The Regressor's Life: Volume 2

By Izumi

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The city of Dawnspire was no longer the same.

Ashur Valrath stood atop the rooftops, his eyes scanning the streets below. In his past life, this city had remained stable for another two years before chaos erupted. Yet now, beneath the flickering glow of street lanterns, he saw signs of change—movements in the shadows, people who shouldn't be here, factions rising too soon.

The timeline was shifting.

He tightened his grip on the Midnight Fang, its dark blade pulsing with a faint energy. The artifacts he had acquired in the first few weeks of his regression had already made him stronger than he had ever been at this stage in his past life. But power alone wasn't enough. He needed control.

[Quest Updated: Fractured Fate]

Objective: Investigate the source of the timeline shifts.

Reward: ???

A cold breeze swept across the city, carrying whispers of war, betrayal, and unseen forces at play.

Ashur's regression had changed history.

Now, history was fighting back.

Ashur moved swiftly across the rooftops, his steps light, barely making a sound. The moon cast a pale glow over Dawnspire, illuminating the restless city below. He had spent the past week watching, analyzing, and confirming the worst—too many events were happening too soon.

In the marketplace, a merchant with ties to an underground rebellion had been assassinated. In the noble district, a high-ranking official had disappeared without a trace. And now, mercenaries he had never encountered in his past life lurked in the alleyways, their weapons hidden beneath cloaks.

Someone was accelerating the collapse of the Empire.

He leaped down, landing in a narrow alley near the Silver Veil Tavern. This place had once been a gathering spot for low-tier adventurers and criminals, but tonight, the atmosphere was different. He could feel it in the air—tension, anticipation, danger.

Stepping inside, he kept his hood low. The tavern was dimly lit, filled with murmured conversations and the clink of metal against wood. At the far end, a group of men sat hunched over a map, their voices barely above a whisper.

Ashur recognized one of them instantly.

Reinard Graves—an infamous sellsword in his past life. Back then, he had only risen to prominence after the fall of the Empire, leading a band of mercenaries that thrived in the chaos. But now, he was here years earlier than he should have been.

Ashur moved closer, listening.

"…the city's weak points. We strike here first," Reinard was saying, jabbing a finger at the map. "The governor's forces are spread thin. If we move before the month's end, there'll be no one left to stop us."

An attack on Dawnspire's leadership. If Reinard was involved, then someone powerful was pulling the strings.

Ashur's jaw tightened. This was worse than he thought.

He needed to act.

But he couldn't just kill Reinard—not yet. He needed information. He needed to know who else was playing with the timeline.

So, he made a choice.

With a slow breath, he stepped forward, lowering his hood just enough for Reinard to see his face.

"I heard you're looking for men who know how to kill," Ashur said, his voice steady.

Reinard's eyes narrowed. The tavern went quiet.

Then, the mercenary smirked.

"Sit down, stranger," Reinard said. "Let's talk."

Ashur slid into the seat across from Reinard, keeping his posture relaxed but ready. Around them, the mercenaries watched in silence, their hands never straying far from their weapons. These were killers, seasoned and ruthless. If he played this wrong, he wouldn't leave this tavern alive.

Reinard leaned forward, scrutinizing him. "You've got the look of someone who's been in the thick of it. What's your name?"

Names had power. Giving his real one could draw attention he didn't want. So, he gave one from a forgotten past.

"Kael."

Reinard's smirk didn't waver, but his eyes flickered with interest. "Alright, Kael. Tell me—why should I trust you to be anything more than a street rat looking to play with real warriors?"

Ashur met his gaze, unfazed. "Because I know things. I know the city's weak points. I know the movements of the guard. And I know that whoever's paying you is pulling the strings too soon."

Silence. A few of the mercenaries stiffened, eyes darting toward Reinard. That was a gamble—calling out the unnatural speed of events—but Ashur needed to see how they reacted.

Reinard exhaled through his nose, amused. "That so?"

He tapped the map with a gloved finger. "You think you know more than me? Enlighten me, then. What's coming that I don't see?"

Ashur leaned back, tilting his head as if considering. He needed to feed them just enough information to be useful without revealing his hand.

"The governor's personal guard isn't stationed where you think they are," he said. "In three days, they'll rotate to reinforce the western district because of a planned trade summit. That means your attack window isn't a week from now—it's three days from now. Wait too long, and you'll be running into soldiers instead of the skeleton force you're expecting."

A subtle shift. Reinard's expression didn't change, but his fingers tensed slightly on the table. He didn't know that.

One of the mercenaries—an older man with a scar over his eye—exchanged a glance with Reinard. A silent conversation passed between them.

Finally, Reinard chuckled, shaking his head. "Well now. Either you're the best liar I've met, or you've got sources I'd kill to have."

Ashur shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm giving you something useful. Consider it proof that I'm worth keeping around."

Reinard drummed his fingers on the table. Then he grinned. "Alright, Kael. You're in. But if you're playing me…" He gestured toward the scarred mercenary. "You'll be meeting Orlan's blade before you even see it coming."

Ashur only smirked. I'll take my chances.

For now, he was inside.

Now, he just had to tear them apart from within.

The deal was struck. Ashur was inside.

The mercenaries accepted him without much question, though he could feel their eyes on him as Reinard led him upstairs to a private room. The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows that danced like specters.

Reinard sat at the head of a worn wooden table, Orlan standing just behind him like a silent executioner. Two other mercenaries joined them, their expressions unreadable.

"Now," Reinard said, pouring himself a glass of dark liquor. "Before we get too comfortable, I have to ask—what exactly are you after, Kael?"

Ashur leaned back against the chair, feigning a relaxed demeanor. "Survival. The world's changing, and I don't intend to be at the bottom when it all comes crashing down."

Reinard chuckled, swirling his drink. "Smart man. But you know, survival usually means keeping your head down, not walking into a den of killers."

Ashur smirked. "And yet, here I am."

Reinard watched him for a long moment before laughing. He downed his drink in one motion and set the glass aside. "I like you. You've got nerve. Fine—you ride with us for now. But don't mistake this for trust. You'll pull your weight, or you'll be dead weight. Got it?"

"Crystal clear."

Reinard nodded. "Good. Then let's talk about our employer."

Ashur tensed slightly but kept his expression neutral. This is what I need.

"The contract came through an intermediary," Reinard said, glancing at Orlan. "A noble with enough coin to make it worth our while. No name. Just instructions and payment. But here's where it gets interesting."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "They knew things. Things only high-ranking officials should have access to. They predicted the guard rotations. Knew exactly when certain officials would be vulnerable. Hell, they even accounted for possible interference from outside forces."

Ashur's mind raced. That level of foresight wasn't normal. Even in his past life, only a handful of people had access to such classified information.

This wasn't just a noble seizing an opportunity.

This was someone who knew the future.

The timeline was being manipulated by someone other than him.

His fingers curled slightly against the table. Who are you?

Reinard continued, oblivious to Ashur's inner turmoil. "We're set to move in three days, just like you said. But now I want to know—what else can you tell me?"

Ashur knew he had to be careful. Giving them too much information could make him a target. But if he played this right, he could turn the situation to his advantage.

He met Reinard's gaze. "You're being used."

The room fell silent. Even Orlan shifted slightly, his scarred face unreadable.

Reinard raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Enlighten me."

Ashur exhaled, choosing his words carefully. "Your employer isn't just after the governor. They're after the entire balance of power in Dawnspire. Once you take out your targets, the city will descend into chaos—and then someone else steps in to take control. You're just the sword. The real players are the ones who'll be standing once the blood clears."

Reinard studied him, expression unreadable. Then, he smirked. "You talk like you've played this game before."

Ashur only smiled. "Maybe I have."

Reinard chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, Kael. Let's see if you're as smart as you think. Welcome to the crew."

Ashur nodded, his mind already working through his next move.

He was inside now.

And he would tear apart whoever was playing with his timeline.