The Regressed Magic Swordsman Devours the North - Chapter 8

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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 8. Shift in Perception (3)
Ting—
I flicked the blade once more before sheathing it.
Silence still hung thick inside the tavern. Everyone’s eyes darted about, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But it seemed they would need time.
“Inspection Agency operative Sion Karsen. Please remain here for your safety.”
I called out loudly, then pushed through the locked door and stepped outside, scanning for any of Yan Hashman’s thugs—or perhaps officers from the Red Fang.
As expected, a faint pulse of mana emanated from the opposite building’s rooftop.
‘Concealment. Intermediate level, perhaps.’
Before my Regression, I had been humanity’s last survivor, which had honed my senses to an almost unnatural acuity.
It hadn’t always been this way—it was a gift earned through years of dancing along the razor’s edge of death.
In any case.
If I could sense even a Demon Swordmaster’s Concealment, no one in this era could hide from my perception.
Yet the concealed figure’s ability was far from poor, which told me exactly who she was.
A woman who handled intelligence, assassination, and managed several subsidiary organizations.
She was the one who had fed my information to Yan Hashman.
She was likely consolidating her subordinate forces now, and had probably meant to use the Duke of the Northern Territory’s son against me to wipe out the Red Fang entirely.
‘Dealing with thoughtless fools is always the easiest, isn’t it?’
I held my gaze on the opposite rooftop. Slowly, the presence vanished completely. She had retreated far enough.
I didn’t bother giving chase.
The time wasn’t right.
I turned back into the tavern and spoke.
“It’s safe now. You’re free to come and go.”
I left the door open.
Symbolically speaking.
“Roman. Let’s go.”
Roman had been staring at me with the same dazed expression as the other patrons, but he snapped to attention at my call.
“Yes! At once, Young Master!”
Roman was holding a box. Inside were ten bottles of Iruna Noble—my brother had thoughtfully packed extra.
Just then, a police vehicle from the Northern Territory appeared. Either my brother or the waiter must have called for help.
I briefed the officers on what had transpired, handed over the case, and climbed into the car.
‘The rest will sort itself out.’
Vroom.
The car pulled away smoothly.
But then.
Vroom—vroooom! Grrr—
For some reason, Roman’s driving was rougher than the way there. Looking closer, his hands were trembling slightly.
“Roman. Are you all right?”
“Yes? Ah, ······yes. I’m fine. It’s just that.”
Roman glanced back at me nervously.
“Young Master, you were truly incredible. I never imagined you were so skilled. No, wait, that’s not—I mean, I should have stepped in back there, but my body just froze, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have made any—oh, I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is.”
Roman’s panic had him stammering all over the place. Watching him, I slowly closed my eyes.
Did his driving skill matter that much?
“Roman. Enough.”
“······Yes, Young Master.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. I’m the one who wasn’t considerate of you. You must have been terrified. I’m sorry.”
Silence followed my words. It might have been my imagination, but Roman’s driving seemed to settle somewhat.
“······Young Master, you needn’t worry about me. After all, I’m merely a servant. The one who matters is you.”
At Roman’s words, I opened my eyes again and regarded him carefully.
‘Is that why you threw yourself into danger for me in your past life as well?’
Roman seemed to be saying: if a true crisis ever came, abandon me and go.
But Roman. I’ve already abandoned you once. How could I do it again?
“Without lips, the teeth grow cold. Roman. Never think your life is expendable.”
Roman nodded, as if he understood my meaning.

“Thank you, Young Master.”

Quiet settled over the car once more. But this time, it was a warmth that had seeped into the silence.
Vroom—
***
When Roman finished his shift, he left the Karsen Manor and headed home. In his bag were five bottles of Iruna Noble, carefully wrapped so they wouldn’t break.
“My wife will love it.”
The blizzard still raged fiercely, yet somehow it didn’t feel quite so cold. Ten million Jenny and an Iruna Noble—just like that. His step felt lighter than it had in weeks.
After walking a moment, he turned to look back. The vast manor stood framed against the snow—a dwelling where centuries of tradition and history still drew breath.
Without the Karsen Family, would my house have survived? Would the Northern Territory have thrived with so many people?
Roman held that thought for a moment, his expression hardening with resolve.
And then his mind turned to the Young Master he served—Sion Karsen. These days, the Young Master had changed. Changed profoundly.

“Is he well?”
That day at Chui Mong Ya Hwa, when he’d clashed with the wanted Yoen Hashman—suddenly the Young Master had spoken of kindness.
“Has he lost his mind?”
Showering him with such sums of money was strange enough; Roman had expected the Young Master to return to indulgence at the Daikarh family’s country estate as before, yet he’d simply come back instead. And then there was the donation to the orphanage.
‘He’s changed so much. Especially…’
The most shocking moment had been when he’d visited the tavern run by the second son and killed the wanted Yan Hashman there.
“He’s changed too much. He’s not the Young Master I knew anymore.”
It wasn’t only hope he felt. Part of him feared the Young Master might suddenly fall apart. That worry gnawed at him.
Yet what truly mattered?
Roman had been shown great kindness by the Karsen Family. Whoever the Young Master might become, he would serve him with unwavering loyalty.
Yet… truly…
If the Young Master has truly changed…
Roman clenched his fists tightly.
And in his heart, he spoke a prayer.
‘His mother will be so happy.’
***
Charles, a reporter for the Daily newspaper in the Northern Territory, left work as he always did and stopped by Igwen Luna.
He had no reason in particular, like anyone else.
His feet carried him there; perhaps it was the barrenness of the world that made it impossible to endure without a drink in hand. Or perhaps he simply wanted to drink.
“A beer here. The usual.”
As always, he sat alone. He only had the company of his worries about the company’s recent troubles as he lifted glass to lips.
Gulp, gulp. Clank!
He set the empty glass on the table. Then ordered another beer. And pursed his lips, muttering to himself.
“I need a scoop. A real scoop.”
After downing five beers in rapid succession, he ordered a sixth.
Creak—
The door opened, and Sion Karsen entered with his secretary.
At first, Charles paid them no mind. It wasn’t strange that the Karsen Family’s younger son would visit a tavern run by his older brother.
Yet something… some presence, some aura, some bearing—he couldn’t quite name it—felt different about him.
He drained the sixth beer in quick gulps, studying the Karsen brothers. How to describe it?
The feeling was strange.
A journalist’s instinct—he couldn’t explain it precisely, but something felt as though it were about to happen.
“Waiter, one more.”
And so he ordered a seventh glass.
Creak—
A masked man entered. Charles’s hand froze as he reached for the seventh glass. A chill ran down his spine.
Then when the man opened his mouth—
Goosebumps crawled across his skin.
‘Red Fang? The ones who’ve been making headlines for brutal crimes lately?’
And when the masked man declared he would kill everyone in the tavern, Charles dropped his beer on the table. The glass shattered with a sharp ring.
‘Damn it! What is this? Kill everyone? Because of Sion Karsen? Are you joking? I have nothing to do with this!’
Charles desperately wanted to live. More than anything, he craved survival. Yet there was nothing he could do. Endless despair crashed down upon him.

Then it happened.
Bang! Clang! Rip—
What was happening? When Charles regained his senses, the masked man’s head lay on the ground. From the severed neck, blood erupted in a fountain.
Whoosh—
He saw flames rise along the blade. It had all happened in an instant.
Before the thick stench of blood could even spread, Sion Karsen had walked outside the tavern. After looking around, he spoke.
“You’re safe now. Come and go freely.”

He then handed the matter over to the police who arrived shortly after and boarded his vehicle.
Vroom.
The crowd watched the black sedan disappear into the distance, their faces caught between relief and disbelief.
Charles hastily paid for the drinks and made his way to the police. A journalist’s instinct screamed that he couldn’t afford to overlook what had just happened.
He pulled out his press credentials and asked the officer before him.
“Good evening. I’m Charles, a journalist with Daily. I was also a witness to what just occurred in that tavern. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

The officers exchanged glances before one of them answered.

“This man’s name is Yan Hashman.”
“I—pardon?”

Yan Hashman. A wanted criminal who had committed dozens of heinous crimes—murder, rape, robbery, and worse.
Swift-footed and skilled at evasion, he’d managed to evade capture until now.

“You’re saying this man was Yan Hashman?”
“Yes. As you can see, Sion Karsen apprehended him for us. You were fortunate.”
The officers gave Charles a few reassuring pats on the shoulder, told him to be careful heading home, and then disappeared with Yan Hashman’s body.
Charles sank heavily onto the ground, watching them go.

“I could’ve died back there. I really could’ve.”

But then—
one detail nagged at him.

“Wait. Did Sion Karsen just kill Yan Hashman?”

After that, Charles began investigating Sion Karsen’s background. He called in every favor—fellow journalists, contacts in the police force, connections in the Inspection Agency.
Most of what he found matched what he’d already known: the track record of someone aptly called a good-for-nothing from the Northern Territory.
But starting with the Chui Mong Ya Hwa incident, things changed. It wasn’t widely publicized, but Sion Karsen had been the one to apprehend Yoen Hashman.
‘Could he have caught both of the Hashman brothers?’
His recent movements were equally strange.
Word from the noble social circles was that Sion Karsen had changed. His attendance at galas had dropped sharply.
There were rumors he’d had a falling out with Kuseto Daikarh, a key figure in high society.
He’d even visited an orphanage and made donations.

‘What is this? Did the man transform?’

And then—
one more detail caught his eye.
The roster of Geumseong Jihoe participants.
“Sion Karsen is participating in Geumseong Jihoe?”
His fellow journalists scoffed at Sion Karsen, convinced a scandal would break and the fool would humiliate himself in public.
They spoke of how he’d crawled his way up without understanding his own inferiority, oblivious to the shame awaiting him.
Charles let their mockery pass through one ear and out the other. Instead, he arranged the scattered pieces of this puzzle in his mind.
The Karsen Family’s failure—the one parachuted into the Inspection Agency.
Had infiltrated Chui Mong Ya Hwa and executed Yoen Hashman on the spot.
And called it self-defense.
Since then, he’d been moving like an entirely different person.
Could it be—
he’d been hiding his claws all along.
Charles trusted his instincts. That untouchable aura he’d felt in the tavern that night wasn’t an illusion. He was certain of it.
“Ha… hahaha. Hahahaha.”
Suspicion crystallized into certainty. He was no failure. He was a swordmaster powerful enough to dispatch Yan Hashman in seconds—one who could strike sparks from his blade.
A sleeping dragon, concealed from the world, was finally stirring to ascend. The stage for that ascension would surely be Geumseong Jihoe.
Charles brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“This is a front-page story.”
He had to develop this angle.
Charles quietly retrieved his typewriter.
Tap, clack, tap-tap-tap.
His fingers flew across the keys.
『Sion Karsen Takes the Lead in Purging Criminals for the Sake of the Territory’s People.
Sion Karsen, third son of the Karsen Family and an agent of the Northern Territory Inspection Agency, had been lying in wait in Chui Mong Ya Hwa to capture Yoen Hashman, who had been placed on the wanted list for heinous crimes.
There were two reasons why he had summarily executed Yoen Hashman.
…….
…….
…….
– Daily_Charles
Charles wore a satisfied smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Excellent. Next article headline.”
Sion Karsen.
Is he a beast concealing his true power?
Tap, tap.
The typewriter clacked out its steady rhythm.
The Reincarnated Demon Swordmaster Devours the Northern Territory
Author
: Bangshim
Production Date
: June 16, 2026
Publisher
: Acesis Media Inc.
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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No part of this work may be used in any form or by any means without permission from our company and the author.
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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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