The Regressed Magic Swordsman Devours the North - Chapter 42

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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 42. A (Supposedly) Courteous Request
The Northern Region seemed to have no aristocracy, yet harbored quite a few; conversely, it appeared to have many, yet somehow had none at all.
First and foremost, “true aristocrats”—those with deep tradition and history, with genuine economic and military might—were genuinely scarce.
In such turbulent times, it was hardly surprising that such genuine aristocrats were few.
When you thought about it.
Hunting demonic beasts to protect territory residents, driving back barbarians.
Coaxing and appeasing stubborn craftsmen and artisans.
Balancing agriculture, craftsmanship, construction, and husbandry.
Listening to the grievances of territory residents, mediating disputes.
Investing in new technologies and ventures as they emerged, transforming the territory to match the times…….
It could never have been easy.
And so the time-honored aristocratic houses faded into history’s shadows.
In their place, sharp-minded merchants bought their titles, or mercenaries and knights earned noble rank through battlefield glory, making up the numbers.
The irony was this: the father’s generation had purchased their rank and become nobility, yet their children possessed an Elite Consciousness.
Though their history was short, they believed themselves nobility nonetheless, and fundamentally different from the commons.
“Hack—ptui!”
Bester Stern spat into the mansion corridor. A maidservant stood right beside him, wringing out her mop.
He spat without hesitation, then stuck a cigar between his lips.
“Whoof—”
He exhaled a cloud of smoke and offered the cigar to his secretary, who trailed behind him. The secretary accepted it, then wiped his hand with a perfumed handkerchief.
To anyone watching, one might have thought he’d earned his aristocratic status through hard work—yet he was a textbook example of a third-generation noble.
“When’s the Stars’ Ball being held at House Caster again?”
“In thirteen days, sir.”
The greater problem was that with each passing generation, this tendency deepened.
And with reason.
When the same sort of people gathered to control local society, there could be no self-correction.
———Just like those aristocrats who had crumbled before.
Commoners viewed the nobility as objects of aspiration and swore loyalty; but when they entered service to support such masters…….
They trembled at such Double-Facedness and fled.
A bloated sense of self.
When I slip, it’s the servants’ fault.
When servants excel, it’s my doing.
They demand flattery.
They demand appeasement.
They indulge in extravagance from head to toe, yet begrudge their servants even a single denier.
Baseless confidence.
Pretense soaked into the bone.
Vulgar self-centered thinking.
“Sir…… today’s lesson…….”
“Forget it. I’m not going. What’s the point of all that?”
“But still…… your father——”
“It’s fine. Will Father beat me? Besides, the servants do all the work anyway. Why should I bother studying?”
Perhaps that was why. There were those in this world who clashed relentlessly with the nobility.
Knights, Mages, Scholars.
Scholars could not abide the nonsense nobles spouted with false authority, interrupting mid-sentence to point out their “errors”;
Knights exposed the nobility’s true character through their own carefully honed honor;
Mages were even more arrogant than the nobles themselves, regarding them as mere insects.
Of course, occasionally one found a money-mad Wandering Knight who envied the nobles’ splendor and wealth, wagging his tail—but such men were truly rare.
“Anyway. Let’s go back there once more.”
“To the North Wing, sir?”
“Yes. They’ve got some liquor stashed away there, I hear. If we bring it to the party, won’t it be a huge hit?”
“……Of course, sir.”
Scholars, Knights, and Mages had it somewhat better—because they despised one another.
If a noble hated you? So what. I dislike your sort of fake aristocrat too. And that was that.
But merchants were different.
The “fake nobles” were particularly fond of merchants. They would visit them in their aristocratic guise, cause trouble, and merchants would shower them with expensive gifts and slash their prices in return.
There were plenty of merchants who’d become nobility, after all. If one asked what difference existed between a merchant and a nobleman, the answer was but one: military might.
Wandering Knights followed nobility even if they were fake—they would never follow a merchant. It was a form of conduct born from a certain notion of honor;
and this difference had widened the gap between the aristocracy and the merchants considerably.
“Good. Let’s go right now.”
***
Q, the branch manager of the North Wing Travis Branch—perpetually beleaguered by Travis’s aristocracy and criminal organizations alike—had lately found his stress climbing toward the breaking point.
Especially whenever he laid eyes on a nobleman.
“Welcome, Branch Manager.”
“Ah… yes. Please, do come in. Have a seat. I’ll have tea and refreshments brought at once.”
The man before him was different somehow.
“That would be most welcome.”
Q fought to keep his expression neutral.
‘His clothes look like a common laborer’s, but this man is unmistakably aristocracy. His hair. His eyes. The way he speaks. His bearing. Everything about him screams it.’
Those with a keen eye for people—when they looked at another, they perceived something ineffable: a certain refinement, an aura.
Q recognized that Sion was no mere dabbler among the nobility, but a true aristocrat.
And yet.
That only made him more nervous.
‘Why would a real aristocrat seek me out?’
Clink-clink.
Tea and cakes were laid out. At last, Q, P, and Sion sat facing one another across the table.
Q swallowed hard. A glance to his side showed that P was equally tense.
“I… might I ask what brings you here…?”
Just then, Sion reached into the backpack resting beside the sofa and produced a square box, setting it on the table.
Thunk.
Both its weight and its wrapping suggested this was no ordinary item.
Refusing something like this was the prudent course. But how do you refuse? Who even is this person?
“I’d ask that you deliver this to the Karsen Family Grand Mansion.”
“Yes, that is to say… yes?”
Q felt his breath catch, and P’s reaction mirrored his own. Karsen? Had he heard correctly?
Delivering anything to House Karsen required navigating a rigorous bureaucratic process.
And if by any chance the contents posed a threat to them?
Neither the sender nor the company that accepted the shipment would escape unscathed.
In other words, this was not a place where just anyone could send parcels on a whim.
As if reading the anxiety in both their minds, the fair-haired nobleman spoke.
“The sender is Sion Karsen. The recipient is Krombel.”
“”…!””
Q and P let out audible gasps.
And with good reason.
The aristocrat before them was no ordinary nobleman—he was among the great houses.
In the capital of the Northern Region, Seirendal, news of Sion spread in all directions, good and ill alike, such that one might pass him in the street without much thought. But this was not Seirendal.
This was the frontier of the Northern Region. The only great noble house here was House Caster. Yet standing before them was an aristocrat of an entirely different magnitude.
And yet.
“That is… we too have our protocols…”
Q found himself in an awkward position. This was his first time facing a great nobleman, but company procedure demanded identity verification first and foremost.
Moreover, though it was an old rumor he couldn’t quite recall clearly, he seemed to remember hearing that Sion Karsen was something of a wastrel…
‘This is genuinely uncomfortable.’
But then.
Flap-flap-flutter-flutter-flutter.
A hawk dove through the window and perched upon a wooden ornament. A letter was bound to one of its talons.
Q and P recognized at once that the letter was addressed to the headquarters director.
“Do read it.”
Sion smiled gently as he spoke, and Q rose from his seat to untie and unfold the letter bound to the hawk’s leg.
“This is…”
Remarkably—
The headquarters director himself had written to vouch for Sion Karsen’s identity and instructed them to grant him whatever he desired.
As to how this had come about—
Last night, Sion had used his Mirror Notebook to contact Midgal, appraising him of the current situation and making this request.
—I must ask for the Inspection Bureau’s cooperation. Ordinarily, we cannot involve private enterprises, but given the circumstances, I’m sure you understand. As this is an emergency matter, I’d appreciate your word on it.
North Wing was a Northern Region enterprise. Unless they wanted to risk utter ruin, they could not refuse a request from the Inspection Bureau.
The matter thus proceeded without further complication.
“Very well. I’ll entrust the delivery to our courier, P, over there.”
“Me? You mean me?”
“Yes. You handled the matter of delivering the letter to Doctor Krombel impeccably before. I’d appreciate your care with this as well. And please—regarding our meeting and this delivery—handle it as top secret.”
“Ah, yes… haha. Of course.”
P recalled what had happened back then. That terrifying mountain research facility! The memory killed any urge to smile.
P turned to look at Q.
Q nodded slowly.
It was his way of saying there was no refusing.
Not that it mattered.
Sion handed P a money pouch and made his request with utmost courtesy.
“It is urgent. Most urgent.”
Perfectly polite, every word.
“Ah, yes!”
P seized the money pouch and the square box, then bolted for the door. He was gone in an instant.
Sion watched P disappear into the distance, then turned back to Q with a gentle smile.
“The finest delivery enterprise in the Northern Region, yet forced to maintain headquarters here in Travis. That must be taxing indeed.”
“……Ah. Well. Yes.”
Q could neither confirm nor deny. He still hadn’t fully grasped what manner of person Sion Karsen truly was.
Yet.
Sion had already finished his assessment.
It was obvious, really—one only had to observe how Travis actually ran. Legitimate merchants and enterprises had no realistic way to survive in this place.
Which left only two paths.
Exploit others. Or be exploited.
And yet the reputation of North Wing was respectable, and the faces of the staff on the first floor bloomed with smiles.
‘Predictable.’
“Criminal organizations act with impunity. The aristocracy shields them. They say that paying tribute buys protection. The Duke raises taxes. Summer brings more work, and you still have to pay the wages of your hardworking staff. It weighs on your mind in every way. Exhausting, isn’t it?”
“……!”
Q was genuinely startled. He had spent his entire life as a merchant.
Yet this was the first time he’d encountered a nobleman’s son who grasped a merchant’s position with such precision.
The others only thought of themselves.
And to speak with such understanding while wearing a handsome face and a gentle smile?
This man was supposedly a wastrel?
Sion spoke again with the same courtesy.
“I have come here as a Knight of the Inspection Bureau. Everything discussed between us from this moment forward is a matter of top secret. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
Q’s jaw went slack. The Inspection Bureau?!
Q couldn’t refuse Sion’s request, yet another thought crept in alongside it.
‘If the third son of House Karsen has come as a Knight of the Inspection Bureau, then Travis really is about to be turned upside down, isn’t it?’
Q stood there today.
Drowning in questions about everything.
***
P left the North Wing Travis Branch carrying the box Sion had given him.
The atmosphere had been so intimidating he hadn’t even bothered to check the payment.
Or rather, he’d realized checking wouldn’t have helped anyway.
When a great noble arrives saying time is critical, what recourse does one have? Protest the amount and your head might roll from your shoulders.
He walked some distance and reached a warehouse situated at the edge of the city.
Inside the warehouse sat P’s personal mode of transport—something known as a Scooter.
P glanced at the Scooter and spoke.
“I just got back. Sorry about this. Looks like I have to go out again.”
The Scooter, of course, made no reply. P loaded the cargo onto its rear carrier, then fitted himself with a Helmet—a helmet-like contraption.
Vroom-vroom! Vroom-vroom!
Trailing plumes of smoke, the Scooter raced down the road. The city was soon left behind.
The city just abandoned was Kadis, Travis’s main urban center.
Where House Caster’s Duke resided.
The vital heart of Travis.
P pulled well ahead of Kadis and casually cracked open the money pouch.
“……Huh?”
There was far more money than he’d expected.
No—an absolutely staggering amount.
What was this?
Some new form of extortion?
If it wasn’t extortion…
He’d better make the delivery quickly and get back.
This was like a jackpot rolling in on its own vine.
A Returning Demon Swordsman Devours the Northern Region
Author
: Bangshim
Production Date
: June 16, 2026
Publisher
: (Co.) Acesmedia
Editor
: Acesmedia Editorial Team
Address
: 10F Urban Bench Building, 325 Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
Email
: [email protected]
※ This work is published by (Co.) Acesmedia under contract with the copyright holder,
and the contents may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the publisher and author.
This e-book is a copyrighted work protected by copyright law, and unauthorized reproduction or duplication 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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