Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

”I can’t.”

”Yes, you can. You’re not visualizing the weave properly.” Adom leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the practice room table in clear violation of at least three academy rules.

”I am! Look - threads of mana, geometric patterns, all that stuff. Nothing’s happening.”

”Because you’re trying to force them into existence, Eren. They already exist. You just need to—”

”If you say ’focus’ one more time...”

”I was going to say ’see them,’ actually. But now that you mention it, focusing wouldn’t hurt.” Adom tilted his head, watching another failed attempt scatter golden sparks across the worn wooden table. ”Though I have to admit, you’re very consistent at failing. Same exact fizzle every time. It’s almost impressive.”

”I do not like you, Adom. Like, at all.”

Adom laughed. ”Mana will answer to your intent - that’s how magic works. Right now, your intent isn’t helping because you’re so focused on proving you can do this that you’re not actually visualizing what you’re trying to do. See, mana responds to clear mental images. The stronger your intent to cast a spell, the clearer the pattern becomes in your mind.”

He watched another fizzle with amusement. ”You know, there’s this theory that mana is semi-sentient - some mages swear it knows when you’re trying to force it without proper visualization. Not sure if I believe it, but watching you right now...” He smirked. ”But what do I know? I’m just the guy who can actually do magic.”

”Why can’t I just punch things instead? I’m good at punching things.”

”Because punching things won’t make you impress Headmaster Meris and, you’re thinking too hard about the math and not enough about the image. It’s like trying to describe a color using only numbers.”

”But you always say magic is mathematical!”

”It is. But first you need to see it. Feel it. The math comes after.”

”That makes zero sense.”

”Neither does your attempt at that weave. Try again.”

”...still nothing.”

”Because the pattern’s already there - you just need to reach out and grab it.”

”Easy for you to say, Mr. Perfect-Pattern-Every-Time.”

”I prefer ’Your Magical Magnificence,’ but I’ll accept that too.”

”Ugh. Show me again?”

”Weren’t you watching the first three times?”

”Please?”

”Fine. But this time, actually watch the weave, not my amazing hair.”

Adom sat cross-legged across from Eren in the practice room. ”Before we start with actual spells, you need to understand how weaving works. You can sense mana now, which is the first step, but manipulating it is different.”

”Different how?” Eren asked, watching the mana particles drift around them.

”Think of it like this - every spell is essentially a pattern, a specific structure of mana. When you arrange mana in these patterns, it creates effects in the physical world. It’s not just about moving the mana around - it’s about organizing it precisely.”

Adom gathered some mana in front of them. ”See how chaotic and unstructured it is naturally? Magic happens when we impose order on it. Every spell has its own unique pattern - like a blueprint or a template. Some are simple, others incredibly complex, but they all follow the same principle: mana arranged in specific structures produces specific effects.”

”So when mages weave spells...”

”They’re essentially guiding mana to conform to these patterns, yes. That’s why we call it weaving - you’re taking these loose threads of mana and weaving them into a coherent structure.”

”Is that why some people can sense mana but can’t weave spells?”

”Exactly. Sensing mana is one thing, but manipulating it - forcing it to hold these precise patterns - that’s what separates mages from non-mages. Now, let me show you a basic flame spell pattern...”

”Watch closely,” Adom said, gathering mana in front of them. ”A flame spell has one of the most straightforward patterns. Feel how I’m structuring this?”

Eren focused, sensing how Adom was arranging the mana. ”It’s... organized. Not random anymore.”

”Right. The pattern for fire needs three distinct layers. First...” Adom carefully arranged the bottom layer of mana. ”This base structure has to be perfectly stable. Feel how tight and orderly it is? Like a lattice.”

”I can sense it,” Eren nodded, his eyes half-closed in concentration. ”But why that specific arrangement?”

”Because fire needs fuel. This pattern converts mana into heat and energy. If it’s not structured exactly right, you’ll either get no flame or an explosion.” Adom traced the pattern with his finger. ”See, magic doesn’t create something from nothing - it transforms mana into other forms of energy. The base layer breaks down mana into pure energy, mostly heat. The tighter the lattice, the more controlled the conversion.”

”So the flame isn’t... created? It’s transformed mana?”

”Exactly. Everything in magic is transformation. When you make fire, you’re not creating flames - you’re converting mana into heat and light in a specific way. When you levitate something, you’re transforming mana into kinetic force. Even illusions work by transforming mana into light and sometimes sound.”

”That’s why stronger spells need more mana?”

”Right. The more dramatic the transformation, the more mana you need. Making a small flame needs just a bit of mana converted to heat, but creating a fireball needs enough mana to generate both intense heat and the force to propel it.” Adom paused. ”Now, watch the second layer.”

The mana above the base began to shift, forming an intricate spiral pattern. ”This part determines how the energy flows. See how it creates a natural upward motion?”

”Yeah... it’s like a funnel?”

”Good observation. The spiral pattern is crucial - it’s what actually generates the flame. Now for the final layer...” Adom carefully wove the top portion of mana into a looser but still precisely structured pattern.

”That looks different from the others,” Eren noted.

”This layer controls the flame’s shape and behavior. More structured for a focused flame, looser for a spreading one. All three layers have to work together perfectly.” Adom completed the pattern, and a small flame appeared above his palm. ”See? The pattern holds the spell together. Without it, the mana would just dissipate.”

”Can I try?”

”Start with just the base layer. Don’t rush - focus on getting the structure exactly right. Remember, magic isn’t about power, it’s about precision.”

Eren concentrated, trying to replicate the lattice-like pattern he’d seen. The mana moved sluggishly, refusing to hold the shape.

”You’re thinking too much about moving the mana,” Adom advised. ”Focus on the pattern itself. The structure is what matters - the mana will follow if your visualization is clear enough.”

Eren sat there, face scrunched in concentration, completely still.

”What are you doing?” Adom asked, raising an eyebrow.

Eren opened one eye sheepishly. ”Trying to... weave?”

”Without hand movements? Is that why you’ve been refusing to use my old wand?” Adom shook his head. ”Listen, there’s a reason first-years are given wands. Weaving is complex when you’re just starting - your mind isn’t used to manipulating mana in such precise patterns yet. Wands either direct the weaves automatically or have pre-structured spells stored in them.”

”But you don’t use hand movements,” Eren pointed out.

”Because I’ve practiced these basic spells thousands of times. The more you practice a specific spell, the more familiar its pattern becomes to your mind. Eventually, you can weave it instantly, without thought.” Adom paused. ”But you need to walk before you can run. If you really don’t want to use a wand, at least use hand movements. They help visualize the pattern better.”

Adom raised his hands. ”Watch. The base layer?” He made a gathering motion, fingers curling inward. ”This helps you visualize the compression of mana. Then,” his right hand moved in a spiral motion, ”this matches the energy flow pattern. Finally,” his fingers spread and lifted, ”this shapes the output.”

A perfect flame appeared above his palm. ”See? The movements mirror the weave’s structure. They train your mind to recognize and replicate the patterns.”

To demonstrate, Adom then cast the same spell without moving, the flame appearing instantly. ”With enough practice on a specific spell, your mind learns to shape the weave automatically. But you need to master the basics first.”

Eren’s frustrated expression made Adom pause. Then understanding dawned on his face, and he chuckled. ”Eren... I get it. It must be frustrating seeing someone your age weave spells so easily without movements. You want to prove you can do it too, right?”

Eren looked away. ”Maybe.”

”I’ve had more years of practice than you could imagine.”

”But... I thought most second-years like you can’t cast without movements either.”

Adom grinned. ”That’s because I’m me. A genius.”

”Oh, shut up,” Eren groaned. ”You’re impossible.”

”Impossibly talented, you mean?”

”I take it back - you’re not a genius, you’re just insufferable.”

”An insufferable genius,” Adom corrected with a smirk.

”Come on. One more try. Then we can grab food from that place you like, the one with the suspicious meat pies.”

”They’re not suspicious, they’re traditional.”

”Traditional doesn’t mean safe. But fine, one more attempt, then questionable street food. Deal?”

Eren’s last attempt fizzled spectacularly, sending a shower of golden sparks across the table. Adom watched the display with a mix of amusement and resignation. ”Well, that’s enough for today. Let’s go.”

*****

The streets of Arkhos were always busy this time of day, filled with the smell of cooking food and the chatter of merchants and customers.

They found their usual spot at Old Mari’s stall, where Mari greeted them with her gap-toothed smile. ”Ah, my favorite mages! The usual? Three pies and two sweet mango milks?”

The meat pies - stuffed with minced lamb and wild mushrooms, seasoned with herbs from the northern mountains - were wrapped in flaky, golden-brown pastry that crackled perfectly with each bite.

They looked suspicious mainly because Mari seemed to have a personal vendetta against conventional geometry - no two pies ever had the same shape, some looking more like abstract art than food.

She also made them with chicken and leeks, or spiced beef and potatoes, but the lamb ones had become their favorite.

It was actually a discovery for Adom in this life - the stall had apparently been serving pies for 26 years, tucked away in this odd corner of the market district. Despite being somewhat hidden, the place was incredibly popular with locals who, for some inexplicable reason, refused to give directions to anyone asking.

Why people insisted on gatekeeping good food was a question Adom would never understand. Did they not realize they were actively hurting Mari’s business? She could probably own three stalls by now if her customers weren’t so determined to keep their ”secret spot” secret.

Strange, strange people.

The cold mango milk, sweetened with honey and given a creamy texture from being churned with ice, helped wash down the hearty pies - two for Eren’s bottomless teenage appetite, one for Adom. It had been nine days since Adom’s return from the labyrinth.

While he’d recovered enough to walk around and attend classes, the fatigue still lingered. He’d spent the past week teaching Eren, trying to prepare him to meet Meris.

Two circles. At twelve. It was absurd no matter how Adom thought about it.

During entrance exams, they didn’t typically check applicants’ mana pools - they focused on control and basic technique. Which was fortunate, because if they knew what Eren was capable of, the Empire would be all over him.

A mage with that much raw power could shift the balance of power between nations. The Empire of Sundar would treat him like a precious resource - the best education, the finest accommodations, personal tutors... and suffocating expectations.

Adom knew that pressure all too well. The constant monitoring, the ”suggestions” about your career, the subtle reminders about your duty to the Empire. It could break someone if they weren’t prepared for it.

That’s why he’d focused on teaching Eren the absolute basics.

Better to have him enter the academy looking like a promising but normal student than a walking catastrophe waiting to happen.

Headmaster Meris had barely believed it when Adom told him. He’d listened intently, his sharp eyes studying Adom’s face as he explained about finding Eren, about his raw potential, about the two circles. The old man had actually fallen silent for a full minute - something Adom had only seen happen twice before.

They’d agreed that Adom would present Eren only after proper preparation, and Meris had readily accepted keeping the boy’s true capabilities under wraps. Adom knew the old Headmaster well enough - he’d always protected his students from unnecessary scrutiny and pressure. The man might be eccentric, but he understood the weight of expectations better than most.

By the third day, Adom was starting to worry. For all the raw power Eren possessed, he was... distinctly untalented in magic. Below average, if Adom was being honest. The boy could barely weave the simplest spells, and his control was atrocious. Even with constant guidance, his attempts at basic patterns kept falling apart.

The problem wasn’t just academic. Two circles of mana at twelve years old meant Eren’s power would only grow. Without proper control, without the ability to properly channel and regulate that much energy... Adom rubbed his temples, remembering the cases he’d studied in his previous life.

Mages were walking powder kegs in that sense. It was why their education focused so heavily on control, on theory, on emotional regulation. Raw power without finesse wasn’t just inefficient - it was dangerous. A mage who couldn’t properly control their mana became a threat to themselves and everyone around them. Strong emotions, stress, fear - any of these could trigger an uncontrolled release of power.

That’s why the academies were so strict about emotional control, why they drilled theory into students’ heads before letting them attempt even basic spells. One mistake, one moment of lost control, and...

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Adom thought, despite himself, about the figure’s words in the labyrinth: ”Kill him.”

Had he made a mistake? Taking responsibility for someone with this much power and so little natural ability to control it?

The meat pie suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.

”You’re thinking too hard,” Eren said, breaking into his thoughts. ”Your face gets all scrunchy when you’re worried about something.”

”I do not get scrunchy.”

Adom watched Eren devour his second meat pie, contemplating how much the boy didn’t know about himself.

He’d deliberately kept quiet about the true extent of Eren’s potential. Telling a twelve-year-old they had enough raw power to potentially level cities was... well, not the wisest move. Even the most level-headed kid might get ideas, and Adom had seen enough talented mages go wrong to know better.

He hadn’t even hinted at it. ”Talented” was all the boy needed to know for now.

Besides, Adom still didn’t know Eren well enough to fully trust him with that knowledge. The child seemed kind and responsible, sure, but so had others before their power went to their heads.

”Want my half of the pie? You only had one.” Eren asked, pushing the wrapped package across their usual corner spot.

”Thanks,” Adom said, managing a smile. As Eren reached for his pocket to pay, Adom waved him off. ”It’s on me.”

”Thanks,” Eren said, looking relieved in that way kids do when they don’t have to spend their scarce pocket money.

Old Mari wrapped up a fourth lamb pie, sliding it across her worn wooden counter with her characteristic gap-toothed smile. ”This one’s on the house. You boys have been good customers this past week. Best entertainment I’ve had in years, watching you try to explain magic with those fancy hand gestures.”

”Thank you, ma’am,” they both said almost in unison, which made the old woman cackle.

”Such polite young mages,” she said, already turning to tend to her geometrically challenged pies bubbling in their clay oven. ”Now off with you before the evening rush starts and my regulars see me getting soft.”

”Same time tomorrow?” Adom asked as they reached the crossroads where they usually parted ways.

Eren shook his head. ”Actually, got to help mother at the tavern tomorrow, her boss has fired a few people recently. And there will be the usual rush and all that.”

”Makes sense,” Adom said, stepping around a puddle from one of the street cleaners’ water spells.

”Oh!” Eren snapped his fingers. ”That reminds me - mother wants you to come for dinner at the tavern for Yule in a few months. Her boss accepted to let us have the tavern for the occasion. Says she wants to thank you properly for helping me with all this magic stuff.” He grinned. ”She also said you can bring your friends too, if you want.”

Adom blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. Despite his adult mind, he sometimes forgot he was physically Eren’s age now - complete with the social expectations that came with it. ”That’s... kind of her.”

”So you’ll come?” Eren’s eyes lit up with that earnest excitement that made him seem even younger than twelve. ”Mother makes the best roast for Yule. Way better than these pies.” He glanced around suspiciously. ”Don’t tell Mari that though.”

”Your secret’s safe,” Adom said, amused. ”Yule is only in a few months, but, what time should I be there?”

”After sunset? When it’s quieter.” Eren started walking backward, still facing Adom. ”And thanks again for today. Even if I did almost set your textbook on fire.”

”Almost being the key word here,” Adom called after him, watching the boy dash off towards the Dregs.

Adom kept walking, his mind turning over the morning’s events. He paused at the corner of Merchant’s Row, where Jack was still performing his fire show. The floating dragons danced above an enthralled crowd, as mesmerizing as ever.

Adom dropped a coin in Jack’s hat, a small smile playing at his lips. Some things really didn’t change.

His thoughts drifted back to Eren and his situation. The Dregs weren’t kind to families trying to make an honest living. He’d seen the patches on Eren’s clothes, noticed how the boy always tried to pay for their study snacks despite clearly struggling to afford them. The tavern couldn’t be doing much better - not in that part of the island.

A scholarship... that could work, if he could train Eren well enough. The boy had raw talent in spades, but control was still an issue. Those scorch marks Eren mentioned weren’t just teenage exaggeration. Still, with proper guidance...

Or he could just leave a bag of gold coins at the tavern. Anonymous, of course, with a simple note.

Not that it would change much in the grand scheme of things. With his magical potential, money wouldn’t be a problem for long once Eren got proper training.

Still... a little help now might make a big difference in the present. Adom had seen too many talented young mages fall through the cracks in his previous life, their potential wasted simply because they couldn’t afford to nurture it. Just like Jack.

Adom shifted his grip on the meat pie, still warm in its wrapping. Sam would demolish this in seconds, he thought with a small smile.

A soft scraping sound echoed from the alley behind him. He kept walking, pace steady, but his senses sharpened. Another sound, closer this time. Footsteps, trying to be quiet but not quite managing it.

The street was emptying as afternoon bled into evening. He passed a pair of police officers, noting their positions without being obvious about it. The crime wave in Arkhos was becoming more than just statistics now - especially with Helios’ people getting bolder. His hooded appearance that day had bought him some time, but now they were probably targeting any young mage they could find.

More footsteps. Three sets now, maybe four. They were herding him, he realized, trying to guide him away from the main streets. The meat pie suddenly felt very inconvenient in his hands.

The meeting with Cisco next week would change everything, but he had to survive until then. Eren had arranged that - he couldn’t waste it by getting ambushed in some back alley.

Decision time. He could try to reach the guards, but that might put civilians at risk if these were indeed Helios’ people. Better to handle this cleanly, quietly.

Adom turned down a narrow street, then another, seemingly random but actually leading exactly where he wanted. The footsteps behind him quickened slightly.

The dead end ahead was perfect - high walls, no windows, single approach. He could feel the fluid enhancement humming through his veins, ready to respond. He turned to face the alley’s entrance, letting his pursuers think they’d trapped him.

Four figures emerged from the shadows, trying to look menacing. Street thugs, not Helios’ people - he could tell from their stance.

”Lovely evening for a walk,” Adom said quietly, carefully setting down his meat pie on a nearby crate. No need to waste good food.

”Hey there, friend!” The tallest one stepped forward, arms spread in an exaggerated welcoming gesture. His smile showed several gold teeth. ”Bit far from Xerkes, aren’t you? Dangerous neighborhood for a student to be wandering alone.”

”We could escort you back,” added a shorter man with a scarred eyebrow, moving to flank him. ”For a reasonable fee, of course. Consider it a... scholarship contribution.”

The third one, barely older than Adom’s current physical age, laughed nervously. ”Yeah, think of your fellow students. Some of us couldn’t afford those fancy clothes of yours.”

The fourth remained silent, but his fingers kept twitching toward something in his jacket. Probably a knife.

”That’s thoughtful of you,” Adom replied, noting how they were positioning themselves. ”But I’m actually quite familiar with these streets.”

”Oh?” Gold-teeth’s smile widened. ”Regular visitor? Must have deep pockets then. Come on, share some of that Xerkes wealth. We all know what those clothes cost.”

”Would be a shame if something happened to such a generous student,” Scarred-eyebrow added, his friendly tone slipping slightly. ”Lots of accidents happen in these alleys.”

The young one shifted uncomfortably. ”Just make it easy, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt.”

Adom sighed. They were desperate rather than cruel, but desperate people were often the most dangerous. ”I understand times are hard,” he said, letting his stance relax deliberately, invitingly. ”But you really should have picked someone else.”

He weighed his options as he studied their faces. The coins in his pocket would mean nothing to him - he had more wealth than these men would see in their lifetimes. One generous handout and they’d leave him alone... for tonight.

But then what? They’d mark him as an easy target, maybe follow him, try to befriend him. Worse, they’d be encouraged to continue targeting other students. Some of whom might not be as capable of defending themselves.

Adom’s smile made the tallest one shift uncomfortably. ”What’s so funny, kid?”

The fluid in his veins hummed, a familiar warmth spreading through his body as he contemplated these four unfortunate souls. The elderly really did have a responsibility to guide wayward youth, didn’t they? Even if said elderly happened to be wearing a twelve-year-old’s face at the moment.

”You know,” Adom said conversationally, ”you’re not very smart, are you?”

Their smiles vanished, replaced by uncertain glances at each other.

”See, you’ve made several critical errors in judgment. First, you’re targeting mages. Young mages, who are notoriously unstable with their powers, especially when they feel threatened. Did you know some students accidentally incinerated their entire dormitory last week because someone startled them during their sleep?”

They took a collective step backward.

”Second,” he continued, as ethereal blue light began to dance around his fingers, ”you picked an alley with one exit.”

[Mirage]

The illusion shimmered into place behind them - solid stone where the entrance had been. The young one let out a strangled sound.

”Which, speaking of exits...” Adom’s hands erupted in azure fluid-fire, casting strange shadows on the walls. ”Currently seems to be missing.”

”Oh gods,” the youngest squeaked, turning to Gold-teeth. ”This was your idea!”

”My idea?” Gold-teeth’s voice cracked. ”You’re the one who said students were easy marks!”

”Both of you shut up,” Scarred-eyebrow hissed, but his eyes were fixed on Adom’s burning hands.

”Ah ah ah, children,” Adom chided, the fluid-fire crawling up his arms. ”You’ve been very naughty, and it’s my responsibility to teach you proper manners.”

”This is your fault,” the silent one finally spoke, jabbing a finger at Gold-teeth. ”You said he was just some rich kid!”

”Me?” Gold-teeth’s gold teeth chattered. ”It was his idea!” He pointed at the youngest, who looked ready to faint.

”I-I just mentioned I saw him walking alone! You’re the one who said we should-”

”Fascinating,” Adom interrupted, taking a step forward as they took another step back. ”Please, do continue explaining whose brilliant plan this was.”

The one with the twitching fingers finally snapped. ”He’s just a ki-”

The knife never made it past his pocket. One moment he was lunging, the next - a fluid-enhanced straight right caught him perfectly on the chin. His eyes rolled back before he hit the ground, body twitching slightly from the neural shock.

[+1 Boxing Mastery]

The remaining three stared at their fallen companion, then at Adom, then back at their companion. Their brains seemed to be having trouble processing the sequence of events - probably because there had barely been any sequence to process.

They dropped to their knees almost in unison, dignity forgotten.

”Please don’t kill us!” Gold-teeth sobbed, his precious metals catching the blue light. ”I have a cat!”

”I’ll join a monastery!” the youngest one blurted, tears streaming down his face. ”I’ll never take advantage of the weak again!”

Scarred-eyebrow just whimpered something incomprehensible about his mother while staring at his unconscious friend, who was still occasionally twitching.

Adom flexed his hand, studying the unconscious man with clinical interest. The fluid enhancement had turned what should have been a child’s punch into something that dropped a grown man instantly. It wasn’t his first time experiencing it, but still.

Fascinating.

He’d have to explore these limits more thoroughly later.

”Now then,” he said, letting the fluid-fire crawl up to his shoulders. ”About your future career choices...”

The three conscious men flinched.

”The Merchant’s Guild is always looking for security escorts,” Adom said conversationally, as if he wasn’t terrifying them out of their minds. ”They need people who know these streets, who understand how... less savory individuals think. Legitimate work, good pay, and they don’t ask too many questions about your past.”

”These noble schmucks?” Gold-teeth mumbled under his breath. ”I can’t believe this...”

”Hm?” The fluid-fire flared brighter.

”I-I mean!” Gold-teeth straightened up, suddenly very business-like. ”We would be more than honored to work for the esteemed Merchant’s Guild, young... sir!”

”Of course, they’ll need someone to vouch for you.” The flames danced higher. ”I could do that. Or...” He let the threat hang.

”Yes! Please!” Gold-teeth was nodding so fast his teeth clicked. ”We’ll go first thing tomorrow!”

”Wonderful. And if I hear about any more students being troubled in these alleys...” The temperature dropped several degrees. ”Well, let’s just say I’ll be very disappointed.”

Scarred-eyebrow raised a shaking hand. ”What about...” he gestured at their unconscious friend.

”Oh, he’ll wake up soon. Make sure he understands our little arrangement.” Adom smiled, and they collectively shuddered. ”I’ll know if you don’t show up tomorrow. I’ll be watching.”

Adom watched as they stumbled to their feet, the youngest and Gold-teeth hauling up their unconscious friend between them.

They bowed awkwardly - multiple times - while shuffling backward, mumbling a chorus of ”thank you, young sir” and ”we won’t disappoint you” before finally turning tail and running as fast as they could manage while dragging their companion.

”Senior citizen duty accomplished!” Adom declared cheerfully to the empty alley, picking up his miraculously undisturbed meat pie.

The Silvester Family’s Merchant Guild was one of the five guilds on the island, and the only one not dedicated to adventuring. Their wealth was legendary - their mansions dotted the noble quarter like jewels, their ships dominated the harbor, and their influence reached into every corner of trade. They were also, as Gold-teeth’s reaction had shown, not particularly popular among the common folk.

It wasn’t hard to understand why.

The Silvesters had a habit of buying out smaller businesses, setting prices that independent merchants couldn’t match, and generally ensuring that the gap between rich and poor grew wider every year. They were the epitome of noble privilege - looking down on common folk while profiting from their labor, living in luxury while others struggled to put food on the table.

But for people like those would-be muggers? The Guild offered something rare: a legitimate opportunity. The sad truth was that on this island and in the world in general, you either had connections or you struggled endlessly.

The adventurer guilds wouldn’t touch anyone without combat experience or magical talent. Most merchants wouldn’t hire someone with a suspicious background. The mines were always hiring, sure - if you didn’t mind a life expectancy measured in months.

The Silvesters’ security force was different.

They provided real training, decent pay, and clear paths for advancement. Sure, the nobles would always look down their noses at you, but you could earn a respectable living, support a family, maybe even save enough to start your own business someday.

They were always looking for people who knew the streets, who could spot trouble before it started, who understood how the desperate thought because they’d been desperate themselves.

Adom headed toward the guild hall. Being a Xerkes student came with certain... privileges. The Silvesters might look down on common folk, but they’d trip over themselves to curry favor with someone wearing these robes. One word from him, and those four would have their chance.

The guild hall’s application reception was a stark contrast to the opulent exterior - just a plain room with a desk, a few uncomfortable-looking chairs, and a bored guard who was currently slumped in his seat, sword propped against the desk, hat pulled over his face.

Adom cleared his throat.

No response.

He cleared his throat again, more forcefully.

Still nothing.

”Excuse m-”

”I heard you the first time,” the guard drawled from under his hat, not moving an inch.

”Then why didn’t you answer?”

”Didn’t feel like it,” the man replied, finally pushing his hat back and sitting up with the enthusiasm of a sloth. He blinked at Adom’s Xerkes robes, but his expression remained steadfastly unimpressed.

”...You gonna stand there all evening or actually say something?”

Adom sighed. Sometimes he missed the days when people showed proper respect to their elders. ”I’m here to vouch for four potential recruits for the security force. They’ll be coming tomorrow morning to apply.”

”And what makes you think they’re suitable recruits?”

”Well,” Adom said, ”they attempted to mug me in an alley about twenty minutes ago. One of them is probably still unconscious. But they showed excellent teamwork, survival instinct, and a remarkable ability to recognize when they’re completely outmatched. Plus,” he added cheerfully, ”they’re very motivated to change careers now.”

The guard looked Adom up and down again, more thoroughly this time. ”You beat four people? You?” ”That’s rather offensive.”

”Just being honest, kid.”

He stood up - and kept standing up. The man was easily six and a half feet tall, well-muscled beneath his uniform, with long dark hair tied back in a loose tail. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

Grabbing some papers from his desk, he pulled out a quill. ”Names?”

”Well, there’s Gold-teeth, Scarred-eyebrow, the young one, and the unconscious one.”

The guard’s quill stopped mid-stroke. He stared at Adom. ”Those are their names?”

”No, I was a bit too busy avoiding being mugged to ask for proper introductions.”

The guard snorted, then shrugged. ”Tomorrow’s problem, I guess.” He scribbled the descriptions down anyway. ”Gold-teeth, Scarred-eyebrow, Young One, and...” he paused, ”Unconscious One?”

”And the big one,” Adom sighed.

The guard paused his writing, looked at Adom, then at the paper, then back at Adom. ”So... Gold-teeth, Scarred-eyebrow, Young One, and...” he made a final flourish with his quill, ”...the one you knocked out cold. Got it.” He sounded almost amused now. ”You know, this might be the most interesting recruitment form I’ve filled out all month. Usually it’s just ’my uncle knows someone’ or ’I need money for my sick grandmother.’”

He reached for the heavy brass stamp beside him.

The dull ’thunk’ of the seal hitting the paper echoed in the empty reception room. ”Well, ’Young Master Who Knocks Out Muggers,’ your colorfully-named friends can show up tomorrow morning. Though I’d suggest they bring their actual names with them.” He paused, then added with a hint of genuine curiosity, ”You really knocked one of them out cold?”

”Yeah,” Adom chuckled, turning to leave. ”I’ll stop by another day to make sure they showed up.” ”See ya!” the guard called out, already settling back into his chair and repositioning his hat.

Adom stepped out into the evening air, finally heading back toward Xerkes. He looked down at the meat pie in his hand - stone cold now. All this mentoring and reforming of street thugs had really cut into his dinner plans.

Just as he arrived at the west wing’s door, a deliberate rustling sound made him freeze. He spun around, a [Fireball] materializing in his palm, casting orange light across the courtyard. ”Who’s there?!” He sighed in exasperation. ”Really? Can’t I just go home for once?”

Then he saw them - two gleaming eyes in the darkness of a nearby bush. A low, rumbling sound emerged, not quite a growl, not quite a purr. The hair on the back of Adom’s neck stood up - not from fear, but from that peculiar sensation one gets when being watched by someone else.

”You.” The [Fireball] flickered out immediately.

It was the midnight puma.

Had it followed him all this way? The creature remained in the shadows, its eyes fixed on him, unblinking. Adom could hear its breathing now, steady and controlled.

He lowered his hand, remembering how his stance might appear threatening. He hadn’t seen the puma since that night in the alley, when it had saved his life and... well, ended another’s. He’d wondered about it often - where it had gone, if it was still in the city, if it was safe, if it had hurt anyone else...

”Hey there,” he said softly, crouching down to appear less imposing. ”Remember me? From the alley?”

A curious chirrup sound came from the bushes. The puma poked its head out slightly, ears perked forward, interested but cautious.

”That’s it,” Adom encouraged, keeping his voice gentle. ”It’s just me.”

He looked down at his cold meat pie, then back at the hesitant feline. ”Sorry, Sam,” he murmured, placing the pie on the ground between them. ”It’s lamb. Might be a bit salty for your taste, but you’re welcome to try it. It’s very good.”

The puma’s nose twitched visibly. It took one careful step out of the bushes, then another. The moonlight revealed its midnight-black fur, those same intelligent eyes he remembered from the alley.

”That’s right,” Adom coaxed, staying perfectly still. ”No fireballs, no threats. Just a cold pie that could use a home.” He watched as the puma took another step forward. ”You’ve been keeping an eye on me, haven’t you?”

The puma paused, tilting its head slightly as if considering his words. Its tail swished once, twice. It finally approached the pie cautiously, keeping one eye fixed on Adom as it lowered its head to sniff the offering.

”Go on, it’s just for you.”

It began to eat, its movements quick and desperate. In the moonlight, Adom could see how its ribs pressed against its skin, how its flanks had hollowed. At least that answered one question - it clearly hadn’t been feeding on humans, or it wouldn’t be this thin.

”You know,” Adom mused, watching it devour the pie, ”I’ve been wondering how you managed to stay hidden in a city like this. Not a single report of a puma sighting, not even a rumor. How did you-”

He never finished the question.

The puma’s form began to shrink, faster than seemed possible, until with a soft ’poof’, a regular black cat with startling blue eyes sat where the massive predator had been just moments before.

”Whoa!” Adom fell backward in surprise. This was unheard of. Animals couldn’t change form like that.

Unless... unless they were not animals.

Eyes wide, he cast [Identify] on the cat.

[???]

Adom’s jaw dropped as the black cat looked at him and simply went, ”Meow.”