Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Outsider (1)
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"……."
Federback opened his eyes.
"So, I really have returned……."
He looked around and saw the opulent interior of his room.
'This isn't a dream.'
Federback closed his eyes and reconfirmed his identity.
Name: Federback. Federback Meursault.
The bulwark of the empire who fought to the very end against the Demon King's army. Humanity's hope.
'The Demon King…… he was truly powerful.'
That final strike which had severed the hero's arm was at least on the level of an epic-scale dark magic.
His arm, which had blocked it several times, still tingled with numbness.
'Roughly 20 years ago, by the looks of it?'
Federback examined his reflection in the lavish mirror.
Snow-white hair, pale skin, and ruby-red eyes.
A face that looked no older than fifteen.
It reeked of the spoiled youngest son of a noble house who had never known hardship.
It seemed he had returned to the days when he recited poetry, painted pictures, and was obsessed with the arts.
'I was the last in the hero party to awaken. And yet, in the blink of an eye, I caught up to the hero, mage, and saintess. If my awakening had come just one year sooner, the war's outcome would have been reversed.'
Federback scrutinized his reflection more closely.
Flawless white skin, chubby cheeks, and delicate features that could be mistaken for a girl's at a glance.
The grotesque scars from lich magic and death knight slashes that had marred him before his regression were gone.
'If I'd only gained a year, I could have overturned the war. But I've gone back a full twenty years. Nothing's impossible now.'
This world lacked a hero, a mage, and a saintess…… but that couldn't be helped.
Federback closed his eyes and silently paid respects to his old comrades.
His mind chilled like frost.
His heart began to pound hotly like a furnace.
"……I've returned."
The outsider from another timeline declared war on the new world.
A declaration aimed at the Demon King, who hadn't even appeared yet, a terror known only from mythic records.
Federback thought.
'Come to think of it, my comrades had been planning my regression for a long time.'
Especially the saintess.
Whenever she had the chance, she drilled history into him.
Legendary artifacts already claimed by others, ancient magic, rare spirits, vital human talents who shouldn't have died—she lectured tirelessly about them all.
Back then, he hadn't understood.
Why study things already lost or taken?
But now he knew.
'Five years until the Demon King appears, ten until the total offensive begins. I have to gather everything I need and end it all within that time.'
He couldn't afford to be complacent just because time was on his side.
This world had no hero, mage, or saintess.
He had to fulfill his comrades' roles alone.
"……."
Federback began with the most essential task.
Tssstsss…….
Shattering his stagnant mana core and setting it in motion.
'What a mess.'
The Federback of this era was weak and foolish.
A noble house's son who neglected swordsmanship and mounted training in favor of singing, reciting poetry, painting, and indulging in intellectual vanity.
Not just his allowance—he even embezzled family funds to hoard expensive paintings, sculptures, artworks, and luxuries.
'First, I need to build the basics.'
Federback circulated his mana.
All those tonics and elixirs force-fed to him since childhood had been worth it.
The rusted mana core heated up, and the scant mana pooled inside began to bubble.
He sent that handful of mana through his veins, incinerating the sticky waste clinging to the walls.
'Much better.'
Federback recalled his pre-regression prowess.
His swordsmanship had reached about 5th Circle level.
Equivalent to a 5th Circle mage.
Thanks to awakening his prestigious swordsmanship bloodline, its power rivaled 7th Circle…… but the technique itself being low was regrettable.
'I need to climb to higher realms as fast as possible. And master all the family secret techniques lost to war within five years. That alone should let me one-on-one slaughter Demon King army executives.'
As Federback pondered these things.
Knock knock knock—
Someone rapped on the door.
"Who is it?"
A maid entered as he asked.
"Good day, Young Master. The items you ordered have arrived."
"?"
Soon, maids began filing into the room.
Expensive paintings, beautiful sculptures, rare violins, ornate harps, and other costly art supplies and instruments piled up.
The maids said,
"These are the artworks and instruments you so desperately wanted, Young Master. Where shall we display them?"
Federback replied,
"Pile them all in the backyard."
"Pardon?"
The maids' eyes widened.
This spoiled youngest master was notorious for his art obsession.
A single stain on a painting would have him fuming for days, berating the maids.
And now he wanted these treasures dumped in the drafty backyard?
'What's gotten into our art-mad Young Master?'
But the maids followed his orders without protest.
Soon, the artworks towered in the mansion's backyard.
The maids stepped back, awaiting further instructions.
'Is he planning to display them outside the mansion? What if he makes us dust and clean each one later?'
They worried about what tantrum this pretentious brat would throw next.
……However.
Whoosh!
Federback's next action stunned them.
Roar! Roar! Roar!
He hurled a torch onto the mountain of art.
Oil-soaked instruments and paints burned with ferocious intensity.
Thick black smoke rose like a beacon fire.
Precious artworks were engulfed, belching dark fumes.
No one knew it, but this signaled one truth.
Federback had become a completely different person.
A beacon proclaiming his transformation.
…Crackle! …Snap! …Rumble!
To the gaping maids, Federback said,
"Drag every trivial thing out of my room."
"Pardon?"
"Spare one sword and one suit of armor. Burn the rest."
The maids hesitated, dumbfounded.
But Federback paid no mind.
"Execute."
"……Yes!"
Northern women were bold by nature.
The maids complied, though doubtfully.
Meanwhile, Federback watched the artworks turn to ash and thought.
'War is coming soon. Poetry, paintings, music—all will become meaningless.'
Every expression, color, and emotion in this world would vanish.
Human faces would twist in terror, despair, and rage.
The world would drown in fire, leaving only red and black.
There would be no place for art, music, or literature.
Federback was bidding them all farewell in advance.
Right then.
"Young Master!"
A voice called from behind.
"Young Master! The meeting is about to start!"
A neatly dressed old man approached.
He eyed the burning pile curiously.
"Oh? Burning trash, are you?"
"What is it?"
The old man grinned.
"Didn't I tell you? It's meeting time soon. Isn't today your first time attending the family conference, Young Master?"
"……."
Federback nodded slowly.
Then the man's face registered.
'Familiar…… who is he?'
After a moment's thought, Federback recalled.
'……Right, this guy existed.'
He was insignificant enough to forget.
Yuda, the Meursault House administrator.
The traitor who betrayed the family, selling secrets to the enemy.
Federback stroked his chin.
'A perfect early prey has walked right into my jaws.'