The Regressor Wants to Become a Hero

When the city’s history began, there was nothing on this land. However, with the installation of the spatial transportation magic circle and the establishment of the magic tower to manage it, changes began to occur rapidly.

Today, due to the advancement of innovative technology, anyone can use the station at a low cost. But just a few decades ago, only the wealthy could use the station.

Naturally, merchants gathered to target these wealthy people’s gold coins, and thus, this street was formed.

With the magic tower present, magic shops, high-end lodgings, charming taverns, luxury boutiques, and banks where money could be deposited and retrieved, all vied for space. The buildings themselves were lavish beyond compare.

Massive sums of money were exchanged, and many people flocked to the area.

It was only natural for the street to become bustling, and the people passing through it exuded an air of affluence.

Naturally, there was a tendency to look down on those of lower status.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, Ian walked along the main street with his cloak displaying both the Berger insignia and the golden seal received from the hero, making sure they were clearly visible.

The effect was evident. Although he was dressed as a mercenary and attracted attention, it seemed that people merely noticed it without further comment.

Ian raised his head nonchalantly.

The signs hanging on the building’s outer walls were filled with distinctive names and pictures.

They were neatly standardized, giving a clean impression. If they hadn’t been, it surely would have been chaotic.

Soon, Ian found the magic shop called “Milky Way” that Gawon had mentioned.

Located on the outskirts of the street, the shop occupied an entire three-story building, with only one sign attached to the outer wall.

The sign itself was anything but ordinary. It seemed enchanted, with countless stars pouring out like a galaxy.

It truly lived up to its name.

‘Did such a place exist? Impressive…’

Ian admired it rarely and opened the shop door. At the same time, a strong smell of tobacco wafted out.

“Welcome.”

Turning his head, Ian saw a woman with a seductive aura sitting behind the counter, holding a cigarette, and reading a book.

She exhaled a puff of white smoke from her lips, as if she had just taken a drag.

“Feel free to browse. If you need anything or have any questions, come to me or find a staff member on another floor. Just a piece of advice: don’t think about sneaking anything away just because you think you’re not being watched. Unless you want to be cursed by me.”

With a voice that seemed lethargic, as if she had no enthusiasm for life, she spoke without turning her head.

Ian looked around the interior. There were indeed customers, but not many.

There were only three people on this floor, though there might be others on different floors.

One of them had a staff member explaining something beside him.

Ian’s gaze then fell on the display stands.

Dried insects, herbs, and flower petals were stored in glass jars of uniform sizes. Next to them were wooden pieces sorted by color.

Without background knowledge, these items might just seem like trash found on the roadside.

In that sense, this place definitely gave off the vibe of a magic shop. It would be completely incomprehensible to an outsider.

Ian decided to stop examining the shop and tapped the counter with his finger. The woman looked up from her book.

“Do you need assistance?”

“No. Actually, I didn’t come to buy anything.”

“Oh? Then why have you come all the way here?”

Her eyes shifted to Ian’s insignia. She seemed to recognize what the two emblems represented. Ian inclined his head respectfully and introduced himself.

“I am Ian. I was referred here by Gawon.”

“Gawon? Hmm. What brings that old man, who rarely contacts me, here?”

“I heard that you purchase monster by-products.”

“Oh, is that so? Let’s see what you’ve brought then.”

With renewed interest, she closed her book and got up from her chair. She didn’t seem inclined to spit out the cigarette she was holding.

Ian didn’t mind and placed the leather pouch on the counter. He opened the pouch.

A foul odor assailed the air, but soon after, she flicked her hand, and with the flow of magical energy, the smell vanished completely.

It was magic. It activated almost instantaneously, without giving any chance to detect it.

Ian marveled as he pulled out the contents. Her previously drooping eyes now showed interest.

“It’s a Baphomet, isn’t it? The horns are a bit small, so it must have been a young one. It’s not too decomposed. The neck cut is clean too. Was this your work?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. It’s well-prepared. Indeed, it’s good to have connections. You get such high-quality by-products. But where is the rest of the body? Why just the head?”

“I handed the rest over to someone who wanted it. What I’m looking to dispose of is everything except the horns.”

The woman frowned disapprovingly, took a deep drag from her cigarette, and exhaled the smoke. She then spoke in a curt tone.

“That’s a bit problematic. The most valuable part of a Baphomet is precisely the horns. Removing them makes the rest essentially refuse. What’s the difference between that and just disposing of the refuse?”

Ian tilted his head.

“I was told that the head of a Baphomet alone has significant magical value. It’s also a rare monster.”

“While that’s not incorrect, there are alternatives, so it’s not as rare as you might think. If you could at least provide one of the horns, I would be willing to make a deal. I’ll even add a little extra service. How does that sound?”

The woman whispered in a low voice so that others couldn’t hear.

Ian kept his mouth shut and shifted his gaze to the wall behind her.

The wall had four frames hanging on it: a business license, advanced potion-making and alchemy certificates.

It was quite rare for a mage to hold qualifications in both potion-making and alchemy.

Considering the amount of knowledge required for magic alone, adding potion-making and alchemy makes it a colossal undertaking.

Anyway, Ian nodded.

“In that case, I’d like to be paid in something other than gold coins.”

“Magic items?”

“Something similar. I’m looking for potions.”

The woman looked at him with a doubtful expression.

Though Ian had never studied telepathy or read books related to psychology, he felt he could sense what she was thinking at that moment.

Given the way he spoke in a lowered voice, it probably seemed suspicious. Before she could misunderstand, Ian continued.

“Specifically, I’m looking for something like a doping agent.”

“Ah, I see. If you had such a thought, you wouldn’t ask for something like drugs in a public place at this hour. Let me tell you, though, doping agents aren’t as ideal as you might think. While they provide temporary strength, they come with a price.”

“I understand. I’m aware of the side effects and potential aftereffects.”

However, Ian wasn’t worried.

The Berger family’s secret technique, Bane of Evil, could remove toxins and negative effects from the body simply by meditating.

Of course, the duration of the doping agent would also be halved, but considering the benefits gained, it was a trade-off he could accept.

The woman seemed to feel she had warned him enough and nodded.

“In that case, is there anything specific you’re looking for?”

Ian recalled the doping agents he knew.

The ones he had taken during his past life were all cheap. It couldn’t be helped; his income wasn’t stable at that time.

Nevertheless, he had to take them often, and buying expensive ones for every battle would have been burdensome.

But not anymore. It’s not without reason that those with wealth are called the victors of the world.

Ian held a black card in his pocket and a Baphomet’s head in his hand. There was nothing to fear.

“I’ll leave only one horn and hand over the rest. In exchange, I’d like the best product you can offer for that value.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you later. I wouldn’t want to be blamed for ruining the precious young master’s health.”

As expected.

‘She knows me.’

Should Ian be pleased or saddened that a high-ranking mage knows his name? Probably the latter.

Ian couldn’t hide his bitterness and forced a wry smile.

“That won’t happen. If you wish, I can even write an agreement.”

“That’s not necessary. I doubt something so trivial would cause a big problem. But it is surprising. I thought knights detest doping because it ruins the body. I didn’t expect a member of the Berger family to be looking for something like this.”

“Disdain for doping is only relevant when one is skilled. I am weak, so I’m willing to use all means available to avoid death.”

“You seem quite young, yet you speak quite well. But unlike your resolve, knights probably wouldn’t think so.”

It’s not just knights. People generally dislike the act of doping itself.

The mercenaries played a significant role in shaping this perception.

The doping agents they use are all cheap, addictive, and harmful, damaging the brain.

Naturally, the results aren’t good, and seeing them as wrecks is common. Hence, the negative perception.

“You’re well-fed.”

“Fed well? Will they too experience hunger?”

“It will happen soon enough. And then, they’ll reach out for food unable to endure their hunger.”

“A prophecy?”

Ian recalled his past life. Without hesitation, he nodded.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

She didn’t seem to believe him. Since he wasn’t trying to persuade her, he said nothing more.

“I hope that day never comes. Strong knights who use doping would leave no place for mages.”

Such weakness. Where else would you find someone as fearsome as a skilled mage?

“Now, let’s get back to the point. Before I recommend something, which method do you prefer: inhalation, ingestion, or injection?”

“…Ingestion.”

Inhalation refers to smoking. There’s no luxury of smoking leisurely during battle. That’s why doping agents are more commonly used by mages.

“I thought so. Then…”

She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray and briefly went somewhere before returning with a long box, which she opened with a click.

Inside, laid on purple velvet, were ten different pills. A subtle fragrance mixed with the smell of tobacco.

“This is a product called Wigener Gamma.”

“Wigener… Wait a moment. Is it from Cordelia?”

The woman’s eyes widened at Ian’s mumbling.

“You know about it?”

“It’s a famous pharmaceutical family. But products produced in Cordelia are strictly sold only through their own pharmacy. How did you get it here?”

“You seem to know quite a bit. Were you interested in this area?”

“A little.”

“Indeed? To answer that, I’m one of the researchers who developed and created these formulas, and I’m from Cordelia.”

“…I see?”

“Then you can rest assured. The safety has been verified. I have no conscience to sell defective products. I value my shop. I built it with my own hands, invested my time, and poured my heart into it.”

Her eyes were filled with pride.

“I didn’t doubt it, but if you came here, I should apologize.”

“It’s just that I was being overly cautious. If your curiosity is satisfied, shall we proceed?”

“Yes.”

“The Wigener Gamma—this medication takes effect within 1 minute of ingestion and lasts for about 30 minutes. It provides strong pain relief and temporarily enhances physical abilities, recovery, and concentration through heightened awareness of magical energy. This means the natural recovery rate of magic power increases as well.”

“And the side effects?”

“There will be temporary emotional wear and tear during combat. After the effect wears off, you’ll experience chills, dizziness, and nausea simultaneously. There’s also a slight addition of powdered laughing mushroom, so you might find yourself laughing uncontrollably.”

Ian looked slightly surprised.

“Is that all?”

The side effects are quite minimal. Moreover, the symptoms mentioned are relatively mild.

Ian recalled the doping agents he had used before his regression. They were of poor quality and caused considerable distress afterward.

Even though they were mitigated by the Bane of Evil, they were still unpleasant. But this one seems almost negligible.

“It’s worth the high price. However, remember this: unlike physical or divine enhancements through magic, drugs impose significant burdens on the body and mind. This is poison disguised as an elixir.”

“Thank you for the concern. But are 10 pills all you have?”

“Yes.”

If the pharmacist says so, then that’s it. Whether it’s worth the price can only be known after trying it. Ian nodded without further comment, and the woman smiled, closing the box and setting one additional pill beside it.

“I’ll give you one more. Try it out at your leisure to confirm its effectiveness. You’ll need to be sure before using it in combat.”

Ian watched as she gathered the medication and box.

“If you find it useful, come back for more.”

As he saw her light another cigarette, Ian bowed his head and left the shop.

The Baphomet he had risked his life to capture. And the 11 pills he obtained from its head. They would be a great help later.

———