The Regressed Magic Swordsman Devours the North - Chapter 7

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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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Episode 7. A Shift in Perspective (2)
“Take me to the orphanage outside Seiron.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vroom—
The car pushed through the blizzard. From the back seat, I watched the city drift past the window—a desolate urban landscape.

The shopping district stood empty, the plaza silent.
Even summer, supposedly the liveliest season in The North, looks like this when a blizzard rolls through. Northern people don’t venture outside when it’s cold.
Not unless they’re wealthy nobles who can afford cold-resistant clothing embroidered with Mana Circuits, or Knights strong enough to harden their bodies with a Core. Facing a blizzard like this would be brutal otherwise.
Winter is worse. Outside of hunters or woodcutters, people barely leave their homes.
I need to make this city warmer, more vibrant. That’s how the economy recovers, how The North grows strong.
Everything hinges on preventing collapse. There’s so much to do. And yet men like Kuseto squander resources without a care—
‘The more I think about it, the angrier I get.’
Kuseto will scrape together the money—his life depends on it. But he’ll harbor resentment for what he loses, and he’ll seek revenge.
That’s when.
That’s when I track him down and discover which traitors he leads to.
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice we’d arrived at the orphanage.
I stepped out of the car and went straight to the director’s office. The Orphanage Director was an elderly man with a stocky frame and thick hair. He bowed politely when he saw my clothes.
“Welcome. Though, may I ask who—?”
I looked at the director and spoke plainly.
“I’ve come to make a donation.”
“A d-donation?”
“Yes.”
I handed over the check. The director extended his hands respectfully. His gaze dropped to the paper. His eyes widened as he counted the zeros. His mouth fell open.
“Three hundred million!?”
His jaw hung even wider.
“Your name, if I may—?”
“Sion Karlsen.”
A sharp intake of breath.
The director’s mouth opened so wide I worried an insect might fly in.
Understandable. The notorious wastrel of The North walks in and suddenly announces a donation. Not easy to swallow.
The director’s expression said it all.
—What’s the catch?
I understand. A donation is admirable, sure. But I’m no saint.
I came to this orphanage specifically because I needed talent for future ventures.
Paperwork.
Someone with a gift for numbers.
I smiled warmly and continued.
“It’s all for the children. Nothing more.”
“Still… such generosity…”
I narrowed my eyes at the director. If he refused much longer, there was nothing I could do.
“Director.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“Do I seem to be joking?”
“No, not at all.”
“I’ll say it once more: this is for the children. If you spend it elsewhere or sell it for profit, you’d best prepare yourself. Surely you wouldn’t dream of robbing these children of their future?”
“Oh, yes, yes! Of course not. Every last coin will go to the children.”
A light threat delivered with a smile—and the director capitulated. Then.
“By the way, if there’s a child particularly talented with numbers, please give him my message.”
I offered a friendly smile, though I was really referring to one specific person.
A numbers fanatic I’d met with the Resistance Army—one who’d come from this very orphanage.
No point rushing that reunion. Plant the seed first.
“Tell him if he wants to work with truly large figures, he should seek me out.”
The director nodded sheepishly.
“Of course. The donation will be used wisely and carefully for the children.”
“As it should be. Then.”
My business done, I turned and climbed back into the car.
Vroom—
Acrid smoke curled as the wheels began to roll.
***
Before long, I arrived at a tavern in the North’s Isra District. The Igwen Luna, as it was called—a place with a reputation for regulars.
I descended from the carriage and surveyed my surroundings. I needed to check whether he—the one searching for me—had arrived yet.
“Hmm.”
‘He’s tracked me well.’
I spoke directly to Roman, my driver.
“Come inside with me. It’s freezing.”
“Ah, no sir. I’m quite all right.”
“No, this time you have to come. Sit at a different table from me. And buy me five bottles of Iruna Noble while you’re at it.”
“Ah… yes, sir. Understood.”
I had no choice but to bring Roman along. Leaving him out here, there was no telling what might happen to him.
Before entering the Igwen Luna, I straightened my Formal Necktie.
Inside, voices chattered and clattered loudly, the sound of glasses clinking against one another.
“Breathe.”
I steadied my breathing.
I arranged my expression, my gaze.
I reminded myself silently.
I am of the North’s great house.
The third son of House Karlsen.
Before the Regression, I believed that station was something one was born with—an unchanging truth. But that was…
Entirely wrong.
After the North fell, I didn’t even receive the treatment of a fallen nobleman. I was simply a vagrant. A beggar. Nothing more.
Would it have been different if I were my father?
Never.
Instead, I would have been revered as a hero.
That is—high station requires corresponding strength, intellect, dignity, and renown.
Sometimes, the power one appears to have matters more than genuine strength.
So then.
I would gradually rebuild my reputation from this moment forward.
Creak—
I opened the door and walked through with measured steps. My boots sounded rhythmically against the floor.
The noise that had filled the tavern moments before stopped abruptly. Every eye turned toward me. My noble bearing and appearance were striking enough to capture anyone’s gaze.
But then.
The drunken patrons soon began murmuring among themselves.
“Word is, some northern ruffian caught Yoen Hashman, isn’t it?”
“Really? That failure from House Karlsen?”
“Exactly. There’s plenty of talk about his swordplay being pathetic. Word was he can’t even properly handle Mana.”
“Right? It does seem suspicious.”
“Can’t you tell just by looking? It’s all made up! Probably bought the credit from someone else for coin.”
They whispered among themselves, thinking I wouldn’t hear them. But…
I did.
My physical abilities had surged dramatically as my Core developed, and I heard every word of their gossip.
However, confronting them about it would be beneath a nobleman’s dignity, so I simply pretended not to hear and calmly found an empty table to sit at. Besides, there was truth in what they said.
Still.
I’ll remember your faces. All of you.
Roman gave me a respectful nod and went to sit at another table.
As I sat and waited a moment, a waiter approached.
“What will you have, sir?”
“Iruna Noble.”
Lately, I’ve been drawn to only one drink.
“An excellent choice, sir.”
Shortly after, a man with brilliant golden hair presented me with a glass of Iruna Noble.
“You came?”
I took the glass and answered.
“Yeah. Brother.”

Sid Karlsen. Like me, he was known as a failure of the North—the second son of House Karlsen, and my older brother.
“So you killed Yoen Hashman? I was shocked, thought you were dead.”
“Well. As you can see. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Don’t leave without me.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because without you, I don’t see much point in living either.”
I listened to my brother’s words and glanced down at the cup of alcohol sitting before me. In its still surface, I saw my brother’s reflection—a face that resembled my own.
A feeling of shared misery.
It was a strangely profound sensation.
My second brother, as I knew him, lacked talent in Swordsmanship just as I did and was called a halfwit by those who didn’t know him—but that was merely what those ignorant of him would say.
In these times, he had his fingers in various enterprises: taverns, clothing shops, forges, textile distribution dealing in animal hides and the like, quietly expanding his business operations in the shadows.
‘A man lacking in martial talent but possessed of outstanding commercial talent.’
This very tavern, Igwen Luna, was also his property.
Had he not been born into House Karlsen, he would have been celebrated as a symbol of self-made success.
But he had the misfortune of being born as the son of a Swordsmanship master house, and here he was, toiling away.
In any case.
I was deeply fond of my brother.
When I had squandered my wealth like a fool and saddled myself with enormous debts, it was thanks to him that I managed to survive.
He was like a benefactor to me.
“Brother.”
“Hmm?”
“Want to go into business with me?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“No, I’m serious.”

When I spoke with utmost sincerity, my brother—who had been laughing freely moments before—wiped the smile from his face and replied.

“Sion.”
“Yeah.”
“Business isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

He began by using Igwen Luna as an example, launching into an explanation so thorough he nearly talked himself hoarse.

Location of the establishment.
Transportation costs.
Maintaining ingredient freshness.
Analyzing supply and demand.
Menu development.
Price setting.
Staff training, and so on.

“And even if business is booming, you can’t let your guard down. Parasites swarm toward success.”

I listened to my brother without interrupting, taking in every word. My attentiveness seemed to catch him off guard—his expression shifted moment by moment.
It was quite the sight to see. His face seemed to be saying one thing plainly.

-What did this kid eat to make him like this?

They were subtle shifts, but perhaps because they were so small, they felt all the more significant. We had always been close, after all.
“Everything you’re saying is right, brother. That’s why I want to provide the items and capital, and have you take the role of managing the business.”
Perhaps because of my changed demeanor, my brother exhaled a long breath before asking.
“Fine then. Let’s hear it. What items are we talking about?”
“The Kroem Mountain Range is a dangerous area, but it’s still undeveloped. I want to buy land there and search for mineral veins.”
The Kroem Mountain Range was a place my brother had developed as a mine before my return. I wasn’t sure if he had any knowledge of it in this current time, but he would surely have some interest.
“…You had an interest in that place? And more importantly, you’re planning to venture into the mining industry?”
“Yes.”
“Do you even know what the mining industry entails?”
“Generally, when extracting Mana Stones, thirty percent is damaged in the process. Fifty percent evaporates during refining. Don’t you think that’s an appalling efficiency rate?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s true.”
“We develop the mine and build a factory and research facility right next to it. So as we extract, we refine. Then we research, develop techniques, apply them, and research again. We repeat this cycle. That way, we should be able to quickly find methods to prevent losses. What do you think?”
“…”
This too was something my brother had been thinking about. Though he never saw a technology to prevent losses before his death…
That was a matter of talent development.
The geniuses of the Resistance Army could have done it.
“I’ll eliminate the Cartel that’s been festering in the North once and for all, so let’s run a proper business operation.”
My sudden words made my brother’s face twist into pure bewilderment.
“So this is what it feels like to get stabbed in the back by your own brother.”
A snort. Laughter escaped me.
“We both need to change. You and me.”
That was when it happened.
Creak—
The tavern door swung open. A man stepped inside, draped in a black cloak, his face hidden behind a mask. Anyone could see he meant trouble.

Shing—

He drew his sword from its sheath and spoke.

“Are you Sion Karlsen?”

Killing intent. Tangible. The kind that would make an ordinary person’s skin crawl. The patrons went rigid with fear, their faces draining of color.
Someone dropped their beer glass with a clatter. Another spilled their drink across the table.
One thing was certain: the raucous tavern had fallen into absolute silence.
Of course.
I spoke with perfect calm.
“Come to avenge your brother?”
“What. You knew?”
As expected, the masked man was Yan Hashman.
Worse than Yoen Hashman by far—and he harbored a particularly vile hobby.
He kidnapped one half of young couples caught in the bloom of love.
‘How many lovers have taken their own lives searching for their missing beloveds, only to slip and fall? More than a few.’
“I heard you brothers were close. Thought I’d deepen that bond a little myself.”
“So you knew all along, and you killed him anyway.”
“Close brothers should stick together. All the way down to hell, ideally.”
I made a throat-cutting gesture with my thumb. Yan Hashman’s temple veins bulged. His voice came out cold as ice.

“Soon you’ll be begging me to kill you. Though I won’t oblige.”
A threat. I found it so pathetic I let out a scornful laugh.
“This world goes to ruin because vermin like you are allowed to roam free.”
“You’re not worth talking to.”
“Tell me—what’s your rank in the Red Fangs?”
“······”
His eyes wavered for an instant. Genuine panic flashed across his features. I’d struck a nerve.
“Why the silence? Is it a secret?”
A criminal syndicate. The Red Fangs’ cardinal rule was secrecy. Which is why he locked the tavern door.
Click—
Then he walked toward me, speaking as he came.
“These people die because of you.”
“Is it because they cut off your wrist if the secret leaks? That scares you, doesn’t it?”
“You bastard—!”
The moment he tried to continue, I kicked off the ground. I launched forward with explosive power.
Boom—!

I closed the distance in an instant. Drew my sword from its sheath and drove it forward.
My movements were like lightning.
Ring—!
“Kgh!”

He barely managed to raise his blade in defense.
But.

Clang clang clang—!

A man who at best bullied back alleys was no match for someone with future knowledge and years of brutal training behind them.

“Wait—”
Scrape—

The man’s words caught mid-sentence. My blade had cleaved through his throat. Fire even erupted from the steel.
Whoooosh—!
Blood sprayed from his neck.
And dried instantly.
Thud.
His head fell to the ground.
Rolling away.
Just one man’s throat. So simple. So clean.
Yet by this single act, I had saved the lives of countless young people yet to come.
Everyone in the tavern froze.
Shock rippled through the silence.

In that moment, every soul in the establishment was robbed of speech. Sid included. His face read like an open book.
—Sion? An Aura? Fire? But more than that… did weak little Sion just commit murder?
I turned toward my brother and spoke.

“We’ll finish this conversation when we’re both clearheaded.”
The Returned Sword Mage Devours the North
Author
: Bangsim
Date of Creation
: June 16, 2026
Publisher
: AcesMedia Co., Ltd.
Editor
: AcesMedia Editorial Team
Address
: 10F Urban Bench Building, 325 Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
Email
: [email protected]
※ This work is published by AcesMedia Co., Ltd. under contract with the copyright holder.
No part of this content may be used in any form or by any means without permission from the company and author.
This ebook is protected by copyright law. 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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