Prologue: Am I a Magician?
"I'm screwed."
A strange yet familiar ceiling loomed overhead. That was the first thought that hit him the moment his eyes snapped open. Bone-chilling cold that cut like knives. Hunger so fierce his stomach felt glued to his spine. The acrid stench of mold and rotting wood assaulting his nose. It was the worst possible wake-up call.
"Ugh…."
His head throbbed like it was splitting apart—as if someone had yanked out his brain, pureed it in a blender, and shoved it back in. Amid the agony, two alien memories fused into one.
My name is Ish Han.
One belonged to Ish Han from Earth. IQ of 210. Solving calculus at age five. Mastering twelve languages by ten. By twenty, he'd conquered twenty-seven—a linguistic monster. But his freakish intellect left him blind to others' emotions. He'd ended up a shut-in, learning humanity from web novels.
And the other…
"Rian…."
A thirteen-year-old orphan scraping by on weeds in a Slum outskirts shack, with zero connections to the world.
The merger happened in a flash. No confusion. His brain, as sharp as ever from his past life, processed it logically, sorting and analyzing like raw data.
Let's break this down.
He remembered his past life. He was a starving orphan. And…?
"…What the hell is this?"
As he tried to sit up, he froze. A bizarre heat roiled near his heart, like he'd swallowed molten lava. Something thrashed wildly through his veins.
Wrrrrrr—!
The air around him warped. The dilapidated shack's ceiling rattled. Pebbles on the floor lost gravity and floated lazily upward.
"Ha."
A dry laugh escaped him. This was the cliché he'd seen a million times in web novels.
Mana rampage, right?
The trope for protagonists or villains awakening—usually when their talent overwhelmed their young body. Problem was, he wasn't the hero. This scrawny thirteen-year-old orphan frame couldn't handle it. He'd either explode or get crushed when the shack collapsed.
I don't wanna die.
He'd croaked from overwork last time. No thanks to self-destructing right after reincarnating.
Instinct kicked in. He observed the raging power. A normal person would've screamed in terror. To him, it was just a puzzle to solve.
"Hmm."
Eyes closed, he scanned his body. Wild energy—erratic, violent, chaotic. But to him, it had structure.
There's a pattern here.
People called magic mystical. His past self had too. But feeling it now? It was just another language.
Flows had grammar. Waves had syntax. Right now, the mana in his body was like a kid's illiterate scribbles—total mess.
"No subject, so the object's going haywire."
Cold sweat beaded as he rebuilt equations in his head. Insert "I" as the subject into the mana flow. Add "circulate" as the verb.
No fancy chants or magic circles—he had zero info for that. Expecting otherwise was like asking Einstein to invent relativity without knowing calculus.
Align.
Snap—
He flicked his intent like snapping fingers. Pain ebbed instantly. The berserk mana calmed, flowing smoothly through his veins. Floating pebbles dropped with soft thuds.
"Phew."
He survived. Gasping raggedly, he swept back sweat-matted bangs. Crisis averted. But reality was still a dumpster fire.
Grrrrumble.
Thunder rumbled from his gut. Controlling the rampage had burned his last calories.
"I'm starving."
He needed food, stat. Stumbling outside on shaky legs.
The forest was bountiful—for those who could hunt.
"Tch."
Hiding in the brush, Rian clicked his tongue. Ahead, a wild boar rooted the dirt—size of a compact car, tusks like daggers. No match for a kid's strength.
But turning back? His stomach wouldn't allow it.
No tools, no weapons. Just me, naked against nature.
Only asset: the mana he'd just tamed. In a typical fantasy tale, he'd fireball or wind-cut it. But he'd never learned magic. Didn't even know if Mana Circles existed here, let alone how to make them.
But he knew how to use it differently.
Just need the principle.
Language was communication. Magic was manifesting will.
He fixed on the boar. Desired outcome: simple.
I wish that boar wouldn't move.
And that it'd die.
Translate to mana-language and execute. Why bother with fire or wind metaphors? Direct speech was best.
Don't move.
I'll squeeze you dead.
Hand outstretched, he visualized: mana extending from his palm, forming a giant invisible fist clamping the beast.
Hummm.
A heavy sensation gripped his fingertips. Mana obeyed, shaping under his will. Unseen pressure crushed the air.
"Grab."
Squeeee—?!
The dining boar shrieked. Yanked skyward like a fish on a line, it thrashed futilely in midair.
"Huh? Easier than I thought."
Mana drain was minimal—like flexing a muscle. Past-life smarts? This body's talent? Whatever—good was good.
Time to finish it.
Snap its neck? Slam it down? As he pondered—
Rustle. Bushes stirred.
"Who's there!"
He whipped around, tensing for another beast. What emerged was far deadlier.
Green hair. Eerily long ears. An ethereal beauty radiating pure aura.
An elf?
Guess it was a fantasy world. Real elves popping out.
She eyed him. Then the floating boar. Then him again. Emerald eyes widened to saucers.
"You…."
Her voice trembled.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Weird question. Obvious, no?
"Hunting."
He answered flatly. Too hungry for chit-chat.
"No, I mean…."
She gawked, scanning around him—not the boar. Tracing the mana flows cloaking his body.
"No Mana Circle? Artifact? Chant?"
"Nah."
"Liar!"
She yelped in shock.
"Telekinesis without a circle? On a beast that big? No mana backlash? Head okay?"
"Hurts a bit, but manageable."
Well, it had hurt—till he fixed the formula. No need for details.
He clocked her expression. Yeah, he'd done something insane.
My talent, huh?
Apparently, his magic gift was nuts. But right now, he craved protein over destiny.
"Hey, sis."
"…Sis?"
"Done staring? Move aside? Three days no food—I'm cranky."
Back to the boar. Holding it aloft was draining mana. End it quick.
Compress.
He spiked the mana's density. Pressure crushed from all sides.
Crunch-crack—!
"Squeee—!"
Bones shattered. Death throes, then limp. Clean kill. No mess.
Thud.
Body dropped. Rian exhaled in relief. Fire, roast—done.
But…
"Unbelievable…."
Elf-sis hadn't budged. Now staring harder—like a scholar spotting a priceless gem or endangered species.
"What's your name?"
"Rian."
"Rian. Never studied magic?"
"Nope."
"Letters? Can you read?"
"Nah."
Who teaches orphans? Duh.
"Knew it."
She strode forward. Up close? Stunning. Five-star illustration material.
But three-day famine made her waist pouch of jerky the real beauty. Elves ate meat?
"Come with me."
"Pass."
He grabbed a boar leg. Dismantle how? Mana blade?
"Be my disciple. Wasting that talent in this forest? I'll teach you letters too."
"Not interested. Wanna live quiet."
True. No clue what world this was. What if she was a human-hating elf offing prodigies? No guarantees.
"I'll buy you tasty food."
His hand paused.
"…What?"
"Warm house, soft bed, meat every meal."
She grinned. Centuries-old crone—er, sage—seducing a kid? Childish tactic.
But effective.
"I'll be your disciple, Master."
Three days starving? Honesty won.