's last survivor by luck. I wasn't some war hero—I could beat a nobody like him without mana. No, to exaggerate a little, I could beat him with my eyes closed.
"God damn it!"
SWISH—!
Yoen swung his sword again, but I pulled my left foot back and dodged with ease. Compared to my days in the Resistance, this body was nothing special—but the experience bought with flesh, blood, and bone remained intact.
I swung my sword back in a rapid strike.
WHIRR——
The blade's arc traced from Yoen's right shoulder to his waist to his chest.
Karsen-style Classical Swordplay, Revised—honed through years of war.
SHRRK—
SLASH—!
Yoen's flesh split open, and blood erupted.
"GAAAAAH!"
A tearing scream rang out.
But it didn't last long.
SHINK—
A silver line cut through the air. A red line was drawn across the bastard's neck, and his startled head crumbled along it, sliding apart.
THUNK—
ROLL—
Yoen's head hit the floor and rolled all the way to the crowd of onlookers. Some jumped back in shock and fled. Others, high on drugs, clutched their stomachs and laughed.
"Morons."
My first kill since regressing. I'd expected to feel more satisfied when I thought back to what happened, but I just felt numb.
Around the time the blood flowing from Yoen's neck had thoroughly soaked the floorboards of Drunken Dream Wildflower—
——CRASH—!
The hidden room's door was smashed open, and a man with red hair and red eyes strode in. The sharp clack of military boots echoed. Light flooded the dark room.
As the atmosphere of Drunken Dream Wildflower and its sinister debauchery was snuffed out in an instant, I looked at the man and waved.
"Welcome."
"......"
Rui Daiken. A genius who became an Aura User at the age of twenty-one, and my adjutant, soon to become an official Knight. He'd been a promising Knight, but he shared his fate with the fall of the North.
I'd greeted him warmly, yet he didn't respond. The look in his eyes seemed to say:
—What the hell have you done?
The reason he didn't say it aloud was that, nepotism hire or not, I was his superior—and the third young lord of the Grand Duke of the North. Of course, even that token courtesy vanished like a mirage once he became an "official Knight."
A Knight—the word for those who had transcended human limits.
Superhuman beings who could wield mana as naturally as their own body and channel "Aura" into their weapons. Their combat ability was so extraordinary that absurd epithets like "strategic weapon," "one-man army," and "deterrent of war" were attached to them.
'I used to think it was a world I'd never have any connection to.'
Dozens of Inspectorate agents filed in behind Rui, carrying "guns"—a recent development from the Central territories.
Rui commanded the agents.
"Arrest everyone."
"""Yes, sir!"""
They began subduing and restraining every person inside Drunken Dream Wildflower with seamless coordination.
The operation that had failed because of my blunder, wrapping up without a hitch. I laughed in spite of myself.
If only I'd done this from the start.
What was the old me even doing?
Then Rui picked up Yoen's head from where it lay rolling between tables and chairs and walked over to me. Blood was still dripping from it.
"An explanation, if you would."
The tone carried a rebuke: why had I killed him on the spot instead of waiting for them to make the arrest? In principle, arresting him and sending him to trial was the right call. But.
'It's not like I did this without thinking.'
"He attacked me, so I dealt with it on site. If you need proof, check with a Residual Stone."
Rui narrowed his brow at my nonchalant response. Then he pulled a green Residual Stone from inside his coat. A magical device that analyzes the mana remaining at a scene and replays recent events as a projection.
Rui channeled mana into the stone.
FLASH—
Green light spread in all directions. Complex formulae deployed throughout the area, scraping together every scattered fragment of mana.
WHIRRR—
The stone glowed and projected my fight with Yoen into the air. And indeed—the footage showed Yoen attacking first and me retaliating. Ah, of course it couldn't replay sound.
"Well?"
Rui looked at me with a slightly surprised expression. The waver in his eyes seemed to say:
—With your skill level, you shouldn't have been able to beat Yoen Hashman.
I answered with an easy smile.
—The result speaks for itself, doesn't it?
But.
Rui, refusing to accept it, said:
"Yoen must have been impaired by drugs, I suppose."
"Think what you like."
"In any case, it does appear to be a legitimate case of self-defense, so I'll submit this footage as evidence."
Rui seemed to speak coolly, but his eyes were still wavering. Odds were, my swordsmanship had been quite the shock.
'Kid, if you're impressed, just say so. Always so rigid.'
I didn't say it to Rui, but I had my reasons for executing Yoen on the spot.
Before the regression, the bastard had broken into a family home, killed the man, and was in the middle of raping the woman when the police caught him. After a drawn-out trial, he was sent to prison.
But.
He was released soon after.
The appeals court judge had found him not guilty.
As it later came to light, Yoen Hashman's older brother—Yan Hashman—had paid the presiding judge a staggering bribe.
The North's inner workings were rotten.
The whole thing needed to be gutted and rebuilt.
And if I followed every procedure step by step, it would be too late. By then, the demon invasion would have already reduced everything to ruins.
"Rui."
"Yes."
"I think I'll need to take an extended leave. I'm leaving the rest to you."
"......Pardon?"
Rui was stunned.
The look on his face seemed to say:
—I figured the nepotism hire would parade his first achievement around everywhere, bragging about his exploits from now on. And now he's suddenly quitting?
I smiled gently and said:
"That's how it is. I'll go see Father myself and tell him in person. Just so you know."
"......You're going to see the Lord directly?"
"Yeah."
"Weren't you afraid of the Lord? That's why you always sent me in your place whenever it was time to report to him."
"......"
This time, even I couldn't answer easily.
Because he was right.
Father was one of only five Grand Masters in the world, the Sword Saint of the Snowpeaks, a hero of the continent, and the sovereign of the North.
The embodiment of honor for House Karsen, the great swordsmanship lineage. And yet, at this point in my life, I couldn't even manifest Aura on my blade—so I had no face to show him.
That was why I'd avoided Father.
Why I'd feared him.
But now.
I miss him.
"This time, I want to go myself."
Then.
Rui asked with a puzzled look.
"Did you eat something wrong today?"
I replied, smooth as you please.
"Iruna Noble. It was delicious."
I slipped out of Drunken Dream Wildflower, leaving Rui standing there with a blank expression.
WHOOSH—
A cold wind blew. But the scenery before my eyes was different from before the regression. Instead of an endless white snowfield—houses clustered snugly together. Residents of the territory walking about in thick leather coats.
A smile settled naturally on my lips.
'I really am back.'
***
House Karsen's grand mansion.
Also known as the Lord's Keep, this place was home to a great many people. Vassals who assisted Father, servants who handled the estate's miscellaneous duties, Knights who guarded the house.
The one they all found most formidable was, naturally, the Lord—my father. And that went for me, too.
The uppermost floor of the grand mansion.
I arrived in front of Father's study.
"We'll announce your arrival."
The Knights guarding the door spoke to me with respect. Not out of any regard for me—but because Father was behind that door. Respect for Father, not for me.
Knights were distinguished figures by nature. They didn't spare a thought for someone like me. No—they openly showed contempt and disdain for someone who, despite being born of noble blood, conducted himself like a half-wit.
"No. I'll do it myself."
I stood still for a moment and closed my eyes.
Then recalled the distant past.
'Opening this door used to terrify me.'
The bloodline of a swordsmanship house, unable to manifest Aura on his blade? It was humiliating. Devastating.
And the more it was, the more desperately I wanted to be recognized—by any means.
I joined the Inspectorate to earn achievements.
I recklessly threw myself into one thing after another.
That was when it started.
The downward spiral of my life.
I kept picking fights beyond my ability, so I kept failing. The constant failures came back as inferiority and insecurity.
I decided on my own that Father must hate me. Whenever Father summoned me, I made every excuse I could to avoid going. What a moron I was.
And yet.
The day the demonic beasts blanketed the land.
The day the North fell and the house was destroyed.
Father forced an escape—dragging me out from where I'd been hiding like a coward. He shoved me into a secret passage that only he knew and said:
—You, at least, must live.
Those were Father's last words.
"Phew."
Even now, Father is someone who frightens me—but without tearing down this wall, I can't see the future.
To change the North, I need Father's cooperation, and I believe in the last image of him I saw.
KNOCK— KNOCK—
"Father. I'm here."
"Come in."
A flat, emotionless voice came from within.
CREEEAK—
Slowly. As if it were nothing. I opened the door and walked in—but Father didn't even look at me.
'He was always like this.'
After Mother passed away, Father had ceased all outside activities and buried himself in paperwork. I hadn't understood before the regression, but now I did.
'You were grieving too, Father.'
"What is it?"
His cold voice pulled me back to the present.
"I apprehended Yoen Hashman."
"......"
Father showed no reaction—perhaps he'd already been briefed. His manner seemed to say:
—And?
Right. This was reality. One achievement changed nothing. Change keeps pace with time.
"I came because there's something I'd like to discuss."
"Speak."
"I want to establish a Special Investigation Unit within the Territorial Inspectorate. Please grant me permission."
The Inspectorate.
An organization with formidable authority, yet rendered toothless because the people wielding that power were too rigid and by-the-book.
That was the first thing I, the regressor, would change.
"The Inspectorate is not enough?"
"No, sir. I want to apply the [Special Lord's Law] to streamline all procedures, and build an organization authorized to act first and report later—provided evidence has been secured. And I'd like the Special Investigation Unit to be comprised of Knights."
"Knights?"
Father lifted his eyes from his documents and looked at me. His gaze said he found the idea preposterous. I met that gaze squarely and continued.
"I don't mean right away, of course. First, I myself will become a Knight. Then I'll handpick the right people."
"Nonsense."
Father cut me off like a blade, but I forced the conversation onward.
"Two months from now. If I earn the qualifications of a Knight within that time, will you give it serious consideration?"
"......"
How is Father looking at me right now? Recklessness born from insecurity. That's what he'd think. And he'd be right.
But.
The me of right now is not the me of the past. I've regressed from the distant future. Every step I take is backed by certainty. In the words I'm speaking now, at the very least, not a single grain of inferiority or insecurity remains.