"Take me to the orphanage on the outskirts of Seiren."
"Yes, Young Master."
VROOM—
Inside the car, pushing through the blizzard. I gazed out the window from the back seat. A bleak cityscape filled my eyes.
The streets lined with shops were deserted, and the plaza was quiet too.
Even summer—the liveliest of the North's four seasons—looked like this on days the blizzard raged. Northerners didn't venture outside when it was cold.
Unless you were a noble rolling in money who could afford winter garments etched with mana circuits, or a Knight who could reinforce their body with a Core, enduring this blizzard would be no easy feat.
Winter was worse. Outside of hunters and woodcutters, most people probably spent more days indoors than out.
I needed to make these streets warmer and more vibrant. Only then would the economy thrive and the North grow prosperous.
All of it to prevent the end. There was so much to do. And yet, parasites like Guseto were out there living in luxury......
'The more I think about it, the angrier I get.'
Guseto would bring the money. His life was on the line. But he'd hold a grudge for every cent he lost and try to get his revenge.
That was the moment.
When I'd track him and identify the traitors he was connected to.
Lost in thought, I arrived at the orphanage before I knew it.
After stepping out of the car, I went straight to the director's office. The director was a portly, heavily bearded old man who bowed politely when he saw my attire.
"A pleasure to meet you. But, may I ask who......?"
I looked at the director and got straight to the point.
"I came because I'd like to make a donation."
"A d-donation, you say?"
"Yes."
I handed him a check. The director extended his hands respectfully. His head lowered. His eyes took in the amount. He counted the zeroes. His jaw dropped.
"300 million?!"
His mouth fell wide open.
"Might I ask your name......?"
"Sion Karsen."
"HUH!"
The director's mouth opened even wider. Wide enough that I worried an insect might fly in.
Then again, the man known as the North's delinquent showing up out of nowhere and offering to donate—hard to blame him for being skeptical.
The director's expression seemed to say exactly this:
—What's the catch?
Understandable. Donating was a good deed, of course, but I wasn't that good a person.
The reason I'd specifically sought out this orphanage to donate was to find the talent I'd need for future business ventures.
Paperwork.
Someone with a knack for numbers.
I smiled gently and said:
"I simply want it all spent on the children. I have no ulterior motive."
"Even so...... how could I accept something so valuable......"
I narrowed my brow at the director. If he kept refusing, there was nothing I could do.
"Director."
"Y-yes!"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"N-no, not at all."
"I'll say it again—this is for the children. If you spend it frivolously or sell it for personal gain, you'd best brace yourself. Surely you wouldn't do something to stand in the way of those children's futures?"
"Of c-course not! Absolutely, I will use every last coin for the children."
I'd practically elbowed my way into getting the donation accepted. And then.
"Ah, if there happens to be a child here with a talent for working with numbers, please pass along a message for me."
I flashed a warm smile and continued. In truth, I was referring to one specific person.
A numbers savant I'd met in the Resistance. He'd grown up in this orphanage.
There was no rush to meet him directly. For now, I'd just cast the bait.
"Tell them: if you want to work with big numbers, come find me."
The director bowed his head sheepishly and replied.
"Ah, yes. Understood. I will use the donation wisely, down to the last coin, for the children."
"Naturally. Well then."
Donation complete, I turned and got back in the car.
VROOM—
Acrid exhaust puffed out as the wheels began to roll.
***
Before long, I arrived at a tavern in the Isra District of the North. A place called Igwen Luna—a tavern with a great many regulars.
I stepped out of the car and surveyed my surroundings. To check whether the man I expected to be looking for me had arrived.
"Hm."
'He followed me here. Good.'
I turned to Roman in the driver's seat.
"Come inside with me. It's cold."
"Ah, n-no. I'm fine."
"No, this time you have to come. Go sit at a different table from me. And buy five bottles of Iruna Noble."
"Ah...... yes. Understood."
I had no choice but to bring Roman. Left out here, there was no telling what could happen to him.
Before entering Igwen Luna, I straightened my suit tie.
Inside, the clamor of loud conversation and clinking glasses rang noisily.
"Phew."
I steadied my breathing.
Composed my expression and my gaze.
I said to myself:
I am from the great house of the North.
The third young lord of House Karsen.
Before the regression, I'd believed that status was something you were born with—an unchanging truth, but......
That couldn't have been further from the truth.
After the North fell, I didn't even receive the treatment of a fallen noble. Just a vagrant. A beggar. That was all.
Would it have been the same if I'd been Father?
Absolutely not.
He'd have been revered as a hero.
In other words, high status demands the power, intellect, dignity, and renown to match it.
Sometimes, the appearance of power matters more than the real thing.
So.
Starting now, I would rebuild my reputation. Little by little.
CREEEAK—
I pushed open the door and walked in with measured steps. The rhythm of my shoes echoed steadily.
The noise that had been blaring a moment ago went silent in an instant. Every pair of eyes turned to me. The unmistakably aristocratic features and bearing commanded attention.
But.
Soon enough, the drunks began chattering among themselves.
"I'm telling you, the North's delinquent apparently caught Yoen Hashman?"
"Is that really true? He's House Karsen's failure, isn't he?"
"Exactly. Everyone knows his swordsmanship is terrible. I heard he can't even handle mana properly."
"Right? It is a bit suspicious."
"Can't you tell just by looking? He made it up! Probably bought someone else's achievement."
They thought I couldn't hear them whispering among themselves, but......
They were wrong.
With my Core developed and my physical abilities dramatically enhanced, I heard every word of their gossip.
But confronting them would be beneath a nobleman, so I pretended not to hear and calmly found an empty table to sit at. They weren't entirely wrong, after all.
Still.
I memorized your faces. Every one of you.
Roman bowed to me and went to sit at a different table.
I sat and waited briefly, and a waiter approached.
"What can I get you?"
"Iruna Noble."
Lately, I only ever craved one drink.
"An excellent choice."
A moment later. A man with brilliant golden hair extended a glass of Iruna Noble to me.
"You came?"
I accepted the glass and answered.
"Yeah. Hey, Brother."
Sid Karsen. Like me, known as one of the North's failures—the second young lord of House Karsen, and my older brother.
"You killed Yoen Hashman? I heard and nearly had a heart attack thinking you were the one who died."
"Well. As you can see, I'm fine."
"Don't you dare go dying before me."
"Why?"
"Why? Life's not worth living without you."
I heard his words and looked down at the glass before me for a moment. On the still surface, I saw my brother, who looked so much like me.
The empathy of shared misfortune.
What an incredibly strange feeling.
The second brother I knew had been called a half-wit just like me for lacking swordsmanship talent, but only someone who didn't know him would say that.
During this era, my brother had his hands in everything from taverns to clothing shops, forges, and the distribution of fabrics including animal hides—quietly expanding his business empire behind the scenes.
'A man whose business acumen was as exceptional as his martial talent was lacking.'
This very tavern, Igwen Luna, belonged to him.
If he hadn't been born into House Karsen, he'd have been celebrated as a symbol of self-made success.
But as fate would have it, he was born the son of a swordsmanship house, and so he suffered.
In any case.
I really liked my brother.
When I'd squandered my fortune like an idiot and even racked up massive debts, it was thanks to him that I'd managed to scrape by.
He was something like a savior to me.
"Brother."
"Hm?"
"Want to go into business with me?"
"Have you lost your mind?"
"No. I'm serious."
When I spoke with absolute sincerity, my brother—who'd been laughing the whole time—wiped the smile off his face.
"Sion."
"Yeah."
"Business isn't something to be taken lightly."
He started with Igwen Luna as an example and explained at length, barely pausing for breath.
Location scouting.
Shipping costs.
Maintaining ingredient freshness.
Supply and demand analysis.
Menu development.
Pricing.
Staff training, and more.
"On top of that, too much success is also a problem. It attracts pests."
I listened to every word without interrupting. My brother's face shifted constantly, clearly finding my attentiveness unfamiliar.
His expression was quite a sight. It seemed to say exactly this:
—What the hell did he eat?
They were tiny changes, but precisely because of that, they felt all the larger. We'd always been close, after all.
"Everything you said is right, Brother. That's why I'll provide the concept and capital, and I want you to handle the operations."
Was it the change in my demeanor? My brother sighed and asked:
"Fine. Let me at least hear it. What's the concept?"
"The Kroem Mountains are a dangerous zone, but they're still undeveloped. I want to buy land there and prospect for ore veins."
The Kroem Mountains were the area my brother had developed into a mining operation before the regression. Whether he knew about it in this era, I wasn't sure—but he'd at least be interested.
"......You were interested in that place? Wait, before that—you want to get into the mining business?"
"Yeah."
"Do you even know what mining is?"
"Generally speaking, 30% is lost to damage when extracting mana stones. Another 50% evaporates during processing. Don't you think that's an atrocious efficiency rate?"
"Y-yeah. It is."
"We develop the mine and build a factory and research lab right next to it. That way, as soon as something's extracted and processed—research, tech development, application, then back to research. We keep that cycle going. I think we'd find ways to cut the losses fast. What do you think?"
"......"
This was exactly what my brother had been thinking about too. He'd never lived to see the technology that prevented those losses, but......
That had been a problem of talent development.
And the Resistance's geniuses had made it possible.
"I'll clean out every cartel eating the North alive, so let's build something real."
At my sudden declaration, my brother made the strangest face.
"I truly feel like I've been blindsided by my own little brother."
PFFT. I laughed.
"It's about time we both changed...... you and me."
That was when.
CREEEAK—
The tavern door opened, and a man walked in. A black cloak draped over him, a mask covering his face. Suspicious by anyone's standards.
SHING—
He drew his sword from its scabbard and spoke.
"Are you Sion Karsen?"
Killing intent radiated off him. Strong enough to make an ordinary person's hair stand on end. The patrons froze in fear, their faces going rigid.
Someone dropped their mug of beer. Someone else spat out the drink in their mouth.
One thing was clear: the lively tavern had been plunged into dead silence.
Of course.
I alone spoke with perfect composure.
"Here for your brother's revenge?"
"What? You knew?"
As expected, the masked man's identity was Yan Hashman.
A worse bastard than Yoen Hashman, he had one particularly vile hobby.
Kidnapping one half of young couples just beginning to fall in love.
'Because of him, countless lovers died falling from cliffs or drowning while searching for their missing beloved.'
"I heard you two were close. So I figured I'd come out and do a little brotherly bonding of my own."
"......You knew, and you still killed my brother?"
"Devoted brothers should go together. Preferably straight to hell."
The moment I dragged my thumb across my throat, a vein bulged on Yan Hashman's forehead. Then he spoke in a voice that had gone cold as ice.
"Soon you will beg me to kill you. Of course, I still will not."
A threat. I found it so laughable I let out a sneer.
"It's because bastards like you run rampant that the world goes to ruin."
"I see words are wasted on you."
"Hey. For someone in the Red Fang, how high up are you?"
"......"
His eyes shook for an instant. Visibly rattled. I'd hit the nerve dead center.
"Cat got your tongue? Was it a secret?"
The criminal syndicate Red Fang's absolute rule was secrecy. And so he locked the tavern door.
CLICK—
Then he walked toward me and spoke.
"Everyone here dies because of you."
"Why, because your wrists get cut if secrets leak? Scared of that, are we?"
"You little—!"
The instant he tried to continue. I kicked off the floor. A powerful leap.
BANG—!
I closed the distance in a flash. I drew the sword at my waist. And slashed at him.
A movement truly fast as lightning.
SWISH—!
"HURK!"
He frantically raised his sword to block.
But.
CLANG-CLANG—!
He was nothing but a thug who'd lorded over back alleys. No match for someone armed with the knowledge of the future and relentless training.
"Wait—"
SHINK—
Whatever he'd been about to say was cut short. My sword had cleaved clean through his neck. And from the blade, flames erupted.
WHOOOOSH—!
Blood gushed from his neck.
And dried on contact.
THUNK.
His head hit the floor.
And rolled.
I'd merely taken one man's head. Something this simple, this light.
And yet. In doing so, I'd saved countless young lives that would have been ruined in the future.
Everyone in the tavern was stunned.
So stunned that silence hung in the air.
In that moment, every person in the tavern was speechless. My brother included. His expression said exactly this:
—Sion? Aura? Fire? No, forget that. The fragile Sion just killed someone?
I turned to my brother and said:
"Let's finish talking when we're sober."