Chapter 12. Crimson Fang (1)
Episode 12. The Red Awl (1)
An era when inventions like guns, automobiles, and typewriters emerged.
A time when brilliant scientists researched magical engineering and applied it to daily life.
During this period, countless companies large and small sprang up like mushrooms after rain—some industrialists wielded power rivaling that of nobility.
Particularly renowned tycoons. They often received treatment equal to or above that of barons.
Truthfully, the rank of baron was frequently bestowed upon knights or mages who distinguished themselves in minor wars, so this wasn't entirely unreasonable.
In peaceful times, what could families without territory or history possibly use to maintain aristocratic dignity?
Thus, only viscounts and above—those who governed their own lands—were treated as true nobility.
Their territories amassed capital, their capital attracted talent, and their talent became power.
This cycle of power, over time, transformed into history, and history in turn became power.
Especially among counts and higher, who wielded immense authority over vast territories.
And above them all, reigning like the heavens themselves, stood one house.
The Grand Duchy of Karsen.
The true kings of the North.
Counts governed their respective territories while serving the Karsen Grand Duke as their liege. Due to their tangled, complex histories, the borders dividing their lands remained ambiguous.
Regardless, all roads from these territories led to Siren, the so-called capital of the North, which naturally became the center of northern trade.
Hence the saying: "If you seek success in the North, go to Siren!"
Yet to Sion, Siren felt like a city lacking coherence.
Buildings that might have been ancient ruins stood alongside freshly constructed edifices with immaculate paint jobs.
Of course, the newer structures were commercial buildings erected by corporations or noble houses.
Most common citizens lived in detached homes with chimneys.
Wealthier industrialists resided in sprawling mansions, clustered together in what were called affluent districts.
Beyond these, new cultural spaces like museums, art galleries, and theaters dotted the city, alongside academies sponsored by various nobles and small-scale magic towers.
All of it formed along the banks of a massive river cutting through the city—named "Rumenia," meaning "River of the Fallen Sun God."
Indeed, the Rumenia River never froze, no matter how harsh the winter, making it worthy of being called a mythical river. People praised it as a blessing bestowed by the Sun God.
The Karsen family's grand mansion stood on a high hill at the river's center, backed by a mountain burying ancient ruins.
Since the sons' rooms were on the mansion's top floor, Sion could gaze down at the cityscape from his window.
Morning sunlight painted the horizon, dyeing the city crimson.
It was breathtakingly beautiful, so he quietly admired the view.
"I wish the demon invasion were just a lie."
Sion Karsen sincerely thought so.
After straightening his bedding and checking the black egg, he confirmed the operation time.
The operation would commence at midnight, after sunset.
Assembly was set for two hours prior, at 10 PM.
"I should make use of the spare time."
Sion retrieved the vials known as the Breath of the Fire-Ice Dragon. A scarlet vial containing fiery essence, and an azure one holding frigid energy.
Placing the azure vial on the table, he kept the scarlet one in hand.
His physical condition had nearly fully recovered—it was time.
"Haaah... Hoo."
He regulated his breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly.
Such elixirs weren't meant to be fully absorbed in a single dose.
Steady breathing and training to wholly assimilate the mana within—that too was a knight's quality.
Pop.
He uncorked the scarlet vial. A pungent aroma filled the room as dense flame-attribute mana tempted Sion's lips.
Drawn by fate's pull, he downed it in one go.
Gulp, gulp.
The liquid seared his throat, its path vividly tracing his esophagus.
Sion immediately sat cross-legged, focusing on the mana now coursing through him. The sheer power was overwhelming.
It surged to his heart before radiating throughout his body—so violently that maintaining consciousness grew difficult.
A faint wind stirred in the room. Not a gale, but enough to flutter the curtains in an enclosed space where no breeze should exist.
Sion's hair swayed. Then, light began glowing from the depths of his pupils, intensifying until it resembled flame.
"Hoo."
That was all. By then, the sun had set. The wind stilled. The fire in Sion's eyes vanished. Fortunately, he hadn't lost consciousness.
Without Duckie's seasoned expertise, mastering the elixir this smoothly would've been impossible.
Sion rose. Inspecting himself, he sensed newfound power unlike before.
He also felt dormant energy—still unrefined—lodged in his core and heart.
Clenching his fist, he noticed the difference. As his core grew, so did his body.
A strange sense of omnipotence surged, but he quelled it.
"Haste won't bring results."
The answer lay in steady training and time.
Sion picked up the azure vial. He had no intention of consuming this one.
Past regression experience taught him that another elixir suited him better—only the scarlet vial was his to take.
After storing the azure vial in his room's safe, he showered and changed.
Though the Inspection Bureau uniform was white, this covert operation required camouflage gear instead.
A black wig, thick fur coat, navy suspender pants, and black horn-rimmed glasses completed the look.
An ordinary laborer's attire. Exactly that.
Of course, beneath it lay weapons—swords, guns, and more.
He also packed several healing potions inside his coat.
While he wouldn't reveal himself as a mage, he hadn't forgotten to prepare like one.
Facing the Inspection Bureau building felt like encountering an old relic after ages.
"Built over a decade ago, yet it's twelve stories tall."
A magnificent sight.
As time passed, architectural techniques would improve and buildings grow taller, but surpassing this vintage grandeur seemed unlikely.
Beyond that, the Bureau stood as a symbol.
The day all northern nobles united under the Karsen banner.
Proof that the entire North joined forces aspiring for justice, peace, and prosperity.
Thus, this place wielded absolute authority.
With just one condition—the Grand Duke's permission—it held power to obliterate any corrupt force.
That was precisely the power Sion needed now. Even if he couldn't purge all corrupt nobles and cartels, he had to push them to controllable limits.
Steeling his resolve, he entered. The interior was vast, with at least twenty rooms per floor.
He headed to Room 408, as per the summons.
There stood Louis Dykken leading Inspection Bureau agents in orderly formation—all in plainclothes, all at least apprentice knights or stronger.
"Sion Karsen, reporting for duty. Good to see you, Louis."
"......"
Louis merely glared without responding. Even before regression, he'd started ignoring Sion after becoming a full knight.
Had Sion's conduct displeased him that much? Perhaps, but...
Somehow, Louis' gaze felt more irritating now. The look one gives something utterly detestable—overflowing with contempt.
Know your place, you brat.
Louis abruptly turned and unfurled a map on the central table.
"The red circles mark the strongholds of those bastards entrenched in the Isra District."
Isra District—Siren's outskirts. A factory zone that couldn't even ironically be called affluent.
"We'll divide and purge each zone starting now. Agent Sion, if you have corrections or additional intel, supplement the operation accordingly."
Sion nodded. But there was nothing to add. Launching operational adjustments two hours prior was absurd to begin with.
Louis knew that.
He likely just wanted to justify Sion's dispatch.
Moreover, Sion's intel had only provided rough locations—the Bureau's intelligence division would've refined the exact stronghold details, leaving no room for input.
Still, as he listened, Sion pondered the Red Awl and other shadow-dwelling organizations.
Why had the underworld abandoned the Red Awl?
From their perspective, having more groups drawing the Bureau's scrutiny should've been beneficial.
Unless... they feared some connection being exposed?
"What happened?"
This time, he'd see for himself. And claim the renown she'd enjoyed before regression.
By uprooting the Red Awl embedded in the North.
A moonlit night under a full moon.
The northern darkness was icy.
Instead of warm sunlight, chilly moonlight illuminated the world, and melted snow that had trickled now refroze solid.
Smoke rose from every rooftop chimney—meal preparations, or seeking warmth.
But from an abandoned factory in Isra District, smoke of a different kind billowed.
Whooosh—
"Ugh! Uuugh! Ghk!"
"Traitorous scum! Burn!"
"A cremation just for you!"
"Well? Does it hurt? Is it hot?"
Six men were bound to iron pillars with oil-soaked straw piled beneath—then set aflame.
Men with red fang tattoos under their eyes like scars cackled gleefully.
"We never should've trusted the Hashman Brothers. That bastard leaked intel and got us caught."
"Because of those shits, we have to abandon this place!"
"We never should've taken in those half-blood bastards to begin with."
"Considering the losses they caused... burning them isn't enough."
Some hurled curses, others threw stones at the burning men, while a few silently observed the spectacle.
This was a performance—a method to control a crumbling organization and punish betrayers.
The way of Jeffren, leader of the Red Awl.
As the only wanderer-class fighter in the group, all members feared him.
The six bound men screamed desperately, as if pleading innocence.
"Ugh! Uuugh! Ugh! Ugh!"
But with stones gagging their mouths and ropes sealing them, no words were intelligible.
Their bodies bore clear signs of torture—bruises, wounds, burns.
Thud, thud.
Jeffren stepped forward.
"It pains me to kill you too. But. Explain this."
He shook a newspaper in hand.
"Suddenly the Red Awl appears in the papers. And the Karsen name follows it. What kind of bullshit is this?"
Swish. He tossed the paper beneath the men. The flames roared higher.
Muffled screams echoed awhile before the men became charred husks.
Jeffren addressed his crew.
"Gather the officers. We leave tonight."
Fire burned in his eyes—growing fiercer, like an inner demon of flames.
"...We can't end it here."