Episode 3. The First Day of Regression (3)

A heavy silence filled the office, pressing down on my shoulders like a physical weight. My father's gaze seemed to ask:

Do you really think you're capable of this?

I answered with my own eyes.

Yes. I am.

"The North is rotting from within," I declared without hesitation, voicing words that should never be spoken before the Grand Duke of the North. "We're slowly walking the path of decline. This can't continue. The corrupted parts must be excised—or we face mutual destruction."

Mutual destruction—the North and us.

At those words, my father's eyes narrowed, and an oppressive aura erupted from him, powerful enough to topple snowy mountains.

Ssshh—

The pressure made simply standing unbearable. Goosebumps prickled across my limbs, and cold sweat trickled down my spine.

I couldn't breathe. The urge to beg for forgiveness nearly overwhelmed me.

My energy was draining in real time. This was no exaggeration—a Grand Master could kill with sheer presence alone.

The highly condensed frost mana plunged the office temperature exponentially, turning my exhales into visible mist.

Yet I didn't falter. I didn't close my eyes or avert my gaze. I simply stood straight.

If we didn't cut away the rot now, the North would fall. And once the North collapsed, the continent would be invaded step by step—leading to humanity's extinction.

I could never allow that. Never again would I stand by helplessly.

Not the fall of humanity.

Not the fall of the North.

Not the deaths of those precious to me.

How much time passed?

Slowly, my father closed his eyes.

The pressure eased.

I could breathe again.

But the tension remained.

What would he say to this sudden proposal of mine?

No matter his answer, I wouldn't back down—but still... It would make me happy if he believed in me.

Then—

"In two months, the Golden Star Tournament will be held. Win it, and I'll consider your proposal."

"...!"

The Golden Star Tournament—a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠martial arts competition held once every four years in Seyren, the capital of the North.

Only Northerners under thirty could participate, and the winner earned the right to join the Platinum Knight Order, the North's strongest knightly force.

Naturally, it was a stage for the most promising young knights—several times harder than merely earning a knight's qualification.

Translated, my father's words meant:

Do you still dare to act so recklessly?

The me from before regression would have tucked tail and run. Of course. What confidence could I have had when I couldn't even manifest aura? Unless public humiliation was my hobby.

But now.

I smiled softly.

Not with recklessness—but with certainty.

"I'll win and return. Ah, and about my duties at the Inspection Bureau until then—"

"Enough. Dismissed."

"Yes!"

I bowed respectfully. Many words lingered on my lips, but one phrase burned brightest in my heart.

Thank you, Father.

To my demeanor, my father responded dryly:

"Wash the blood off before you go."

Ah. Right. I'd come straight after killing Yoen Hashman without cleaning up. Damn it, I should've washed first.

I hurriedly exited the lord's office.

Outside, a familiar face greeted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me—curly hair, round features, a middle-aged man radiating warmth.

"...Roman?"

"Yes, young master. Are you alright?"

Roman had been my personal attendant and butler since childhood, filling the void left by my late mother and stoic father.

He's practically family.

Yet.

I hadn't been a good family to him.

On the day the monsters ravaged the territory—the Day of the North's Destruction—even the impregnable Karsen mansion collapsed.

Back then, I hid behind a defensive artifact, paralyzed by fear, while Roman threw himself at the monsters to buy me time to escape.

"Young master! Run now!"

He wasn't even a soldier, yet he was brave—while I was just a coward. The brave man was torn apart, and the coward survived in disgrace.

And now.

Roman brushed off his chest and spoke.

"I heard from the Inspection Bureau. There was a fierce battle at Chwimongyahwa with a wanted criminal. I was so worried."

"..."

Damn it, Roman. I didn't deserve your concern. The guilt crushed my chest, but I suppressed the rising emotion.

"As you can see, I'm fine. Let's head to my room."

A bit awkwardly.

I smiled and walked ahead.

Roman followed with quick steps.

Watching him, I vowed: I'll never let you sacrifice yourself again. As we walked—

"Sion? I heard you had a fierce battle at Chwimongyahwa. You look unharmed."

A blond man with a goatee curled his lips into a sneer as he addressed me. I knew him—Guseto ul Daikah.

The second son of House Daikah, one of the traitors who would lead the North to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ruin.

"What do you want, Gus?"

"...It's Guseto. I heard you've already made a name for yourself at the Inspection Bureau? Impressive, Sion. I always knew you had it in you."

"Get to the point."

At my cold tone, his brow twitched. Before regression, I'd fallen for his tricks, indulging in all sorts of vices. We'd been close—or so I thought.

I'd believed he was my friend. In truth, he'd only pretended to support me, egging on my recklessness while feeding my insecurities. Thinking about it now pissed me off.

"So impatient~"

He casually closed the distance, whispering in my ear—disgusting.

"Come to our secret room tonight. I'll show you something good."

"Not interested. I'll be busy."

"What?"

He seemed shocked by my refusal—a first for him. But right now, my focus wasn't on his petty games. It was on his neck.

Unfortunately, it wasn't time yet.

I turned away.

"Later, Gus."

"It's not Gus—"

I walked off without listening. From his grumbling behind me, he was pissed—but who cared?

Even as the "half-wit failure" of House Karsen, I was of a Grand Ducal house—he, a mere count's son. And House Karsen wasn't just any Grand Duchy—we were the de facto royal family ruling the entire North.

The me of this era hadn't realized it, but the Karsen name was absolute. This time, I'd wield that influence fully.

I hadn't before.

That's why I'd lived as an outcast.

Honestly.

Why did I ever associate with trash like him?

The thought left a bitter taste.

Creak—

I opened my bedroom door. Yesterday's me had opened it too, but to the regressed me, it felt like an eternity.

"Wow."

A crystal chandelier overhead.

Luxurious ebony furniture.

Silk curtains embroidered with gold thread.

And—

The black ebony piano I'd loved since childhood.

I nearly lost myself in the sight.

My long-forgotten room.

After the North fell, I'd lived in squalor—sleeping on streets, mountains, or trees, wherever I could lay my head. Rainwater was my bath.

Every night, I feared attacks—monsters, demons, or bandits—surviving on fitful sleep.

Joining the Resistance improved things slightly, but as an efficiency-driven organization, adapting to rigid communal life was its own ordeal.

That was another kind of hell.

My gaze swept the room—opulent yet cozy. Right, this was where I lived. Another reason to save this world.

On one wall hung a family portrait in a Karsen ebony frame.

A lump rose in my throat.

Seeing my father, mother, and siblings' faces—the suppressed emotions surged up.

I'd wavered when facing Father earlier. But not now. Swallow it. Not yet.

"Roman, I'm going to wash up."

"Ah, yes! Young master."

I stripped off the bloodied clothes. After showering and changing, I trudged to the full-length mirror.

Staring at my reflection.

My younger self stared back.

"Everything's here."

Though I'd already checked while moving, seeing my complete form in the mirror was different.

My right eye—once gouged by a monster's claw, forever hidden behind a bandage—was perfectly intact.

My left shoulder—obliterated by a dark mage's spell—was whole again. The prosthetic legs were now my own flesh and blood.

Just confirming my body's wholeness filled me with overwhelming gratitude.

But that wasn't all.

Lustrous golden hair, smooth skin, eyes like abyssal pools, bold brows, a straight nose, a sharp jawline.

Natural blessings. The spitting image of Father in his youth—or perhaps half of Mother's likeness.

Behind me, Roman spoke up.

"Young master, you're truly handsome."

I spun around.

He's terrible at flattery.

When I stared silently, Roman slumped, bowing his head. His posture reminded me of the past.

......

Regretful memories flashed by.

Back then, I'd been harsh to the servants.

I'd had no room in my heart.

I'm truly sorry.

He'd served me faithfully.

I'd taken it for granted.

Because I was his master.

And he was my servant.

But Roman's loyalty wasn't obligatory. He was skilled—he could've worked anywhere with decent pay.

"Roman."

"Yes, young master."

"I'm sorry for how I was. And... thank you."

Roman tilted his head, his expression saying:

Did he eat something bad?

Am I dreaming?

Regardless, I meant it.

"I'll do better from now on."

I considered showing rather than telling, but words mattered. Not just to Roman—I'd voice my gratitude and apologies to everyone I met.

Before regression, countless unspoken truths remained. I'd always postponed them—later, when the mood's better, when circumstances improve.

But that "right time" never came.

And those I wanted to thank all died.

So now, I wouldn't delay.

The first step to avoiding regret was speaking my heart. The second was growing strong enough to prevent regrets.

Of course.

I couldn't do it alone.

No matter how talented, an individual's limits were clear. Even the greatest heroes of the past eventually joined the Resistance.

Alone, they couldn't counter the demons' cunning.

Thus, my goal was clear:

[Assemble an army capable of defeating the Demon King's forces.]

Generals versed in strategy.

Magical engineers for new weapons.

Financiers to fund the war.

An administrator for efficiency.

Heroes to lead the charge.

To achieve this, step one:

First, I needed to grow strong enough to win.

"Roman, gather what I'm about to list."

Becoming the strongest knight under thirty in two months? Absurd—if I weren't a regressor.

But now, as humanity's last survivor from the future, I possessed all accumulated knowledge for mankind's survival—and plans to use it.

First, I'd claim every opportunity scattered across the North—undiscovered ruins, magic circles, artifacts. I'd take them all and put them to use.

"Of course. Just say the word."

"Sulfur. Oil. Torches."

Roman hesitated briefly at the unexpected items but, ever the competent servant, quickly set off.

Soon, he returned with everything. After packing them, I said:

"Thanks. I'll be back soon."

"...Young master, where are you going?"

Worried by my changed demeanor, Roman questioned me. I reassured him.

"Just taking a short break."

The first opportunity to seize...

Ironically, it was right inside Karsen Manor.