The first truth he learned in his second life was simple.
Being reborn as a child was far more inconvenient than he had anticipated.
His body refused to obey him. Muscles trembled when he tried to move with intention. His vision came in waves—blurred, unfocused, painfully bright. Sounds arrived too loudly, too suddenly, stabbing into his awareness without warning.
Even breathing felt inefficient.
In his previous life, breath had been optional.
Now it was mandatory.
"How troublesome," he thought calmly.
If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would have been horrified. A newborn infant, wrapped in cloth and cradled in trembling arms, thinking with the cold clarity of a centuries-old archmage.
Fortunately, the world was blissfully ignorant.
Days passed.
Or perhaps weeks.
Time felt strange in a body that slept more than it woke.
During those brief windows of awareness, he observed.
He listened.
He measured.
The room he lived in was small. Stone walls reinforced with wooden beams, a single window that let in pale sunlight, and the faint hum of mana embedded into the structure—primitive wards, poorly layered, likely meant to repel pests rather than threats.
"This is no mage tower," he concluded.
Likely a rural settlement.
The mana density was low, but stable. No signs of corruption, no artificial concentration. Natural flow.
Good.
That meant the world itself was healthy—just underdeveloped.
Voices became familiar.
The woman who held him most often spoke softly, her tone gentle, though exhaustion clung to her words like a shadow. She smelled of herbs and iron.
His mother.
The man who spoke less but moved with purpose—steady footsteps, controlled breathing—was likely his father. A warrior, perhaps. Or a guard.
There were others.
Neighbors.
A midwife.
Someone whose presence carried faint mana resonance—an amateur mage, possibly.
Interesting.
Even as a child, his soul reacted instinctively to mana. He could feel it—how it flowed through others, how it bent slightly around objects, how it obeyed rules that had not changed even after his death.
Magic principles were universal.
Only their application differed.
He tested his body carefully.
At first, he focused on awareness alone—no movement, no forced breathing, no attempts to channel mana. Just observation.
A mistake here could be fatal.
A child's body was fragile. Forcing mana circulation too early could shatter the undeveloped core, permanently crippling him.
"I won't repeat such amateur mistakes," he thought dryly.
In his previous life, he had watched countless prodigies destroy themselves through impatience.
He would not join them.
Instead, he mapped his internal state.
The mana core existed—small, dormant, nestled near the heart. It pulsed weakly, synchronized with his heartbeat.
No circles.
Not even the first.
That was expected.
In this world, circles were formed later, often after years of conditioning.
Still…
He probed gently.
Not with mana—but with intent.
His soul brushed against the core, not pushing, not commanding—simply acknowledging its presence.
The response was faint.
But it existed.
Good.
That meant his reincarnation had not damaged the most important part.
He withdrew immediately.
"One step at a time."
Days turned into weeks.
His eyesight improved.
Colors sharpened.
Shapes gained edges.
He could see faces now—wrinkled, tired, hopeful. His parents' expressions softened whenever they looked at him, as if the world momentarily became kinder.
It was… unfamiliar.
He had long outlived such warmth in his previous life.
Power isolated.
Knowledge alienated.
By the time he reached the 7th Circle, companionship had become a liability.
Now—
Now he was helpless.
Dependent.
Carried from place to place.
Fed.
Protected.
He felt no shame.
Nor attachment.
Only acknowledgment.
"These people are my anchors," he thought. "For now."
One night, he sensed something wrong.
The ambient mana shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.
A disturbance.
Not violent.
Cautious.
Predatory.
His awareness sharpened instantly.
Someone was approaching the house.
Multiple presences.
Armed.
He could feel it in the mana—how it bent around unfamiliar shapes, how intent left ripples even unaccompanied by spells.
Bandits.
Or worse.
His parents were asleep.
So was he—at least, his body was.
His mind was fully awake.
"Too early," he noted.
This was not ideal.
He had no power.
No voice.
No ability to act directly.
But that did not mean he was helpless.
He focused.
Not inward—
—but outward.
Mana responded to will, not words.
Even a child's body could not erase the authority of a soul that had once commanded the 10th Circle.
He did not attempt a spell.
That would be suicide.
Instead, he nudged.
The faintest shift.
A minuscule imbalance in the ambient mana flow near the doorway.
The ward carved into the beam above the door—crude, sloppy—reacted unpredictably.
Its activation rune flared.
Too strongly.
The sound was sharp.
Loud.
A crack echoed through the night.
"What was that?"
Voices outside froze.
"Did you feel that?"
"Magic?"
"Shit—this place might be protected."
Fear spread quickly.
The mana signatures retreated.
Moments later, the disturbance vanished.
Silence returned.
Inside the house, his father stirred.
"Did you hear something?" the man muttered.
His mother shifted. "Probably the wind."
The Archmage relaxed his intent.
The ward dimmed, returning to its previous weak state.
"…Acceptable," he concluded.
No one suspected a newborn infant.
Good.
Very good.
The next morning, his father reinforced the door.
A wise decision.
Months passed.
His body grew stronger.
He learned how to smile.
How to cry on command.
How to appear harmless.
"The Strong Acting Weak," he thought with quiet amusement.
If this world believed him to be an ordinary child, he would not correct them.
Not yet.
Eventually, the day came when he could sit upright.
Then crawl.
Then stand.
Each milestone was a strategic checkpoint.
With improved physical stability came improved mana tolerance.
At night, when everyone slept, he resumed his internal testing.
This time, he allowed a thread of mana to move.
Not through a spell.
Not through a circle.
Just circulation.
The result was immediate.
Pain.
Sharp and intense.
His body convulsed.
He nearly screamed—but forced it down, biting into the sensation until it passed.
"So fragile," he observed calmly, sweat soaking his small body. "Even a fraction of first-circle flow is too much."
That meant conditioning would be required.
Years of it.
He smiled faintly.
"I have time."
Immortality was no longer theoretical.
His soul had proven that.
Even without the 10th Circle, he knew paths to longevity—methods that did not rely on brute force but on refinement, preservation, balance.
This life would not end early.
Not unless he allowed it.
One evening, as his mother carried him through the village, he sensed something familiar.
Mana.
Dense.
Refined.
Controlled.
A mage.
A real one.
He turned his head, eyes locking onto an elderly man leaning on a staff, robes embroidered with faded sigils.
Third Circle, perhaps.
Fourth at most.
In this era, that was likely considered exceptional.
The old mage paused.
His gaze drifted.
Then—
It landed on the child.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
The mage stiffened.
"What…?" he whispered.
The Archmage felt it—the faint probing of mana, hesitant, uncertain.
He suppressed himself instantly.
Lowered his presence.
Muted his soul's weight.
The probing stopped.
The mage frowned, shaking his head.
"…Just a child," the man muttered.
He turned away.
The Archmage relaxed.
"Close," he thought.
Too close.
That encounter confirmed several things.
First—mages existed.
Second—they were sensitive enough to detect anomalies.
Third—he would need to be careful.
Very careful.
From that day on, he refined his suppression instinct until it became second nature.
He became quiet.
Observant.
Unremarkable.
A child who learned quickly.
Who listened more than he spoke.
Who survived.
And beneath that harmless surface—
A soul that had once stood at the pinnacle of magic waited patiently.
The world believed the 10th Circle was a myth.
He had proven otherwise.
This time, he would not merely reach it.
He would redefine it.
End Of The Chapter 2