Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 69

Morning light filtered softly through the tall curtains of the Marquis’s chamber. The golden rays stretched across the polished floor and climbed slowly along the carved posts of the large bed. Edward Vistro lay on his back, one arm resting across his stomach, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. The room was quiet. Too quiet. It was the kind of silence that allowed thoughts to grow louder.

Atlantis.

The single word moved through his mind like a ripple across still water.

Three hundred years ago, the human domain entered the vast and mysterious realm hidden beneath the northern sea. Under the guidance and authority of the White Tower, they passed through a gate that appeared only once every three centuries, a rare opening that many believed was a blessing and a curse at the same time. That single campaign changed the course of history. Powerful magical treasures, ancient cultivation methods long thought to be lost, rare elemental artifacts, and forgotten combat techniques were brought back to the surface. The balance of power among the human kingdoms shifted almost overnight, and from that moment on, no ruler or faction ever dared to ignore the significance of Atlantis again.

Now the gate would open again.

Edward closed his eyes briefly, then opened them once more.

The Church of Light would never miss such an opportunity. That much was beyond doubt. Even though the Church had declared him a heretic and publicly called for his execution, they would never allow internal conflict to weaken their preparations for the Atlantis campaign. Their ambitions were far greater than personal grudges. That was one of the main reasons the Luminaris Kingdom had not moved against him in an open and direct manner. A full confrontation would demand far too much. Open war required manpower, trained knights, skilled mages, devoted priests, and vast amounts of resources. Every one of those assets was being carefully preserved and prepared for the coming campaign beneath the northern sea.

The kingdom wanted strength, not distraction.

And Edward understood that better than anyone.

In his previous regressions, he had participated in the Atlantis campaign several times. Not as a noble. Not as a recognized Marquis. But under the guise of a lone High Mage adventurer. He had hidden his identity, concealed his affiliation, and entered as a nameless participant seeking opportunity.

Each lifetime had taught him something new.

One of those lifetimes had rewarded him with the Heavenly Trident, a high ranked artifact forged from deep sea essence and infused with ancient runes of the Atlantean guardians. The weapon had been said to hold the potential to evolve a Leviathan elemental summon. In one regression, he had nearly succeeded in unlocking that evolution, only to die before fully stabilizing the bond.

He shifted slightly on the bed.

This time would be different.

Edward sat up slowly, letting his feet rest against the cold floor. The early morning air still carried a slight chill. He stood and walked toward the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to let more light enter.

He began recalling the rules of the campaign aloud, speaking calmly into the empty room.

"No Archmages are allowed," he said quietly. "Every kingdom must send combatants above the Adept stage. Each kingdom receives a token from the White Tower."

The tokens were more than symbols of authority. They were ancient constructs infused with spatial magic. With them, kingdoms could establish instant communication within their own expedition groups. More importantly, the token allowed limited teleportation. Combatants could send themselves or their captured treasures directly back to the gathering point near the gate, provided they were within range and the gate remained open.

"The gate remains open for three hours," Edward continued. "After that, it closes completely."

Anyone still inside when the gate closed would be trapped beneath the sea forever.

That was not a rumor. It was a proven truth.

In one of his earlier regressions, he had seen it happen. A group from the Iron Duchy had been too greedy. They had ventured too deep into the submerged ruins. When the gate began to destabilize, they had ignored the warnings. By the time they attempted to return, the passage had already collapsed. Their screams had echoed across the water before being swallowed entirely.

Edward’s gaze hardened slightly.

Atlantis was not merely a treasure trove. It was a battlefield.

The monsters alone were reason enough for caution.

The outer regions of Atlantis were filled with corrupted sea beasts, creatures twisted by ancient magic and long isolation. Massive serpentine constructs guarded collapsed halls. Elemental water spirits roamed freely, their bodies made of compressed ocean currents capable of crushing bone. Deeper still were the Atlantean guardians, remnants of an advanced civilization that had refused to fully die.

Some of them retained fragments of intelligence. Others operated purely on instinct, attacking any intruder without hesitation.

In one lifetime, Edward had faced a crystal scaled sea drake whose breath carried freezing mana capable of solidifying blood within seconds. In another, he had encountered a sentient trident construct that manipulated gravitational tides within a submerged chamber.

The campaign was not a simple treasure hunt.

It was a controlled invasion.

Edward moved toward his wardrobe but did not begin dressing yet. Instead, he leaned lightly against the wooden frame, thinking further.

Another important detail surfaced in his mind.

While kingdoms were given official tokens, independent participants were not entirely forbidden. Individuals below the Archmage stage could enter the campaign without direct kingdom affiliation. However, they would not receive a token. They would lack the benefits of instant communication and teleportation. They would have to rely on their own strength and timing to escape before the gate closed.

Many adventurers took that risk.

Some did it for glory. Others for survival. A rare few did it for knowledge.

Edward had done it before.

Entering as an independent combatant gave him freedom. It allowed him to move without attracting too much attention from royal observers. However, it also meant isolation. No coordinated retreat. No guaranteed extraction.

He walked back to the bed and sat down again.

The Luminaris kingdom would be preparing its official expedition. Knights, High Mages, and elite Adepts would gather under the banner of the royal family. The Church would likely send its own combat priests under religious justification. The White Tower would monitor everything.

And somewhere within that gathering, Sara Vistro would likely stand.

His younger sister.

According to tradition, she was currently residing in the manor of her fiancé, the royal prince. That arrangement was meant to strengthen bonds between noble houses. It was political. It was strategic.

Edward’s expression darkened slightly.

He had seen multiple versions of what happened to Sara during past regressions. In some, she survived Atlantis. In others, she did not. In one particularly painful timeline, she had been sacrificed by those who saw her as expendable.

This time, he would not allow that.

He stood again and began dressing properly. His movements were methodical, practiced, efficient. Shirt. Belt. Trousers. Outer coat. Each piece fitted precisely, reflecting the image of a young Marquis in full control.

As he fastened the last clasp, he continued speaking softly to himself.

"The gate opens once every three centuries. The White Tower enforces the rules. No Archmages may enter. Combatants must be above the Adept stage."

He paused.

"That means I qualify."

His current cultivation placed him at the early level of the High Mage realm. Stronger than most Adepts. Weaker than any Archmage. Exactly within the permitted range.

But participating under his own name carried risks.

The Crown would monitor his actions carefully. The Church would not ignore him. If he showed excessive strength, suspicion would grow. If he acquired powerful artifacts, political pressure would intensify.

However, if he did not participate at all, he would fall behind.

Atlantis was not optional.

It was a turning point.

He walked toward the door of his chamber and placed his hand on the handle. For a brief second, he hesitated. Not out of fear, but calculation.

He could enter under the Luminaris banner and use their token. That would provide safety and structured retreat. But it would also bind him to their strategic decisions.

Or he could enter independently again, reclaiming the Heavenly Trident and possibly more, without formal oversight.

Both paths carried danger.

Edward exhaled slowly and opened the door.

The corridor outside was quiet, lined with polished stone and framed portraits of past Vistro leaders. Morning light spilled in through distant windows, illuminating the long hallway.

His gaze lifted.

At the far end of the corridor stood a familiar figure.

Sara Vistro.

She stood tall, her posture composed, her long hair tied neatly behind her. She wore formal attire, the insignia of the royal house faintly visible on her shoulder. Her expression was calm, but her eyes carried something deeper.

Edward’s steps slowed.

Their gazes met.

For a brief moment, the world felt smaller, narrowed to the space between them.

Atlantis was approaching.

And so were the choices that would decide everything.