For a New Future
Heading back from the funeral, Tiny received a hero's welcome from the slums.
"Our little runt, where'd you get the money for a funeral like that?"
Five burly thugs lurking in the alley leading into the pleasure quarter scowled fiercely as they closed in on him.
"Hoo..."
He'd braced himself for this, but it still soured his mood. On top of that, he'd just awakened his mana and dragged Erina's coffin all the way to the burial site with his battered body. He was at his mental and physical limits.
But Tiny answered calmly.
"It was money sis saved up. I used it for her."
"Ha! This little shit. Who gave you permission?"
...As expected. They had no shred of conscience.
Before anger could surge, a wave of human revulsion made his skin crawl.
"You guys... aren't you ashamed, living like that?"
The words slipped out unfiltered, twisting the thugs' faces in unison.
"This brat's got some guts..."
"A pint-sized fucker begging to die!"
"What're we waiting for? Let's shake him down for whatever's left!"
Was this shame born from a sliver of conscience, or just the blind rage of utter scum? Either way, the thugs charged at the boy who looked barely ten.
Even accounting for offense at his words, their reaction was excessively brutal.
'Why...?'
In that instant, Tiny spotted a bucktoothed old man peeking from the alley behind the thugs.
'...Old man Hins.'
A hollow chuckle escaped him. The geezer must've blabbed something about his power.
But this overkill response was too much.
'I don't have the strength to fight right now.'
Just walking was a miracle in his condition. Even at full health, tangling with Wolf's goons unprepared wasn't smart.
'...Fucking disgusting.'
In a split second, Tiny curled up to protect his vitals.
Thud. Smack. Crack!
"You fucking shit!"
Wham.
"Where do you get off!"
Crack!
"Crawling up to us! You dare!"
Splat.
How much fury did they unleash? Finally, one whose blood had cooled a bit held back his comrades.
"Hey, hey, he'll die like this. Then we're the ones in trouble."
"Fuck that, goddamn it. What's it to us!"
"You gonna clean up the body?"
"Hah, shit..."
"Yo, he looks dead already? Not moving."
The thugs' eyes turned to the huddled, motionless boy. His skin was a mottled black-and-red from bruises, eyes shut, no chest rise or breath.
"Hah... Boss is gonna chew us out again."
"Should've never trusted that old fart Hins."
"Told ya, the geezer's senile. Makes sense? This runt a Mana User?"
Grumbling irritably, the thugs spat their pieces and turned away.
The moment they vanished down the alley, a redheaded woman burst out from the shadows.
"Those vicious bastards... Tiny! Snap out of it!"
Frantic, she checked his pulse and tried to lift his tiny frame.
A short sigh escaped, followed by a weak voice.
"...I'm... fine."
"Tin!"
"Don't... call me... that."
"Even now you're quibbling...? No, you're obviously not fine! Let's get you to a cleric. I have savings..."
"Really... I'm fine, Emma."
Hoo.
Unlike her worry, Tiny's speech sharpened with each word. The bruises blanketing his body visibly faded. Stunned, Emma could only stare.
Feeling her gaze, his barely open eyes fixed on the alley where the bucktoothed geezer had hidden.
The thugs hadn't bought the old man's tale, so they'd beaten him just enough and left. But without Emma jumping in first, Hins might've rushed over for the kill shot.
'Count yourself lucky, old man.'
Tiny poured his last reserves—the strength to snap the geezer's neck—into healing. He wheezed out ragged breaths.
Now was the time to recover and build power.
With no strength left even to twitch a finger, he collapsed into Emma's arms.
"...Thanks, Emma. I'll repay the favor."
No empty words. The creed of the Herculean Knight—to repay grudges and debts in full—was famous across the continent... or would be.
But even as she heard it, Emma's eyes scanned the boy's body.
She had to. The black-and-purple bruises were vanishing, leaving faint traces.
Even ignorant of magic or mana, she knew this was unnatural.
"...You, what the hell is this...?"
"...Keep it secret for a while. Just a month."
That'd be enough.
Tiny passed out before finishing.
* * *
'In a way, it worked out.'
His soul, adrift in unconsciousness, inspected his deeply sleeping body with a smile.
'A much better start.'
In his past life, right after awakening to mana, he'd floundered, clueless how to wield it. Mana circulation techniques or mana circuits were for squires of famed knights or noble heirs only.
Desperate, he'd molded mana to fit his body, hoping constant strengthening would let it fully absorb. Looking back, a barbaric idea—but his freakish mana affinity turned it into a secret art.
The self-made Mana Body, Nian Ti, he'd devised.
Its reckless start meant only after reaching mastery did he realize the foundation was flawed. Too late by then. He couldn't abandon superhuman power and restart.
'But not this time.'
Perfect fusion of Mana Body and flesh must be the base. His past method—blindly mimicking his body and amplifying—created dissonance to his dying breath, like drawing power from two separate forms.
Still, it yielded unmatched physical enhancement, recovery, and explosiveness...
'Not enough.'
To surpass his past peak and rival a legendary Aura Master, he'd need to face Demon King Army legion commanders one-on-one.
In that regard, this life's start—aiming beyond his past—was ideal.
Not fully intended, but repeated abuse and violence weakened his body, easing fusion with the nascent Mana Body.
Humm.
His will stirred; mana and flesh moved as one.
Confident true Mana Body training had taken root, his soul returned to flesh from the unconscious depths.
"Nngh."
Opening his eyes felt extraordinary. His body feather-light, like a bird.
Death's door at regression, or perfected Nian Ti?
'Both.'
Smiling, Tiny sprang up effortlessly.
The heavy grip in his clenched fist confirmed he'd fully reached Mana User level.
Qualitatively superior to normals, of course.
'Body's still too weak.'
Ten years old, underdeveloped even for his age, he looked younger. That's why they'd pegged him as the beggar runt.
Recalling bitter memories, he began loosening up.
'...Definitely possible.'
With Mana Body fused, he sensed his state precisely. Stunted by malnutrition now, but growth potential overflowed.
With Nian Ti training and proper food, he'd match peers in a month.
And as expected...
'Far denser and tougher than it looks.'
Enough to snap that bastard's neck.
Grind.
Gray hair, gray eyes flashed in his mind; teeth ground automatically.
'Won't kill you quick like last time.'
Desperate then, barely mustered strength to beat him to death.
This time, he'd savor every grudge, make him pay slow.
Hoo.
Exhaling, calming his heart, Tiny stretched methodically.
For revenge, he needed to forge this wretched body.
Emma's ramshackle hut saw no visitors—just potatoes piled as food substitute.
"One month from now."
Crack.
Straight punch; muscles and joints screamed from shoulder to fist.
Fused Nian Ti mana instantly mended tears and inflammation, but pain lingered.
Crack. Grind.
Tiny's face, slick with sweat from brutal motion, stayed stoic—no trace of agony.
'Martial Arts.'
Knights rarely learned barehanded combat, but his case differed. His warhammer for monster-slaying sucked against humans often.
Pre-mastery, he'd fought men fist-first.
With his strength plus steel gauntlets, deadly anyway.
His barehanded 'methods' gained infamy continent-wide.
Even 'Weapon Master' Grid—a past-life comrade—shuddered, teaching him Martial Arts to replace them.
- Don't use those brutal moves. Learn this instead.
Far-East martial art, dignified for bare combat.
But Tiny used it to refine his 'methods'.
- Ugh, you mad bastard...
Recalling the dignity-obsessed master nearly cursing brought a sly smile.
"Best for building the body."
Naturally, it evoked Glutterni battle where that master died—but whatever.
Smack!
'Wolf first.'
Self-slap scattered distractions.
'One at a time.'
Future thoughts muddled his head; he focused on gray-haired thug grudge.
Bang. Crack.
Mana amplified; air popped faintly.
Soon the cramped room filled with shadows of tiny, darting fists and feet.
A month flew by.
"You've really grown...?"
"Told you."
"When you wolfed down a month's rations in three days, I knew it wasn't normal... But this? Possible?"
Emma gawked at Tiny, bewildered.
He'd shot up over 20cm, sure—but still undersized for peers. A healthy, plump boy.
Unbelievable from his prior state, yet perhaps too soon for shock.
"Where's the boss now?"
"Wolf?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"...Time to collect sis's debt."
His gleaming black eyes made Emma swallow hard.
* * *
Thud. Thud.
Solid steps packed power into small feet. Kid-sized, but dense mass filled him.
'About double my size in density.'
Defied common sense. Mana wrought miracles; logic futile.
Key: this compressed frame rivaled adults.
Mana Body amplified it further.
'Way stronger than back then...'
Far beyond sixteen-year-old him who crushed Wolf's gang.
Plus, street scraps versus now's transcendent combat skill.
Thus, confident strides toward the target mansion.
The gate guards were familiar faces.
The bald one? He'd never forget the name.
'Gerik.'
The bastard who'd mocked Erina post-awakening.
"What's that runt...?"
"Didn't die?"
"Tough little shit."
Wolf's mansion guards scowled at the approaching black-haired, black-eyed boy.
Bigger now, but they didn't track every slum brat.
Just that creepy hair and eyes stood out. Unique among beggar packs.
Memory of nearly dumping his corpse granted faint mercy.
"Oi, kid. Scram."
"Not your place."
"Beat it before you get hurt."
Restraining to curses was mercy; usually fists first.
But the kid exceeded expectations.
"Wolf inside?"
"...What?"
Absurdity delayed their reply.
"Kid, you nuts?"
"Is he? Or not?"
"You crazy fu— Gaaak!"
Bald Gerik's kick attempt brought ankle agony—like crushed bone. It was.
Shattered fragments gripped, Tiny flung Gerik's body airborne against his will.
BOOM!!!
Deafening crash; Gerik's lights out.
"Asked if he's in or not?"
The monster kid grinning wickedly—using a man as a club to smash another—left survivors nodding frantically.