I Think I'll Be a Mage This Time

It took three days to face reality.

At first, I was half-doubtful. I thought it was just a terrible dream. But as one day became two, and two became three, I had no choice but to accept it.

I wasn't waking up.

This was reality.

Ten years ago...

I sat blankly in the mercenary barracks, sorting through my thoughts.

I, who should have died at the hands of the Archduke of Demonic Magic, had returned ten years into the past.

There was plenty of proof. Mercenaries who should have been rotting in their graves were walking around perfectly fine, and the worn-out club resting by my bedside was unmistakably the weapon I had used during my apprentice days.

...I returned to the past.

For some reason, at the moment of my death, I had regressed ten years.

I thought it was absurd, but with reality staring me so vividly in the face, there was no reason to disbelieve it.

I had regressed. I accepted that fact. The remaining question, then, was how and why?

In all my half-lifetime wandering the world as a mercenary, I had never once heard of anyone turning back time.

Then who, and for what purpose, had rewound the clock?

Was I truly the only one who knew?

Why ten years ago, of all times?

Questions bubbled up to the surface of my consciousness one after another.

But there was one thing I suspected.

...Could it be this pendant?

I stared down at Lunia's pendant dangling against my chest. The slot in the center of the pendant was wide open. Inside, a strangely shaped rune glowed faintly.

Lunia had mentioned there was one final rune inside the pendant that she hadn't been able to decipher yet. If there was a reason for my regression, this object was almost certainly the cause.

If Lunia had planned all this and handed the pendant to me...

"That girl... she went and dumped a troublesome task on me."

But an opportunity had presented itself.

An opportunity to set the world right.

I was no hero striving to save the world, much less a saint.

I was just a mercenary.

And when a mercenary accepted a commission, he was duty-bound to carry it out.

Looking at the pendant, I recalled the message Lunia had left me in my past life.

"Since she went ahead and hired me on her own whim."

My contract with Lunia seemed to persist even now, back in the past.

Her goal was to kill the Archduke of Demonic Magic.

"This time, I will definitely kill him."

If so, I would simply fulfill her wish.

The Archduke of Demonic Magic would plunge the continent into chaos seven years from now.

Since that was when he would officially raise his army, he must have been quietly laying the groundwork long before then.

As soon as he raised his forces, he overthrew the prestigious magic families, including the Benheim family, and plundered their secret texts. He likely intended to use them as stepping stones to reach the 9th Circle.

I had a grace period of about five or six years.

I have to start preparing right now.

It was a span of time that could be considered plenty, or terribly brief, depending on how one looked at it.

To defeat the Archduke of Demonic Magic, I had to become far stronger than I was in my past life.

First, I needed to check my physical condition.

I focused my consciousness and scanned my body.

Having lived the harsh life of a mercenary since childhood, my body itself was reasonably well-conditioned. However, there wasn't a single speck of mana inside me.

Compared to my body from before my regression, when I was hailed as the Sword God, this was a barren wasteland—not even a dried-up spring.

At this point in time, I wasn't in any position to even grasp the concept of mana.

To use mana, one had to form a mana core within the body. The methods for forming a mana core, known as mana cultivation techniques, were sold at exorbitant prices. It wasn't a sum a mere boy doing chores for a third-rate mercenary group could ever hope to afford.

But before I was a stray, I was a swordsman who had reached the level of a Sword Master with nothing but a single worn-out blade.

Even without a proper cultivation technique, I could initiate myself into mana through sheer instinct. And I could reach the level of a Sword Master within the next seven years.

Since I had done it in my past life, following the exact same path would allow me to reach my former heights even faster this time.

No.

But I had no intention of repeating the exact same steps.

Even after giving it my all, I hadn't been able to take so much as a single arm from the Archduke of Demonic Magic. The gap between us was wider than the distance between heaven and earth.

Therefore, I had to become stronger than in my past life. To face the Archduke of Demonic Magic, the most terrible mage in human history, I needed to ascend to an even higher realm.

Conveniently, words that Lunia had often said to me came to mind.

— Whenever I look at you, Raygan, I can't help but feel a bit sad.

— Sad? What do you mean by that?

— Your environment didn't match your talent. If you had grown up in a good environment and systematically built up your skills, you would have reached a realm incomparable to someone like me by now.

— ...It's all meaningless talk at this point anyway.

It had been meaningless talk back then.

But things were different now.

I had returned to the past, armed with future knowledge and experience.

Just as Lunia had said, I now had the environment to systematically build up my strength from the very beginning.

"Sword Saint... or the 9th Circle."

The conventional wisdom was that the limit for a warrior was Sword Master, and the limit for a mage was the 7th Circle. Yet, before my regression, I knew of two mages who had transcended those limits.

Lunia, who had reached the 8th Circle, and the Archduke of Demonic Magic, who had transcended even her.

The precedent already existed.

If so, it was possible for me as well.

"Let's do this."

I steeled my resolve.

Now that my goal was set, it was time to find the means.

"First..."

I looked up at the ceiling. True to a mercenary camp, the torch hanging from the tent frame flickered precariously.

"...I should go collect my back pay."

"What? Raygan is acting strange?"

"Yes, sir. He must have eaten something bad."

Gerkin, the mercenary leader, frowned at his tearful subordinate.

"Eaten something bad? Like poisonous mushroom soup or something?"

"No, it's... it's like he's become a completely different person."

"A different person?"

"The kid who used to just work without a single complaint hasn't been eating or sleeping for days. And yesterday, he beat his senior like a dog! He even thrashed the peer who came to break it up! Don't you think he's possessed by an evil spirit? Maybe we should call a shaman..."

"Shut up. What kind of nonsense are you spouting in broad daylight?"

"It's not nonsense! Most of the mercenaries living with him are terrified of him! At this rate, someone's going to end up dead..."

Listening to his subordinate's whining, Gerkin felt a headache coming on.

In the end, these fools couldn't even handle a single rebellious rookie, so they were coming to him, their leader, for help.

Gerkin let out a deep sigh.

"Isn't he just going through puberty?"

"...Ah, that might be it!"

The subordinate nodded vigorously at Gerkin's words.

Puberty.

True, boys around that age tended to develop a sudden, baseless confidence.

"Fine. Call him in. A good thrashing will snap him out of it. It's about time I tightened up discipline anyway..."

Click.

Before Gerkin could even finish his sentence, the barracks door swung open.

Stepping inside was the gray-haired youth, Raygan.

"Haha. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear."

Gerkin grinned, looking at Raygan.

But immediately after, a heavy sense of unease washed over him.

Did this kid always have eyes like that?

Raygan. A boy who had just turned eighteen, and the lowest-ranking member of the Black Fang Mercenary Group led by Gerkin.

Feeling pity for an orphaned beggar boy, Gerkin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had given him odd jobs in exchange for food and shelter. It had already been five years.

Over those years, Gerkin had always thought of Raygan as a wooden doll.

He was quiet, and no matter what task he was given, he would execute it even if it broke his body. He was a boy who functioned like a tool.

Gerkin wasn't a slave trader, but he knew very well that a boy like Raygan would fetch a premium price. He had fully intended to sell him off to a slaver once his body was too broken to be useful.

But the aura radiating from Raygan right now was entirely different from yesterday.

Though only a third-rate mercenary, Gerkin had survived on the blade for over a decade, and he could tell.

Those eyes could not belong to an ordinary boy. It was the gaze of a veteran swordsman who had crossed the threshold of death multiple times and cut down dozens of men.

"...So this is where you were, Captain. I have something to say."

Perhaps intimidated by that gaze, Gerkin found himself unable to react until Raygan walked up and spoke.

Raygan sat in the chair across the table and said flatly,

"I'm quitting the mercenary group."

"...What?"

Gerkin scowled, studying Raygan's face. The boy's expression was serene. In fact, he looked as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

Gerkin wanted to nod and get it over with, but doing so would damage his authority as the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leader. He scowled, lowering his voice as much as possible.

"Hey, brat. You haven't even been in my mercenary group for three years."

"I know. But I'm still quitting. It turns out mercenary work doesn't really suit me."

"...Hmph. Well, if that's truly what you want..."

It was nice having cheap labor, but what can you do?

Just as Gerkin thought that—

"How much is my severance pay?"

"...What?"

"I have to travel far, and I need travel expenses. Since I've worked without pay for over three years, you should at least give me my back wages. Didn't you say you were keeping my lump sum safe to give to me when I became an adult, Captain?"

Asking for money.

To Gerkin, a mercenary to his very bones, those words were an absolute taboo.

"What the hell have you been babbling about? Have you lost your mind?"

"No, I'm perfectly sane. You need to pay what you owe. Did you really think I didn't know you were leeching off me, planning to sell me to a slave trader once I outlived my usefulness?"

Raygan said, frowning. How did he know? While Gerkin stood speechless, his secret laid bare, Raygan pressed on relentlessly.

"I know you squandered all the money you promised to save for me on gambling. I also know you embezzled the advance payment from our recent commission to throw a drinking party with your cronies. Did you think the other mercenaries let it slide because they didn't know? Live like that, and you're bound to get a knife in your back."

Gerkin's face flushed crimson, then turned pale at the rapid-fire accusations.

He thought he had hidden it well. Where on earth had this brat Raygan heard about all this?

"Hey, shut your mouth! The others will hear you!"

Gerkin hurriedly cut Raygan off.

Sure enough, the expressions of the nearby mercenaries were already darkening.

"Then you shouldn't have done things you're ashamed of. If you don't want to hear it, just give me my back pay."

Raygan spoke bluntly.

"You... you little bastard...!"

Gerkin could no longer hold back. The strange atmosphere surrounding the boy was no longer a concern.

"You barge in here, say you're quitting, and now you've finally gone mad! What about all the food and shelter I provided? How dare a little brat like you demand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠money from—!"

Crack!

In that instant, his vision flipped upside down.

A scabbard, flying at lightning speed, had struck Gerkin squarely in the temple.

Before he knew it, Raygan was holding a scabbard in his hand.

It was none other than Gerkin's own scabbard.

How had he stolen it, and when had he swung it?

The strike had been too fast for the eye to follow.

Could that truly be a strike delivered by a boy who hadn't even reached adulthood?

Gerkin's thoughts cut off there.

"I told you, you should've listened when I was being nice."

As his consciousness faded, Raygan was merely scratching the back of his head with an annoyed expression.

As I walked out of the mercenary camp, a pouch heavy with silver coins hung from my waist. The metallic clinking brought a smile to my face. Money always had a way of putting one's mind at ease.

Behind me, inside the barracks, the mercenaries who had each taken a hit were groaning and rolling on the floor.

"...Did I go too far?"

My hand had been a bit heavy.

But Gerkin, the leader of the Black Fang Mercenary Group, was one of the worst pieces of trash I had ever encountered.

And since the other mercenaries had tried to subdue me on Gerkin's orders, it was an unavoidable outcome.

Before my regression, I had rotted away in that mercenary group for a whopping five years.

Five years. Five whole years.

The money I received when I finally left that place...

The compensation for breaking my bones and dedicating my youth was a measly four silver coins.

A pittance that could barely buy enough food to keep me alive.

On top of that, Gerkin had tried to sell me to a slave trader. Back then, young and helpless, I had nowhere to turn with my grievances, but things were different now.

I was a regressor. Though I was currently in an untrained boy's body, I still possessed more than enough strength and technique to knock down a bunch of second-rate thugs.

I had secured a decent lump sum, and I had even claimed the high-quality iron sword Gerkin used as a trophy. I would easily be able to handle any danger that came my way during my travels.

With that, I hailed a carriage.

The elderly driver frowned upon seeing me alone, but when I casually nudged open the coin pouch at my waist, his face split into a broad grin and he bowed politely.

"Where can I take you, young sir?"

I didn't hesitate.

I had already decided on my destination.

"Benheim."

In this regressed life, all I had left were my memories of the past.

If so, shouldn't I go meet the cheeky woman who had saddled me with such a heavy burden?

"Take me to Benheim County. I'll pay whatever you ask."

The driver's lips curled up in interest at my words.

"Haha. Benheim County... Are you headed there as well, young man?"

"As well?"

"Aren't you going to Benheim to become a mage, like all the others?"

The driver spoke as if it were common knowledge.

"Could you explain that in more detail? Do you have to go to Benheim to become a mage?"

"Ah, you really don't know anything, do you? The Benheim family periodically holds examinations to recruit mages from outside the family as disciples. The treatment isn't as good compared to the bloodline members, but in this harsh world, there are countless people trying to grab onto the lifeline of a prestigious magic family. Ah, not that I'm saying you're one of them..."

"...Hmm."

The explanation brought back memories of my final night with Lunia.

Back then, Lunia had described her family to me. She had said that unlike the other four great magic families, House Benheim wasn't closed off and was hospitable to outsiders, bringing in talented individuals to teach them magic.

Hearing the driver's story, it seemed her words were true.

"So, are you planning to become a mage too, young man?"

I fell into thought for a moment at his question.

Then, a gentle voice bubbled up to the surface of my mind.

— It's alright. You have far more magical talent than you think, Raygan. Even more than someone like me. If you had learned magic instead of the sword, you would have achieved greatness.

The words Lunia had spoken as she handed me the pendant on our final night.

...She said I could succeed as a mage, did she?

Having made up my mind, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I let out a soft chuckle and spoke to the driver.

"Yes, old man. I think I'll try being a mage this time around."

"This... time around?"

"It's a long story."

The driver tilted his head, looking thoroughly puzzled.