I was currently listed as [On Classified Mission] within the Inspectorate, so I was technically still a member.
Thanks to that, the Hashman brothers affair was processed smoothly. Once the investigation wrapped up, I drafted a report of several pages.
SCRATCH— SCRATCH—
There was a newly invented device—the typewriter—but I deliberately took up a pen and wrote by hand.
『The Hashman brothers are members of the "Red Fang," and ......』
The key details were two or three of their hideout locations. I wrote down what I remembered from newspapers before the regression. The Inspectorate agents would probably assume I'd been conducting an investigation mission.
The human brain has a tendency to stitch together things it can't understand into something it can.
"I'd say the Red Fang is nearly finished."
I briefly worried that changing the future might render pre-regression information useless. But then I realized what a foolish thought that was.
I'd come back precisely to change the future in the first place.
"Rui. And her—will they go together, I wonder?"
I felt bad for always leaving the cleanup to others, but what could I do? That was each person's role.
I sealed the completed report in an envelope, asked Roman to send it to the Inspectorate, and went back down to the ruins to focus on training.
SWISH—! WHIRR—! SWISH—!
I planted my feet in the exact positions and swung my sword along the exact trajectories.
Start slow, but precise. Then gradually increase speed while maintaining accuracy.
'Still not enough.'
Unlike magic, swordsmanship had limits to what muscle memory alone could reproduce.
To swing properly even once in real combat, I had to practice thousands, tens of thousands of times until my body remembered on its own.
INHALE—
EXHALE—
Breathing is the foundation of every action, and footwork is the basis of all swordsmanship—I couldn't neglect either one.
SWISH—! WHOOOOSH—
The more I trained, the more vividly I could feel blood coursing through my veins.
Mana from the Core rode the bloodstream, circulating through my entire body—and it was so much purer than before the regression that it was almost uncanny.
When I focused my awareness on my hand, the mana gathered there. When I focused on the sword, it gathered in the sword. But the sword still didn't feel as natural as my hand.
'If I want to grow stronger as a swordsman, I need to close that gap.'
I threw myself back into training. I condensed the blazing Aura into the blade and honed it into a razor edge.
Originally, Karsen-style Classical Swordplay was created for swordsmen who wielded frigid mana, so it didn't suit me—a user of flame domain mana.
That was why I'd received help from House Leonhart, a swordsmanship family rivaling House Karsen and known as the hegemon of the South.
Or, to be precise, I'd learned the secret swordsmanship of the now-extinct House Leonhart.
Normally, teaching a family's secret techniques to an outsider was a grave offense. But with humanity on the brink of extinction, what was the point of hoarding secrets?
In the final days of the Resistance, the exchange of secret arts had flourished internally for the sake of survival, and I'd shared everything I had as well.
The result of all that was none other than:
Karsen-style Classical Swordplay, Revised.
A swordsmanship style unique to me and me alone in this entire world. After hours of continuous training—
"Whew."
My entire body was soaked in sweat, my clothes clinging to me, before I finally left the ruins.
The moment I entered my room, I stripped off my clothes, washed them, scrubbed the sweat from my body, and collapsed onto the plush sofa.
On the desk sat a newspaper and black tea that Roman had brought.
I held the tea in one hand and the newspaper in the other.
Most of it was useless content, but suddenly my eyes flew wide open.
『Sion Karsen, leading the charge against criminals for the sake of the territory's people.』
『Sion Karsen.
Is he a predator who has been hiding his fangs?』
PFFFFFTT!
I sprayed the tea I'd been sipping all over the place. What the hell? That genuinely startled me.
I steadied myself, calmly wiped my mouth with a handkerchief, and read the newspaper again.
Then I blinked.
"Why?" was the first word that came to mind. Why would someone write such a favorable article about me at this point?
Charles, from the Daily?
Who the hell is this guy?
"......"
In any case.
There was nothing bad about it.
No—it was actually a stroke of luck.
The half-wit image might come off faster than I'd expected.
I'd have to change a great many things going forward. And in that process, public support was a prerequisite.
Of course, one or two articles like this wouldn't change much—but that didn't matter either.
There'd be more than enough opportunities to build a reputation from here. I should look into this newspaper and this journalist.
More pressing, though, was the question of how to win the Golden Star Tournament—the detonator for my reputation......
"They'll be tough, won't they?"
Faces flickered through my mind.
Geniuses like Rui Daiken were a problem, but this tournament would also see the emergence of a dazzling talent that made even geniuses look like common stones on the ground.
Among the young Knights, one who stood apart from the rest—a genius with talent that seemed sculpted by the gods.
I looked at one of the framed photos hanging on the wall. I didn't remember exactly how old we'd been, but there was a photograph from childhood—taken together with her.
Hair like blue silk. Eyes like sapphires. A shy smile.
We'd been close back then, at least.
On top of that, various other complications would arise. To navigate them all and still win—
I needed more experience, and one decisive breakthrough to push this body beyond its current limits.
The key to unlocking every obstacle was, of course.
The [Flame-Frost Dragon's Dungeon].
That ruin-obsessed eccentric had mentioned there was an elixir on the first floor that could dramatically strengthen a Core.
I gazed out the window for a moment. I stared at the reputation floating in the empty air.
"Winner of the Golden Star Tournament, huh......"
Just then.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
"Young Master, Guseto Daikah is here to see you."
"Let him in."
The visit came sooner than expected.
Guseto's complexion was poor as he walked through the door. I couldn't tell much else, but he clearly hadn't slept well.
He extended a heavy bag with trembling hands.
"12 billion zeni...... Here."
I took the bag without ceremony and opened it. High-denomination checks were packed inside wall-to-wall.
Wow. I barely kept the corners of my mouth from shooting skyward. I couldn't show any reaction here—I had to keep the pressure on.
"So you'll pretend you don't know about that now?"
Of course I would.
I had no evidence anyway.
"Get out."
Guseto chewed on his lips and glared at me. The veins bulging on his forehead spoke for his fury.
"Sion. I run the Northern aristocratic social scene. This...... are you really sure you won't regret it?"
His voice trembled with rage, and I let out a sneer. How pathetic. I was the third son of a grand ducal house. So what if he ran the social scene?
I drew mana from my Core. Then lightly tapped my foot on the floor.
TAP.
A pulse rippled outward from my foot. It spread across me, Guseto, and the bag. The wave reflected back.
Using vibrations to scan for devices.
Another one of "Duckie's tricks"—and it could detect just about anything.
TING—
Sure enough. Inside the bag, a listening device and a tracking device. I fished them out deftly. And held them up in front of Guto's face.
"......!"
His eyes shook like an earthquake had hit. CRACK! I curled my fist and crushed the devices. Then struck his chest with the same hand.
TAP.
"Honorifics."
TAP. TAP. TAP—
"I told you not to drop the honorifics."
"......Understood."
"Get out."
At the curt dismissal, Guseto forced a smile and turned to leave. His expression once he'd turned around was obvious without looking.
First time being humiliated like this, he'd be burning with shame. He'd go home, smash everything in sight, and scheme to stab me in the back by any means necessary.
I sincerely hoped he would. So that through him, every last traitor of humanity holding his hand would be exposed to the world.
When that time comes, your usefulness ends.
***
I stepped outside in a black suit and fedora. Today was a clear day with no blizzard.
"Young Master. Good morning."
Roman, still bundled in thick clothes, held the car door open. I settled into the back seat and said:
"Take me to the magical device shop in Seiren's 14th District."
"Understood."
VROOM—
The car glided forward. Was it my imagination? Roman's driving seemed to have improved since last time.
Perhaps because the blizzard had passed. Unlike before, a fair number of people lined the streets.
With the warmer weather, people had poured out to take care of everything they'd put off.
The North had a smaller population compared to the East, West, and South, but the capital Seiren was different.
Directly governed by House Karsen, it was considered the safest land in all the North, and countless people lived and worked here in every trade imaginable.
Other territories ruled by different nobles were far more barren, I'd heard.
But in the grand scheme, those places also fell under the Karsen duchy. Which meant they were ultimately within Father's sphere of influence.
I would make the entire North prosperous. Without a powerful North, there'd be no stopping those monsters that would fill every inch of heaven and earth.
Before long we arrived at the 14th District, and I scanned the storefronts. Or, to be precise, the signs.
"12 Magical Devices...... Found it."
The place with exactly "12 Magical Devices" written on the sign.
JINGLE—
A bell above the door chimed as I entered, announcing my arrival. It seemed to be a kind of magical device itself, though I couldn't figure out the principle.
The shop interior was as cluttered as an ironworks, with absolutely no organization—impossible to tell what was what.
A quill pen resting on top of a magic scroll made of parchment. A cracked crystal ball sitting next to an ink pot.
The ticklish scent of potions and the metallic tang seeping from old hardware were just two more elements adding to the dizziness.
Deep on the shelves, the dust-caked artifacts looked no different from junk at first glance. And in truth, most of them probably were.
But. A select few items in this shop were the real deal among real deals—and I'd come for those today.
"Tsk tsk tsk. By the look of you, you're someone of stature. What brings you all the way to a humble place like this?"
A white-haired old man emerged, thumping his hunched back as he walked. This was the place. No doubt about it.
Before the regression. There'd been an eccentric obsessed with magical devices. He'd once said:
—What, Sion, you lived in Seiren in the North? That's where my grandpa used to run his shop.
—What did he sell?
—Magical devices, obviously! "12 Magical Devices" in the 14th District! My dad's works were there—he was called a genius, you know. Nowhere near the masterpieces me and my old man made, sure, but they were better than your average magical device. Heh heh. Grandpa treated them all like junk, though.
He'd told me the name "12 Magical Devices" was carved into the sign by his grandfather to commemorate how he used to kiss his grandmother twelve times every day. Even now, he'd said, what a romantic the old man had been.
This was that shop. And this was that old man.
'So this white-haired elder was the romantic one.'
"I came to buy a few magical devices."
"Browse to your heart's content."
"That ice sword. And this teal necklace and that ring. I'll take this dagger too."
The old man gathered the items I'd pointed to with sharp, keen eyes, bundled them with cord, and said:
"That comes to 1.9 million zeni."
"I'll also take the scrolls in that bin."
"How many?"
"All of them."
"......Pardon?"
"All of them."
"Ah, yes."
"What's the total?"
"7.2 million zeni."
The old man's expression was perfectly even as he stated the amount, but somehow the face of a lost comrade seemed to overlap with his.
Having suffered extensive physical losses myself, I'd relied heavily on that man's help. And he'd always missed his grandfather.
I pressed a check into the old man's hand. A total of 300 million zeni. Then I smiled warmly and said:
"I'll put them to good use. Thank you."
"Yes. Come again."
Just as the old man lowered his gaze to check the amount on the check, I was already out the door and in the car without looking back.
—WAAAAAAH! What in tarnation?! What's all this?!
Hearing the grandfather's exclamation from the distance, I said:
"Let's go."
VROOM—
I went on to purchase several more expensive herbs and magic scrolls before heading back.