The Regressed Magic Swordsman Devours the North - Chapter 24

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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 24. The Northern Nobility (1)
A delicate fragrance of tea hung in the air of Sid Karlsen’s private office.
It was the sort of scent meant to calm the mind, and yet an odd tension pervaded the room nonetheless.
“So… you’ve taken a liking to my brother, is that it? You want to work with him?”
Sid set down his teacup and turned to Doctor Crombel, his tone distinctly unsteady—a reaction to something in the doctor’s demeanor that had gotten under his skin.
“I received Sion’s letter and came here. Everything about this feels strange. I want to stay. But I don’t know what will happen. What exactly are you really after?”
There it was—the word “really.” His usual urbane businessman’s smile was nowhere in evidence.
Crombel, for his part, paid no mind. He merely sank deeper into the sofa and fixed a blank stare out the window toward the Gladiatorial Arena before speaking.
“It’s not a matter of taking a liking to someone. It means I’ve misjudged a person badly. Not just anyone—me! Like some fool!”
Crombel fidgeted with a Magic Telescope he had modified himself, which he pulled from his coat.
There was no sense in handling a telescope indoors, yet he went through the motions as though he could see something through it.
Sid Karlsen found this behavior even more off-putting. The man seemed utterly mad.
“Until I came here, I thought Sion Karlsen—your brother—was a mark.”
……
One might have softened such an honest assessment with gentler phrasing, but Crombel made no such effort.
That is to say, he was utterly devoid of pretense.
“A useful mark. Someone I could flatter into funding my research. But he… turned out to be nothing like what I expected.”
Crombel’s eyes gleamed with curiosity—though not with any fondness. Simply curiosity, and nothing more.
“I thought he was an idiot. Turns out he’s a genius?”
“No, no. It’s not that simple. There’s something more… a sort of composure, I suppose. A vision that sees ahead of its time. Usually when someone of ability keeps their true strength hidden, there’s a reason they reveal it when they do. But I can’t fathom his reason, and that’s what troubles me. I can’t explain it precisely, but my instincts are screaming it: this isn’t some passing connection. This is something else entirely.”
Doctor Crombel’s instincts were remarkably accurate. Yet even he and Sid Karlsen, who listened to his words, could not foresee what lay beyond.
Crombel rose from his seat and adjusted his uniform with care.
“Young Master Sid, I believe I should make a formal introduction to your father, the head of the Karlsen Family.”
“Why would you want to see my father?”
“If I’m to cultivate a deeper connection with the third son of the Grand Duke’s House, surely it’s only proper that I pay my respects to the family patriarch?”
It was a fair point. A brief visit might not require such formality, but if he meant to stay for some time, introducing himself to the head of the household was indeed the custom.
Yet Sid shook his head as he watched the brilliant intensity in Crombel’s eyes. Brother, what madman have you brought into this house?
Crombel, of course, remained unconcerned. He simply was not the sort of person who troubled himself overmuch with the opinions of others.
***
At that same moment, the residence of Gidrun Daikarh, the Count, had taken on the atmosphere of a funeral home.
The reason was singular: a photograph that Sion Karlsen had sent to the Daikarh household.
“This……”
Count Gidrun Daikarh trembled as he stared at the grayscale photograph.
A scene of Guseto handing over money to the spear-master Sian. The moment the Count laid eyes on it, he understood: his son had done something catastrophic.
“Was there nothing else with the photograph?”
At the Count’s question, a servant answered hesitantly.
“No, sir. I inquired of that servant Roman whether there was anything else, and he said this single photograph was all.”
……
There was no explicit explanation attached. And yet—that was what made it such a terrifying warning.
“Where is this spear-master Sian now?”
“He is… in a hospital operated by the Karlsen Family.”
The spear-master Sian had been gravely wounded in his duel with Sion Karlsen, and Sion had stepped forward to aid the warrior he himself had injured.
He bore all the costs—surgery, hospital care, rehabilitation, guards—and secured the man’s safety under his protection.
Count Daikarh felt as though the world had collapsed around him. And with good reason: his son had hired someone to assassinate the third son of the Karlsen Family, one of the great houses of the Northern Region.
If he had left no evidence, it might have been different. But the evidence and the witness both lay in the hands of the Karlsen Family.
If the “Lord” were to emerge from seclusion and take action, the Daikarh Family itself could be erased from existence.
The Count clenched his fists, trembling violently. Terror and rage erupted like wildfire. He could restrain himself no longer.
Crack!
He brought his hand across the cheek of Guseto, who stood before him with both hands clasped.
“Father……”
“Father? I have never sired such a child!”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The Count’s palm struck Guseto’s cheek again and again without mercy.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Silence!”
The Count’s rage would not subside. If anything, seeing the pathetic posture of his incompetent son only fanned the flames higher.
Under the relentless barrage, Guseto’s cheeks swelled and split, blood streaming from his nose, his eyes blood-shot and raw.
Had they struck with more force, several of his teeth would have spilled onto the floor; as it was, he could feel them rolling loose inside his mouth.
“Do you have any understanding of what you have done?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
The Count of the Daikarh Family did not relent. Now he wielded his fists rather than his palms, striking as though intent on murder.
He kicked. He drove his knee down. To any observer, he seemed determined to kill his own son. The more he inflicted violence, the more frenzied he became, losing all restraint.
When at last he drew a sword from a guard’s belt, the retainers rushed forward as one to stop him.
“Release me! I’ll strike that wretch down in a single blow! He’s no son of mine! A useless piece of refuse dragging the family into ruin? Release me! I’ll kill him!”
“Your Excellency, please compose yourself! The young master’s death will solve nothing!”
The Count, barely calmed by his retainers’ pleas, forced Guseto to kneel before them all.
Guseto’s shoulders heaved as he kept his head bowed. Whatever the circumstances, his father’s cruelty was severe.
“Let all of you see this. From this moment forward, this wretch is no member of the Daikarh Family. He shall be treated henceforth as a criminal!”
The Count raged on, nearly frothing, yet his retainers understood the truth: his anger was steeped in hypocrisy.
Until recently, the Count had quietly relished watching his son manipulate the Grand Duke’s third son, keeping him in the palm of his hand.
As he watched his son extract the family’s secrets through “Half-wit” and extort its funds, the Count had basked in a strange sense of victory—that he, the Count himself, stood above the Grand Duke’s House. He had done nothing to stop it.
But then.
Sion Karlsen, whom they had taken for a simpleton, had become the champion of the Geumsungji Tournament. His standing within the family would be transformed.
Once a troublesome liability, he was now a son to be proud of.
Northern Region opinion favored him. Why should the courts differ?
“Had I known Sion Karlsen was such a monster, I should never have bared my claws! Daring to plot assassination against the Grand Duke’s own blood? Your shallow scheming has dragged the entire family to the precipice!”
When fortune turned against him, the Count raged—though he had stood idle before. Such was Gidrun Daikarh.
Guseto remained silent. The humiliation, the shame, the disgrace he felt now—all of it transmuted into rage directed at Sion Karlsen.
Truthfully, Sion had done nothing wrong; it was he who had erred. The humiliation he endured now came from his father and the family’s retainers. Yet he chose to believe otherwise.
Then a retainer rushed in urgently and reported to the Count.
“My lord Count. I have urgent news.”
“Speak.”
“It is a matter that perhaps should not be discussed here…”
“Speak, I say!”
The retainer hesitated, glancing toward Guseto, but the Count’s roar left him no choice.
“Sion Karlsen has arrived at the mansion, sir.”
“””…!”””
The Count, his retainers, Guseto—all were stunned. None had expected him to arrive so swiftly.
“…What? Who has come?”
“S-Sion Karlsen, sir.”
The Count’s heart sank. He had planned to beat Guseto senseless and then visit Sion to offer his apologies. He had not thought Sion would come first.
“Clear the Reception Hall at once! Prepare to receive our guest! And bind that wretch’s hands and feet!”
The Count of Daikarh dragged Guseto like a dog and forced him to kneel in one corner of the Reception Hall.
He commanded all his retainers to remain standing, then stood himself.
“Show him in!”
Creak—
The Reception Hall door opened, and the measured sound of boot heels echoed rhythmically.
Brilliant golden hair, deep eyes, flawless bearing, immaculate uniform. Whoever looked upon him would see at once: a figure of noble bearing.
Sion Karlsen.
He was not the man they had all known. How could someone change so completely? Yet the answer was already clear.
A Hidden-Clawed Beast.
A Sleeping Dragon Preparing for Ascension.
“Oh, welcome, welcome. I should have come to see you myself, and I apologize for receiving you in such humble surroundings.”
“……”
Sion walked forward in silence and naturally took the seat of honor. He did not spare Guseto a glance—as though the man were beneath his notice.
“Please, be seated.”
The Count was bewildered. Sion’s movement to the seat of honor had been so natural—as if to say, this is how it should always be.
Naturally, the Count found himself taking the seat beside Sion, and the others awkwardly settled into their places.
The Count spoke first.
“I have no excuse to offer. Learning the truth belatedly, I have punished my son, yet I know it falls far short of what is due. This failure rests upon my poor guidance alone. I can only rely upon the compassion of the Grand Duke’s House.”
Even as the Count made his excuses, Sion’s expression remained dry. Instead of answering, he fixed his gaze upon Guseto, whose complexion had taken on an ashen, withered hue.
‘Perhaps the Count bears all responsibility for what that man has become.’
Sion recalled his former self before the Regression—the self that had gone awry, crushed beneath his father’s shadow.
Of course, looking at his two elder brothers, it seemed he had possessed his own flaws…
In any case.
“I accept your apology, Count. However.”
Sion spoke quietly.
“I understand that you oversee the Distribution Network for the Northern Region’s spirits business.”
“Ah… yes. My family and I have managed it for some time.”
“I wish to take control of certain products within that distribution.”
“……!”
Everyone except Sion gasped. They’d fully expected him to bare his displeasure and issue threats, but never imagined he would demand such concrete profit.
The Daikarh Count’s body trembled. With the family’s survival hanging in the balance, he was in no position to be selective about proposals—yet it still stung.
And that sentiment was shared equally by his retainers and Guseto alike.
Of course, Sion had no intention of giving them any opening, so he spoke in a glacial tone.
“Count Daikarh.”
Sion rose from his seat, as though he begrudged wasting another moment.
“Your answer?”
The Count’s facial muscles twitched minutely. But he had no choice. He stood to face Sion and spoke.
“Understood. Once you specify the goods, I will cede the distribution rights to you.”
“A wise decision.”
Sion departed the Reception Hall without hesitation. The Count and his retainers watched his retreating figure in a daze.
‘Ah. So he truly was a dragon.’
The Count’s eyes followed Sion until he vanished completely from sight, then the nobleman collapsed into his chair.
He then commanded his retainers.
“Take this wretch away and lock him in the Family Dungeon. And give him no food until I permit it.”
Guseto wept apologies, but his tears only kindled the Count’s rage further.
Having just witnessed Sion Karlsen, the sight of Guseto sniveling here cut even deeper.
Here stood a child of the Grand Duke’s House ascending to greatness, while this creature cowered and whimpered.
The Count bellowed.
“Take him away at once!”
The Returned Demonic Swordsman Devours the Northern Region
Author
: Bangsim
Production Date
: June 16, 2026
Publisher
: Aces Media Inc.
Editor
: Aces Media Editorial Team
Address
: 10F Urban Bench Building, 325 Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
Email
: [email protected]
※ This work has been published by Aces Media Inc. under contract with the copyright holder.
The content may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the publisher and author.
This e-book is protected under copyright law and unauthorized reprinting or reproduction may result in legal liability.
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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