Chapter 9. Change in Perception (4)
Episode 9. Shift in Perception (4)
At the Inspection Bureau, I was currently listed as [On Top Secret Mission], so I was still technically a member.
That's why the Hashman Brothers case was resolved so smoothly. After the investigation, I wrote up a brief report.
Scritch, scritch—
Though the newly invented typewriter existed, I deliberately picked up a pen and wrote by hand.
『The Hashman Brothers are members of the "Red Awl"...』
The key details were two or three of their hideouts—whatever I could recall from the newspapers in my past life. The Inspection Bureau agents would probably assume I had conducted the investigation myself.
The human brain tends to rationalize the incomprehensible, after all.
"Looks like the Red Awl is nearly finished too."
For a moment, I worried that changing the future would render my past-life knowledge useless. But then I realized how ridiculous that thought was.
Hadn't I returned precisely to change the future?
"Louis. And whether she'll join us..."
I felt guilty always leaving the cleanup to others, but what could I do? It was their job, after all.
After sealing the report, I had Roman deliver it to the Inspection Bureau, then descended back into the ruins to focus on training.
Swish! Whirl! Swish!
I planted my feet precisely, drew the exact angles, and swung my sword.
Slow but precise at first, then gradually increasing speed while maintaining accuracy.
'Still not enough.'
Unlike magic, swordsmanship couldn't be mastered through memory alone.
Even if you swung a sword once in battle, to wield it properly, you had to practice thousands—no, tens of thousands—of times until your body remembered.
Inhale—
Exhale—
Breath was the foundation of all movement, and footwork was the basis of all swordsmanship. Neither could be neglected.
Swish! Whoosh—
The longer I trained, the more vividly I could feel my blood coursing through my veins.
Mana surged from my core, flowing through my bloodstream and circulating through my body. It was far purer than in my past life—so much so that it felt almost miraculous.
When I focused my consciousness on my hand, mana gathered there. When I focused on my sword, it gathered there instead. For now, my hand still felt more natural than the sword.
'To grow stronger as a swordsman, I need to bridge this gap.'
I threw myself back into training. I condensed blazing aura into my sword, honing it into a razor-sharp edge.
Originally, the Karsen-style Ancient Sword Art was created for swordsmen who wielded cold-attribute mana, making it ill-suited for someone like me who wielded flame-attribute mana.
That's why I sought help from the Leonhardt family—a renowned swordsmanship lineage comparable to the Karsens, known as the Southern Conquerors.
Well, to be precise, I learned the lost secret techniques of the now-extinct Leonhardt family.
Normally, sharing a family's secret techniques with outsiders was a grave crime. But what was the point of hoarding them when humanity was on the brink of extinction?
During the Resistance, internal exchanges of secret techniques flourished for survival's sake, and I, too, shared everything I knew.
The result?
The Karsen-style Ancient Sword Art (Revised).
A swordsmanship unique in this world—mine alone. How many hours had I trained nonstop?
"Haaah."
Only when my entire body was drenched in sweat, my clothes clinging heavily, did I finally leave the ruins.
The moment I entered my room, I stripped off my clothes for laundry, washed off the sweat, and collapsed onto the plush sofa.
On the desk were the newspaper and black tea Roman had left for me.
With one hand, I sipped the tea; with the other, I flipped through the paper.
Most of it was nonsense, but then my eyes widened abruptly.
『Sion Karsen Takes the Lead in Eradicating Criminals for the People of the Territory.』
『Sion Karsen.
Is He a Beast Hiding Its True Strength?』
Pfft!
I spat out the tea I'd been sipping. What the—? That genuinely surprised me.
After steadying myself and wiping my mouth with a handkerchief, I reread the article.
Then, I blinked repeatedly.
Why? That was the first word that came to mind. Why would they suddenly publish such a favorable article at this point?
Charles from the Daily?
Just who was this guy?
"......"
Well.
It wasn't a bad thing.
No, in fact, it was perfect.
My "half-wit" image might fade faster than expected.
I had so much to change going forward, and public support was a prerequisite for that.
Of course, one or two articles wouldn't make much difference—but that didn't matter.
Opportunities to build my reputation would abound soon enough. I'd have to look into this newspaper and its reporter later.
For now, my immediate concern was how to win the Golden Star Tournament—the catalyst for my rise to fame.
"Those guys... They'll be tough, right?"
Faces flashed through my mind.
Geniuses like Louis Daiken were one thing, but this tournament would also feature a dazzling talent capable of reducing even such prodigies to mere pebbles on the ground.
A young knight with a godlike gift, standing out even among the elite.
My gaze drifted to one of the framed pictures on the wall. I couldn't recall exactly how old I was, but it was a childhood photo of me and her.
Silky blue hair. Sapphire-like eyes. A shy smile.
We'd been close back then.
And beyond that, countless variables would come into play. To overcome them all and claim victory—
I needed more experience. And one decisive trump card to push my current body beyond its limits.
The key to unraveling everything was, as always—
[The Fire-Ice Dragon Dungeon]
That eccentric ruin nut had mentioned an elixir on the first floor that could drastically strengthen one's core.
For a moment, I stared out the window, my eyes fixed on the intangible prestige floating in the air.
"Champion of the Golden Star Tournament..."
Then—
Knock, knock.
"Young Master, Guseto Daikah is here to see you."
"Let him in."
His visit came sooner than expected.
When the door opened, Guseto's complexion was far from healthy. Whatever else was going on, it was clear he hadn't slept well.
With trembling hands, he held out a heavy bag.
"12 billion Jeni... It's all here."
I took the bag indifferently and opened it. Inside were stacks of high-denomination checks.
Wow. I barely stopped my lips from curling into a grin. Here, I couldn't afford to show any expression—I had to keep the pressure on.
"So, you'll pretend this never happened?"
Of course I would.
There was no evidence anyway.
"Get out."
Guseto gnawed at his lip, glaring at me. The veins bulging on his forehead spoke volumes about his rage.
"Sion. I control the noble social circles of the North. You won't... regret this?"
At his voice, trembling with fury, I let out a soft pfft of derision. Pathetic. I was the third son of the Grand Duke's family. What did I care if he ruled the noble social scene?
I drew mana from my core. Then, I lightly tapped my foot.
Tap.
A ripple spread through the floor, vibrating through me, Guseto, and the bag. The returning wave reflected back the disturbances within that range.
Using vibrations to detect mechanical devices.
Another of Ducky's Skills—one that could find almost anything.
Ping—
Sure enough. Inside the bag were a listening device and a tracker. I plucked them out effortlessly and held them up before Guseto's eyes.
"......!"
His pupils shook as if struck by an earthquake. Crunch! I clenched my fist, crushing the devices, then drove it into his chest.
Thud.
"Drop the informal speech."
Thud. Thud. Thud—
"I told you not to speak casually to me."
"...Understood."
"Get lost."
At my firm dismissal, Guseto forced a smile and turned to leave. I didn't need to see his face to know what expression he wore.
Humiliated by this first defeat, he'd be seething with shame. He'd probably smash everything in sight upon returning, then scheme to stab me in the back somehow.
I hoped he would. That way, he'd expose the traitors of humanity he'd allied with to the whole world.
Once that happened, his usefulness would be over.
I stepped outside in a black suit and a fedora. Today was clear, with no blizzard in sight.
"Young Master. Good morning."
Roman, still bundled in thick clothing, opened the car door for me. I slid into the back seat and spoke.
"To the magic tool shop in Seyren's 14th District."
"Understood."
Vroom—
The car glided forward smoothly. But—was it just me? Roman's driving seemed better than before.
Perhaps because the blizzard had passed. Unlike last time, the streets weren't empty—people had poured out to handle postponed errands in the warmer weather.
Though the North had a smaller population compared to the East, West, and South, its capital, Seyren, was different.
Under the direct rule of the Karsen family, this city was considered the safest place in the North, where countless people lived and worked in diverse fields.
I'd heard the territories ruled by other nobles were far harsher by comparison.
But in the grand scheme, even those lands fell under the Karsen Duchy's domain—meaning they were ultimately under my father's influence.
I would make the entire North flourish. Only a strong, prosperous North could stand against the tide of those creatures that would soon engulf the world.
Before I knew it, we'd arrived in the 14th District. I scanned the storefronts—no, more precisely, the signs.
"12 Magic Tools... Found it."
The exact words 『12 Magic Tools』 were written there.
Jingle—
As I stepped inside, a bell above the door chimed to announce my arrival. It seemed to be a magic tool of some sort, though I couldn't discern its mechanics.
The shop's interior was as cluttered as a hardware store, with no semblance of organization.
A magic scroll made of parchment lay beside an inkwell, next to which sat a shattered crystal ball.
The pungent scent of potions tickled my nose, mingling with the metallic tang of old iron—another factor adding to the disorienting atmosphere.
Deep on the shelves, artifacts covered in dust looked no different from junk at a glance. And most probably were.
But a select few items here were the real deal—and I'd come today to claim them.
"Kekeke. You seem like someone of high standing. What brings you to this humble place?"
A hunched old man with thinning white hair emerged, rubbing his aching back. This was definitely the place.
In my past life, there'd been an eccentric obsessed with magic tools who once told me:
—What, Sion? You lived in Seyren, North? My grandfather ran a shop there.
—What did he sell?
—Magic tools, of course! 『12 Magic Tools』 in the 14th District! He had some of my father's works there—the ones people called genius. They were far from my father's or my masterpieces, but still better than most mediocre tools! Kukuku. Though Grandpa treated them like scrap.
The name "12 Magic Tools" came from his grandfather imprinting it on the sign to commemorate kissing his grandmother twelve times a day—a romantic gesture, he'd said.
This was that shop. And this old man was that grandfather.
'This white-haired old man was a romanticist?'
"I'm here to buy a few magic tools."
"Look around as you please."
"That ice sword. Also, the turquoise necklace, that ring, and the dagger over there."
The old man's eyes gleamed as he gathered the items I pointed at, tying them neatly with string before speaking.
"That'll be 1.9 million Jeni."
"Give me the scrolls in that jar too."
"How many would you like?"
"All of them."
"......Pardon?"
"All of them."
"Ah. Yes."
"What's the total?"
"7.2 million Jeni."
His expression remained impassive as he quoted the sum, but for some reason, it overlapped with the face of a lost comrade.
Back then, with my body in tatters, I'd relied heavily on that guy's help—and he'd often missed his grandfather.
I placed a check in the old man's hand. The total: 300 million Jeni. Then, I smiled brightly.
"I'll put them to good use. Thank you."
"Yes. Please visit again."
As the old man lowered his gaze to inspect the check, I turned and left without a backward glance, returning to the car.
—Wha—WHAAT?! How much is this?!
From afar, I could hear the grandfather's stunned exclamation.
"Let's go."
Vroom—
Afterward, I purchased several expensive herbs and magic scrolls before heading back.