A Fool's Resolve
The tiers of magic were far more strictly defined than the realms of swordsmanship.
The difference between a 2nd-tier and a 3rd-tier mage began with the sheer volume of mana they could command. The gap was more pronounced than the difference between a novice who had just picked up a sword and an Aura User.
Spells that were utterly impossible to cast with the mana pool of a 2nd-tier could be wielded with ease by a 3rd-tier.
"Just like this..."
A rune materialized in the air.
A vibration rippled from my fingertips, shattering a nearby glass in an instant.
The rune was Hagalaz (ᚺ). Its effect: collapse.
It was a rune I couldn't have used at the 2nd-tier no matter how hard I tried. But now, things were different. The process of recognition, construction, and manifestation flowed as naturally as water.
Flash!
I coated the iron sword in my right hand with Aura, then engraved Hagalaz directly onto it. Aura and magic were inherently incompatible forces. Yet, the rune blended seamlessly into the Aura.
It was all thanks to the atypical mana core Lunia had helped me secure.
"Not bad."
The elixir's efficacy far surpassed my expectations. I hadn't just barely scraped my way into the 3rd-tier; I had already reached its middle stages.
In fact, a massive reserve of unrefined energy from the elixir was still swirling around my mana core. If I absorbed it gradually over time, I would be able to advance my realm at an even faster pace.
"I might reach the heights of my past life much faster than I anticipated."
It had been a mere month since I first dipped my toes into magic, yet I was already a 3rd-tier mage. At the same time, I was an Aura User.
This alone meant I had already far outpaced my progress from my previous life.
"In my past life, I didn't become an Aura User until I was twenty."
I was roughly six years ahead of schedule.
Of course, my growth in my past life had been anything but slow. I had managed to reach the level of a Sword Master using nothing but a third-rate street style I'd picked up in the back alleys. When Lunia first heard my story, she had been utterly flabbergasted.
"Are you insane? That's like a dragon rising from a cesspool."
We hadn't been close back then, so we often traded rather blunt, borderline rude remarks.
I let out a dry chuckle. Just as I was about to disperse the mana coating my sword—
Knock, knock.
Someone was at the door.
I opened it to find a boy with short-cropped blonde hair standing in the hallway.
"Brock?"
It was Brock von Benheim, the branch family mage I had thoroughly thrashed not too long ago.
"What brings you here? Shouldn't you be out running around with your little gang?"
At my question, Brock took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he yelled at the top of his lungs:
"P-Please make me your disciple!"
"...What?"
What on earth is that guy?
Brock von Benheim, a branch family mage of the Benheim house, had spent the last few days holed up in his room, lost in deep thought. His mind was entirely consumed by a person he simply could not comprehend.
Raygan, that bastard... what kind of trick did he pull?
It made absolutely no sense.
It defied all common sense.
A few days ago, Brock had challenged Raygan under the guise of a traditional hazing.
He had been utterly defeated in a mere two exchanges.
Raygan had dispersed Brock's Rune Magic with a single wave of his hand, and in the very next instant, he had branded the flame rune, Kenaz, right onto Brock's chest. If Raygan hadn't held back, Brock would have been critically injured, if not killed.
The other branch mages who had jumped in to help were swept aside just as effortlessly.
The gap between us was astronomical.
Brock refused to believe the rumor that Raygan had only begun studying magic a month ago.
Even if the Patriarch had bestowed an elixir upon him as the rumors claimed, that alone couldn't possibly account for such an overwhelming disparity in skill.
That left only one logical conclusion.
Raygan had been a trained mage all along.
It was a conclusion born of Brock's wounded pride and desperate need to rationalize his defeat.
Who is he really? Where did this stray come from to earn the Patriarch's personal favor?
After agonizing over it, Brock formulated a hypothesis.
Maybe he's a spy.
A spy planted in the family by a rival magic house or even black mages.
After all, the family heirloom had recently been stolen, and Lady Lunia herself had been attacked.
But there was no way the Patriarch, a formidable 7th-tier archmage, would fail to see through a young spy.
As his thoughts spun in endless circles, a new hypothesis flashed through Brock's mind—one that was highly scandalous, yet perfectly explained every single anomaly.
...Could Raygan be the Patriarch's secret illegitimate son?
Brock cut off his own train of thought, shaking his head violently.
He knew it was a highly disrespectful assumption, but once the seed of doubt was planted, it grew at an uncontrollable rate.
"I'm going to find out who you really are."
Gnashing his teeth, Brock began to spy on Raygan's every move.
But his observations only served to deepen his suspicions.
What on earth is he doing?
Raygan's daily routine was bizarre. Unlike a proper mage, he headed out to the annex garden the moment dawn broke. There, he would train until he was drenched in sweat.
Why is a mage pushing his body to such extremes?
Raygan would do pull-ups from tree branches or run laps while carrying a massive boulder on his back.
To Brock, the training seemed utterly barbaric. It was the kind of grueling physical conditioning reserved for knights.
For a mage, who should be focusing on refining their mana control, to spend so much energy on physical labor was an incomprehensible eccentricity.
Raygan's bizarre behavior carried over into his magic practice as well.
Shatter!
He would float a perfectly manifested rune spell in midair, only to intentionally collide it with another spell and smash it to pieces.
What a colossal waste of mana!
To Brock, it didn't look like Raygan was studying the principles of magic at all; he looked like a child playing with toy blocks, building them up only to knock them down.
But the most baffling sight of all was when Raygan trained with a crude iron sword in his right hand.
He would swing the sword with one hand while drawing runes in the air with his left.
It was a style that seemed utterly foolish, yet Brock found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the hypnotic rhythm of it.
He's a complete freak.
Furthermore, Raygan's manners were beyond unrefined—they bordered on vulgar.
He would ignore the fine silverware provided by the servants and eat with his bare hands, a habit typical of a common street beggar.
Having received a proper noble upbringing, Brock found the mere fact of sharing a space with such a crude individual deeply offensive.
"Hello there."
On the third day of his surveillance, Brock finally stumbled upon a decisive clue.
Lady Lunia, the Patriarch's daughter and a direct descendant of the Benheim line, paid a visit to the annex.
Instinctively, Brock suppressed his presence and slipped behind a tree.
Just ahead, Lady Lunia was smiling warmly, speaking to Raygan in private. Brock strained his ears to catch their conversation.
"Lunia, aren't you supposed to avoid meeting me?"
"Not anymore. Father told me to get close to you."
"Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Who knows? I guess he took a liking to you."
Brock could hardly believe his ears.
Even as a branch family mage who had lived in the Benheim estate for nearly five years, Brock could count the number of times he had spoken to Lunia on one hand.
Yet here was Lunia von Benheim, speaking so intimately to an outsider—and a lowborn one at that.
To make matters worse, Raygan was addressing her casually by her first name, completely discarding any honorifics.
No way...
In that instant, all the scattered puzzle pieces in Brock's mind clicked into place.
The Patriarch's unprecedented favor.
The logic-defying talent and bizarre behavior.
And... his incredibly close relationship with Lady Lunia.
Of course! It makes perfect sense if he's the Patriarch's illegitimate son!
Brock was entirely convinced. Raygan wasn't just some random commoner. He carried the blood of Benheim—specifically, the Patriarch's own blood.
A shiver ran down his spine. He realized how incredibly foolish and narrow-minded he had been to try and oppose this rising star.
In that case...
Brock made a firm decision.
His pride as a mage and a noble had already been ground to dust by his crushing defeat a few days ago.
"Accept me as your disciple!"
Brock resolved to hitch his wagon to this rising star.
In other words, he was going to leech off him.
"...A disciple?"
I stared down at Brock, wondering if I had misheard.
Unless my ears were playing tricks on me, Brock was begging me to be his mentor.
"...A disciple? You want to be my disciple?"
"Yes! I want to learn from you and become stronger!"
I was utterly flabbergasted.
Before my regression, Brock von Benheim had been a man defined by his stubborn pride. He was the guy who had trained relentlessly every single day, driven by a desperate desire to surpass me until the very moment of his death.
Yet here he was, down on both knees, begging me to take him in.
I suppose it's because he's still young.
That had to be it.
Unlike the man I knew, this Brock was still a teenager. He hadn't even reached adulthood yet, so his pride was still malleable enough to swallow.
I let out a soft chuckle.
"Brock, why do you want me to teach you?"
"You're strong. Stronger than anyone else in this annex. And... I've figured out the secret behind your strength. That's why I want to follow you and learn as much as I can."
"The secret... behind my strength?"
"Yes. You don't have to hide it anymore. I already know everything!"
Brock puffed out his chest with a look of supreme confidence.
"Hmm."
There was absolutely no way he had figured out I was a regressor.
I narrowed my eyes at him. His eyes were practically sparkling with expectation.
He's definitely misunderstanding something, but...
I saw no reason to correct him.
If Brock was willing to willingly align himself with me, it only worked to my advantage.
To avert the impending disasters of the future, I needed to gather as many capable allies as possible.
"Let's get one thing straight: I have no intention of formally teaching you."
I had never possessed a talent for instruction.
In my past life, a few hopefuls had followed me around begging to learn my swordsmanship, but almost all of them had quit within a year, unable to handle my methods.
"But I don't mind letting you be my training partner."
In truth, having Brock as a training partner was highly beneficial for me as well.
Ever since I had begun practicing 3rd-tier Rune Magic, I had run into a persistent issue.
Self-study only goes so far.
Especially when it came to the theoretical foundations.
While even the past-life Lunia had praised my innate mana control, my actual knowledge of magical theory was severely lacking. I was a swordsman by nature; I had never cast a single spell in my previous life.
What I needed right now was a solid, orthodox foundation.
Asking Sheryl was out of the question, as her specialty lay in shadow magic.
In that regard, Brock would be the perfect resource to help me refine my skills.
"If you can follow my training regimen without a single complaint, I'll let you train with me. What do you say?"
"Deal!"
Brock nodded eagerly.
From that day forward, Brock joined my daily sessions, and the nature of my training evolved.
Having a partner to spar with was infinitely more effective than simply memorizing spellbooks in isolation. In that regard, Brock served as an excellent training dummy.
Flash!
Three runes materialized in the air before me.
It was my first time attempting to cast three spells simultaneously.
"How's that?"
"...Raygan, are you absolutely sure you only started learning magic a month ago?"
"How many times are you going to ask me that? I told you, yes."
"Unbelievable... I guess blood really doesn't lie."
"Blood?"
"N-Nothing!"
In any case, Brock was a 3rd-tier mage, just like me. But unlike me, he had trained under the Benheim family for over seven years, meaning his theoretical knowledge was vastly superior to mine.
In other words, I could milk him for that knowledge.
"So, what do you think?"
"It's incredibly impressive. Honestly, very few 3rd-tier mages can cast so fluidly. But..."
Brock trailed off. I gave him a look that demanded he finish his thought, and he reluctantly continued.
"If I may offer some feedback... Raygan, you're casting purely by instinct."
"By instinct?"
"Yes. I'm not saying your instincts are bad. But a truly great mage manages their mana through cold, rational calculation. They dismantle and reassemble the trinity of casting—recognition, construction, and manifestation—with absolute precision. Our family's Rune Magic requires an immense level of delicacy. If you rely solely on raw feeling, you'll hit a wall eventually."
"Hmm."
It was a fair critique.
To a lifelong swordsman like me, magic was ultimately just another tool in my arsenal.
I spent far more time thinking about how to apply a spell in combat rather than how to maximize the efficiency of the spell itself.
"Alright. Then get ready to be my target."
"Who are you calling a target?!"
Brock barked back.
Yet, despite his grumbling, he immediately braced himself to defend against my incoming spells.
"You promised you'd help me with my mana control after this!"
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
While Brock provided me with theoretical knowledge, I guided him on the finer points of mana manipulation. It wasn't difficult for me; after swordsmanship, mana control was the area I excelled in most, even in my past life.
Brock himself was clearly thrilled by his rapid progress.
Brock's talent was undeniable. In my past life, he had reached the 6th-tier and become the leader of the family's guard. In this life, with proper guidance, he might even reach the 7th-tier.
I won't let you die this time.
More importantly, the Hunt was only a few days away.
If Stern's suspicions were correct, there was a high probability that black mages would infiltrate the event. While I could protect Lunia, I couldn't be everywhere at once to protect the others.
I had to make sure Brock, at least, was strong enough to defend himself.
A week passed in this manner.
"Hey, everyone! The mages of the Lucen family have arrived!"
One of the branch family's gossips came running with the news.
The delegation from the House of Count Lucen had arrived ahead of the Hunt.
"Are you going to check it out?"
Brock asked. I shrugged.
"Might as well."
Swept along by a crowd of eager branch mages, we made our way to the estate's central plaza. A grand platform had already been erected to welcome the Lucen delegation.
Patriarch Stern von Benheim and the family elders occupied the seats of honor, while the elite mages of Benheim, clad in deep purple robes, stood in neat rows below them.
I happened to catch Lunia's eye. She gave me a cheerful wave, and I reluctantly raised a hand in response. At that, she playfully stuck her tongue out at me.
"I knew it..."
Brock muttered under his breath.
He had been muttering all sorts of nonsense lately, clearly convinced that there was some scandalous secret between Lunia and me.
"So, Brock. What do you know about the Lucen family?"
Brock smirked proudly at my question.
"Why ask the obvious? The Lucens are masters of shaping magic."
"Shaping magic?"
"Yeah. It's a school of magic specialized in weaving mana like thread to construct physical objects. In particular, their signature spell, Sword Creation Magic, is famous for forging blades directly out of mana. That's why they're commonly known as 'Lucen of the Forged Blades.'"
"Hmm..."
Forging swords out of mana, huh?
That actually piqued my interest.
As we watched, the massive iron gates of the estate swung open, and a grand procession of carriages rolled into the plaza.
How extravagant.
Gilded carriages entered the courtyard one after another.
The lead carriage bore a prominent sculpture of a rearing gryphon on its roof.
Lucen.
I had heard the name several times in my past life, so I remembered them well enough.
They were one of the great magic families.
They were also the very first family to be annihilated by Demian Carius, the Archduke of Demonic Magic.
Because of that, they didn't occupy much space in my memories, though I did recall a few of their surviving mages who had fought bitterly against the Archduke.
If I recall correctly...
Click.
The carriage door swung open, and a man stepped out.
He was a middle-aged man who looked to be in his forties at most. Long, crimson-tinted hair cascaded down to his waist, and he wore a dark, blood-red robe.
"Kaiden Lucen. Welcome."
Stern rose from his seat of honor and descended the steps of the platform to greet him.
The Patriarch of Lucen, Kaiden Lucen, bowed slightly in greeting.
So that's the new Patriarch of Lucen.
I had heard a bit about Kaiden Lucen from Lunia in my past life.
"He was a fool. He ruined the Lucen family because he was utterly obsessed with the absurd notion that superior bloodlines are the sole source of magical greatness."
Mage supremacy.
Bloodline elitism.
Authoritarianism.
He was the epitome of incompetence, embodying every single negative trait a mage could possess.
In that sense, the new Patriarch of Lucen was a disaster of his own making—a completely different kind of catastrophe than the Archduke of Demonic Magic.
