The Legend of the Seven Wands
My first life ended in utter futility, it seems. Age 26. Hit by a truck on the street and died. When I opened my eyes again, there were two moons hanging in the sky.
"...Huh?"
In my second life, I was reborn as a girl named Olivia, an elf-human hybrid. Silver hair cascading like a waterfall, sapphire-blue eyes—she was a captivating young maiden. Unlike my previous life as a run-of-the-mill extra, Olivia was truly blessed. The perfect child inheriting only the finest traits from a human mage and a long-lived elf: human magic affinity, an elf's extended lifespan, and stunning beauty. A life born without a single flaw...
Honestly, it was boring.
The modern world I'd known was an era of information and communication, where a single swipe delivered top-tier dopamine hits. For someone like me, life in an elf village—slow-paced, no phone, no computer—was pure torture.
So, of course I bolted from the forest.
Even then, I had no idea what fictional world I'd been dropped into. A fantasy setting with humans, elves, beastkin, dwarves? There were too many to count. It didn't matter. All I craved was that dopamine rush.
Hidden secrets scattered across the continent. Shadowy villains building power in the dark. Companions met on the road. Dreaming of a romantic medieval fantasy adventure, I headed straight for an academy—
"Sorry, but you have no talent."
"Ack."
It didn't take long for my expectations to shatter.
My magic skills were utterly unremarkable compared to others. My grades were nothing special. An elf-human hybrid who would live long—that was the only noteworthy thing about me as a student. Seeing a decade of my effort matched by a genius's single year, I quit studying magic.
For someone who wanted to be the best in any field, the mage's path wasn't for me.
Did that mean I gave up on getting stronger? Hardly. If I'd been content with mediocrity, I never would've left the forest.
If power was lacking, I'd make up for it with gear. With that mindset, I turned to wand crafting.
If talent was the issue, I'd craft a wand strong enough to surpass any gap. That's how I found my true calling.
Magic wand crafting. Had all my magical aptitude funneled into this? For the first time in my life, I heard the word "genius."
The sense of accomplishment flooding my mind back then, the dopamine surging through my veins—it's still vivid even after a thousand years.
Crafting invincible magic wands that could turn even a novice mage into the strongest. For the first time, I had a lifelong goal worth devoting everything to.
After that, I immersed myself in wand crafting for a thousand years. Once I fixate on something, I never let go, so all-nighters became routine. Days and nights blurred, skipped meals piled up.
...Probably why I never grew past 155cm.
I don't sweat the height. Once I craft the ultimate wand and fix my schedule, it'll sort itself out. What? Still hoping to grow after a thousand years? Elves are an exception, okay? I'll definitely shoot up by then. No way I'm spending eternity looking up at people centuries younger than me...!
Ahem, anyway.
For a thousand years, my world was this tiny workshop. Around the time the "Arcana Academy" was newly built a millennium ago, I bought an entire building in a dim alley across from it.
Money? I'd saved up during my academy days. Even an average mage is high-value, so fifty years of study had netted a tidy sum.
With that, my research began. A century passed. I'd tried thousands of combinations, nearly every material length and size.
The result? A warehouse piled with wands.
As I pondered what to do with them, a little girl wandered in.
"Um... excuse me, but could I buy a wand?"
"A wand? Here...?"
"Yes! I've never seen so many wands in one place! Whoever made this many must be amazing!"
She was an adorable child. Petite, cute features, red cascading hair, vibrant green eyes. Her lively voice made me want to scoop her up and shower her with hugs. She introduced herself as Lishansus.
If "love" took human form, wouldn't it look just like her? The thought sparked a memory of my finest creation amid the failures—usable, if not for me. This girl might wield it.
"Uh, um... wait just a sec?"
I dashed to the vast warehouse. Row D-8, B-192. The best of three hundred years' work. I carefully lifted the elegant case. Opening it released a subtle, enchanting scent: feminine, pure, intensely romantic rose.
I handed the wand to the girl.
"Red rosewood with a pomegranate core. Known for its lovely fragrance."
The red rose symbolizes beautiful, romantic love. Pomegranate stone means love, friendship, and true hearts lead to victory and success.
"It suits someone as lovely as you."
"E-eh?"
"Never forget love. For a lover, family, or the world itself."
Obsessed with the ultimate wand, I couldn't use it. Pure love like that had faded long ago. So I gave it without hesitation—letting art gather dust is an insult.
"As long as you hold pure love, this wand will grant infinite power."
The girl named Lishansus bowed deeply, thanking me profusely before leaving.
About ten years later, customers flocked to my warehouse, hearing the Red Tower Master, Archmage Lishansus, had bought her wand here.
It felt surreal. My first customer became an archmage. And customers came at all.
On one hand, a relief. Even my best efforts were still failures. I'd worried, but it hadn't disappointed its owner.
At first, I handled sales myself. But as numbers grew, I couldn't keep up. My crafting time dwindled, so I made a magic doll as a sales agent.
After that, she handled all sales. Thus, the true identity of wandmaker Olivia faded into mystery.
After that, I rarely left the workshop. Except when owners of special wands appeared.
The second I remember was fifty years later.
"Wall jujube wood with amethyst core. Lightning patterns across the wand are its hallmark."
Wall jujube—struck jujube tree—bears clean lightning scars, priceless. Amethyst's purple has long been imperial.
No wonder it chose the ambitious third prince.
"Whoever wields this will rise high."
Years later, a blood purge hit the palace. Thankfully, my buyer won. It's the wand of Empire emperors to this day, they say.
Embarrassing that a flawed creation endures so long.
The third took another 150 years.
"Zitan wood with diamond core. It never bends."
Diamond, symbol of eternity, paired perfectly with the hardest wood, zitan. Unbreakable, steadfast.
It chose the Nordenburk firstborn, drawn to his unyielding heart.
"This wand won't break as long as your resolve holds."
House Nordenburk soon became the Empire's shield guarding the north.
The fourth, about a century later.
"Peony wood with pearl core. Picky one."
Peony—wealth and glory. Matched pearl perfectly. But oh, so choosy—nearly thirty years without an owner.
Finally, a merchant's son.
"This will bring you riches and fame."
He grew into a great merchant, founding the Eastern Trade Tariff Alliance, precursor to the Eastern Union Kingdom.
Good it didn't block his path.
The fifth held special meaning. Five hundred years ago, my first wand made for someone specific.
"World tree wood with aquamarine core. Made just for you."
World tree, elves' root of life. Aquamarine: eternal youth, happiness. Its owner: an elf girl.
She'd fled her dull village life, much like me. Introduced as Sylvia, she mirrored my past self—world-struck but talentless.
I didn't want her despairing like I had, so I poured my heart into it.
"Th-thank you, sis...!"
"This wand rewards effort. Elves have eternity—work hard, and you'll be a great mage someday."
"Yes...!"
"Promise me. Become a great mage, Sylvia."
She's the only direct recipient still alive. Cute and tiny back then... now I look up to her. Someday, I'll grow taller. She visits rarely, still using my wand. Embarrassing—it's no ultimate masterpiece.
And... the last one. Exactly 317 years ago, the final wand I sold myself. My black history.
Exhausted by failures, desperate for success—any means necessary. That birthed disaster.
"Sigh... Apple wood with turquoise core. Use it carefully. Don't let it consume you."
Turquoise—success, victory. Apple: success, fame. Obsession-born, its power was unparalleled.
But it chose an ambition-filled boy. I agonized over selling.
"Its owner will always succeed, always win."
"Sounds great!"
"The problem is what they'll do for it. It acts solely for your success."
"Perfect for me!"
As a crafter, I couldn't hoard it. Sold after hesitation.
The result was catastrophe. He sought world domination, summoning "fiends from beyond" outside the Absolute Defense Line—the "demons."
The Great War raged over a decade, countless dead.
It ended with the Fallen Apple Wand's master's death. The day I killed for the first time.
"...This wand should've stayed in the warehouse. Never given away, no matter what—even if it chose someone."
No trace of the boyish brilliance in the "Maou." Limbs rotted, face twisted, curly hair gone bald.
"This is my atonement."
"Grk..."
Good he couldn't speak. Hearing it was my fault would've broken me.
"Sorry. Be good in your next life."
Green murder magic flashed from the wand's tip.
Only six remained amid the battlefield: me, Red Tower Master, Empire Emperor, Nordenburk heir, Eastern Union King, Sylvia.
Coincidentally, all wielders of my wands. Bizarre, for such trifles.
"Imperial Year 1317, the Maou subjugation had only five heroes. Failed wandmaker Olivia wasn't there."
"But... sis!"
"It's all because of this wand. I bear responsibility for making it, Sylvia."
The blackened, charred Fallen Apple Wand from the corpse—its beauty lost to corruption.
"I can't be recorded as a hero."
I moved to destroy it.
"Hngh!?"
Until black lightning erupted. The wand vanished with it.
War's scars linger. Even three centuries later, black mages persist.
Maybe that's why I hesitated over the seventh: the Olive Wand.
I know little of the current world. Scared of its judgment, I secluded myself.
Sylvia shoves newspapers urging me out, but I burn them unread.
"Should I... really sell this?"
I agonized post-completion. But decided yes—for the missing Fallen Apple Wand.
To counter that evil, this peace symbol needed an owner.
"...Yeah. No one cares about a failed crafter's wands anyway."
Muttering, I placed the new wand on display.
Never imagining the fallout.
To mages, a wand is like a limb. Stories abound, but the most famous concern six wands.
Owning one signals power.
Rose Wand owner: Red Tower Master Elise Lishansus.
Wall Jujube Wand owner: Empire Emperor Arius XIV.
Zitan Wood Wand owner: Nordenburk heir Gunter Nordenburk.
Peony Wand owner: Eastern Union Kingdom representative.
World Tree Wand owner: Arcana Academy elf principal Sylvia.
And... Fallen Apple Wand owner: the dead Maou.
Olivia's "masterpieces." Their wielders dominated the continent.
So when word spread of a new masterpiece at Olivia's Wand Shop—
The continent flipped.