The Half-Baked Magician Wants to Become a True Mage
The half-baked magician wanted, more than anything, to become a real one.
That single line was the entirety of my wish. Not wealth, not power, not even freedom at first—just the desperate longing to stand on the same ground as proper mages instead of being mocked as a defective spell-slinger who could barely light a candle without setting his own robes on fire.
In a world where magic decided everything, I had been born with only half the circuits a mage needed. The other half was simply… missing. No academy would take me. No noble house would sponsor me. The only path left was the one no one else wanted: becoming a slave magician for beastmen mercenaries who needed someone to cast Berserker without losing their minds to the rage.
I never expected that decision to drag me into battles that would rewrite the rules of magic itself. I never expected the very slave restraints I used to keep my patients sane would become the foundation of something far greater. And I definitely never expected that the wolf-eared warrior who bought me for three silver coins would slowly stop looking at me like property and start looking at me like I was her entire world.
This is the story of how a broken mage rebuilt himself, piece by piece, using the very chains meant to bind him. Of how ancient truths swallowed modern formulas whole. Of how a half-rate caster became the catalyst for a revolution that would shake both empire and kingdom to their cores.
And yes—of how I somehow ended up with a harem of battle-crazed beastwomen who think the best way to say “I love you” is by throwing me over a shoulder and charging straight into a dragon’s maw while screaming my name.
…It’s complicated. But it’s mine.