Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Through the classroom window, autumn painted the academy grounds in warm colors. A gentle breeze scattered fallen leaves across the courtyard, where a first-year was poking at a particularly fat frog with a stick.

The boy wasn’t being cruel, exactly - more like that peculiar brand of childhood curiosity that involved seeing how far you could annoy something before it hopped away.

Adom watched the scene with mild interest, Professor Lan’s lecture on basic ward theory fading into background noise.

The first-year managed to flip the frog onto its back. The creature’s legs kicked uselessly at the air while the boy watched, fascinated.

Adom’s mind drifted to his own problems. Professor Kim’s Dragon’s Breath project needed careful handling - one wrong move and the consequences would ripple through decades. Then there was the cure... The time limit in his interface was a constant reminder ticking away in the corner of his vision.

The frog had righted itself, only for the stick to prod it again.

Seventy-nine years of magical knowledge crammed into a twelve-year-old brain made formal education feel rather redundant. He could ace every test, answer every question - except in Alchemy, ironically enough. That one he actually needed to attend. Everything else though...

His fingers traced absent patterns on his desk. He could be in the library right now, researching giant runes or working on the cure. Instead, he was sitting through lessons he could probably teach in his sleep. Had taught, in fact, to wide-eyed recruits who’d called him ”Lord Mage Sylla” with varying degrees of terror and respect.

The frog made another bid for freedom. The first-year blocked its path with the stick.

Without moving his head from its comfortable position propped on his hand, Adom weaved a subtle attraction spell, just enough to make the frog zip suddenly between the boy’s legs. The startled yelp that followed was rather satisfying.

A small giggle escaped before he could catch it.

”Care to share what’s so amusing, Mr. Sylla?”

Professor Lan’s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife through butter. Right. Maybe he should pay at least some attention to class. For appearance’s sake, if nothing else.

Adom straightened in his chair, offering Professor Lan an apologetic smile. The rest of the class dragged by like molasses, his mind constantly wandering to more pressing matters - Cure, Dragon’s Breath, freedom...

By lunch time, the dining hall hummed with the usual chaos. Apprentice mages clustered around long wooden tables, their voices echoing off stone walls as they compared notes, complained about assignments, or argued about the proper pronunciation of that new fire spell their Professor had demonstrated.

Adom took another bite of his turkey leg, savoring the tenderness of the meat. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves - perfectly seasoned, just the right amount of smokiness. A welcome distraction from the day’s monotony.

”You’re doing it again,” Sam said from across the table, pointing his fork accusingly.

”Doing what?”

”That thing where you stare into space and look all...” Sam waved his hands vaguely. ”You’ve been moping all day. Is it because your cat left?”

Adom nearly choked on his turkey.

”I mean, cats do that sometimes,” Sam continued, misinterpreting Adom’s reaction. ”They just... wander off. Could come back today even.”

A laugh bubbled up from Adom’s chest before he could stop it. ”I really doubt that.”

”Well, you never know with cats.” Sam shrugged, then brightened. ”Hey, what are you doing after lunch? I was thinking of heading to the club, get some training in.”

”Would you look at that,” Adom grinned, setting down his turkey leg. ”Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago you were cursing my name for dragging you there? What was it you said? Something about ’sadistic training regimens’ and ’cruel and unusual punishment’?”

”I was young and ignorant then,” Sam declared with mock solemnity. He pushed up his sleeve with flourish. ”Look! Look what all that training did!”

Sam flexed his arm dramatically. There was... well, there was certainly enthusiasm, if not actual muscle definition. Yet.

”Very impressive,” Adom said with complete seriousness, while a third-year at the next table poorly disguised their snicker as a cough.

”Right?” Sam beamed, completely missing the sarcasm. He rolled his sleeve back down, nearly knocking over his water goblet in the process. ”So, you coming or what?”

”Can’t today. Got that thing with Professor Mirwen,” Adom said, wiping his hands on a napkin.

”Oh right, the special course.” Sam shook his head. ”I still don’t get you, you know? First, we were both going for Runicologist. Then suddenly you’re all about Battle Mage, and now you’re taking extra Alchemy classes?” He gestured with his fork. ”What’s next? Divination?”

”It is what it is,” Adom said, standing up with his plate. ”Speaking of which, I should get going. Lesson’s in a few minutes.”

Adom made his way to the disposal area, where animated dishes scrubbed themselves clean in perpetual motion.

”See you later then,” Sam called after him. ”Try not to blow anything up!”

Adom waved goodbye and stepped out into the corridor, where Xerkes’ ever-shifting architecture was beginning its occasional dance.

He checked his map of the building’s current layout. Professor Mirwen had said to meet in the East Tower’s secondary laboratory - which, given the building’s constant movement, meant he needed to take the third corridor, wait for the rotating bridge to align, then catch the floating platform before it drifted too high.

Three sharp knocks echoed in the stone corridor.

”Come in!” Professor Mirwen’s voice carried through the heavy oak door.

Adom stepped into the laboratory, it had a... sterile smell. If that meant something. Copper apparatus lined the walls, their tubes and vessels gleaming in the light of crystals. Professor Mirwen stood behind a workbench, her silver-streaked hair tied back in its usual practical knot. Beside her, Mia sat perched on a tall stool, her notebook already open.

”Hey,” Adom nodded to Mia.

”Hey, Adom.” she returned the greeting with a smile then looked back at her notes.

”Ah, perfect timing, Mr. Sylla. We were just about to begin.” Professor Mirwen gestured to an empty stool. ”Please, join us.”

Adom settled onto the wooden seat, noting how different the atmosphere felt with just two students instead of a full class. More focused. Less opportunity to daydream, too.

”Now then,” Professor Mirwen said, resting her hands on the workbench. Her rings clinked softly against the worn wood. ”Before we delve into the practical aspects, I’d like to hear your understanding of alchemy. Mr. Sylla?”

”Ah, sure.” Adom straightened slightly. ”Alchemy is the magical discipline that focuses on the transformation of matter through the manipulation of its fundamental properties. Unlike pure transmutation magic, it requires catalysts and reagents to achieve stable results. Its primary applications include potion-making, material enhancement, and the creation of magical compounds.”

”Very good.” Professor Mirwen’s lips curved in a slight smile. ”That’s the textbook definition, word for word if I’m not mistaken. But tell me - what is alchemy to you?”

The question hung in the air between them, accompanied only by the soft bubbling of something green in a nearby retort.

Adom shifted on his stool, the question weighing heavier than it should. How to explain alchemy to an alchemist? As a runicologist - or former runicologist - he could spot ward configurations in his sleep. Show him a rune, and he’d tell you its purpose, its variations, its history. The knowledge was as natural as breathing. Most of the time.But alchemy? He glanced at the bubbling retorts and intricate apparatus surrounding them.

His expertise there began and ended with potion-making, and even then, only because necessity had demanded it. The countless hours spent with healers and alchemists, desperately working on the Lifedrain cure, had taught him enough to reproduce that specific potion. But that was like claiming to be a chef because you could make one really good sandwich.

Magic was vast. Impossibly vast. Even after seven decades of study, some aspects remained as mysterious as they’d been when he first stepped into Xerkes as a wide-eyed eleven-year-old. Put him in front of a healing circle, or ask him about druidic transformations - paths that some spent upwards of a decade mastering - and he’d be as lost as any first-year.

Professor Mirwen’s smile softened at his hesitation. ”It’s alright, Mr. Sylla. Your silence speaks volumes.” She adjusted one of her rings. ”Many students come to alchemy thinking it’s just another branch of magic to master. But it’s more than memorizing reagents and following recipes.”

The green liquid in the nearby retort chose that moment to change to a deep purple, as if emphasizing her point.

”What you learn in the first and second years before choosing your path,” Professor Mirwen said, carefully measuring drops of the purple liquid into a crystal vial, ”barely scratches the surface. Yes, every mage should know how to brew a healing potion or craft a simple elixir. But alchemy...” She paused, watching the liquid swirl. ”Alchemy is the art of understanding change itself.”She set the vial in a brass holder and drew a circle around it with chalk. ”You both know the fundamental laws, I assume? Ms. Storm?”

Mia sat up straighter. ”Yes, Professor. The first is the Law of Conservation - matter and energy can’t be created or destroyed, only transformed.”

As she spoke, Professor Mirwen traced five small circles around the main one, each containing a different runic symbol. ”Exactly. Watch.” She touched the first circle, and the liquid in the vial began to separate into distinct layers. ”Every component maintains its essence, even as it changes form.”

”Then there’s the Law of Equivalent Exchange,” Mia continued. ”The output must equal the input.”

Mirwen nodded, touching the second circle. The layers in the vial began to merge again, but differently. ”If I want to strengthen this solution, I must provide additional energy or material of equal value. Nothing comes free.”

”The Law of Elemental Harmony requires balance between the five quintessences,” Mia said, as Professor Mirwen activated the third circle. The liquid stabilized, taking on a golden hue.

”Precisely why most amateur alchemists fail,” Mirwen noted. ”They focus on the physical components and forget the elemental balance. One drop too much fire essence, and...” She gestured at some scorch marks on the ceiling.

”The Law of Providence states that materials can only be transformed within their natural limitations,” Mia recited. ”And finally, the Law of Resonance - similar elements amplify each other.”

Professor Mirwen activated the final two circles. The golden liquid brightened, then settled into a perfect, stable shimmer. ”These aren’t just rules in a textbook. They’re the fundamental principles of reality itself. Break them, and the consequences are... severe.” She lifted the vial, now containing what looked like liquid sunlight. ”This is what happens when you work with the laws, not against them.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

”So, Mr. Sylla,” Professor Mirwen held up the vial of golden liquid, ”what did you understand from this demonstration?”

Adom adjusted his glasses, the Riddler’s Bane having helped him follow the flowing patterns of magic during her work. The artifact didn’t give him new knowledge, but it had clarified what he’d already learned about transformation magic during his work with the Lifedrain cure.

”You started with nightshade,” he said. ”I recognize it from healing work - mild, irritating poison in its natural state. Then you used the runic circles to...” He gestured at the chalk marks, ”to break it down. Fire pulled it apart, water and air moved things around, earth kept it stable while it changed.” He paused, watching the golden liquid shimmer. ”And the runic circle for mana gathering at the end made the change stick. You turned something that hurts into something that doesn’t.”

”Not quite right,” Mia interjected, twirling her quill. ”The mana circle didn’t just ’make it stick’ - it powered the whole transformation. Without it, the other elements would’ve just moved things around uselessly.”

Professor Mirwen nodded. ”Ms. Storm is correct. Mana is the foundation, not the finishing touch.” She held the vial up to the light. ”But you grasped the essential concept, Mr. Sylla. Alchemy isn’t about destroying and creating - it’s about understanding what something is, and guiding it to become what it could be.” She set the vial down with a soft clink. ”Though I must say, I’m surprised you followed the process so well. Most non-alchemists only see the end result.”

Adom scratched his cheek, offering a small smile. ”You just have a way of making complex things clear, Professor.””My, my.” Professor Mirwen’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ”I didn’t take you for one to give compliments, Mr. Sylla.”

Mia snickered as Adom’s smile turned awkward. He adjusted his glasses again.

”Could I...” he hesitated, then pushed forward. ”Could I try a transmutation?”

”Confident, aren’t we?” Professor Mirwen raised an eyebrow.

Confidence had nothing to do with it.

If anything, the thought of attempting alchemy made his stomach twist. But time wasn’t a luxury he had anymore. The Lifedrain Syndrome would return in less than a month, and with the Cisco situation growing more unstable by the day... He needed to understand this. The Elixir of Rebirth might be beyond his current abilities, but if he could grasp these principles, maybe he could develop an alternative to the cure. Something more permanent. Something that wouldn’t require constant renewal.

He met Professor Mirwen’s gaze, and something in his expression must have conveyed his urgency, because her amused smile softened into something more understanding.

”Well then,” she said, reaching for a fresh piece of chalk. ”Let’s see what you can do.”

Adom knelt by the workbench, chalk in hand.

The circle part was simple enough - he’d studied enough runes to draw perfect circles in his sleep. He sketched the main circle, then the five smaller ones around it, each designated for an element. Fire in the east, water in the west, air in the north, earth in the south, and mana at the top. His runes were precise, each stroke carrying meaning: transformation, flow, stability, harmony, power.

Professor Mirwen nodded approvingly and placed a bottle of clear liquid in the center. ”Water with trace amounts of fat and protein. Turn it into milk.”

Adom adjusted his glasses, activating Riddler’s Bane. The world shifted, magical currents becoming visible like streams of light. The liquid in the bottle wasn’t just water - he could see the suspended particles.

”You might want to put your palms together during the weaving,” Mirwen suggested. ”It helps focus the mana flow. Optional, of course, but recommended for beginners.”

”Go on, Mr. Sylla.”

Adom brought his palms together, mind racing through the laws. Conservation - he had the basic components, just needed to rearrange them. Equivalent exchange - the energy he’d put in would determine the transformation’s extent. Elemental harmony - balance was key.

He touched the fire circle first, watching the components separate. Then water, to maintain fluidity. Air to distribute the particles evenly. Earth to stabilize the new structure. Finally, mana to power the transformation.

The liquid began to change, turning white, but something wasn’t quite right. The consistency thickened too much, and a distinctive odor filled the air - like milk that had been left in the sun for several days. Or weeks.

Adom winced as wisps of vapor rose from the now-gooey substance.

”Actually quite impressive for a first attempt,” Professor Mirwen said, though she did take a step back from the pungent fumes. ”Ms. Storm, what did our aspiring alchemist miss?”

Mia tapped her chin thoughtfully. ”The sequence was right, but the proportions were off. You pushed too much power through the fire circle, which overheated the proteins. And when you tried to compensate with water, it threw off the balance. That’s why it curdled.”

Adom’s eyes widened. Of course - he’d treated it like a runic array, where more power meant stronger effects. But in alchemy, precision mattered more than power.

The smell of his failed experiment grew stronger, making his eyes water.

”Well, at least nothing exploded.” Mirwen joked.

The next two hours flew by as Professor Mirwen guided them through advanced alchemy concepts. Despite his initial disaster with the milk, Adom found himself absorbing the principles with growing fascination. Each demonstration made the abstract laws more concrete, more real.

”Well,” Professor Mirwen said finally, clearing away the last of their practice materials, ”this was quite productive. I must say, Mr. Sylla, I expected you to be rather behind Ms. Storm.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement. ”You are, of course, but not nearly as much as I anticipated.”

”Watch out, Storm,” she teased. ”Looks like you’ve got competition.”

Mia laughed, gathering her notes. ”I’ll believe that when he can transmute water into milk without creating biological weapons, Professor.”

Professor Mirwen reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small card with gold trim. ”Here, Mr. Sylla. When you have time, visit the library’s fourth-year section. This will grant you access.”

Adom’s eyes widened as he took the card. ”Fourth-year?”

”We’ll be working at that level,” she nodded. ”Best to get familiar with the essential concepts now.” She smiled at their stunned expressions. ”Off you go, both of you. I’m sure you have other classes to prepare for.”

As they walked through the corridors, Mia glanced at Adom. ”I didn’t expect you to choose the alchemist path. You seemed more like the pure theory type.”

”I find it fascinating,” Adom admitted, still looking at the library card. ”The way everything connects, how understanding one principle leads to another...”

”Really?” Mia’s eyes lit up. ”My mother’s an alchemist - she’s the one who got me interested in it. Used to let me watch her work when I was little. Probably broke about a dozen safety regulations,” she chuckled. ”But seeing her transform things, understand how they worked at their core... it was like magic within magic, you know?”

Mia Storm.

She defied every expectation Adom had about top students. Perfect scores across the board, walking the path that would have made her the youngest Archmage in Sundar’s history at 44 - if she hadn’t died in the wars before then...

With her perfect scores, one would have expected her to be someone buried in books, awkward in conversation, isolated. Instead, here she was, the most popular second-year student by far, with even Damus trailing behind her in that regard, talking about her mother’s alchemy experiments like they were sharing jokes over lunch.

”How do you do it?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.

”Do what?”

”All of it. The perfect scores, the advanced studies, and still...” he gestured vaguely, ”being normal?”

Mia chuckled, adjusting her bag. ”Let’s just say when your family’s been attending Xerkes for generations, you pick up a few tricks about succeeding here.”

”What kind of tricks?”

She glanced at him sideways, seeming to weigh something in her mind. ”Well...” she lowered her voice slightly, ”take alchemy, for instance. Everyone struggles with the fourth-year curriculum because they’re going about it the wrong way.”

Adom leaned in, intrigued.

He knew well enough how the Empire’s ranking system worked - the highest-scoring graduates from Xerkes were fast-tracked to positions as lord mages, given lands and privileges, their academic achievements directly translating to status and power.

This naturally created a cut-throat environment where students guarded their study methods like precious gems. Not wanting the others to be higher. The fact that Mia was sharing anything at all was surprising.

”There’s this old grimoire in the third-year section - ’Paracelsus’s Incomplete Works.’ Most people ignore it because it looks like a basic text, but...” she glanced around before continuing, ”you have to weave your mana in a specific pattern - first a thin stream through the page’s core, then spread it like a web while pulsing it at exactly three-second intervals, on page 394. If you get the frequency right, the hidden notes appear. You’ll find hundreds of notes in the margins. Some student or professor from centuries ago basically broke down all the complex concepts into simpler terms. Nothing new or groundbreaking, just clearer explanations that make it easier to grasp the fundamentals.”

She adjusted her bag. ”That’s the thing about Xerkes - they don’t hand you anything. Most of the real knowledge, you have to dig for it yourself. Find your own shortcuts, discover your own methods.” A small smile played on her lips. ”Half the learning is in the searching.”

The casual way she dropped this information made it feel less like she was sharing a secret and more like she was commenting on the weather.

”Thank you for sharing this,” Adom said warmly. ”I’ll definitely check it out as soon as I can.”

”No problem,” Mia replied with an easy smile. ”Just... keep it between us, yeah? These little discoveries are worth their weight in gold around here.”

”Don’t worry about that,” he assured her, suddenly changing direction at the next intersection.

”Oh? Where are you heading?” Mia asked, tilting her head.

”Got one last thing to do today - meeting with Professor Kim.”

”The Professor Kim?” Her eyes widened slightly.

”Ah, yes,” Adom nodded. ”He’s allowed me to consult with him occasionally. Today’s one of those days.”

”Really? You have to introduce us sometime,” Mia said, a hint of excitement in her voice.

”Definitely will, once I get a bit closer to his inner circle,” Adom promised with a slight smile. ”Baby steps, you know?”

They parted ways there, Mia heading towards the dormitories while Adom turned towards the professor’s tower

*****

The sound of Adom’s footsteps echoed through the academy’s corridors as he made his way from Professor Mirwen’s alchemy session to Professor Kim’s lab. His mind was still processing Hugo’s words from earlier - another chance to meet with the professor. Another opportunity to prevent catastrophe.

Except this time, there would be no convenient feline intervention. No judgmental stares or perfectly timed tail-flicks of disapproval. The absence of Morgana’s silent presence beside him felt strange, like missing a particularly critical piece of equipment before an experiment.

”See some places,” she’d said. Right.

A group of first-years scurried past, giving him odd looks for talking to himself. He barely noticed them.

He reached Professor Kim’s laboratory door, his hand pausing before the knocker. Today’s goal was simple enough - continue subtly derailing Dragon’s Breath research.

”One apocalypse at a time,” he reminded himself, and just as his knuckles were about to meet wood, the door swung open. His hand connected with something solid instead - a broad chest covered in a well-worn leather coat.

”Oh, what’s up?” The man’s voice was friendly, almost jovial. Stubble dotted his jaw in a way that suggested he’d forgotten to shave rather than chosen not to. His blond hair caught the afternoon light filtering through the corridor windows. Green eyes regarded Adom with casual interest.

”Oh, sorry,” Adom said, taking a step back.

The stranger’s smile widened. ”No harm done.” He stepped aside with an easy movement, gesturing for Adom to enter. ”Here for the professor?”

”Yes,” Adom replied. ”He’s expecting me.”

”Ah, you must be the promising student Hugo mentioned,” the man said. ”Adom, was it?”

”Uh, yes,” Adom replied.

”Huh. Got a good head on your shoulders, kid.” He looked at Adom for a moment. ”Well, don’t keep the professor waiting.”

As Adom passed him, he found himself wondering if the man was a warrior, maybe an adventurer, or a martial artist. He had that same indefinable quality his father carried - something you couldn’t quite put your finger on unless you’d grown up around it.

”Oh, Adom!” Professor Kim’s voice called from somewhere behind a stack of books. ”Perfect timing! Just let me finish with this... no, wait, that’s not right... ah, there we go!”

Adom stepped into the chaos of the laboratory, where papers defied gravity by clinging precariously to every available surface. Hugo stood by the workbench, methodically organizing what appeared to be the aftermath of one of the professor’s ”eureka” moments.

Professor Kim’s head popped up from behind a teetering stack of books. His mustache looked slightly singed on one side. Again.

”Adom! Perfect timing! You won’t believe what happened with the resonance matrices after we implemented your suggestions!” He waved a paper enthusiastically, nearly knocking over a jar of something that definitely shouldn’t be knocked over. Hugo caught it without looking up.

”They exploded,” Hugo supplied helpfully.

”Magnificently!” The professor beamed as if this were the greatest possible outcome.

”They weren’t supposed to explode,” Hugo added, carefully placing the jar out of the professor’s reach.

”But that’s what makes it fascinating!” Professor Kim practically bounced across the room. ”The non-linear patterns created an unexpected feedback loop in the—”

”Speaking of unexpected,” Adom cut in, before they ended up down another three-hour theoretical tangent, ”I just ran into someone leaving. Tall fellow, blond hair?”

”Oh, that was Gale!” Professor Kim’s eyes lit up. ”Mr. Fox’s new right hand man. Such a pleasant fellow, always asking such interesting questions about our progress.”

Adom blinked. ”Mr. Fox?”

Hugo looked up from his organizing, pushing his glasses up his nose. ”Our benefactor. The academy’s board thought the project was...” he glanced at the professor, choosing his words carefully, ”perhaps too ambitious.”

”They called it impossible!” Professor Kim threw his hands up. ”Said I was chasing fairy tales! That the energy conversion rates I proposed violated fundamental magical laws!”

”Which they did,” Hugo muttered under his breath.

”But Mr. Fox understood the vision!” The professor continued, either not hearing or choosing to ignore Hugo’s comment. ”Fifteen years of funding! Complete creative freedom! All he asks for are progress reports!”

Adom felt his stomach drop.

External funding? In his past life, he’d always assumed Dragon’s Breath had been an academy project, contained within Xerkes’ walls. But private backing meant outside interests. Unknown players. People he hadn’t accounted for in his plans.

The implications made his head spin. How many others knew about this research? How far had the information spread? And more importantly - what did they plan to do with it?

Hugo caught his expression. ”Mr. Fox keeps to himself. Most people haven’t heard of him. Even we’ve only met him once or twice.”

”Three times!” Professor Kim corrected. ”Remember that winter solstice party?”

”Professor, that was a cat. A ginger cat that wandered into your office.”

”Are you sure? He had the same mysterious aura...”

Adom barely heard their banter, his mind racing through possibilities. A merchant wealthy enough to fund fifteen years of unrestricted magical research should have been impossible to miss. Yet in seventy-nine years of life, through wars and politics and countless intelligence briefings, he’d never heard the name Fox mentioned once.

Something wasn’t adding up.

But, despite himself, he pushed the mystery of Mr. Fox aside. He had more immediate concerns - like the prototype sitting innocently on the workbench, waiting to destroy the world. One enigmatic merchant wasn’t going to distract him from—

”Oh!” Professor Kim exclaimed suddenly. ”That reminds me! The explosion revealed something fascinating about the crystal matrix’s stability under pressure...”

Adom settled in for another long session of carefully guided misdirection, though a small part of his mind kept circling back to the man named Gale. Something about that man...

No. Focus. One potentially world-ending problem at a time.