The Child Without Mana

"Letting me out of the mansion? What brought this on?"

"..."

"He kept me locked up in the estate, swearing he'd never let me set foot outside. Did something happen?"

"I do not know, Young Master."

The carriage carried a boy and a girl of similar age, hurtling toward their destination through an air thick with suffocating awkwardness.

"Besides, aren't you still just an apprentice maid?"

"...Yes."

"Is it really fine for you to accompany me like this already?"

"I do not know, Young Master."

Despite the boy's earnest attempts to break the ice, the heavy silence inside the carriage refused to lift. Giving up on conversation, he turned his gaze toward the window.

Wait... isn't something strange?

A chill crept up his spine as he peered outside. A narrow mountain pass, completely devoid of travelers—every detail of the desolate scenery and the stifling quiet felt terribly wrong.

Rattle! Crash!

The carriage pitched violently to the side as the coachman's shrill scream pierced the air.

Through the front window, the boy saw another carriage hurtling straight toward them at breakneck speed.

Fuck...

In that split second, sensing the cold hand of impending death, glowing letters abruptly flickered before his eyes.

And so, against all odds, the boy survived.

In surviving, he realized two undeniable truths: his own flesh-and-blood father had deliberately tried to end his life, and staying passive was a guaranteed death sentence.

"Young Master Eron, I have brought your meal."

"Yeah, thanks, Abel. You can leave it right there."

"..."

In a cramped room cluttered with towering stacks of tomes where one could hardly find a place to step, Abel remained standing completely still, holding the tray.

"Wh-what is it? You're creeping me out."

"..."

"You can set it down right there."

He shoved a few books aside to make room on the edge of the desk, but Abel simply continued to stare at him with unblinking, cat-like eyes.

"I shall remain here until you eat."

"I'll eat later on my own."

"..."

"All right! Fine, I'll eat! I'm eating, okay? Seriously, stop looming over me like that. It's terrifying."

When she stares ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down at me like that, how am I supposed to say no? Lately, she's been getting more and more persistent.

"What were you reading just now?" Abel asked as she set the tray down.

"Just checking if there was anything useful in that ancient text you procured for me last time."

Several years ago, an impossible dream had invaded his slumber. He had dreamed of colossal iron contraptions hurtling across the ground and soaring through the sky, and living people moving inside illuminated walls.

Upon waking, clarity had struck him like lightning. Those were the memories of a past life. He was a reincarnator.

Yet that revelation had changed nothing about his daily existence.

Naturally, he had indulged in grand fantasies at first—imagining a romantic life of wandering freely wherever the wind took him, unbound by anyone or anything.

Reality, however, was swift and merciless. His body possessed not a single drop of mana. He had no innate martial talent, nor had he been blessed with some game-breaking cheat skill.

So, he had given up.

Giving up was something he had grown intimately familiar with long before his reincarnation. Resigning himself to fate, he chose to simply accept reality and drift along.

Perhaps it was just rationalization, but he had honestly thought such an existence wasn't half bad. He was provided regular meals, a warm, comfortable bed to sleep in, and was even attended by reasonably pretty maids. Sure, their presence was half intended for surveillance, and their eyes were often tainted with subtle disdain, but at least they were pleasant to look at.

What's wrong with that? If you shift your perspective a bit, isn't this practically the dream life of a modern office worker?

He didn't have to lift a finger to work, food was served without fail, his bed was soft, and while he couldn't do much of anything, he was surrounded by attractive women. What more could he ask for?

And so he had lived quietly. Even if he was treated like dirt, and the bastard who called himself his father occasionally resorted to physical abuse, he could tolerate it. In this world, an aristocrat born without mana was regarded as an abomination, a cursed blemish, and an unforgivable disgrace to the family name.

Well, son or not, from his perspective, I'm nothing but an eyesore.

He understood the sentiment well enough. That was why he had obediently remained confined to the manor just as his father demanded, whiling away the hours reading books and shooting the breeze with the maids.

His sole nagging worry—whether the family lineage would collapse—had even resolved itself seven years ago.

A half-brother had been born. Unlike Eron, the child possessed mana. When the boy turned three and began foundational training, their father had boasted endlessly about his budding talent.

While Eron was the legitimate heir and his little brother was merely the son of a concubine, Eron couldn't care less. Their father already treated the boy as the de facto heir, and Eron's biological mother had long since passed away. Besides, this kingdom didn't harbor an unbearable prejudice against illegitimate children.

As long as Eron gracefully accepted his lot, there would be no issue whatsoever. To him, the whole matter was as trivial as a speck of dust.

In his past life, his parents had died early, leaving him to grow up reliant on distant relatives. Add to that the detachment of being a reincarnated soul, and noble prestige meant nothing to him. So long as his comfortable lifestyle continued, he was content.

...At least, that was until that piece-of-trash father crossed the line.

"Young Master? Please finish your meal first. It will lose all flavor once it grows cold."

"Ah... right. I'm eating. Mm..."

Knowing Abel would never budge, he figured it was best to finish it quickly and get it over with. Besides, the food seemed completely fine.

"Why do you inspect the dish so intently?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Down the hatch."

The sole reason he scrutinized every bite was courtesy of the monstrous stunt his father had pulled. That man had tried to orchestrate his murder under the guise of an accident.

Verbal abuse and the occasional beating ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he could shrug off, but this was entirely different. Trying to butcher his own flesh and blood?

No matter how easygoing and magnanimous Eron considered himself, this was far beyond what anyone could endure.

With his wife dead, eliminating the legitimate son would leave a clear path to elevate his favored concubine's son to the primary heir. That was undoubtedly what that scumbag had planned. Had the Episode window not materialized that day, everything would have unfolded precisely according to the bastard's wishes.

That brush with death was perhaps the first time Eron had truly felt the supernatural weight of his reincarnation. He had survived by the skin of his teeth, but the trash of a father hadn't stopped there.

The man had targeted his life again and again with terrifying tenacity, and Eron had slipped through death's fingers every single time. Only after multiple failures had the attempts finally ground to a halt.

Yet that offered him no peace of mind.

Who knows what insane stunt that lunatic will try next?

The moment his father decided to assassinate the son who had been doing his best to live in harmless obscurity, any possibility of a quiet life had vanished into thin air.

And so, Eron had made up his mind. He would leave this cursed family on his own two feet.

I'll forge my own path to survival.

His first consideration had been swordsmanship. If he lacked mana, he'd compensate with sheer physical conditioning. Yet he soon discovered that becoming a proper swordsman required at least a decade of brutal training.

Sure, wielding Aura would drastically shorten the path to transcendent power, but those capable of using it were practically mythical across the continent. Alright, pass.

What about magic tools? His father's warehouse was overflowing with them. But no—even the simplest enchanted device required a baseline trickle of mana from the wielder. Pass on that, too.

Mana for this, mana for that... Are you fucking kidding me?

That endless frustration was what had brought him to his current endeavor.

"Young Master... did you decipher all of this yourself?"

"Hm? That? Well, yeah."

Abel's shock was completely justified. A child barely ten years old was casually reading an ancient script that even seasoned scholars spent decades trying to decode.

This was the reward granted by that very first Episode: the absolute ability to comprehend, read, and write every language in existence.

At first, he had cursed the system for giving him such a useless skill, but now he considered it a stroke of divine fortune. Without mana, a person in this world was relegated to menial chores or backbreaking manual labor. To break free, he needed a way to awaken mana, which meant scouring forgotten history. Ancient lore whispered of eras when individuals without innate mana had cast spells through alternative means.

In that sense, gaining this translation ability had been an absolute blessing. In fact, it was practically the best outcome he could have hoped for. Even if he failed to acquire mana, it guaranteed him a viable livelihood as a translator.

"There! Cleaned the plate. Give me the book."

"Ah! Yes, right away."

"By the way, where's Lena? I haven't seen her all day."

Usually, she would slip into his room right before his meals to pester him. Missing the girl he saw every single day left a strange void in the room.

"I sent my daughter on an errand. She should return in about a week."

"Is that so? No wonder the halls felt so quiet."

"The moment she returns, I shall re-educate her thoroughly on proper discipline."

As Abel handed the tome back, the warm demeanor of a mother vanished entirely, replaced by the steely, professional mask of the head maid.

"No, you don't need to go that far. Having different personality types around keeps things interesting."

She looks terrifying right now. Abel really is way too strict with her daughter, even if the girl does cause a bit of trouble from time to time.

"Pardon? Personality types?"

"Never mind, just talking to myself."

"Do you require anything else, Young Master?"

"Mm... no, I'm good. I'll be glued to this desk reading all day anyway."

At those words, Abel's expression darkened with subtle concern.

"Please take a walk outside occasionally. Confining yourself to your room like this is not good for your health."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll think about it."

Naturally, he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He was far too busy securing his own survival. If this ancient text turned up empty, he'd have to immediately move on to the next lead.

He didn't have the luxury of idle strolls.

"Those bastards finally learned to listen. But a Grand Mage?"

Jaylon muttered to himself, pacing his lavish study. While it felt excessive, it was far better than having the Magic Tower insult him by dispatching a 2nd-Class or 3rd-Class Mage like last time.

"Tsk! Daring to treat me like an afterthought."

When Jaylon had demanded a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠1st-Class Mage, the Tower had initially sent lower-tier mages to inspect the situation and verify whether the incident truly warranted a national-tier asset. But Jaylon, plagued by a bitter inferiority complex over being an Ordinary Mage, had taken the standard procedure as a deliberate, personal slight.

"A Grand Mage... Actually, this might work out entirely in my favor."

A sly, calculating smirk crept across his face.

"Lord Jaylon. You sent for me?" Abel announced as she stepped through the door.

"Yes. What of that wretched boy?"

He didn't even bother disguising his disdain, demanding news of Eron the instant she arrived.

"He has ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finished his meal and remains quietly in his quarters."

"Tsk! Keep an exceptionally strict watch over him tomorrow."

Jaylon scowled openly, looking downright offended that Eron was living peacefully without issue.

"Is something happening tomorrow, my lord?"

"A Grand Mage is arriving."

"A Grand Mage... here? Ah, is it because of the blaze?"

The realization dawned on Abel instantly. She recalled the unnatural fire raging in the northern woods—a blaze that none of the estate's mages had been able to extinguish.

"Yes, that cursed fire."

The forest north of the Hynek mansion was the symbolic heart of the family's territory. Any disaster threatening it had to be resolved immediately to preserve their authority. Yet when every mage in the fief failed to suppress the flames, Jaylon had been forced to swallow his pride and issue an external request to the Magic Tower.

Hiring outside spellcasters was a blow to his ego, but allowing the ancestral forest to burn to ash was a far worse disaster.

"Ensure that boy under no circumstances sets foot anywhere near the main building."

"My lord, surely there is no need to go to such lengths—"

"Silence! Do you intend to offend a Grand Mage?!"

As if a legendary spellcaster would take offense at the mere sight of a child, Abel thought, keeping the words locked behind her lips. She was well aware of how venomous Jaylon's obsession with suppressing Eron truly was.

"Ensure he does not step out of that room for a single second. When the Grand Mage arrives, I intend to formally request that they accept Jay as their apprentice."

"Young Master Jay?"

"A Grand Mage will undoubtedly recognize genius when they see it. They will see Jay's true worth."

There was a mountain of objections Abel wished to voice, but she chose silence. She knew all too well that whenever the topic involved Eron and Jay, the head of the house lost every shred of rational thought.

She could only pray in her heart that the following day would pass without catastrophe.