The Regressed Magic Swordsman Devours the North - Chapter 17

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 17. Geumseong Tournament (2)
Two days before the Geumseong Tournament’s Main Tournament.
Charles, a journalist for Daily, arrived at the arena in Siren to watch the Preliminary Round of the Geumseong Tournament.
Gulp—
Charles swallowed hard, his throat dry with tension. Not because someone threatened him, but because he was overwhelmed by the sheer presence of .
“…… Is this. The arena that the dead gods once used?”
This massive stone structure, owned by the Karlsen Family, boasted an overwhelming majesty capable of accommodating over twenty thousand spectators at once.
The rough, solid gray basalt exterior walls—weathered by the harsh cold of the Northern Region—towered higher and thicker than ordinary fortification walls.
Tens of thousands of stone blocks fit together seamlessly, forming an immense circle that enclosed the arena.
At the front of the building stood a sword-shaped statue tens of meters high, which happened to catch the noon sun and reflected its warm golden light.
Charles showed his press credentials to an attendant and was guided into the arena.
“Wow.”
The circular stage in the center of the arena, covered in red sand, contrasted sharply with the narrow underground passages through which one person could barely pass—it was vast enough for hundreds of Knights to clash simultaneously.
The expansive stage was filled with warriors gathered from all corners of the Northern Region, and from them emanated that distinctive human scent, layered with countless overlapping stories.
Charles raised the camera hanging around his neck and snapped a photograph. Not merely for the sake of writing an article. It felt as though this moment needed to be preserved.
Seasoned wandering adventurers hoping for a stroke of fortune. Spear-limbed Fist Technique practitioners. Apprentice Knights of noble houses yearning for formal knighthood.
Descendants of the Northern Sea, wrapped in beast hides and wielding colossal axes. Sharp spear artists risen from the Southern Region.
There was nothing here that failed to impress.
Mercenaries sold to the highest bidder and nameless swordsmen bearing their own private histories exhaled ragged breaths that mingled with the cold wind of the north.
Yet among them were no true Knights. The Knights praised as the blades of humanity enjoyed the privilege of advancing directly to the Main Tournament, bypassing the Preliminary Round altogether.
In other words, this was a battleground where those who had failed to become formal Knights fought for a place in the Main Tournament.
And there was a presence there that drew everyone’s attention.
“There he is.”
Click—
He took a photograph.
Golden hair that seemed to contain the radiant noon sunlight itself.
His pristine uniform, unmarred by a speck of dust, only made his impossibly perfect proportions stand out all the more, and his sharp, finely honed features looked as though sculpted by an artist.
The Longsword hanging at his waist gleamed with unmistakable quality, and every step he took carried the dignity of a great house.
Sion Karlsen.
The most talked-about figure in the Northern Region at this very moment.
Charles needed no effort to see him. Even without trying, even without specifically looking, he was visible from a distance.
The Preliminary Round began shortly after.
The format was five-on-five battles, and one had to survive three matches to advance.
This meant the single survivor became one out of one hundred twenty-five.
Participants had gathered, curious about Sion Karlsen’s ability. And.
“…… What was that?”
“What did I just see?”
“Wait. Did it start already?”
“No, it’s over, you fool.”
“Huh?”
“Something that makes no sense…….”
Every spectator uttered something stupid. They had no choice. Sion Karlsen had finished every battle without sustaining a single wound.
The first four opponents, the next four, the next four—it made no difference. Fist Technique practitioners, spear artists, rangers, barbarians, descendants of Vikings, it didn’t matter.
Sion Karlsen wasted no time.
Struck by that overwhelming, aristocratic figure, Charles raised his camera.
Click—
Presently he took up his pen and transferred his thoughts to his notebook.
『Sion Karlsen.
Passes the Preliminary Round like light itself.
Those who faced Sion Karlsen were renowned warriors from the Oslo Region of the north. Yet he could not even properly see Sion Karlsen’s blade.
He was not alone in this. The spectators, the next challenger, the one after that—all the same.
…… (continued)
-Daily_Charles』
***
August 21st.
The Geumseong Tournament’s Main Tournament.
The arena was flooded with a vast throng of people.
Had Southerners come to witness this outdoor event on such a cold day, they would have stifled a bitter laugh, but to the people of the North, it was no different from midsummer.
Truly countless people converged on the arena.
The reason was naturally to witness the Geumseong Tournament. And yet. One out of every three people said something like this.
Why did you come here? You don’t know? Listen, you must’ve heard of him. The famous one these days. Sion Karlsen participating in the tournament. I came to see what he’s really capable of!
There were more than just spectators in the stands. On one side, vendors hawked biscuits and goat’s milk; on the other, they sold jerky, wine, whiskey, and vodka.
Thanks to it all, more than half the seats in Kaiseus—called the Relic of the Gods—were filled, making it the day with the largest audience in history.
On both sides of the arena, nearest to the center, were the nobility boxes where only aristocrats could sit.
On the right sat members of the Karlsen Family and Sid Karlsen, the second son of House Karlsen, who muttered to himself while watching the arena.
“Sion. Are you really going to show everyone today?”

He had watched his brother’s transformation more closely than anyone, and he knew many things.
That Sion had asked their father for the Special Investigation Division—and that the condition had been winning the Geumseong Tournament.
‘To be honest, I’m not expecting him to win it all, but still, show them how much you’ve changed.’
He loved his younger brother. He was blood kin, a source of comfort to one who had no talent for swordplay, a friend to play with when his heart grew weary, and somewhere along the way, a mirror in which he saw himself reflected.
That’s why this tournament mattered so much. The “business partner” Sion had mentioned.
‘I’ll decide after I see today.’
The left nobility box held aristocrats who had gathered mostly to watch the Geumseong Tournament itself, or to see how capable their own family’s retainers were, rather than to watch Sion Karlsen specifically.
Of course, a few of the nobles’ gazes were different.
In particular, Guseto Daikarh, the second son of House Daikarh. He had planned to study Sion Karlsen carefully during this tournament.
‘I must watch closely. If that bastard truly is a beast with its claws sheathed, then by any means necessary, I must kill the beast.’
And.

In the center of the arena stood Midgal Rau, Director of the Surveillance Bureau of the Northern Region.
A towering frame and a roughly maintained mane of reddish-brown hair. The valiant warrior once called the “Iron-Blooded Knight” now served as the former captain of the Platinum Knights, overseeing the tournament proceedings.
He observed the throng that had gathered today and thought to himself.

‘Truly, an unusually dense crowd. Unusually dense.’

The reason so many had gathered was probably to witness Sion Karlsen’s humiliating defeat.
There were always such types around.
Those who yearned by any means to see the shame of a great house. Though he hadn’t expected numbers like this.
He looked toward Sion sitting in the preparation room. Sion simply sat in silence with his eyes closed.
‘Still, he managed to pass through the Preliminary Round and make it this far.’
He turned his gaze to the other participants. Knights. Or warriors of Knight-equivalent skill. They gripped their weapons and composed themselves mentally.
‘Nothing but valiant warriors, one and all.’
Midgal held absolute loyalty to the Karlsen Family, so he did not wish to see Sion publicly shamed.
‘If it were up to me, I’d stop him even now…….’
But he was a righteous knight. He raised his hands high for all the spectators to see. And declared in a voice like thunder.

“Then, we begin the Geumseong Tournament!”

Roooooar—
The cheers filled the arena Kaiseus. Amid a festival-like atmosphere, the highly anticipated tournament commenced.
“Geumseong Tournament Main Tournament Round 1! First match! Louis Daiken versus Sion Karlsen! Warriors, come forward!”
With the start of the tournament, Sion Karlsen, who now commanded the keenest interest, stepped forth.
With an unwavering, dignified gait.
His opponent was Louis Daiken, a promising prodigy Knight. Could the audience ask for a greater gift than this?
Roooar—!
Clap clap clap clap—!

Applause and cheers shook the heavens.

Louis, the red-haired, red-eyed young Knight, stepped into the arena and addressed Sion.

“I request a lesson from you.”

His voice carried no trace of malice, different from before. Yet because of that, it felt all the sharper.
Shring—
Louis Daiken drew his blade. A sword about 80 centimeters in length. Being a swordsman renowned for the Quick Blade, he did not use the longer Longswords.
To the eye, the weapon was meticulously maintained, a reflection of how seriously Louis took his blade.
From childhood, if he could be of service to the lord who had saved him and his family from a demon, he would do anything.
With that resolve, he clenched his teeth and trained relentlessly, and through blood and sweat, he became a Knight of the Surveillance Bureau.
That was why Louis held pride in his own skill.

But why. Why was he trembling?
Why this uncontrollable shaking?

Shring—

Sion Karlsen drew his blade as well. It stretched roughly a meter long, slightly longer than Louis’s sword.

“Come.”

Louis Daiken gave a nod and kicked off the ground.
With a sharp crack, his form hurtled toward Sion Karlsen like lightning.
Slash!
A diagonal strike with full force—it came as if to cleave Sion Karlsen in two.
The word “Dodge!” nearly escaped his lips.
Clang!
But Sion Karlsen parried it with ease.
—Ohhhhh!
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
Whispers arose: surely the promising young knight wouldn’t actually kill the third son of the Karlsen Family? And yet, Sion Karlsen had just deflected a blow from Louis Daiken?
Louis drove his blade down again like a thunderbolt.

Slash!

But again—
Clang!

Sion Karlsen parried once more, effortlessly. After two attacks were repelled, Louis widened the distance between them.
The stands erupted in astonishment. Even without an Aura coating his blade, it was no strike that an ordinary swordsman could have blocked.
Sid Karlsen, Guseto Daikarh, and Midgal Rau were equally stunned.

Slash—clang!
The battle continued.
Clang-clang-clang-clang!

Louis felt that Sion Karlsen’s blade was remarkably soft. Like someone who had repeated the same motion tens of thousands of times or more.
The succession of drawing, withdrawing, and striking again flowed as naturally as water.
Clean, unbroken sword lines followed one after another, and that fluid swordplay pressed on without respite.
Yet he endured. He gritted his teeth and held his ground, believing that eventually Sion Karlsen’s opening would reveal itself. But—

Clang-clang-clang-clang!

Sion Karlsen’s successive strikes had no end. No matter how many times Louis blocked, he kept pressing forward relentlessly. Like a river bursting through a broken dam.

Not that the strikes were so fast his eyes couldn’t follow them, or so heavy he couldn’t stop them.
Rather, it was a merciless swordplay that seized every opening without fail.

Louis Daiken came to a certainty as he beheld Sion Karlsen’s technique.
‘This is impossible swordplay.’
A name came to mind.
The Karlsen-style Classical Sword Arts.
‘……So he is indeed of the Karlsen line.’
Befitting the foremost sword masters of the Northern Region, Louis drew magical power from his Core.
Whooooom—
A crimson Aura wrapped around his blade.

Roaaash!

Sion Karlsen quickly shifted his sword path to parry. Had he not done so, his blade would have shattered.

“Swordplay alone won’t suffice.”
“You’re excellent, too.”
“…It’s not over yet.”
“Now that’s what I want to see.”
Sion approved of Louis’s bearing. He was the very image of an unbroken Knight.
In that moment, as the two exchanged measured glances.
Roooaaahhh—!
Clap-clap-clap-clap!

The spectators erupted in cheers and thunderous applause.
“It all happened so fast I can’t quite make sense of it, but isn’t their exchange of strikes extraordinary?”
“Of course! These are renowned Knights we’re watching!”
“Was Sion Karlsen a Knight as well?”
“Is that what matters right now?”
“Watching this bout, I’m convinced—it must have been Sion Karlsen who killed the Hashman brothers.”
“I thought it was just a rumor…”
“Then the newspaper account was true after all?”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
Just as Sion had orchestrated. Slowly. Public opinion began to turn in his favor. The dots he had planted methodically were now connecting into a line.

Meanwhile, Midgal Rau, who watched from the gallery above the arena, could not hide his shock.

‘This can’t be real.’

He observed every single movement of Sion Karlsen with meticulous attention.

The precise angle of each foot striking the ground. The fluid pivot of the ankles, the taunt cord of the calves and thighs. The play of muscle across his waist and shoulders—stretching, then contracting with explosive force.

He was a swordsman of the highest caliber.

No matter how formidable the Karlsen Family’s Classical Sword Arts were reputed to be, such movement could never spring from a day or two of practice.

‘A beast hiding its claws after all.’

Sion felt the weight of changing gazes upon him, and for his grand finale, he raised his blade.

Whoooosh—

Aura bloomed from Sion’s longsword. Like Louis’s, it was a crimson Aura. But it was not merely crimson.
Flame ignited along the blade.
“””…!!”””

At the sight of the roaring Aura-clad sword, not only the crowd but the nobility and even the presiding Midgal Rau gasped aloud.

“A—a flame-attribute Aura?”
It was astonishing enough that Sion could manifest an Aura at all, but a flame-attribute Aura here in the Northern Region?
From the blazing Aura sword, vermilion light poured forth, and Sion’s brilliant golden hair and sharp, striking features shone like the breaking dawn.
He kicked off the ground, leapt forward, and drove his blade down upon Louis.
Whoooosh—! Crack!

Louis barely raised his sword to block, but was pushed back by an overwhelming margin. His expression spoke volumes: How can he be this strong?
Louis had every reason to be shocked.
After drinking Dragon’s Breath.
Sion had grown stronger with each passing day.

Crack! Crack! Bang!
Sion pressed forward relentlessly.
Louis felt as though he were trapped in a dream.
A nightmare, facing a tide of flame.
Crash!
Each time he blocked, his wrist felt as though it might shatter.
Even with his Aura unleashed and every ounce of strength poured into his defense.
At this point.
There was no denying it anymore.
‘Yes, he’s definitely stronger than me.’
And Louis Daiken acknowledged it deep in his heart—Sion Karlsen was a formidable opponent.
So that’s it.
He is the third son of the Karlsen Family.
The Returned Demon Swordmaster Devours the Northern Region
Author
: Bangsim
Publication Date
: June 16, 2026
Publisher
: Acesis Media Co., Ltd.
Editor-in-Chief
: Acesis Media Editorial Team
Address
: 10F, Urban Bench Building, 325 Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
Email
: [email protected]
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The contents may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the company and the author.
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UCI
: G720:N+A129-20260615032

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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