Chapter 7. Change in Perception (2)
Episode 7. Shift in Perception (2)
"Take me to the Seyren Orphanage on the outskirts."
"Yes, young master."
Vroom—
Inside the carriage cutting through the blizzard, I gazed out the window. A bleak cityscape filled my vision.
The bustling shopping streets stood empty, and the plaza was eerily quiet.
Even during summer—the liveliest of the North's seasons—days like this, when blizzards raged, looked like this. Northerners didn't step outside when the cold was unbearable.
Unless you were a noble with money to burn, wearing cold-resistant clothing engraved with mana circuits, or a knight who could strengthen their body with their core, enduring this blizzard would be near impossible.
Winter was even worse. Unless you were a hunter or a lumberjack, you'd rarely venture outside.
I needed to make these streets warmer and livelier. Only then would the economy revive, and the North prosper.
All of it—to prevent destruction. There was so much to do. And yet... scum like Guseto were busy indulging in luxury...
'The more I think about it, the angrier I get.'
Guseto would bring the money. His life was on the line. But he'd surely hold a grudge and seek revenge for his losses.
That was fine.
It was the perfect time to track him down and identify the traitors.
Lost in thought, I soon arrived at the orphanage.
After stepping out of the carriage, I headed straight to the director's office. The director was a plump, elderly man with thick, bushy hair. He bowed slightly upon seeing my attire.
"Welcome. But... may I ask who...?"
I cut straight to the point.
"I came to make a donation."
"A... a donation?"
"Yes."
I handed him a check. The director extended his hands politely, his head lowering as his eyes scanned the amount. He counted the zeros. His jaw dropped.
"300 million?!"
His mouth hung open.
"Might I ask your name...?"
"Sion Karsen."
"Gah—!"
The director's jaw dropped even wider—so much that I wondered if an insect might fly in.
Well, it made sense. The North's infamous troublemaker suddenly showing up to donate? Hard to believe.
The director's expression practically screamed:
—What kind of scheme is this?
I understood. Donating was a good deed, of course, but I wasn't exactly known for being a good person.
The reason I sought out this orphanage wasn't purely altruistic—I needed talented individuals for future projects.
People skilled in paperwork.
Numbers.
I smiled gently.
"Please use it all for the children. I have no ulterior motives."
"But... how could we accept something so precious...?"
I narrowed my eyes slightly. If he kept refusing, I'd have no choice.
"Director."
"Y-Yes?!"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"N-No, of course not!"
"Let me say it again—this is for the children. If even a single coin is misused or sold for profit... you'd best be prepared. Surely, you wouldn't dare obstruct these children's futures, would you?"
"O-Of course not! Every bit will go to the children!"
I practically forced the donation into his hands—like twisting an arm to get a bow. And then—
"Ah, if there happens to be a child skilled with numbers, pass along a message for me."
I flashed a benevolent smile. In truth, I already had one specific person in mind.
The numbers fanatic I'd met in the Resistance. He'd grown up in this orphanage.
No need to rush things. For now, I'd just cast the bait.
"Tell them if they want to work with big numbers, they should come find me."
The director bowed awkwardly.
"Ah, yes. Understood. The donation will absolutely be used frugally for the children's sake."
"Naturally. Well then."
With the donation complete, I turned and climbed back into the carriage.
Vroom—
Thick smoke billowed as the wheels rolled forward.
Before long, I arrived at a tavern in Seyren's Isra District—Igwen Runa, a place teeming with regulars.
Stepping out of the carriage, I scanned my surroundings. I needed to confirm whether the person I expected to be tailing me had arrived.
"Hmm."
'Good. They followed.'
I turned to Roman in the driver's seat.
"Come with me. It's cold."
"Ah, no need. I'll be fine."
"No, this time, you're coming. Sit at a different table inside. And order five bottles of Iruna Noble."
"Ah... understood."
I had no choice but to bring Roman. Who knew what might happen if I left him outside?
Before entering Igwen Runa, I adjusted my uniform tie.
Inside, the clamor of drunken chatter and clinking glasses rang loudly.
"Hoo."
I steadied my breathing.
Adjusted my expression and gaze.
Reminded myself inwardly:
I am the third son of the Karsen family—one of the North's great houses.
Before regression, I believed status was an unchangeable truth, something you were born with...
But that wasn't true at all.
After the North's fall, I wasn't even treated as a fallen noble. Just a wanderer. A beggar. Trash.
Would my father have done the same?
Absolutely not.
He would've been hailed as a hero.
In other words, high status required matching strength, intellect, dignity, and reputation.
Sometimes, the appearance of power mattered more than actual power.
So.
Starting now, I'd gradually reshape my reputation.
Creak—
I pushed the door open and strode inside, my polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor.
The noisy chatter came to an abrupt halt. Every eye turned toward me. My noble bearing and appearance naturally drew attention.
But soon, the drunks resumed their gossip.
"So, the North's troublemaker actually caught Yoen Hashiman?"
"Is that for real? The Karsen family's failure?"
"Exactly. Rumor has it he's hopeless with a sword. Can't even handle mana properly."
"Right? Seems fishy."
"Can't you tell? It's obviously fabricated! Probably bought someone else's credit."
They likely thought their whispers wouldn't reach me...
But they were wrong.
With my enhanced physical abilities from core development, I heard every word.
Still, confronting them would be beneath a noble's dignity, so I pretended not to hear and calmly took a seat at an empty table. Besides, they weren't entirely wrong.
But.
I memorized their faces. You lot.
Roman bowed slightly to me before sitting at another table.
After settling in, a waiter approached.
"What would you like?"
"Iruna Noble."
Lately, I'd been craving the same drink.
"An excellent choice."
Soon after, a man with radiant golden hair slid a glass of Iruna Noble toward me.
"You came?"
I took the glass and replied.
"Yeah. Brother."
Sid Karsen. Like me, he was known as one of the North's failures—the second son of the Karsen family, my elder brother.
"So, you killed Yoen Hashiman? I thought you were dead. Nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Well, as you can see, I'm fine."
"Don't go dying before me."
"Why?"
"Why? Life wouldn't be fun without you."
Hearing his words, I glanced down at the glass before me. My reflection—resembling my brother—stared back from the calm surface.
A sense of camaraderie.
What an odd feeling.
The Sid I knew was, like me, considered talentless with a sword—dubbed a half-wit. But only those who didn't truly know him would say that.
At this time, my brother was quietly expanding his ventures—taverns, clothing stores, blacksmiths, even fur and fabric distribution.
'Lacking martial talent, but gifted with business acumen.'
Even this tavern, Igwen Runa, belonged to him.
Had he not been born into the Karsen family, he might've been hailed as a self-made success story.
But fate made him the son of a swordsmanship lineage. Tough luck.
Regardless.
I really liked my brother.
When I recklessly squandered my fortune and drowned in debt, it was because of him that I survived.
He was like a benefactor to me.
"Brother."
"Yeah?"
"Want to go into business with me?"
"Have you lost your mind?"
"No, I'm serious."
Seeing my dead-serious expression, Sid's laughter faded.
"Sion."
"Yeah."
"Business isn't as easy as you think."
Using Igwen Runa as an example, he launched into an exhaustive explanation—
Location.
Transport costs.
Maintaining ingredient freshness.
Supply and demand analysis.
Menu development.
Pricing.
Staff training.
"And if business is too good, that's also a problem. Pests start swarming."
I listened without interrupting. My uncharacteristic attentiveness made Sid's expression shift moment by moment.
His face was quite the sight—practically screaming:
—Did this kid eat something bad?
A subtle change, but all the more noticeable precisely because we were so close.
"Everything you said is right, Brother. That's why I'll provide the capital and the idea—you handle operations."
Perhaps because of my changed demeanor, Sid sighed and asked:
"Fine. Let's hear it. What's the idea?"
"The Croem Mountains are dangerous, but still undeveloped. I want to buy land there and search for ore veins."
The Croem Mountains were where Sid had developed mines in my past life. I wasn't sure if he knew about them now, but he'd be interested.
"...You're interested in that? Wait, before that—you're jumping into mining?"
"Yeah."
"Do you even know what mining entails?"
"Normally, 30% of magic stones are damaged during extraction. Another 50% evaporates during processing. Don't you think that efficiency is horrifying?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure."
"We'll develop the mines, then build factories and research facilities nearby. Extract, process, research, develop technology, apply it, repeat. That way, we'll quickly find ways to minimize losses. What do you think?"
"......"
This, too, was something Sid had considered. Though he never saw the technology to prevent losses in his lifetime...
That was a matter of talent development.
And the Resistance's geniuses had achieved it.
"I'll wipe out the cartels leeching off the North. Let's run a proper business."
My sudden declaration made Sid pull an utterly bewildered face.
"I feel like I've been blindsided by my own brother."
Pfft. I laughed.
"It's time... for both of us... to change."
Then—
Creak—
The tavern door swung open, and a man stepped inside. Cloaked in black, his face masked—clearly suspicious.
Schwing—
He drew his sword and spoke.
"Are you Sion Karsen?"
A murderous aura radiated from him—enough to make an ordinary person's hair stand on end. The patrons froze in fear.
Some dropped their beer mugs; others spilled their drinks.
One thing was certain—the lively tavern had plunged into silence.
Of course.
Only I remained perfectly calm.
"Here to avenge your brother?"
"What? You knew?"
As expected, the masked man was Yan Hashiman.
A worse piece of trash than Yoen Hashiman, with a particularly vile hobby—
Kidnapping one half of young couples in love.
'Countless lovers died searching for their missing partners, only to meet tragic ends.'
"I heard you two were close. So I came to... strengthen our bond."
"...You killed him knowing that?"
"Close brothers should go together. Preferably to hell."
I drew my thumb across my throat in a slashing motion. Yan Hashiman's forehead veins bulged. His voice turned icy.
"You'll beg for death soon enough. Not that I'll grant it."
A threat. I found it laughable and smirked.
"Scum like you are why the world's going to ruin."
"Talking to you is pointless."
"Hey. What's your rank in Red Awl?"
"......"
His pupils trembled. Utterly stunned. I'd struck a nerve.
"Cat got your tongue? Was it a secret?"
Underground organizations like Red Awl had one absolute rule—secrecy. So he strode to the door and locked it.
Clank—
Then, walking toward me, he said:
"These people will die because of you."
"Because leaking secrets means getting your wrists slit? Scary, huh?"
"You bastard—!"
The moment he tried to retort, I stomped the ground—launching myself forward.
Bam—!
In an instant, I closed the distance. Drew my sword. Swung.
A movement swift as lightning.
Schwing!
"Gahk—!"
He barely raised his sword to block.
But.
Crack—!
A thug who'd only bullied backstreets stood no chance against me—armed with future knowledge and relentless training.
"Wait—"
Slash—
His words were cut short—literally. My sword cleaved through his neck. Flames erupted from the blade.
Whoosh—!
Blood gushed from his neck...
Then instantly dried up.
Thud.
His head hit the floor.
Rolled.
All I'd done was behead one man. Simple. Effortless.
Yet, in doing so, I'd saved countless young lovers in the future.
The tavern erupted in shock.
A stunned silence followed.
In that moment, everyone inside lost their voices—including my brother. His expression practically screamed:
—Sion? Aura? Fire? More importantly... gentle Sion just killed someone?
I turned to him and said:
"Let's finish this conversation when we're sober."