The Regressor Wants to Become a Hero

“Me?”

The mercenary, who had been chosen as the first target, showed no sign of panic. In fact, he seemed pleased by the choice.

Adjusting his stance with calm precision, he unsheathed his sword. That alone revealed his extensive combat experience.

As soon as their blades clashed, someone shouted.

“Let’s go!”

Before the words fully registered, the mercenaries were already in motion. Despite not having rehearsed their coordination, their responses were impressively swift.

“Tch.”

Ian attempted to execute a technique as their swords collided, but a dagger aimed at his temple forced him to abandon the effort.

He leaned back, narrowly avoiding the strike, then pulled a knife from his belt and hurled it.

Sparks flew in midair. The situation was chaotic.

Even though Ian’s Clairvoyance allowed him to perceive incoming attacks, evading all of them required both physical and mental prowess.

Arm, head, waist, solar plexus, thigh.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Merely defending wasn’t an option. Simply evading wouldn’t work either. Counterattacks were essential to turning the tide.

For a brief moment, countless exchanges ensued. Ian’s gaze barely lingered on one spot before darting to another, overwhelmed by the relentless action.

Extending his leg, he deflected his opponent’s blade with a well-placed strike.

Clang!

“Are you insane? Did he just parry that?”

Through the mask, Ian could see the astonishment in his opponent’s widened eyes. True shock was evident.

But before Ian could respond, another wave of attacks surged toward him. He threw his dagger and dropped into a low stance.

Swish!

He leaped off the ground as a blade swept past where he had been standing moments earlier.

Spinning midair, Ian exhibited near-acrobatic agility, dodging the streaking flashes of steel before extending his leg to kick his opponent.

Thud!

The kick, imbued with mana, packed enough force to send the adversary flying.

It would have been ideal if the strike had incapacitated the target, but the White Owl mercenary was a seasoned warrior, boasting a resilient physique.

The White Owls grew increasingly frustrated. They had been confident this battle would conclude swiftly.

While Ian’s skills were undeniable, he was alone, and they were six. Yet no matter how many swings or thrusts they attempted, none landed.

What’s going on?

Why can’t we hit him?

How is he dodging everything?

Does he see it all?

It wasn’t as though Ian had eyes in the back of his head, yet even surprise attacks from behind were failing.

Even when they extended or retracted their mana-infused blade lengths, he adjusted to every shift in distance.

One hand wielded a sword, the other a dagger. When the situation demanded, he threw the dagger, gripping his sword with both hands to deliver powerful strikes.

All the while, Ian maintained impeccable balance.

Is he a genius?

Dual-wielding weapons was generally dismissed as a subpar choice in combat for a simple reason—it was hard. Just plain hard.

Most people floundered when holding weapons in both hands, failing to use either effectively.

If they focused on one, they couldn’t properly utilize the other. It was often better to wield a shield instead.

No wonder dual-wielding was often regarded as a guarantee of defeat. Yet, Ian’s proficiency forced them to reconsider.

Ian handled the dagger with fluidity, picking it up or discarding it as needed. His mastery of wielding a sword single-handedly or with both hands was evident.

The White Owls, who had initially underestimated him, grew more cautious. They realized he wasn’t someone to take lightly.

However, that didn’t mean the situation tipped in their favor. The first casualty soon emerged.

As the enemy extended their sword, Ian’s sacred blade entangled it before pressing in and slicing their chest.

“Argh!”

Dark blood seeped into their white uniform, staining it red. The wound, however, wasn’t deep.

It was shallow—something a mana user could endure.

Yet even a slight sluggishness in their movements was enough to disrupt their teamwork.

“Fall back!”

“Out of the way!”

“Tch.”

At the command, the injured White Owl retreated without protest.

Not wanting to let him escape, Ian hurled a dagger, but another strike from the side intercepted it midair.

These bastards.

Ian scowled. Their defense was more solid than expected, but beyond that, they protected each other with relentless camaraderie.

Were they like this before?

Before his regression, Ian didn’t recall fighting multiple White Owls at once. There had been little opportunity for clashes.

Occasionally, they had crossed paths when Ian left after conducting business with the Silver Wave Trading Company, but those encounters had been brief skirmishes.

Back then, they didn’t seem particularly concerned about their comrades.

Well, it doesn’t matter.

Whether they had camaraderie or not, they were enemies he had to take down. Negotiation was no longer an option.

There was no reason to show mercy to those whose intent had escalated from hostility to outright killing intent.

Ian threw all five of his remaining daggers. His waist felt lighter. As a strike came from his left, he extended his empty hand to block.

Seeing this, the White Owl smirked.

Got him. He’s trying to catch the sword barehanded—a feat only superhumans could pull off.

Clang!

Clang?

Instead of the sensation of slicing flesh and the sight of blood splattering, there was the clash of sparks. At some point, a pristine white dagger had appeared in Ian’s hand.

“!?”

Steady. Even as the opponent exerted force, the dagger didn’t waver. Like an unyielding fortress, it held its position.

Ian seized the moment to thrust his sacred blade toward the White Owl’s side. But there wasn’t enough time.

He could land the strike, but it would cost him—he’d have to sacrifice his thigh to do so.

Killing one enemy would mean losing his mobility.

In that case, I’ll block.

Ian unleashed his suppressed mana.

Whoosh!

“What!?”

Flames engulfed Ian’s body in an instant, radiating intense heat that made the White Owl falter in shock.

Ian drove his sacred blade into the opponent’s side while the flames condensed, forming armor to shield his thigh.

Clang!

“This is!”

The resistance felt like hammering iron.

“Arghhhhh!”

Flames coiled around the blade seeped into the White Owl’s side. No matter how resilient one’s body might be, internal organs can’t share that same durability.

Even the smallest amount of fire that penetrated his body inflicted a fatal wound. His insides were burning. With his vital organs damaged, the man collapsed, clutching his side, overwhelmed by pain he had never experienced in his life.

“It’s Sacred Flame Armor!”

“This bastard… he’s a knight!”

Ian’s gaze shifted to the remaining White Owls. The battle wasn’t over just because one was incapacitated. Ian pressed on. The flames enveloping him like armor rendered the White Owls unable to respond effectively.

One of them, drenched in sweat, ripped off his mask and shouted in frustration.

“This won’t work! Awaken Battle Wraith!”

The words were clear, unhidden. With that, black energy surged from the hands of the White Owls, enveloping their bodies.

The whites of their eyes, visible through the holes in their masks, darkened, glowing with an eerie light. Their movements transformed dramatically in that instant.

Swish!

Faster. Stronger. The sound of their blades cutting through the air changed, and their murderous intent grew even more intense.

[Four Slashes, Three Stabs]

[Blood-Stained Claw Technique: Ascension ]

[One Strike, Ten Thousand Ripples ]

[Blood-Stained Claw Technique: Reversal of Heaven]

[Moonlight’s Singular Soul ]

[Blood-Stained Claw Technique: Falling from Heaven ]

The White Owls unleashed bizarre and complex swordsmanship techniques, but Ian didn’t retreat. He countered every strike head-on.

“Oh…”

Eor, who had been observing from the sidelines, couldn’t hide his admiration.

When the White Owls’ aura shifted, Eor had prepared himself to intervene, channeling his magic. But Ian’s movements transformed to match theirs.

Facing multiple opponents, Ian darted between them without sustaining a single wound. He deflected or evaded every blade aimed at him.

It was mesmerizing. His swordsmanship and mastery of physical combat were exceptional.

He didn’t hesitate to spin his body, even when his field of vision was limited, or to press his hand to the ground mid-combat.

‘He’s only been a mercenary for a short time, hasn’t he?’

Eor had initially underestimated Ian. While Ian had racked up achievements worth boasting about, it could have easily been due to Berger inflating his reputation. Even the golden crest he received might have been sheer luck—or so Eor thought.

But now, he saw the truth. Ian was overwhelming.

[Piercing Sun ]

[Bane of Evil Fourth Form: Flame Dragon Fang ]

In every aspect, Ian dominated the White Owls.

‘He could’ve done this from the beginning.’

Why hadn’t he? The flames, the techniques—he unleashed them only after the White Owls revealed their Battle Wraith abilities, as though he had been waiting for this moment.

‘It’s not like he needed preparation time.’

Eor wondered but couldn’t discern the reason. All he could do was watch Ian closely.

The flames consuming the battlefield were dazzling. And the conclusion was drawing near.

The intense heat had worn the White Owls down. They had grown sluggish, unable to defend their comrades, preoccupied with their own survival. Their formation was crumbling.

Through the flickering flames, a flash streaked past, and one of the White Owls’ arms soared into the air.

“Arghhh!”

A scream erupted, followed by a dagger plunging into the gaping mouth of another.

“Ughk!”

Another White Owl’s skull was split open, the hardened bone cracking apart in a scene of grotesque brutality.

Ian deflected a sword strike, unbalancing his opponent, then delivered a fierce kick to the man’s leg.

Crunch!

The sound of breaking bone was followed by a jagged fragment tearing through flesh, blood spurting out only to evaporate in the intense heat. The opponent collapsed on the spot.

Ian looked down at the fallen foe and extended his left hand into the air.

The surrounding flames coalesced, and as his fingers curled, they formed a spear held in reverse grip. Without hesitation, Ian drove the spear into the White Owl’s body.

Fwoooosh!

The White Owl’s body erupted in flames. The black energy surrounding him tried to resist, pushing against the fire, but it was futile.

An inhuman scream burst forth as a shockwave rippled outward.

“……”

Eor closed his eyes briefly.

He could sense it clearly now—the taint of dark magic. The sinister power wielded by the beings of the Outer World.

At first, during their initial encounter with the White Owls, Eor hadn’t noticed anything amiss. But now, that ominous energy was unmistakable, visible even to the naked eye.

Of the six White Owls, only three remained. No, two. And of those, one was wheezing so heavily that death seemed imminent.

“You monster…”

The White Owl with a broken sword let out a bitter laugh, his voice tinged with despair.

Eor called out to Ian.

“Leave one alive.”

He snapped his fingers, and some of the flames surrounding them transformed into chains, binding the remaining White Owl.

Sizzle!

“Urghhh!”

The searing chains burned into the White Owl’s flesh, eliciting a groan of pain.

Ian turned to look at Eor, who raised both hands in a placating gesture, as if to apologize.

“I need to ask a few questions.”

———-