Damn Regression (1)

Episode 2: Damn Regression (1)
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“Unbelievable…”
The Sword of Light wiped her eyes and gently placed her hand over my right one.
“What’s this? Falling for me?”
She gave me a contemptuous glare for a moment, then let out a deep sigh.
“You once asked me about the stigma on my hand—how it could draw such immense holy power.”
“Yeah, and I said I wanted to cut off your arm a few times and study it.”
“…I really shouldn’t talk to you.”
She scoffed softly, then continued.
“People say it’s something granted by the gods… but that’s not true. The stigma is a power that transfers its strength from one bearer to another. That’s the true nature of my power.”
“What?”
The stigma on the back of her hand began to glow faintly.
“You said you had nothing left to lose? Same here.”
And then, I couldn’t help but widen my eyes at what I saw next.
When she lifted her hand away, the same golden light that had danced on her hand now shimmered on mine.
But that wasn’t all.
Shhhhhh…
The stigma that had been carved into her own hand was fading.
“Your face is priceless right now.”
“You…”
“If you really manage to go back, that stigma should help you.”
“Hey, I can’t even wield divine power. What makes you think it’ll still be on me after regression?”
“Let’s gamble on it like everyone else. It’s not like we’ve got anything to lose.”
“Pfft! Kuh! Cough…! Ah, damn it.”
I Barely managed to stifle a laugh.
God, my lungs feel like they’re on fire.
If I’d laughed any harder, I might’ve died right there.
“That might be the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Rumble…
The black flames devouring the continent were now only a short distance away.
If I account for the casting time… this is the most mana I can gather.
Crack!
I sent the mana gathered in my heart surging through my entire body, casting what might be my final black magic spell.
The purple aura surrounding me began shifting into a spell formation.
Fzzzzz…
The scenery around me began to distort.
Whether this black magic worked or not, this woman—who had faced death with me more than once—this would be the last time I saw her.
Maybe she knew it too, because her voice came softly.
“Aaron… if you really go back, what will you do first?”
“I’m thinking of destroying the Holy Empire. How’s that sound?”
“…”
“Heh, the war between the two empires cost them both dearly. But if one of them were to fall completely…”
Shing.
She started to draw her holy sword, likely to behead me, so I quickly added,
“Hey, you crazy woman! You think I’d actually do that?!”
“Oh dear, my apologies. You said something so ridiculous, I reacted instinctively.”
I can’t even make a joke around her.
“…First, I should try to stop the war between the Dark and Holy Empires.”
“Think that’s even possible?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot more than you might expect. About what I’d do if I went back.”
She looked down at the stigma flickering on my hand.
“If it’s still there after regression… come find me. I’ll teach you how to use it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the Holy Empire would give me a warm welcome. A black mage, walking right in? And you won’t even remember anything we did together.”
“Th-that’s something you’ll have to figure out!”
“How irresponsible.”
“What do you want from me?! I don’t even know which point in time you will return to!”
“Yeah, and if the stigma doesn’t come with me, then the whole thing’s pointless.”
“You talk big for someone who’s not even sure regression is possible.”
“Come on, if you want to change the past, you need this level of shamelessness.”
“You should’ve just kept your mouth shut…”
After a brief exchange of jabs, both of us broke into chuckles without even meaning to.
“…Still.”
Her quiet whisper tickled my ear.
“Thank you.”
For what, I wonder?
For telling her regression might be possible? For fighting alongside her? For inheriting the stigma?
There were a lot of possibilities… but sadly, the scenery in front of me was now completely warped from the spell, and I couldn’t see her expression anymore.
“…Alright. Let’s do this one more time.”
And with those final words—
Crack!
My vision turned pitch black.
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***
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Regression.
The mythical realm every mage dreams of reaching—yet none ever have.
Even I only developed the theory. Whether it could truly be done? I was never sure.
“From this moment…”
In total darkness, a voice echoed.
“…we begin the sparring session.”
My darkened vision returned, finally coming into focus.
“Both cadets, take your positions. When you feel ready, begin.”
The voice, though artificially amplified through a speaker, was now clear.
“…Heh.”
I blinked blankly, then looked down at my body.
Ran my fingers over my abdomen.
No wounds. The hole in my gut was gone.
Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch…
All five senses were crystal clear.
This isn’t a dream.
‘No doubt about it…’
I’ve returned.
I’ve really come back.
“…Hah.”
A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
I actually did it? With no side effects?
This black uniform is familiar.
The cadet uniform of Necropia, the most prestigious academy in the Dark Empire for training black mages—especially those who focus on black magic.
I wore this same uniform until graduation. No mistaking it.
The last time I wore it… was about 10 years ago.
Which means… I’ve regressed 10 years into the past.
“This actually worked?”
I tried to steady my racing heart, taking slow, deep breaths.
Then glanced at the back of my right hand.
A wry smile.
‘…Didn’t come with me, huh?’
Before I regressed, the Sword of Light had engraved her stigma on my hand.
But now, it was nowhere to be found.
Guess it vanished in the process.
Shame.
‘If she’d told me it could be inherited, maybe I’d have planned better…’
Then again, I didn’t explain the black magic I used either, so I guess we’re even.
“You seem to have time to daydream—even with me in front of you, Aaron Bayonel.”
A deep male voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I looked up to see the figure opposite me.
A boy wearing the same Necropia uniform.
Blond hair, blue eyes, long enough to reach his shoulders.
A familiar face.
Younger, sure—but that look is unmistakable.
‘Lloyd Desmond?’
Lloyd Desmond.
Heir to the Desmond family, one of the Dark Empire’s four noble houses like my own.
Firstborn of the Desmond patriarch and the top-ranking student at Necropia.
We were the same age, both children of noble houses, so during our school days, we were often compared.
‘Wow. I’m seeing this guy again.’
Caught in the moment, I wondered how I should respond when—
Lloyd spread his arms.
The purple aura unique to black magic sparked between his palms.
‘…Wait a sec.’
That’s definitely a combat stance.
This feels… bad.
“You know, I’ve always held you in high regard, Aaron.”
His energy radiated hostility.
‘…What the hell?’
I glanced around to get my bearings.
A flat, circular training arena—about 100 meters wide, the floor packed earth.
Yup. A sparring arena.
I’m standing in the ring with Lloyd.
Around the edge, cadets and instructors watching us closely.
Each instructor held a clipboard and pen.
What the…?
“Even after I stole first place from you over and over, you kept trying to catch up. If it were me, I’d have given up. That determination? I respect it.”
You smug little…
Please shut up for two seconds so I can catch up here.
I just regressed.
Let me figure things out before you start your monologue.
Oh, right. The speaker earlier said—
“Both cadets, take your positions. When you feel ready, begin.”
Okay, so this is definitely a sparring match.
But why?
I fought Lloyd so many times before… too many possible memories to pinpoint which one this is.
“If only your personality wasn’t so rough—we could’ve been good friends.”
“…You little—”
Frustrated, I almost grabbed my neck in irritation.
Couldn’t I have regressed at a better time?
And I can’t even tell anyone I’ve regressed. This is insane.
“Still with the vulgar words? You shame the Bayonel name.”
This is madness.
“Aaron, your curse-type black magic won’t even graze me.”
“Hearing you ramble like that means you’re ready to fight.”
The gruff instructor between us cut Lloyd off, pulling a coin from his pocket.
A silver coin—the currency of the Dark Empire.
Once it hits the ground, the match begins.
“Then let the spar begin.”
Ding~!
The coin spun upward, then fell.
Lloyd’s hands surged with darker, denser purple energy.
‘Still not fully in sync with this body.’
I clicked my tongue and crouched low.
Judging by everyone’s mood, this wasn’t a spar I could refuse.
‘Better stick to basic black magic for now.’
I opened my right palm, drawing out mana.
Fshhhh…
A familiar sensation of energy draining from my body, as violet mist coiled around my palm and condensed.
Pop!
A black dagger, roughly palm-sized, formed in my hand.
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Shadow Crafting Technique.
A basic black magic that molds mana into weapons made of shadow.
Clink!
The coin hit the ground—and Lloyd lunged forward, slamming both hands to the dirt.
Rumble…
Dark mana radiated outward like a spiderweb, shaking the earth.
From the ground, skeletal arms burst forth.
‘Skeletons.’
The Desmond family’s signature undead summoning magic.
‘Here they come.’
Blue flame-like lights flared in the sockets of twenty skeletons as they launched toward me.
I acted immediately.
Loosening my grip, I held the dagger by its tip with thumb and forefinger.
Whish.
Pulled my arm back, then snapped it forward.
Ping! Thunk!
The dagger flew straight into a skeleton’s forehead.
But that was it.
Rattle… Clack…!
Even with a dagger stuck in its skull, the skeleton kept moving.
‘So that’s how deep it goes with this strength.’
I clicked my tongue.
Guess being in a younger body means my power’s off.
‘I’ll have to adjust.’
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Shadow Crafting.
Two more daggers.
Summoning two more blades to my hands, I thought:
There are four major branches of black magic.
And each of the Dark Empire’s four noble houses specializes in one.
The Desmonds? Summoning.
The Bayonels? Curses.
‘Casting Curses.’
Fzzzzzz…
A purple glow rippled down the edge of my dark dagger.