The Regressed Magic Swordsman Devours the North - Chapter 61

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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 61. Igneel
The sun sank slowly beneath the horizon. The world blushed crimson as twilight crept in, and light and shadow began their age-old struggle.
The bustling streets.
The desolate periphery.
Factory districts where machinery churned without rest.
Farmland where laborers threshed the harvest.
Orchards crowded with vinyl greenhouses.
Past, present, future, light, darkness.
A strange tableau where everything bled together.
An uncanny dissonance settled over it all.
What the world looked like was irrelevant. In the struggle between light and shadow, darkness would ultimately prevail.
Much as Demons would overcome humanity.
“……!”
In that moment, I recognized the tepid haze stealing over my mind.
Damn it. Focus. What are you doing, lost in reverie like it’s all already finished? You’re not insane—don’t act like it.
I slapped my own cheeks with both hands.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
My face stung sharply.
My mind snapped clear.
The sun may set and darkness may fall, but humanity will not perish. Not if I have anything to say about it.
With that resolve steeled,
I returned to the office desk and resumed work.
After working until three in the morning and clocking out,
I made my way back to the Clan’s grand manor.
I did not go directly to my quarters.
There was a matter I needed to propose to Father, and for that I required research—so I stopped at the library.
Pad. Pad.
My footfalls echoed through the silent library.
“B-16. This should be it.”
I came to a stop before the shelves lined with treatises on warfare. My eyes traced the spines.
*War Preparation Through the Use of Prisoners*
I pulled the volume down and began reading. Page after page, I absorbed every word. How long had it been since I’d read like this?
Once the Special Division began operating in earnest, I’d been swamped without a moment’s breath.
We were still in our infancy, and there were countless details requiring attention—investigative procedures, evidence-gathering methods, arrest protocols, and more.
But no matter how much work there is, work alone cannot suffice. Become buried in the present and you’ll miss what comes next—and then Demons will have you.
Defeat means the extinction of mankind.
Rustle. Rustle.
The sound of turning pages brought unexpected joy.
White was paper, black was ink.
Nothing more than that.
And yet within it lay humanity’s meditation on the art of using human beings, and madness flickering toward victory.
I moved on to the next volume.
*Wars Won Are Wars Prepared.*
Rustle. Rustle.
The anguished question posed in the previous book found its answer in this one.
For the grand ambition of human survival, I would employ any method whatsoever.
Morality, ethics, humanity—these are luxuries to be debated only after even a single human being has endured.
And yet… in my heart, I wished to take the path that spilled the least blood.
Whether through self-reproach or fear or a change of heart—the method mattered little.
I would not kill those who do not contribute to humanity’s destruction.
But what of the irredeemable?
The nobles of Travis and the industrialists who embezzled from their territories’ people for their own wealth and glory—what of them?
……Put them to work as labor.
In the days ahead, we would wage war against Demon Beasts in numbers enough to blacken the very sky.
What war requires above all else is labor.
Therefore, those whose crimes run deepest should be confined to Labor Reformation Centers, endlessly squeezed dry, and repurposed as fuel.
I drafted my first proposal to present to Father.
It was rough, but adequate. The secretaries would polish it into eloquent prose.
The title: *A Plan for the Establishment of Labor Reformation Centers*.
There was no room for hesitation.
There’s too much to do otherwise.
I began drafting the next proposal at once.
First, I had to purge those bloodsuckers draining the territory dry, then redirect the tax revenue they’d been squandering on personal gain toward worthy investments.
For instance, commissioning a genius Mage Engineer like Doctor Crombel to develop anti-Demon Beast weapons.
Mana-infused Bullets, bombs, cannons—the sort of arsenal we’d deployed at Post 24.
Investing in academies to train mages and knights, then integrating them into the Northern Knights—that was equally vital.
It would demand a staggering budget, but it had to be done.
Beyond that: attracting Magical Tool craftsmen, organizing military units armed with new weapons, constructing evacuation shelters for the territory’s civilians in case of emergency.
Ah.
There really was so much to do.
My father crossed my mind then. What would he say if he saw this proposal?
…….
…….
…….
Regardless of anything else.
He would understand one thing clearly.
That I was preparing for war.
***
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In the early dawn hours, the rhythmic ring of metal echoed through the air.
I followed the sound, then lifted my gaze to the sign above.
The Iron Breath
Alcohol welcome. Empty hands, not so much.
“Still the same place.”
I stood at the smithy’s entrance.
I made my presence known.
Whoosh—
Clang! Clang!
“Who goes there! No visitors during work! Get out now!”
The familiar roar came from the familiar place, and I couldn’t help but smile as I spoke.
“Not even interested in tears shed by Valhalla itself?”
At that.
“Come in!”
His hearty voice made me want to laugh, but I kept my mouth shut and walked in carefully.
A man working in the outer smithy.
A fellow with muscles excessive for his frame.
Yet also a gentleman whose belly had grown soft with age.
Barkan.
Even in October in the Northern Region, he wore no upper garment, though that hardly surprised me in this place.
The smiths here stripped down when they worked—the heat drove them to it—but layered on furs when they rested, for the cold bit deep.
‘Which only showed how harsh the conditions were.’
I was carrying the promised hundred bottles of Valhalla’s Tear, sixty-year vintage, in a large ice box.
Barkan spoke without taking his eyes from the anvil.
“Wait until the work is done!”
I found an empty table, dragged over a wooden chair, and sat down, placing the ice box beside me.
As I waited in silence, the smiths from the inner workshop began emerging one by one.
“Hey, isn’t that Sion?”
The smiths, bare-chested and cooling their sweat, quickly pulled on their clothes the moment they caught a chill from the wind.
“Ah, that Valhalla’s Tear you brought last time was excellent.”
“Valhalla? Why seek heaven elsewhere? A good drink is heaven itself!”
“Aye, aye. It’s true. I haven’t worked with such relish in years, not since drinking that brew.”
These descendants of dwarves were acclaimed across the continent for their mastery of metalwork, and they were equally mad for drink.
“Good morning, sirs.”
As I greeted them, I caught them glancing sidelong at the ice box.
They’d clearly noticed it was brimming with Valhalla’s Tear.
Yet.
They valued hierarchy as much as they loved drink, so none would presume to step ahead of their master, Barkan.
For that reason, I simply smiled and didn’t press the matter. It would only have made things awkward for us both.
Then.
——Clang!
Barkan finished his private work and plunged the glowing-hot metal into cold water.
Hisssss—
Then he walked to the corner, retrieved an object wrapped tightly in cloth, and brought it back.
Thud—!
He set it down in front of me.
“Take a look at it.”
“Is this a sword made from Cloud Iron?”
“It’s a sword, but it could serve as a staff too.”
Rustle—
I unwrapped the cloth and examined the blade.
“……Oh.”
It was so dark I couldn’t quite believe it was truly forged from Cloud Iron.
If I had to compare it to something, it was like basalt pulled from lava and honed into a long, sleek form.
The moment my hand gripped the hilt, I felt it settle into my palm, and Mana was drawn from my Core and Sacred Wheel.
Whirrrr—
Flame-aspected Mana flowed along the smooth blade, spiraling within and amplifying itself.
Whoosh— whoosh— whoosh—
The sensation was strange, as if molten Mana were churning in a vortex inside the sword.
Without thinking, I found myself imagining it.
Myself wielding this blade, cutting down Demon Beasts and Demons……. Just a little. It sent a chill down my spine, but still.
That’s how extraordinary this sword was.
And the hole drilled into the hilt—it was designed to accept an Artifact that could enhance Magic casting.
“Oh…….”
As I gazed at the sword in admiration, Barkan and the smiths broke into grins. Their laughter seemed to ask me something.
You’re satisfied, aren’t you?
You’re satisfied right now, aren’t you?
“How is it? What do you think?”
Does the craftsman enjoy customer satisfaction this much? I smiled warmly in return and answered.
“Beyond what I imagined.”
“Exactly! I knew you’d understand! This is the masterwork of my lifetime!”
Honestly, you usually have to swing a sword to truly know it……but with this one, you don’t need to.
Even now it was absorbing Mana greedily, resonating with my heartbeat.
“It’s a legendary blade.”
“Kahahaha! I’m in excellent spirits, absolutely excellent! By the way, you—did you bring that?”
The light that flashed in Barkan’s eyes and the smiths’ eyes was unmistakable. They were all hopeless drinkers.
“Let me open it for you.”
I pointed to the cooler as I spoke, and the smiths eagerly threw it open.
“Ah!”
“Dazzling!”
100 bottles.
“Master! I can’t hold back anymore!”
“Agreed!”
“Please, let us taste it!”
The smiths who saw the alcohol were like a pack of starving wolves, and now hierarchy seemed to dissolve completely.
There was good reason for it. If they’d never tasted it, that would be one thing. But knowing the taste made restraint far harder.
Of course, Barkan’s eyes had rolled back too.
“Everyone take a bottle and drink!”
“Yaaaaaay!”
“Long live the Master!”
A drinking party broke out on the spot.
Ahhh—!
Cries of delight erupted from everywhere.
The smell of alcohol filled the air.
Not the cheap reek of base spirits.
A mysterious fragrance—concentrated fruit essence.
I seized the moment and made a proposal to Barkan.
“Sir.”
“Ahhh—! The taste is absolutely superb……Hm? What did you say?”
“Would you consider moving into the Special Division building? I’ll arrange weapon commissions for you, and I’ll stock whatever spirits you prefer. We also run a restaurant, so you’ll have delicious food. Your working conditions will be far better than here. There’s a break room too.”
“What?”
“Ah, and I can prepare these as much as you’d like.”
I drew out a premium Mana Stone refined to the highest standard using advanced technique and handed it over.
Ninety-five percent purity. The sort of thing you couldn’t find anywhere in the market these days.
In an instant, Barkan’s eyes widened, and the other blacksmiths rushed over to examine it.
“Ah, no. This is……!”
“With this, you all could craft weapons to whatever standard you’d like, couldn’t you?”
Barkan accepted the Mana Stone and held it up high. His eyes gleamed with sudden brilliance.
“What?”
I tensed slightly. What if this stubborn craftsman resented working under someone? That worry crept in.
But what emerged from Barkan’s mouth was entirely unexpected.
“You’ll do all that for us? What’s the price?”
“Just keep working as you are now.”
“Are you perhaps…….”
He spoke with eyes brimming with wonder.
“……an angel sent by the dead gods?”
“Pardon?”
“Why make such a mad offer only now! Good, good! The maintenance costs here have been eating us alive anyway! I was just regretting how much better things were when we were in the Karsen Clan!”
“……Ah, yes.”
Phew. I worried for nothing.
“When do I start!”
“I’ll prepare right away.”
“Marvelous!”
And so I managed to bring the blacksmiths into the Special Division building. It went so smoothly, I’d fretted over nothing.
“By the way, you there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What name will you give the sword?”
Ah, that’s right.
A renowned blade needs a name.
Not merely a name to call it by.
Naming a weapon is a rite to draw down the blessing of Mana—you can’t do it carelessly.
After deliberation, a name came to mind.
“Igneel. I’ll call it Igneel.”
Yes. This blade’s name is “Fire.”
The Reincarnated Mage-Swordmaster Devours the Northern Region
Author
: Bangsim
Publication Date
: June 16, 2026
Publisher
: AcesMedia Corporation
Editor
: AcesMedia Editorial Team
Address
: 10F, Urban Bench Building, 325 Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
Email
: [email protected]
※ This work is published by AcesMedia Corporation under contract with the copyright holder,
and the content may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the company and author.
This e-book is protected by copyright law, and unauthorized reproduction or copying 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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