Chapter 7 – The Mage
I pull more mana in, let it spin, and slowly feed my intent into it—my desire to live, to kill every damned portal, to never watch my father die in my arms again. The sphere in my chest grows heavier, denser, shrinking as it compresses.
I feel it.
My entire body starts to shake, muscles locking in place. I'm stuck lying in a half-sleeping position, but inside me the mana is raging. The sudden surge of energy is like getting hit with a static shock, except ten times worse and everywhere at once.
Good.
But still, this isn't enough.
Once a mana core is developed, that's only the starting point. You have to keep training it, stressing it, breaking it down and rebuilding it—like an arthropod molting its shell, or muscles tearing on the micro level to grow back stronger.
This core, right now, is not truly fit for me. I can already tell the amount of mana will leak when I cast, bleeding out into the air instead of going directly into the spell. That means weaker output. On top of that, even if the density is decent, my regeneration rate is going to be crap at the start.
So, to be a proper mage:
You need to be efficient with your spells.
You need to regenerate enough mana once combat starts so you're not just a walking puppet after the first barrage.
And you need a good, clean output.
One step at a time.
***
Suddenly, the carriage lurches to a stop.
"Huh?" I grunt.
Across from me, Alice's eyes snap open for a split second before she forces them half-shut again, pretending to still be dozing.
The moment the wheels stop turning, she's already tense, hand drifting just slightly toward where she hides her knife.
"It's okay, Alice. Sleep. Let me handle it," I say casually.
She gives the tiniest nod and leans back, eyes closing again. To anyone peeking in, she looks like a maid too tired from travel to care what's happening outside.
But I know better.
She's already on standby, ready to move the instant something slips past me.
I push open the carriage door and step out.
The first thing I see is steel.
Swords, axes, crude spears. A loose half-circle of men blocking the road, some standing on the packed dirt, others half-hidden behind trees and rocks. They've already spooked the horses—the reins are held tight by the driver, who looks pale.
"Oh, look at that. A young noble came out," the first bandit says, grinning with several missing teeth.
I count quickly.
Around ten of them.
Some in mismatched leather, others in rusted mail, one or two with bits of stolen soldier gear. No proper formation. No discipline. Just scavengers who got too bold.
"My, my. Look at this," the second one says. He's bigger than the others, arms thick with corded muscle, a better blade at his waist and the faint air of someone used to giving orders. "Come quietly, boy, and we won't hurt you that much."
So this one's their leader.
I brush invisible dust off my tailcoat, then look at them like they're insects crawling on my shoes.
"It seems," I say, "you've made a mistake."
He snorts.
"And what mistake would that be, Your Little Lordship?" he asks, mock bowing.
I meet his eyes.
"I won't be letting you leave here alive."
For a moment, there's silence.
Then they laugh. Of course they do.
"Did you hear that?" one hoots. "He's got teeth!"
"Is that how nobles talk now? You going to beat us with your fork and etiquette?" another chimes in.
The leader's grin widens.
"You're funny, kid," he says. "Hand over the coin, the girl inside, and anything worth a damn. Maybe I'll let you keep those fancy clothes."
I tilt my head.
"Two questions," I say. "Who told you there's a 'girl' inside? And who said you were allowed to look at my carriage in the first place?"
He frowns, just slightly, as his eyes flick toward the window where Alice "sleeps."
That's all the opening I need.
I raise my hand.
Mana moves.
It's clumsy, heavy, but it moves.
In my old life, this much manipulation would have taken my entire focus. Now, with the newly formed core spinning in my chest, I can feel the flow pulling from that dense sphere, running through the channels of my body like molten metal.
"Let's test the output," I murmur.
A small magic circle flickers into existence in front of my fingertip—no chant, no dramatic flaring of power, just a compressed sigil, lines and shapes stacked tight to minimize waste.
A single point of pale light gathers.
[ System ]
[ Spell assistance enabled. ]
[ Recommended construct: Compressed Mana Bolt – Lethal. ]
Good enough.
I point at the loudest bandit in the back.
The bolt launches without sound.
There's a sharp *crack* as it hits his forehead.
For half a second nothing happens.
Then the back of his skull explodes in a neat burst, like someone popped a rotten fruit with a hammer. He drops without even screaming, body sagging to the ground as the others stare.
Silence.
The smell of blood hits a heartbeat later.
[ System ]
[ Mana consumption: 3% ]
[ Core stability: acceptable. ]
"Huh. Efficient," I say quietly.
The leader's eyes go wide.
"You— mage? At that age?" he snarls. "Kill him!"
There it is.
They rush me.
Four from the front, two circling to the sides, the rest hanging back out of pure instinctive caution. They're used to beating up frightened merchants and undertrained guards, not some noble brat walking out of his carriage alone.
Past life or not, my twelve-year-old body is still smaller and slower than I'd like. I shift my stance, letting my weight sink slightly, mana already pooling along my nerves.
Don't waste it.
Small, precise spells.
Save the big ones for when it counts.
I extend my left hand and whisper in my mind.
"Vector."
A thin thread of mana shoots out invisible from my palm to the foot of the first bandit charging me. Not to tear, not to blast—just to push.
He doesn't see it.
He only feels it when his front leg is yanked sideways mid-sprint. His ankle twists with a sickening crunch, and he slams face-first into the dirt, momentum sending him sliding right past me.
I step neatly aside.
The second one comes in with a raised sword. This one actually has half-decent form. Too bad.
I condense a sliver of mana into my right hand, barely a knife's worth, and swing upward.
No blade. Just compressed mana shaped into an edge.
It passes through his wrist like someone chopped wet paper.
His hand—and the sword with it—spin away in a spray of blood. He screams, but I'm already stepping in, putting a boot into his chest to send him sprawling.
"Six left up close," I mutter.
I flick two more bolts—smaller this time, less compressed, enough to kill but not wasteful. One takes a bandit in the throat, the other in the eye. Both go down, clutching at wounds that won't close.
Off to the side, the driver is frozen, mouth open. I ignore him.
A shadow slides down from the roof of the carriage, just a blur in the corner of my vision.
Alice.
The "blind spot" attacker never even gets to swing.
There's a wet *shff* of a blade passing through soft tissue, and his body slumps against the wheel, eyes still open in confusion as his throat opens in a clean line.
She lands without a sound, knife already hidden again, posture returning to that of a simple maid who "just happened" to step outside.
Our eyes meet for half a second.
She sees the bodies.
I see the lack of surprise in her gaze.
We both look away at the same time.
The remaining bandits hesitate.
"What… what the hell is this?" one whispers.
"Monster," another hisses. "He's just a kid, how—"
The leader grits his teeth, fury and fear warring in his expression.
"You idiots! It's just magic and tricks! He's still flesh!" he roars. "Stop shaking and gut him!"
I lift my hand again, mana already swirling.
"Actually," I say, "I'm still calibrating. You're… useful."
They stare at me.
"Thanks for volunteering," I add.
The leader charges.
He's faster than the others, muscles honed from brutality rather than proper training, but strength is still strength. His aura flares around him—thin, unrefined, but enough to dull a stray spell or two.
Good. A test subject with resistance.
I clench my fist.
Instead of forming a bolt, I shape the mana at his feet, compressing it into a tight point and—
"Implode."
The ground under him dips.
It's a tiny thing. A local collapse of pressure, mana dragging dirt and stone inward just enough to throw off his balance. His knee buckles. The aura around him flickers as he dumps more energy into staying upright.
That's the moment I send a focused bolt straight at his chest.
Not to pierce.
To crush.
The projectile hits his sternum like an invisible hammer. There's a muted *thump* and a sharp crack from breaking bone. His body lifts off the ground for a split second, then slams onto his back, air blasted from his lungs.
He wheezes, eyes wide, desperately trying to pull in breath that won't come.
I walk toward him, adjusting my cuffs.
One of the last bandits thinks he's smart and tries to run.
Alice is faster.
A flick of her wrist sends a small, thin blade whistling through the air. It buries itself neatly at the base of his skull. He pitches forward without a sound.
The final straggler drops his weapon, falls to his knees, and starts babbling for mercy.
I look down at the leader instead.
He's still alive, barely, ribs shattered, aura sputtering out like a dying candle.
"Y-You… monster…" he rasps.
"Wrong profession to start throwing that word around," I say flatly.
I gather a thumb-sized lump of mana and press it against his chest where his heart is.
"Consider it research," I add. "Thanks for your contribution."
I let the mana detonate inward.
His body jerks once and then goes limp.
[ System ]
[ Hostile presence: cleared. ]
[ Mana consumption in encounter: 19%. ]
[ Regeneration estimate: 27 minutes to full, assuming low activity. ]
Not bad for a freshly formed core.
I exhale slowly and let the swirling mana in my chest settle back into a steady spin. The shaking in my limbs fades.
"Clean and efficient," I say under my breath. "This time, I can actually fight like a mage."
I turn back toward the carriage.
Alice is already there, standing by the open door, expression calm but eyes slightly sharper than usual.
"Young master," she says, inclining her head. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I answer. "How about you?"
"Not a scratch," she replies.
"Good." I glance at the sprawled bodies. "Burn the corpses after we move a bit further. I don't want scavengers getting ideas from this location."
"Yes, young master."
I climb back into the carriage, the scent of blood still clinging to my clothes.
As the driver, now shaking even harder than before, gets the carriage moving again, I lean back against the seat and close my eyes.
Mana core formed.
First real combat test passed.
System calibrated.
I'm still weak.
This body is still young.
But compared to the me that failed countless times—
This time, I really can become a mage.