Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 8
>Chapter Title: The World is Vast, and Bitter
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The stage was set.
In the space cleared by the trainees sitting in a circle, the duel participants took their places in the center.
Everyone watched the scene with keen interest—everyone except one. The instructor was the only one wearing a grim expression.
“Um, Head Butler, sir. Isn’t this a bit too dangerous…?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Well, Aster is a guest of the Young Patriarch, and I hear he’s never properly learned magic. Starting a head-on clash like this out of nowhere…”
“That’s precisely why it’s so valuable. That stubbornness of his needs to be broken at some point. Once it is, Aster will take another step forward in his growth.”
“…”
The instructor gave up on arguing in the face of that resolute tone.
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head.
There were exactly three people who could rein in Alfredo, the head butler, in that state.
The Patriarch, the Madam, and the Young Patriarch.
And right now, the only reliable one was…
‘…The Madam. She needs to come, the Madam.’
But who could fetch her in this situation?
No one.
Just as that thought crossed his mind…
“...?”
A boy stood frozen at the entrance to the training grounds.
A familiar servant stood beside him, and the instructor quickly realized who the boy was.
“Y-Young Patriarch!”
“Yeah?”
The instructor rushed over to Damian in a heartbeat.
“R-right now, your friend is in a really dangerous spot. Please, talk the head butler out of this. Making him duel five trainees—what kind of nonsense is this…?”
“A duel?!”
“Yes, exactly. A duel!”
The instructor inwardly cheered at Damian’s slightly stiffened expression.
‘Jackpot! We’re saved! He can stop the head butler!’
From what he’d heard, this was a friend the Young Patriarch cherished deeply. There was no way he’d just stand by and watch something this risky.
Even the head butler would snap back to his senses after a stern scolding from the Young Patriarch.
‘…Thank goodness.’
Everything that happened in the training grounds was the instructor’s responsibility, no matter how much it stemmed from Head Butler Alfredo’s whims.
By nature timid, the instructor longed for a stable life with modest, steady gains. This situation was anything but welcome.
But then.
“Me?”
“Yes…?”
“I wanna watch too.”
“…”
The instructor’s mind went blank.
His own life was already hanging by a thread because of that boy, a guest of the Young Patriarch. And now the Young Patriarch himself was joining in?
If the boy was a gentle breeze ruffling his life, the Young Patriarch was a typhoon that would blow everything away.
It wouldn’t end with a few months’ pay cut—his lifespan would be shortened.
Fortunately, someone with common sense was present.
“Young Patriarch?”
“Yeah?”
At the servant’s call, Damian looked up.
“If you squeeze in there to watch, the Madam will scold you.”
“Not if I don’t get caught.”
“Like with ‘that word,’ right?”
“…”
Damian clamped his mouth shut.
It seemed the servant had decided to keep quiet about ‘that word.’
But now, even Damian knew it was a bad enough term to warrant etiquette lessons, even if he didn’t know its exact meaning.
“I don’t know words like that.”
“Of course not, sir. As long as you don’t squeeze in there to watch.”
“…”
Damian sealed his lips tight and slipped into the crowd of onlookers.
The trainees spotted him and started to bow hastily, but they averted their eyes at the sight of his pursed lips.
The servant watched until the end, then turned on his heel.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, please… hurry.”
The instructor practically begged.
Please bring the Madam quickly.
But his desperate wish fell flat.
“Instructor, what are you doing? Come over here and start the duel.”
Alfredo’s order rang in his ear.
“B-but Young Master Damian has arrived over there…”
He tried to stall, even throwing Damian under the bus amid the onlookers, but it didn’t faze Alfredo one bit.
“He looks displeased. The Young Master likes to be alone when he’s in a bad mood. And it seems he wants to watch the duel, so shouldn’t we get started?”
“…Yes, understood.”
The instructor nodded weakly.
Rank was everything.
Head Butler Alfredo was a man whose authority even the current Patriarch respected. A lowly instructor like him couldn’t defy that.
At least when it was all over, the servant from earlier would vouch for his efforts.
Or so he thought.
The instructor trudged over despondently and positioned himself between Aster and the trainees.
“Then I’ll explain the rules. The duel format is turn-based…”
“Hm, skip the turns. Let’s make it an annihilation match.”
‘Ugh.’
The instructor swallowed a sigh.
Turn-based was the standard light duel format for mages, where they traded one attack each.
Breaking the barrier meant defeat, and above all, it was safe.
But an annihilation match…
They exchanged blows like in real combat until one side surrendered completely.
Far riskier than turns, with a much higher chance of accidents.
But rank was everything, as always.
“The format is annihilation. The duel continues until one side fully surrenders. However, the instructor may halt it at his discretion, so keep that in mind…”
With that, he pulled a coin from his pocket.
“It starts when the coin hits the ground. Take your positions.”
Aster and the trainees were already in place, so no one moved.
“I’ll toss the coin now. Don’t worry about stray magic effects. The trainees’ barrier will contain them.”
As he said, a round dome-shaped barrier enveloped the space, courtesy of the trainees.
And with that, he tossed it.
Cling!
The coin soared into the air.
And when it fell.
Cling-grang.
The duel began.
* * *
Just a few days since his regression.
Even operating the Heavenly Origin Art daily, the mana Aster had gathered was pitifully small.
His past life’s lofty realm offered only mental benefits in this one—no shortcuts.
Even for Aster, there was no quick way to amass mana.
In contrast, what of Winston and the other four trainees?
Young as they were, they hailed from one of the top five mage families on the eastern continent, with rigorous, consistent training.
Their secret arts were high-grade ones provided by the Blandoga family, and their mana reserves were ample thanks to Blandoga support.
Objectively speaking, a duel Aster couldn’t win.
Everyone present knew this, regardless of whether they knew his background.
And yet.
- I’ll take on all five of you at once.
Where on earth did that absurd confidence come from?
‘Damn gutter rat.’
Winston glared at Aster, fury boiling over.
‘The Young Patriarch pities him, so he thinks he owns the world?’
Nothing else made sense.
Basking in both the Young Patriarch’s and the head butler’s favor—how laughable the world must seem.
He’d crush him. And with the Young Patriarch watching, he’d expose the filthy rat’s true colors.
That was Winston’s mindset.
The other four trainees felt much the same.
But why?
Cling-grang!
The moment the duel started, Winston’s mind went blank.
Thwack!
“Guh!”
A brutal shock slammed into his solar plexus.
‘What the… hell? Why?’
No hint of a spell. Something just struck his gut. The pain felt like being hammered with a lump of iron…
“Guhk, heuk…”
He couldn’t even breathe properly.
‘H-help…’
Winston turned his eyes to his comrades, pleading for aid.
But the sight that met him was utterly incomprehensible.
“Kuuk, ugh.”
“Huhk!”
The other trainees, clutching their solar plexuses just like him, writhing on the ground.
They all looked up with the same thought, their eyes filled with bewilderment.
As the five trainees exchanged baffled glances, a chilling voice echoed.
“The world is vast. And bitter.”
All eyes turned to Aster.
And soon, they realized what had hit them.
Aster’s palm faced the ceiling. Tiny blue orbs floated above his fingers.
Small—nail-sized, perhaps? The shape was familiar.
‘Mana… bullets?’
Not even real magic.
Basic mana manipulation training for novice mages learning attack spells.
Useless in mage duels.
Instant casting was its only merit, but the mana cost dwarfed actual spells.
Plus, raw mana couldn’t pierce mages’ mana resistance.
So how did it pack this punch…?
That’s when Aster spoke again.
“From now on, I’ll teach you firsthand how vast and bitter the world is. Learn it with your bodies.”
Pew-pew, pew!
“Gaaak!”
Five more mana bullets struck the trainees.
Aster stepped forward.
No more magic.
“Guhk! Guk!”
Just merciless beatings with fists and feet.
Nothing else.
* * *
The duel began with grim determination and ended in utter anticlimax.
Well, not entirely over.
Inside the circle of seated trainees, Aster was still moving.
But it was too broken to call a duel anymore.
“Guhk, please… guk!”
“No, don’t surrender. Not yet.”
Aster roamed about, pummeling the trainees. Whenever one tried to yield, he’d snipe them with a ghostly mana bullet to silence them.
And that wasn’t all.
“It doesn’t hurt if it heals!”
Somehow slipped inside the barrier, Damian was healing the trainees.
Not the fallen ones, but the ones Aster was actively beating.
‘Please, Young Patriarch…’
If he healed them while they were down, a simple “I surrender” would end it.
But healing them mid-beating kept them from collapsing, prolonging the agony. Aster beat them until they dropped, but they wouldn’t drop.
The instructor gave up thinking about it.
‘I don’t know anymore.’
His mind was blank—demotions, blame, all white noise.
Meanwhile, Alfredo watching the scene…
‘…Incredible.’
Nothing short of awe.
‘Mana bullets like that? How many compressions?’
That power required at least four or five folds—not one or two.
Watching it brought back a memory.
‘That time…’
Even at their first meeting, Aster had conjured mana bullets.
He’d brushed it off as basic then, but now it sent chills down his spine.
He was different from the trainees, so no real threat, but still astonishing.
The true marvel, though…
‘Innate mana manipulation.’
Why mana bullets weren’t used in real fights was simple.
No one else could do it.
Even high-realm mages struggled with raw mana over spells.
He’d chalked it up to keen senses, raw talent. Now he’d glimpsed Aster’s true gift.
And there was another kind of surprise.
“Huh.”
Alfredo took in Aster thrashing the trainees. He thought to himself.
“How does he beat them so well?”
No amateur’s work.
One body against five, distributing blows like an orchestra conductor.
Everyone stared, dumbfounded.
That’s when it happened.
“Alfredo!”
A sharp voice from the training grounds entrance.
“M-Madam…?”
Why was the Madam here?
That’s when…
“…Ah.”
Reason finally dawned on Alfredo.
In the center of the training grounds.
Trainees battered like neighborhood punching bags.
Aster, the Young Patriarch’s guest, was clubbing them like goblins on a festival day, with the Young Patriarch beaming innocently at his side, helping out.
What scene could be more chaotic?
Probably none.