The Regressor Wants to Become a Hero

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Clang!

The swords, protected by their sheaths, clashed with force.

Immediately after the collision, Mael’s previously cheerful expression turned to one of surprise. Contrary to his expectations, the strength behind the blade was substantial.

His previously steadfast stance felt shaky as his arms were pushed up.

In that moment of vulnerability, Ian seized the opportunity.

Retracting his sword, he was already aiming for Mael’s solar plexus.

‘Quite aggressive.’

Although Mael was armored and the blade was sheathed, any stab would still be painful. It would just push him back.

Ian would have preferred to simply absorb the blows and counterattack, but that would be unfair.

So, he had to avoid relying on his armor. He had no choice but to retreat as if he were unarmored.

However, Ian wasn’t just standing by. He relentlessly pursued.

Clang!

Step by step, Mael had to block multiple attacks, ranging from two or three to as many as four or five with each step backward.

‘Fast.’

Moreover, the attacks were sharp. If he lost focus even for a moment, the tip of that sword seemed ready to tap his head.

Yet, Mael did not falter. His talent was extraordinary.

He deftly deflected the blade aiming at his side with a flick of his eyes. He avoided the thrusts with precision.

Calmly waiting for the right moment, he finally saw his chance.

He maneuvered their swords to force Ian off balance.

‘I’ve got him!’

At the same time, he attempted to strike Ian’s head with the base of the hilt but missed. Ian slipped away with the agility of a squirrel.

‘It’s alright.’

This was only the first exchange. He would regain his momentum from here.

But soon, Mael realized things were not going as he had hoped.

In a brief span, they had exchanged dozens of attacks and defenses, yet he was not advancing but only retreating.

Moreover, no matter how he tried to find an opening, he couldn’t touch Ian.

He couldn’t even graze him. Every attack missed. Now, he couldn’t even fake a block.

Mael’s eyes twitched.

‘What’s going on?’

He couldn’t figure it out.

‘Is he reading all my moves?’

Considering how narrowly Ian evaded every strike, that seemed likely.

‘…Amazing.’

What impressed Mael the most was Ian’s swordsmanship.

Not even the Red Spear Knights, nor the squad leader Dior, wielded their swords so fiercely.

The martial arts of the Berger family were known for their refinement, starting smoothly and ending neatly, while Ian’s style was the exact opposite.

It felt like facing a ferocious beast, charging and tearing with relentless aggression.

‘Mercenaries.’

Yes. The swordsmanship of the ruthless mercenaries he had encountered during missions had felt like this.

But they were far more skilled. It was as if Ian was a seasoned warrior who had survived countless battles.

‘This doesn’t make sense.’

Before finding the villa, Mael had gathered information about Ian from nearby villages.

As expected, all the reports were unfavorable and filled with exaggerations.

None of them mentioned anything about Ian working as a mercenary or training diligently.

But this was surprising.

The Ian he met again after several years was clearly different. The moment he burst through the gate, the smell of sweat was the first sign.

The odor didn’t bother him. On the contrary, it felt familiar. It was natural for a knight to have that scent.

Moreover, it wasn’t just a one-time occurrence; the servants seemed accustomed to it.

‘A recluse?’

If that were the case, he wouldn’t have such a disciplined physique.

‘Pathetic?’

Seeing him in person, it was impossible to think so.

A bird with its wings clipped was now ready to soar again.

He had evidently been training diligently at this villa, indifferent to others’ opinions.

At the same time, Mael was curious. Who had he learned from? Or had he achieved this level through self-teaching?

If he had, why hadn’t he shown this prowess during the coming-of-age ceremony? What had caused this change?

But Mael could no longer continue these thoughts. He had to deflect the sword coming straight at him.

His wrist was tingling. Deflecting the blows wasn’t easy. He kept being pushed back.

It was a mistake to be overconfident.

Underestimating Ian had been a misstep.

He had assumed it would be the same as before, that victory would come easily. This was the result of his arrogance.

At some point, his focus had faltered, unable to keep up with the increasingly complex attacks.

In contrast, Ian seemed to be more energized.

Clang!

The sword, still in its sheath, glanced off Mael’s armored shoulder and struck his thigh.

Though he blocked it, it slid into his side, then hit his ribs and finally pushed him back with the hilt aimed at his solar plexus.

As he corrected his staggering posture, he saw the sword now aimed at his throat.

Mael stared blankly at Ian with wide eyes. Everything had happened in an instant.

“…I’ve lost.”

Ian tried to smile broadly but quickly furrowed his brows.

He was at level 5. Though he may have lost the physical abilities he honed through his past life’s struggles, his experience, memories, and skills from countless battles remained.

Seeing Ian’s victorious expression based on that, Mael felt a strong sense of self-reproach.

What was more frustrating was that even though he had given his all from the start, it took quite a while to secure the win.

Certainly, he had slacked off at times, but even considering that, it was still too slow.

‘Genius is genius.’

Maybe I’m the one lacking.

Mael muttered bitterly, wiped the sweat from his face, and sheathed his sword.

He then approached Mari, who had been watching from the side, and returned the sword, apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I swung it a bit roughly… The blade might be damaged.”

Or perhaps the sheath was broken.

Mari examined the sword, checking the blade and the inside of the sheath, and sighed softly.

“It’s fine. We can request an exchange when we return.”

“Well, if it comes to that, you can at least use my name.”

After all, as a member of the family, he would change it without any complaints.

“Who did you learn your swordsmanship from?”

“Hmm?”

Turning around, Ian saw Mael’s serious expression.

“I’m not confident due to my limited experience, but if my intuition is correct, it was the swordsmanship of mercenaries. The particular…”

“Filthiness? Persistent, clingy, and rough.”

“I don’t intend to demean it that way.”

But it seemed Mael had no intention of denying it. It was, after all, an accurate description.

Ian chuckled lightly. It was inevitable. Much of what he learned during his mercenary days was picked up by observing or through expensive lessons.

He had also incorporated his family’s swordsmanship, mixing it with his blood and sweat to develop his own style.

While he couldn’t claim to be the best, he aimed for excellence, so his skill level was substantial.

He could prove his skill by having survived while others fell.

In a sense, all mercenaries could be considered his teachers.

Survivors are strong. Luck might have played a part, but it was primarily skill that made it possible.

So, he had closely observed their actions and stolen their techniques.

“And made them my own.”

He had endured much hardship. Even thinking about it now made him grind his teeth. Of course, there wasn’t a single mercenary among them who deserved to be called a true teacher…

“Well, a few did.”

Not all mercenaries were bad.

Some were foolishly kind-hearted. Ian shook off his mixed feelings and looked at Mael.

“You asked who I learned from.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not telling.”

“…What?”

“I said I’m not telling. Even if I did, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, that’s true, but…”

“So I’m not telling.”

With a look of disbelief on Mael’s face, Ian decided it was time to leave. Since he had spent a lot of time meditating on his mana and the sparring was over, there was nothing more to do.

Before leading the way out, Ian took one last look around the villa. It was where he had stayed for a year.

Consistently quiet. Consistently gloomy. Consistently dark.

“……”

He wondered if he could brighten the place up.

Ian extended his hand forward. Ignoring the curious stares of Mael and Mari, he drew up his mana.

A small flame flickered into existence in his palm, writhing and growing larger as it swirled.

At first, it was the size of a candle flame, but soon it grew to the size of a massive boulder.

There were no techniques or tricks involved. It was purely a creation of raw mana.

The intense heat warmed the surrounding air, and the bright light chased away the darkness.

But the limits were clear. The fireball no longer expanded. This was its limit.

It was only capable of maintaining its current state, and after a brief moment, it began to gradually shrink.

The darkness that had momentarily retreated seemed to creep back in, reclaiming its territory. Ian, feeling an inexplicable discomfort at the sight, furrowed his brow and extinguished the flame.

In an instant, the surroundings plunged into darkness again. Perhaps due to the excessive use of mana, his head throbbed with a dull ache.

Turning silently, he began to walk away, with Mael and Mari following behind.

Upon returning to the villa from the spiritual vein, dinner was already prepared.

After satisfying his hunger with the hearty meal, Ian noticed the display case as he headed to his room.

Among the empty bottles, there were still unopened ones visible. Despite having drunk occasionally over the past year, a lot remained.

‘Should I drink it all?’

However, drinking alone would only lead to waste. He wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy the taste without any snacks, and….

Leaving it behind felt like a waste.

After some thought, Ian decided to keep just one bottle and distribute the rest to the people at the villa.

He would give two bottles to the hunter who had been quite helpful, and perhaps two to Sir Arot, the villa’s manager. That should be about right.

The remaining bottles would be distributed one each to the servants.

When he mentioned giving away the alcohol, everyone gladly came to collect their share.

Once all the bottles were handed out, only the empty ones remained in the display case. It was a bit disappointing but also relieving.

Ian took the last bottle and a glass, and sat at the table by the window.

The moon hung in the night sky, surrounded by twinkling stars, creating a scene of considerable charm.

The famous poet of the Karam Empire once said that when drinking with nature as a companion, nothing else is needed, and for some reason, Ian felt he could understand that sentiment a bit.

Tonight, the wine tasted particularly sweet.

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