The Regressor Wants to Become a Hero

Ian, who had been fiddling with a gold coin in front of the game board, turned his head.

He saw Philip, drenched in sweat and running up hastily in a rather undignified manner.

“Shall we head to the dining room? They are waiting for you!”

Ian nodded and placed all the coins in his hand as a final bet.

He had hoped to make a grand exit by winning big, but luck wasn’t on his side, and he ended up losing.

“…”

Philip glanced at Ian from the side, visibly relieved. It seemed he had planned to bet as well.

Well, let’s just consider it an offering to ward off bad luck. With that thought, Ian followed Philip out of the room.

On their way to the dining room, they passed an open freight elevator, where neatly packaged medicinal herbs were being transported somewhere.

In addition, mercenaries stood guard along the corridor.

There were quite a few of them. Including the presences Ian could sense behind closed doors, the number was significant.

‘If things go south, will I have to fight these guys?’

Maybe it would be better to just set the building on fire.

If I didn’t need to gather evidence, that would certainly be the fastest and easiest method. It’s a shame that it’s not an option.

As they entered the dining room, a man who looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, was waiting, flanked by his guards.

He approached Ian and extended his hand for a handshake.

“Welcome, I am Beddid Dimud.”

“…Beddid?”

The elder brother of Semid. Ian had already suspected his involvement in the drug trade, but he hadn’t expected him to show up so openly.

Ian’s gaze shifted to Beddid’s guards. They thought they were being discreet, but Ian could sense a faint, sticky presence emanating from them.

‘Dark Mage.’

No doubt about it. They were also clearly on guard.

It could be because of Ian’s family name, Berger, or it could be that Ian’s reputation had spread among the Dark Mages, as he had killed a few of them in the past.

Starting with losing the last game’s bet wasn’t exactly a good omen.

‘They’re really operating out in the open.’

These cockroach-like individuals—foolish souls who had been lured by the Outer Gods.

“Please, have a seat. You must be hungry. Why not start with a meal?”

There was no reason for Ian to refuse Beddid’s offer.

He was indeed hungry, and there was nothing better than a meal to buy some time. Besides, having the two Dark Mages tied up here was an added bonus.

Judging by the lavish spread on the table, they must be making a lot of money from the drug trade. The quality of the food was leagues above what he had eaten on the second floor of the gambling den.

“Hmm.”

Beddid blinked. He had suggested they start with a meal, but he hadn’t expected Ian to eat in complete silence.

He even began to wonder if this was the same person who had approached him about investing in drugs. Ian was eating so heartily that just watching him made Beddid feel full.

With a wry smile, Beddid put down his knife and fork.

Ian, however, didn’t seem to care about being watched. He calmly continued emptying his plate.

“Doesn’t this make you uneasy? The food could be drugged, you know. You might have noticed, but I haven’t taken a single bite so far.”

“Is it drugged?”

Beddid’s eyes twitched at Ian’s casual tone.

“Well, what if it is?”

As Beddid grinned with a meaningful expression, Ian chuckled. Then, as if to show off, he stabbed a piece of meat heavily coated in sauce with his fork.

“It doesn’t matter. I can overcome something like that easily.”

“Confident, aren’t you?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be enjoying this delicious meal. But this is a bit unexpected.”

“…?”

“I didn’t expect the person I was meeting to be the eldest son of Dimud. You must have quite the talent with your hands.”

Beddid flinched slightly, not expecting the conversation to shift so suddenly. However, he soon smiled softly and responded.

“It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“I’m not the creator.”

Of course, Ian knew that. The drug, Nightmare, was produced by Dark Mages.

“But I’m not unrelated. After all, this is one of the businesses I manage, and it was perfected through my active investment.”

“The Southern Cartel or pharmaceutical families like Cordelia would be shocked. A family with no ties to pharmaceuticals suddenly producing and distributing such a high-quality drug.”

Beddid’s brows furrowed, unable to fully mask his irritation.

This confirms that Nightmare hasn’t spread beyond Flaming. That’s a relief, but it’s likely only a matter of time.

The manufacturing process for Nightmare is already complete. As long as they have the place and materials, production won’t be an issue. Ian calmly continued.

“So here’s the deal—I can back you. Even though I’ve fallen out of my father’s favor, I haven’t been cast out of the Berger family. What do you say?”

“If our association is revealed, it could cause you more trouble than you think.”

“I’ll handle that.”

“How much are you thinking of investing?”

“Let’s start with a tour. I need to see the scale and facilities to get a better sense.”

Beddid glanced to the side. The Dark Mage remained silent, which was answer enough.

With a regretful tone, Beddid exhaled deeply and said, “That might be difficult. The business is highly confidential, and I ask for your understanding. However, I can promise you access to top-tier products at any time.”

“…Hmm.”

Ian wiped his mouth with a napkin.

‘As I thought, this doesn’t suit me.’

Honestly, it’s all full of holes—from start to finish.

The only reason I could even have this conversation with Beddid is because of the weight the Berger name carries. Without that, arranging this meeting would’ve been impossible.

At times like this, it’s best to drop the complicated thoughts and face things head-on. This really isn’t my style.

But then again, people can’t always do what they want. Sometimes, you just have to endure.

‘Should I stop beating around the bush and make him decide now?’

Make him choose—after I see the facilities, either take the investment or face Berger’s judgment.

Might be better to take a firm stance. Either way, there won’t be a next time.

Knock knock knock—

As Ian set the napkin down, still deep in thought, the door suddenly swung open. Philip rushed in urgently and whispered something into Beddid’s ear.

He spoke quietly, but Ian heard every word.

“Your brother has arrived with soldiers.”

“What for?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but he’s locking down the building under Flaming’s family authority and sending the guests outside. They’re rounding up those under the influence of the drug.”

Beddid glanced at Ian and said, “It seems we’ll have to end today’s conversation here. How about we arrange another meeting? I’ll make sure you don’t leave empty-handed, with plenty of gifts for your journey.”

At those words, Ian pushed back his chair and stood up. Taking this as agreement, Beddid signaled to Philip with a nod.

“Back door, you know where it is. Lead him there.”

Ian glanced past Philip, who was approaching him, focusing on the man standing guard next to Beddid. The guard’s sharp attire and well-trained physique suggested discipline, but there was also an unmistakable aura, hinting at his connection to foreign magic.

Though he carried a sword, it was likely for show. In reality, Ian suspected him to be a Dark Mage.

“Master.”

Level… yeah, while it’s an objective way to assess strength, it doesn’t really matter much here.

The only thing that matters is whether the opponent possesses spiritual power or not.

The gap between Level 5 and Level 6 may seem like just one number, but the difference is far from small.

“Master.”

It’s impossible to always calculate the odds and only engage in fights where the outcome is favorable.

Ian’s eyes flicked towards Philip, who was reaching out with a hurried hand, clearly urging him to escape quickly. After all, Philip was the one selling drugs to others—there was no reason to spare him, noble or not.

Ian swung his hand.

“Master—!”

Shhwick!

A white dagger slashed across Philip’s throat.

“Gurk!”

Blood sprayed, splattering across Ian. He then threw the blood-stained dagger toward Beddid, whose eyes widened in shock.

The follow-up was seamless.

The dagger aimed for the shoulder, ensuring it wouldn’t be fatal, merely incapacitating.

Woong!

But the Dark Mage reacted swiftly. Without chanting a single incantation, a violet barrier formed around Beddid, likely from a magically enhanced tool.

Clang!

“Hah!”

Beddid, halfway up from his chair, stumbled back into it with a frightened gasp. Ian’s lips curled into a slight smirk.

“As expected.”

He really was a Dark Mage. Which meant Nightmare was exactly the drug Ian had suspected.

With a flick of his wrist, Ian conjured flames in the air. They exploded with a soft bang, momentarily obscuring everyone’s vision.

Pop-pop-pop!

At the same time, Ian channeled mana through his ring, Gratias, summoning the holy sword stored in a pocket dimension into his grasp.

Before he could swing it, his instincts screamed danger.

Lowering his stance, he narrowly avoided a violet spear that pierced through the flames, skimming the top of his head.

Behind him, the sound of furniture being destroyed echoed, but Ian lunged forward instead.

The Dark Mage was right in front of him, retreating, but where could he go in this confined space? Without spatial magic, there was no escape.

The Dark Mage hastily drew his sword halfway, attempting to block the incoming holy sword.

Clang!

“He blocked it?”

Ian immediately twisted his wrist, pulling back and thrusting the sword again, but the Dark Mage dodged once more.

Well, well. So he knew a thing or two about swordsmanship. But that’s where his skills ended.

With a few steps, Ian broke his stance. The lack of real combat experience against knights was obvious. The Dark Mage’s footwork faltered, and Ian’s sword slashed cleanly across his torso.

A deep wound—one that couldn’t be healed unless a priest was called immediately.

If Ian had used his Bane of Evil technique, it would have ended even faster, but he couldn’t afford to use up his mana just yet.

“Beddid.”

“What… what have you done?”

Beddid’s voice wavered, the formal tone slipping out naturally. His eyes, which once held subtle disdain, were now filled with pure fear.

Ian stepped closer, and Beddid, panicked, bolted from his seat in an attempt to flee.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Ian grabbed his clothes, yanking him back, and swiftly kicked his leg.

Crack. The sound of a bone breaking echoed in the room. Ian released his grip, and Beddid crumpled to the floor.

Terrified, Beddid twisted his body to look up at Ian, his face drenched in tears, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Ian crouched down and spoke calmly to reassure him.

“It’s okay. Breathe slowly. Slowly. That’s it.”

“A-are you going to kill me?”

“You? No.”

“Then…”

“I’ll let you live. You were just being used by the Dark Mage.”

Even the most oblivious person would understand the implication. Clinging to the hope of survival, Beddid eagerly nodded.

“I have one question for you.”

“Ask me anything! Anything at all!”

“That’s the right attitude. Where are the drugs being produced?”

“Huh?”

“The drugs. Where are they being made?”

“Two floors up! There are two more Dark Mages besides the one here, and they brought along twenty mercenaries!”

“And the level of the Dark Mages?”

“Their level?”

It was clear from his face that he didn’t know the answer.

“One of them is stronger than the one here. He was commanding the others.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

Beddid’s eyes darted around, but his lips remained sealed.

“Useless. Then sleep.”

With that, Ian kicked him in the solar plexus. Beddid groaned before losing consciousness, his body collapsing limply. Ian glanced down at him briefly before leaving the dining room.

In the hallway, mercenaries had gathered, their swords drawn. But the sight of Ian, still covered in blood, kept them from attacking. They lacked both loyalty and courage.

“Don’t bother me. Go downstairs.”

The insult was biting, but the mercenaries showed only lukewarm reactions.

It wasn’t just about pride; they lacked the skill to challenge him. Yet Ian saw no reason to engage them further.

Ding!

The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open. Armed men spilled out, and between them, Semid leisurely stepped forward, a grin on his face.

“Well, boys. Clean this up.”

At his command, the men behind him sprang into action. The mercenaries didn’t remain idle, but the situation was quickly brought under control.

The stench of blood thickened in the corridor. Semid approached Ian, smiling brightly.

“Did you wait long, darling?”

———-