Regressing as the Reincarnated Bastard of the Sword Clan

Chapter 161

“Nazariu Monte has appeared. Let’s pursue him.”

Rege and Wellington, who were leisurely licking ice cream on a café bench, froze mid-bite as Theo suddenly appeared in front of them, his expression serious.

“Nazariu Monte?”

“You mean the Demon Virtuoso (??) of the Eight Virtues and Three Generals?”

Within the Three Generals and Eight Virtues, individuals were often given additional nicknames incorporating the titles General (?) or Virtuoso (?) to reflect their exceptional fields of expertise.

For example, Wellington was also known as the Sword Virtuoso (??). Similarly, Nazariu had earned the title Demon Virtuoso, tied to his legendary accomplishments in magic.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Theo confirmed.

“The heir to the Magic Tower… why on earth would he—?!”

Wellington’s shout of astonishment was abruptly cut off as Theo swiftly covered his mouth with one hand.

“Shh.”

The gesture left Wellington’s ice cream a ruined mess, but the gravity of the situation kept him from noticing or caring.

He swallowed nervously and spoke again, his voice lower this time.

“He’s here? Are you absolutely sure?”

“I’m certain.”

“...He knows full well that Ragnar’s empire is already suspicious of him for supposedly siding with Troivan. Why would he risk showing up here of all places?”

Wellington trailed off, his expression tightening.

“He must be scheming something.”

It was clear Wellington believed the Magic Tower was infiltrating Ragnar’s territory to stir internal discord.

Theo, seeing no need to argue, nodded in agreement.

“Obviously, they aren’t here with good intentions. I suggest we apprehend them.”

“But someone of his caliber wouldn’t be traveling without a formidable escort. Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until Master returns and—”

“No. If they manage to leave the city while we wait, tracking them will become impossible.”

Wellington finally grasped the urgency of Theo’s words.

“You’re not seriously suggesting we pursue them alone, are you?”

“Would that be such a problem?”

Rege, too, voiced his concerns.

After all, their group’s current leader, Deung Ryong, hadn’t authorized any independent actions. Moving unilaterally could easily escalate into a political crisis.

However, Theo countered with ease.

“As field inspectors, we are empowered to make independent judgments and decisions based on circumstances. Senior inspectors, in particular, can undertake solo missions. Besides, I’m due for a senior inspector recommendation upon our return.”

“...But you’re not a senior inspector yet, are you?”

“Do you think I’ll fail to handle this?”

“That’s overstepping your authority.”

“If it’s too much for you, Rege and I can handle it ourselves.”

Rege nodded firmly as he finished the last bite of his ice cream, grabbed his sword, and stood up.

Theo sighed internally but wasn’t surprised. Wellington, true to his nickname as the “Gentle Scholar,” was a stickler for rules and protocol.

“It’s a risk, I’ll admit. But…”

Wellington looked back and forth between Theo and Rege before letting out a small chuckle and standing as well.

“I can’t deny I’m curious about the Demon Virtuoso’s skill. I wouldn’t mind crossing swords with him myself.”

His gaze sharpened, a glint of competitive spirit lighting up his eyes.

It was the same look Theo remembered from their first meeting.

For all his bookish tendencies, Wellington was still a swordsman—a man who lived and died by the blade.

“Then it’s settled.”

“Do you know where they are now?”

Instead of answering, Theo simply smiled and lightly kicked off the ground.

Whoosh!

Wellington and Rege followed his movement with their eyes as Theo casually leaped over the heads of the bustling crowd, landing gracefully in front of a beggar crouched under a streetlamp.

“Where is the Magic Tower’s group right now?”

“Oh, my lord! Spare some coin!”

“There’s no need to play games with me.”

“Just a coin, and I’ll pray for your blessings for the rest of my days…”

“If you insist, I could always relay a message to the Intelligence Director.”

As Theo turned to leave, the beggar suddenly grabbed his ankle.

“How did you know?”

The sharp eyes beneath the beggar’s wide-brimmed hat betrayed his true identity—an operative of Black Snow.

Theo smirked faintly.

“Trade secret.”

“Hmm. Cleve was right—you’ve got a handsome face, but you’re impossible to read.”

A familiar name.

Theo’s eyes lit up.

“You know Cleve?”

“Of course. I’m one of his direct subordinates. And as we speak, he’s tailing Nazariu Monte.”

“...!”

Theo’s eyes widened slightly.

***

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Inside a carriage traveling toward the outskirts of the city, tension simmered.

“Aren’t you being far too relaxed about this? What if Ragnar catches on?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. They haven’t noticed anything yet, so why would they now? You worry too much, Jerima. That’s your problem.”

Jerima mulled over his options for a moment, debating whether to smack the smug smile off Nazariu’s face.

Had this man not been the sole grandson of his revered master, Jerima would have already subjected him to a thorough punishment.

‘Or is he scheming something else entirely?’

Knowing full well just how many tricks Nazariu hid beneath that shameless demeanor, Jerima refrained from speaking further. Still, the lack of transparency was infuriating.

Nazariu, however, paid no heed to Jerima’s irritation, instead affectionately caressing the object in his hands.

“There, there, my precious little pup. You must be so hungry, hmm?”

The object in question was a black orb, roughly the size of a human head. At first glance, it appeared unremarkable. But when Nazariu pulled out pages stolen from the royal vault’s forbidden grimoires, the orb began to change.

Click…

With a sound like a zipper being undone, a long slit appeared across the orb’s surface. The slit widened, revealing rows of jagged, saw-like teeth inside, forming a grotesque mouth.

‘It never gets any less disturbing,’ Jerima thought, frowning as he watched.

The orb was Paracelsus, a magically engineered lifeform developed in secret as part of the Magic Tower’s Homunculus Project. This creature, created in collaboration with the Alchemist Guild, was designed to grow by consuming the magical codes contained in grimoires.

The Magic Tower had high hopes for Paracelsus, believing it to be the key to fulfilling their long-held ambitions.

The royal vault had been breached for this very reason—to implant specific codes from the Grimoire Belphegor into Paracelsus.

Beep. Beep. Feed confirmed. Classified as an A-rank grimoire.

Paracelsus, lacking a nose, mimicked sniffing the pages before opening its grotesque maw and crunching down on them.

Crunch, crunch.

Code recognized. Analysis and decryption complete. Drive updated with new code configurations. Backup data uploaded to the cloud.

As the creature chewed, it emitted incomprehensible messages.

Jerima’s frown deepened at the sight of the monstrosity, but to Nazariu, the orb was nothing short of adorable.

“See? Isn’t it the cutest thing? Eat up, little one. Grow big and strong.”

“You find that…cute?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you? You know exactly what it’ll become when it’s ‘complete.’”

“A monster,” Jerima replied flatly.

“Oh, don’t put it like that. If the monster is mine, it’s a different story entirely.”

Nazariu chuckled, his smile widening.

“I can’t wait for this little guy to reach its full potential. Then I’ll be complete too.”

Jerima pressed his lips into a thin line as he noticed the glint of madness creeping into Nazariu’s gaze.

“With this, I’ll open the door to the paradise every mage dreams of! I’ll escape this prison of flesh, this wretched world, and ascend to the grand pantheon! Don’t you see? I’ll become a god—a god! Something no one has achieved since the ancients!”

Nazariu lovingly patted Paracelsus as it consumed the last page.

“How can you not find it adorable? Honestly, I’d love to rip apart every grimoire we have and feed it all to this little one.”

“Extracting those codes could provoke the royal family’s wrath,” Jerima warned.

“I know. That’s why I’m being so careful.”

No matter how fractured and disreputable the royal family had become, they were still royalty. If provoked, even the Magic Tower wouldn’t escape unscathed.

“Not that I like tiptoeing around them,” Nazariu muttered under his breath.

Jerima ignored his complaints, deeming them pointless.

But there wasn’t time to dwell on such trivial matters.

“Jerima.”

“Yes, I sense it too.”

Nazariu abruptly stopped petting Paracelsus, lifting his head.

Jerima scanned their surroundings silently.

Though the area appeared deserted, the oppressive stillness heightened the sense of danger.

“Didn’t I warn you? Our trail was too long and too obvious.”

Jerima’s words barely finished before two of their attendants donned hooded robes, each enchanted artifact provided exclusively by The Star of David.

These robes amplified magical efficiency and served as protective gear.

Sensing the encroaching presence around the carriage, the attendants prepared their spells.

“There’s no need to overreact. Our friends can handle it, can’t they?” Nazariu said casually.

The attendants nodded, but as they glanced up, one noticed a small stone falling toward them.

The attendant on the right quickly formed a gun shape with his hand, preparing to shoot it down with an Air Gun.

He smirked inwardly.

‘Typical Ragnar fools, trying a brute-force ambush. Let me show them that combat is an art.’

With a confident flick, he fired a compressed air bullet, reinforced with a targeting spell, ensuring pinpoint accuracy.

But just before impact, Jerima’s expression shifted as his scan of the stone revealed something alarming.

“Wait—!”

His warning came too late.

BOOM!

The stone shattered, releasing a stored lightning spell.

CRACK-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The explosion was followed by a torrential downpour of lightning strikes.

Theo’s miniature adaptation of the Dragon Pearl Technique was a weaponized nightmare.

What followed was even more devastating: four massive lightning dragons erupted from the ground, tearing into each other as their explosive power grew exponentially.

Hydra Bolt.

A fusion of dragon’s breath and magic, the technique created a catastrophic cascade of destruction.

Crackle…

Neigh!

The lightning turned the horses into smoldering remains, and the carriage was obliterated in an instant.

“Magic…?”

“Damn it! Counter it!”

As an electromagnetic pulse from the Hydra Bolt spread, disabling magic within its range, the attendants’ faces turned pale.

Without magic, they were as good as dead.

Whizz-thud!

Dark projectiles pierced their necks, ending their lives before they could react further.

A chilling frost spread in the aftermath, slowing Jerima as he attempted to cast a spell.

At that moment—

Shing!

“Don’t move. One wrong step, and your head will roll.”

A blade pressed against Jerima’s throat, sharp and unyielding.

‘When did they…?’

Jerima broke out in a cold sweat.

The calculated precision of the lightning storm, the EMP, the frost—it was a strategy clearly designed by someone who understood exactly how to neutralize mages.

Even before Jerima, a seven-star mage, could showcase his abilities, he’d been utterly subdued.

But the greater concern was that the Magic Tower’s heir had also been captured.

“Nazariu Monte.”

Nazariu glanced down at the two blades crossing dangerously close to his neck.

From a distance, a young man with black hair and crimson eyes manipulated the swords with telekinesis—a skill even mages struggled to master.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to come with us for a while.”

It was Theo.