The Regressor Wants to Become a Hero

Chapter 122

Ian stood atop the palisade, quietly observing his surroundings.

There were no guards on patrol or stationed for lookout. Even the most basic magical defenses were absent.

While it might have been expected, for an organization tied to the Battle Wraiths, their lack of thoroughness was surprising.

Ian checked to ensure his robe was properly fastened.

He had been told it was enchanted to blend him into the surroundings, but he was curious about the extent of its effect.

“Would they fail to notice me even if I walked right past them?”

If the enchantment drastically lowered perception, it was a possibility.

Though tempted to test it, he decided now wasn’t the time for experiments. Suppressing his curiosity, he climbed onto the roof of the building directly ahead.

As he carefully ascended the sloped roof, the encampment’s view unfolded before him.

It seemed they had been stationed here for a long time, given the camp’s considerable size.

In the open space at the center, mercenaries in training uniforms were sprawled out.

Some were sparring with wooden swords, while others practiced swings at scarecrows. Many were engrossed, sweating profusely from their efforts.

Turning his gaze to the left, he noticed the building that appeared to be the main hall. It showed signs of multiple expansions over time.

On the opposite side was a long structure that looked like a dining hall, with white smoke billowing from its chimney.

“I’ll start by checking here.”

Drawing a dagger, Ian imbued its blade with a subtle layer of magic. He used it to carve into the roof.

The interior was pitch black, completely sealed off from outside light. Without hesitation, Ian leapt inside.

Landing softly, he conjured a small flame in the air.

The room was filled with supplies—processed byproducts of monsters. However, nothing particularly suspicious caught his eye.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sudden noise startled Ian, causing him to instinctively tense up.

“Have I been discovered?”

It didn’t seem so. He quickly climbed back through the hole in the ceiling.

The sound had come from the long building opposite his position.

There, a man holding cooking utensils stood and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Get your food, you bastards!”

The mercenaries who had been swinging wooden swords in the open space lit up at his words. They tossed aside their swords and headed for the dining hall.

Even those in the main hall, dressed in training uniforms, strolled out leisurely.

“…They’ve got a decent number of people.”

Even with reports of their elite forces absent, there were still dozens present.

For a single mercenary group to maintain this scale would require significant funding.

What’s more, they wore coordinated, pristine white uniforms—a task that would be nearly impossible to manage without strict oversight.

Guarding merchant caravans alone wouldn’t provide sufficient income. Ian couldn’t help but wonder how they made up for the shortfall.

Considering they didn’t take on guild missions, they must either have additional income sources or receive sponsorship.

Now that most of the personnel had moved to the dining hall, Ian deemed it the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the main hall.

“The timing is almost too perfect.”

It felt as if someone was assisting him. Faint traces of presence lingered inside, but they were moving away slowly.

With silent steps, Ian surveyed the interior. His target was a room that appeared to be an office—likely the best place to gather information.

Time was of the essence. Typically, offices were located on the first floor.

They needed to be easily accessible for visitors and convenient for high-ranking individuals to use without hassle.

This place was no exception.

“Found it.”

And much faster than he had anticipated.

The door was unlocked. Ian stepped inside and latched it behind him before standing in front of the desk.

“Messy.”

Whoever owned the room didn’t seem to care much for tidiness.

There were crumbs scattered about, and a cup with dried remnants of whatever liquid had once been inside. It seemed untouched for quite some time.

Books were piled on one side, though they didn’t look like they had been properly read.

There were also stacks of papers. Ian picked up a bundle to skim through it, but the handwriting was nearly illegible, making it difficult to discern the content.

Even after pushing through to read it, he found it a waste of time. Sighing, he opened the desk drawers.

Clunk.

The first drawer contained miscellaneous junk, items too old or broken to be of any use. Essentially garbage.

The second drawer revealed a pocket watch.

“This…”

Its intricate design was so finely crafted it could be considered a work of art. It was similar to an item Ian had previously seen among the belongings of a Dark Mage masquerading as a mercenary.

Pressing the button on its side, the cover flipped open, revealing ornate engravings, numbers, and words that, when combined, spelled “Dara.”

Dara was the name of a clockmaker and a member of the prestigious Golden Tower in the El Carda Empire.

“It’s a replica.”

Still, there was a chance it retained some functionality, so Ian decided to take it with him.

He opened the third drawer, finding several small boxes made of expensive-looking wood.

He picked up one of the boxes and opened it, revealing finely polished gears arranged neatly on a soft cloth. Checking the other boxes, he found similarly precise components—thin and sharp needles, coiled springs, numbered plates.

These weren’t spare parts for repairs; they were components for crafting complete pocket watches.

While the parts seemed ordinary at first glance, closer inspection against an original would reveal minor discrepancies.

These components appeared to be of better quality than those the Dark Mage had, but the finishing touches were still lacking—though such flaws would likely go unnoticed by the average person.

“Where did they get these?”

Such items weren’t something a mere mercenary could procure. Creating them required advanced skill and knowledge of magic.

Someone must have provided them. The most likely candidate was the Silver Wave Trading Company.

Why these items were stored so carelessly baffled Ian. Perhaps the owner believed no one would recognize their value.

After all, only high-ranking nobles, priests, or royalty were known to possess pocket watches crafted by Dara.

If these replicas could perform similarly to the originals, suspicion would be further diminished.

“I’ll take some of these too.”

There was no need to take everything. The Golden Tower would undoubtedly find value in them. Ian held no personal grudge against the Silver Wave Trading Company.

After pocketing a few lids, he returned the rest to the drawer, arranging them as they were.

Though he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it seemed he still had some to spare. He searched the office further but found nothing else suspicious.

Sensing movement from those who had finished their meals, Ian felt their presence approaching the main hall. While it was unlikely they’d enter the office, there was no reason to linger.

“Time to leave.”

Leaving the White Owl Mercenary Group’s encampment, Ian reunited with Eor. He found him lying on the roadside grass, hands clasped together.

Ian observed him silently from a distance before quietly approaching.

“Will he notice?”

When Ian entered a certain range, Eor, eyes still closed, spoke.

“You’re back sooner than expected.”

Ian had taken care to move as discreetly as possible, confident he hadn’t made a sound. Yet Eor had noticed him and spoken first.

Remaining silent, Ian watched him, only for Eor to open his eyes and meet his gaze, as if to confirm his awareness.

“Shall I call it stealth techniques? Quite impressive. Most ordinary people wouldn’t notice unless they were on high alert beforehand. If the surroundings had been more chaotic, even I might not have realized immediately. But approaching a transcendent being like that isn’t exactly advisable.”

Ian removed the robe draped around him and asked,

“Why not?”

“Because a body that has reached such heights is far beyond what you might imagine. No matter how many times I explain it, it won’t truly resonate until you ascend to transcendence yourself. They’re not called superhumans for nothing. Remember this: unless you can bend the laws of nature or develop your abilities to their utmost limit, all your tricks are just that—tricks.”

Although it felt like his skills were being downplayed, Ian couldn’t argue. It was the truth.

“Thank you for the advice. Now, would you mind getting up?”

“…Hah.”

With a reluctant expression, the man rose, and the two of them headed toward the fortress, Animi.

***

The fortress Animi, situated at the lowest defensive line, was more aptly described as a gateway. Nestled in a valley, it had the feel of a checkpoint with thick walls blocking the passageway.

There were no mage towers here, nor any teleportation arrays. Even trains could only travel as far as the outskirts of the fortress due to the rugged terrain. However, passing through here wasn’t necessary to reach any specific destination; it was simply one of many routes.

Naturally, visitors were sparse. Those who did come were usually merchants seeking new trade opportunities or mercenaries on assigned missions. Even they would hurry to leave once their business was done, as staying here brought little profit and much hardship.

The harsh terrain made dealing with monsters difficult, and for the inexperienced, death could come swiftly. While resource gathering might bring financial gain, it had little appeal for mercenaries.

Yet here, a new base was being established by a group unlikely to be found in such an isolated place—the White Owl Mercenaries.

Their outward intention was clear: secure a new source of income in a competitor-free environment. It wasn’t a novel idea; others must have attempted it before.

Upon arriving at the fortress, Ian promptly identified the White Owl Mercenaries’ stronghold.

It wasn’t difficult. A quick visit to the chapel and a subtle inquiry after showing the priest his inquisitor’s insignia sufficed to gather the necessary information.

Once Ian confirmed the location, he set out with Eor.

The mercenary stronghold was far from the fortress. Without the clock crafted by Dara, finding it might have been an arduous task even for Ian.

Eor, looking annoyed, muttered, “Had I known it’d be like this, I wouldn’t have come along.”

“It’s too late to regret now. We’ve come this far, so you’ll have to stick it out with me until the end.”

“…Which is why I’m suffering through this right now.”

Despite the challenging mountain paths, Eor didn’t seem to break a sweat. Though he wore a fatigued expression, his demeanor was as steady as if he were walking across level ground.

“Which would you prefer? Sorting through a mountain of documents in your office or wandering through these quiet mountains?” Ian teased.

“…I’d rather sit peacefully in the chapel, listen to hymns, and drift off to sleep,” Eor replied.

“Not praying devoutly?”

“I did enough of that as a priest. Now, all I want is restful sleep.”

“Once this is over—or no, once the purification of those mana stones I left with you is complete—you can do just that,” Ian said with a chuckle.

Suddenly, he turned his head, sensing a presence.

“Someone’s approaching. And fast.”

The figure wasn’t even trying to conceal their presence. In fact, they seemed to flaunt it, exuding an oppressive aura as they closed the distance.

“Confident in their skills, are they?” Ian remarked, noting the boldness of their approach.

Such audacity was rare unless one was thoroughly assured of their strength. In a world governed by the law of the jungle, provoking a stronger being was foolish.

Frowning, Eor muttered, “If first impressions are anything to go by, their temperament seems quite combative.”

Ian retrieved a wooden mask from his belongings and put it on. Eor raised an eyebrow and chuckled dryly.

“You’re the only one hiding your identity here?”

“I’m carrying out a mission on behalf of the Inquisitor. There’s no need to reveal my personal details, is there?”

“So you’d even go as far as selling out the gods’ pantheon if it suited you?”

Ian nodded without hesitation.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“……”

“Ah, they’ve arrived,” Ian said, looking ahead.

A man dressed in a white uniform and mask appeared, emanating a fierce aura while brandishing a long sword. In a defiant stance, he asked with a sharp tone,

“Who are you to be sneaking around someone else’s dwelling?”

———-

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