The biting cold wind seeping through the crack in the door woke me up.
I rolled over to peer at the gap, where the faint light of dawn dimly glowed.
It was time to rise.
'Another hellish day begins.'
If this were home, I could've hunkered down under a thick, fluffy blanket on a toasty electric blanket and ridden out the winter.
Today, homesickness stabbed deeper than usual.
'Send me back home...'
Just went to sleep and woke up as a newborn in a medieval fantasy world? Yeah, that's me.
No warning, no buildup—just straight-up possession.
Unfair didn't even begin to cover it.
Luckily, the Village Chief had picked up the baby abandoned at the village entrance. Otherwise, I wouldn't have survived this barbaric world.
Or... maybe not so lucky.
Looking back now, maybe dying right then would've been better?
Either way, fifteen years had passed since then.
I'd cemented my position as the village outcast.
Getting verbally abused was just part of the daily grind.
"Hey, move quietly. You're being too damn loud."
When I got up at dawn to tend the fire and keep the embers alive, the Village Chief's lateborn son would snap at me.
"You barely do any work, but you eat like a pig. What a freeloader!"
When I made do with the scraps left by the Village Chief's family, his shrewish wife would gripe.
"Hey, freak! When are you gonna die?"
"What're you staring at? Wanna get beat again?"
"Keep your eyes peeled if you don't wanna drop dead."
And when I ran errands for the Village Chief, roaming the village, the local thugs my age would hassle me.
Why did they do it?
Because I have no belly button.
No joke—it's true.
I literally have no navel.
Don't ask me why.
What am I supposed to do about how I was born?
My unknown parents left me with the name 'Heros'—but no belly button.
Villagers claimed I was cursed from birth, hence the missing navel. No evidence, of course.
Superstition, plain and simple.
But no one called it out, so that unscientific nonsense became 'fact.'
In this closed-off society, just looking different was enough to make you guilty!
Cursed? Unclean? Fair game to bully without consequence.
That's probably how I became the official village pariah.
'Barbarians, the lot of them.'
I had good reason to despise the villagers.
But I hadn't left.
Couldn't leave.
This world was too brutal for a fifteen-year-old to survive alone.
So I'd planned to tough it out until my body fully matured...
But lately, my patience was fraying at the edges.
'Come spring, I'll bail on this dump.'
That's what kept me going these days.
My own little ray of hope.
Had to cling to something, or I'd snap.
That's when it happened, as I wallowed in my gloom.
"A mage is here!"
Someone shouted.
"For real?"
"A mage? Whoa, I've never seen one!"
"Let's go!"
Villagers who'd been cooped up eating through the winter suddenly surged toward the entrance.
The lure of mage-spotting cut through the midwinter chill.
'But I get it—mages are irresistible.'
Even I felt the pull.
A mage!
I knew them existed in this world, but I'd never laid eyes on one.
They were rarer than rare.
'Ugh, this is nuts.'
Soon enough, I reached the spot.
Word had spread like wildfire—the entrance teemed with gawkers.
All come to see the mage.
'That the guy?'
Every eye locked on a middle-aged man presumed to be the mage.
Blond hair, blue eyes.
Standard stuff around here.
I had the same.
Behind him loomed an earth golem, staring straight ahead like a sentinel.
Over two meters tall, with a massively thick build.
It looked like it could crush a few villagers without breaking a sweat—a terrifying beast.
'Real mage confirmed!'
That's when I was sure.
"I'd like to stay the night."
The mage spoke.
A deep baritone, clear diction.
His voice rasped like he hadn't used it in ages.
But I couldn't focus entirely—another voice intruded.
[Grimoire's Voice: "Man, how long's it been since we hit a village? Always stuck with corpses, but seeing live folks feels great. Finally doing something I approve of!"]
Faint due to distance, but audible enough.
Deeper than the mage's—a gravelly tone mismatched with its flippant words.
Impossible to ignore.
'Why's no one reacting?'
I suddenly wondered.
Villagers fixated on the mage alone—no one sought the speaker.
[Grimoire's Voice: "Anyway, since we're here, let's grab some good food. Share a bit with me too. Hey, maybe that's why your magic's stagnant—you hog it all!"]
Even as the mystery voice kept yapping, no one batted an eye.
Incomprehensible.
'Wait... am I the only one hearing this?'
Suspicion rising, I eyed the mage.
No one in the crowd matched that voice.
It emanated from the mage—from the black-covered book in his right hand, precisely.
Mage was likely involved.
Or...
'I'm hallucinating from going nuts.'
I decided to keep quiet for now.
Bringing it up would've just branded me crazy—making my already shitty rep worse. Could get me kicked out for real.
"You can use my house."
Just then, the Village Chief bowed low before the mage.
Weird seeing the guy who lorded over us like a king act so servile.
A chill ran through me.
'Yes—that's it!'
Power.
I needed power.
Tremendous power!
In this savage world, raw strength was the simplest, surest way to live on my terms.
"An empty house will do."
While enlightenment dawned on me, the mage flatly rejected the offer.
His gaze swept over, landing right on me.
Our eyes met in midair.
'Eyes like daggers.'
I quickly looked down.
Mages had a rep for being cranky.
If true, eye contact alone might get me zapped.
Can't bully people willy-nilly?
Modern common sense—not here.
Killing an orphan like me? Mage walks free.
Life was cheap.
Best to play it safe.
"I'd like to take that one. Who's his parents?"
The mage's voice drew my head up.
He pointed right at me—Village Chief glaring daggers beside him.
'Why me?'
Before I could dwell, the Village Chief chuckled.
"He's an orphan I look after."
"Orphan? Perfect."
The mage nodded, then called me.
"You there—come here."
All eyes turned to me.
Envy, jealousy, pity, suspicion—you name it.
Dozens of gazes brimmed with mixed emotions.
'Probably wants a village errand boy while he stays.'
Made sense.
Why would a visiting mage take a worthless orphan like me?
As an apprentice?
Nah, ridiculous.
But... ridiculous became reality.
"You have talent for magic. Leave with me tomorrow. I'll teach you."
Teach me magic?
My ears perked up.
Power to turn the almighty Village Chief into a nobody in an instant? Sign me up.
Plus, magic itself thrilled me.
Control fire, lightning? Epic.
Of course, doubts lingered.
'What if he wants me as a lab rat?'
Horrifying thought.
But my days were already horrific.
No reason to hesitate.
"I... I want to be a mage."
I answered.
Hot glares burned into me—the Village Chief's.
Losing his fifteen-year investment? No wonder he bristled.
His envy was blatant.
Mage noticed, of course.
"Don't worry. Not taking him for free. This covers it."
He handed over a clay pot of potion.
"My brew. Drink it—bones get stronger."
"Oh my, such a treasure... You could've just taken the orphan!"
Village Chief pocketed it with fake reluctance, grinning ear to ear.
Greedy old coot.
"Alright, let's go."
Mage solved it with one potion, motioning me over.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
That night.
Woooong!
Outside, gale-force winds howled like banshees, but inside felt surprisingly cozy.
Mage had sealed every wall crack with magic.
Earth shifting on its own to patch the empty house—that scene still burned in my mind.
'Will I learn earth magic too?'
Excitement bubbling, I stole glances at the mage.
He stayed silent.
All I knew was his name: Digori.
Questions piled up, but I held back.
Better gauge his personality first.
'Seems decent enough...'
Then—
"I lied to you twice."
Digori spoke abruptly.
I'd been hyper-aware despite feigning casual—jumped right in.
"About what?"
"One: I'm not an Earth Mage. I'm a Necromancer."
As his words ended, dirt cascaded from the golem at the door.
[Transformation: Earth Golem → Skeleton Warrior]
A sword-wielding skeleton emerged.
Undead.
A supernatural monster moving despite death—right before my eyes.
'What the hell.'
Total curveball.
Disorienting as hell.
Like joining a cushy company only to find out it's a sweatshop.
Necromancer—manipulating corpses and souls.
Public image? Trash.
'But... does it matter?'
As long as he taught magic, Necromancer or not—fine by me.
That's when Digori continued.
"Two: You have no magic talent."
This was a problem.
No talent?
Hit harder than the Necromancer reveal.
I had to ask.
"Mr. Digori, how can you be sure I lack magic talent?"
"Those with talent hear grimoires speak. If you had it, you'd have heard this one—and asked me about it."
He held up the black-covered, titleless tome from his right hand.
A grimoire, he called it.
"You need to hear a grimoire to become a mage?"
"Yes."
"Then... don't I have talent?"
"What?"
"I've heard it since we met. That black grimoire yapping nonstop."
And it spoke now too.
[Grimoire's Voice: "Ugh, not corpses—food! Any human grub! How'd I end up with this blockhead? Talk about bad luck...!"]
Crystal clear.
"What's this grimoire saying right now?"
Digori met my eyes, dead serious.
I answered honestly, no filter.
"It called you a blockhead."
Digori's face went rigid.
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