Chapter 8. Change in Perception (3)
Episode 8. Shift in Perception (3)
Ting—
After flicking my sword once, I sheathed it.
The tavern remained steeped in silence. Everyone rolled their eyes, trying to process what had just happened. But it didn't seem like they'd grasp the situation anytime soon.
"Sion Karsen of the Inspection Bureau! For your safety, please remain where you are!"
After my loud declaration, I unlocked the door and stepped outside. I scanned the area to see if Yan Hashiman's lackeys were lurking around—or perhaps higher-ups from the Red Awl.
Sure enough, a faint trace of mana pulsed from the rooftop across the street.
'Concealment. Mid-tier at best.'
As one of humanity's last survivors in my past life, my senses had been honed to an extreme degree. It wasn't something innate—just a gift earned from years of dancing on the razor's edge.
At any rate.
If I could detect the Demon King's stealth, no one in this era could evade my perception.
Still, even by my standards, this infiltrator wasn't half bad. Which meant I could guess who it was.
The woman in charge of intelligence, assassination, and managing subordinate factions.
She must've been the one who fed Yan Hashiman information about me.
Right now, she was probably in the middle of cleaning up loose ends—sacrificing the Red Awl by provoking the Northern Grand Duke's son.
'After all, reckless fools are the easiest to manipulate. Right?'
When I silently stared at the rooftop, the presence vanished completely. She had wisely retreated.
I didn't bother chasing her.
It wasn't the right time yet.
I stepped back inside and announced:
"It's safe now. You're free to leave."
I left the door open.
Symbolically.
"Roman. Let's go."
Roman had been staring at me, dumbfounded, just like the other patrons. But at my call, he snapped back to attention.
"Ah! Y-Yes, Young Master!"
He was carrying a box—ten bottles of Iruna Noble. It seemed my brother had thoughtfully packed extra.
Just then, Northern Territory police cars arrived. My brother or the waiter must've called for backup.
After explaining the situation, I handed over the case and got into the car.
'They'll handle the rest.'
Vroom—
The car glided forward smoothly.
Except.
Vroom— Vrooom! Drrrrr—
For some reason, Roman's driving was rougher than before. Looking closer, his hands were trembling.
"Roman. Are you alright?"
"Huh? Ah... Y-Yes. I'm fine. More importantly—"
He glanced back at me hesitantly.
"Young Master... You were incredible. I never imagined you had that kind of skill... No, that's not what I meant. I should've stepped in earlier, but I froze up and... Ah, not that I would've been any help... I-I'm sorry. I'm not making sense."
Roman stumbled over his words, flustered. Watching him, I slowly closed my eyes.
So much for his driving skills.
"Roman. Enough."
"...Yes, Young Master."
"You don't owe me an apology. I'm the one who failed to consider you. You must've been shocked. I'm sorry."
Silence followed my apology. Maybe it was my imagination, but Roman's driving seemed to steady slightly.
"...Young Master. You needn't worry about me. I'm just a servant—you're the important one."
At his words, I opened my eyes and studied him intently.
'Is that why you threw yourself in harm's way for me in my past life?'
Roman seemed to be saying: If things get truly dangerous, leave me behind.
But Roman... I already abandoned you once. How could I do it again?
"You can't bite properly without lips, Roman. Never treat your life lightly."
Roman nodded as though he understood.
"Thank you, Young Master."
Silence settled over the car again—but this time, it was a warmer quiet.
Vrrrrr—
After clocking out, Roman left the Karsen estate and headed home. His bag held five carefully wrapped bottles of Iruna Noble.
"The wife will love this."
The blizzard still raged outside, but for some reason, it didn't feel as cold. Ten million Jeni and Iruna Noble? His steps felt lighter than usual today.
After walking a while, he turned back. The massive estate filled his vision—a mansion steeped in ancient tradition and history.
Would my family have survived without the Karsens? Would the North even have this many people left?
After a moment of reflection, Roman's expression hardened.
Then he thought of his master—Sion Karsen. The Young Master had changed too much lately.
"Is he really alright?"
The day Sion fought and killed the wanted criminal Yoen Hashiman at Chwimongyahwa—he'd suddenly promised to do better.
"Has he truly lost his mind?"
The huge sums of money, skipping his usual revelry at the Daikah family's villa, donating to orphanages...
'He's changed so much. Especially—'
Today's incident—killing Yan Hashiman at the second young master's tavern—was shocking beyond words.
"He's not the same Young Master anymore."
It wasn't just hopeful. Roman worried Sion might suddenly break under the pressure.
But what did it matter?
He owed the Karsen family everything. No matter who Sion became, he'd serve him faithfully.
Still... really.
If the Young Master had changed...
Roman clenched his fists.
And whispered to himself:
'Mother would've been happy.'
Charles, a reporter for the Northern newspaper Daily, stopped by Igwen Runa after work as usual.
Like most people, he didn't have a particular reason.
He just wandered in. Or maybe—in this bleak world—he couldn't endure life without a drink. Or maybe he just wanted alcohol.
"The usual beer."
As always, he had no company. He downed his drink, using his company's recent struggles as a side dish.
Gulp, gulp. Thud!
After emptying his glass, he ordered another. Pursing his lips, he muttered:
"I need a scoop. A scoop."
By the time he'd downed five beers in one go and ordered his sixth—
Creeak—
The door opened, and Sion Karsen entered with his secretary.
At first, Charles paid no attention. The Karsen family's half-wit visiting his brother's tavern wasn't exactly breaking news.
But something felt... off about him. His aura? Presence? Charisma? Whatever it was, something had changed.
As Charles chugged his sixth beer, he studied the Karsen brothers. It was... weird.
A reporter's instinct? He couldn't put it into words, but he felt something was about to happen.
"Waiter, another."
Just as he ordered his seventh beer—
Creeak—
A masked man walked in. Charles' hand froze mid-reach. A chill ran down his spine.
Then, when the man spoke—
Goosebumps erupted across his skin.
'The Red Awl? Those brutal criminals making headlines lately?'
And when the man declared he'd kill everyone in the tavern—Charles dropped his beer. Crash!
'What the hell?! What kind of mess is this?! Kill everyone? Because of Sion Karsen? Are you kidding me?! I have nothing to do with this!'
Charles didn't want to die. He desperately wanted to live. But there was nothing he could do. Despair crashed over him.
Then—
BANG! SLASH! THUD—
What just happened? By the time Charles regained his senses, the masked man's head was on the floor. A fountain of blood gushed from the stump of his neck.
Whoosh—
Flames erupted along the blade of a sword. It all happened in an instant.
Before the stench of blood could spread, Sion Karsen stepped outside, scanned the area, and said:
"It's safe now. You're free to leave."
After briefing the arriving police, he got into his car.
Vroom—
The black sedan drove off, leaving the crowd staring blankly. Relief and shock warred in their hearts.
Charles frantically paid his tab and approached the officers. His reporter instincts screamed: This can't be ignored.
Flashing his press badge, he asked:
"Hello. Charles from the Daily. I witnessed what just happened. Could you explain the situation?"
The officers exchanged glances before answering.
"This bastard's name is Yan Hashiman."
"...What?"
Yan Hashiman—a wanted criminal with dozens of violent offenses: murder, rape, robbery...
A slippery fugitive who'd evaded capture until now.
"T-This is Yan Hashiman?!"
"Yeah. As you saw, Young Master Sion took care of him... Lucky break."
The officers patted Charles' shoulder, advised him to stay safe, and hauled away Yan's corpse.
Charles slumped to the ground.
"I... I almost died just now."
But one thing nagged at him.
"W-Wait. Did Sion Karsen just kill Yan Hashiman?"
From then on, Charles dug into Sion's activities—using every connection he had: fellow reporters, police contacts, Inspection Bureau sources.
Most of it matched the rumors. The North's so-called "half-wit" had a track record to prove it.
But things changed after the Chwimongyahwa incident. Though not widely publicized, Sion Karsen had captured Yoen Hashiman.
'So Sion took down both Hashiman brothers?'
His recent behavior was bizarre too.
Even noble social circles whispered about Sion's transformation. His attendance at banquets had plummeted.
Rumors said he'd clashed with Guseto Daikah, a key socialite.
He'd even visited orphanages to donate.
'What's going on? Did he have a change of heart?'
Then—one more thing stood out.
The Golden Star Tournament participant list.
"Sion Karsen is joining the Golden Star Tournament?"
Fellow reporters sneered, laughing at the potential spectacle. They joked he'd embarrass himself publicly, driven by inferiority.
Charles tuned them out. He pieced together the facts:
The Karsen family's failure got parachuted into the Inspection Bureau.
He infiltrated Chwimongyahwa and executed Yoen Hashiman.
In self-defense.
Then started acting like a completely different person.
Unless...
...He'd been hiding his claws all along.
Charles trusted his gut. That overwhelming aura in the tavern wasn't a fluke. He was sure of it.
"Ha... Hahaha. Hahahaha!"
Doubt turned to conviction. Sion Karsen was no failure. A swordsman strong enough to kill Yan Hashiman in an instant—one who could set his blade ablaze.
A dormant dragon, finally stirring for its ascension. And the stage? The Golden Star Tournament.
Charles swept his bangs back.
"This is front-page material."
Time to go big.
He quietly pulled out his typewriter.
Click-clack, tap, clickety-clack.
The words flowed.
[Sion Karsen Takes the Lead in Crime Eradication for the People.
The third son of the Karsen family and Northern Inspection Bureau agent, Sion Karsen, infiltrated Chwimongyahwa to capture the notorious criminal Yoen Hashiman.
His subsequent execution of Hashiman had two underlying motives.
....
....
....
- Daily, Charles]
A satisfied smile curled Charles' lips.
"Perfect. Next headline—"
[Sion Karsen: A Predator Hiding Its Fangs?]
Click-clack, click-clack.
The typewriter's rhythm filled the room.