Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

”LAST CALL FOR MISTY VALE! Final entry before permanent closure! LAST CALL!”

The guild officer’s voice boomed across the small clearing by the old mill where a shimmering portal stood within a stone archway. Blue lanterns dotted the path, their flames cutting through the morning mist. Not much to see beyond their glow, just a cluster of adventurers—maybe fifteen in total—gathered around the entry point, checking equipment and sharing last-minute strategies.

Adom jogged the final stretch, Zuni bouncing on his shoulder with each step. He’d taken a wrong turn at the market district, wasting precious minutes asking directions from a vendor who seemed determined to sell him ”dungeon insurance” before pointing him the right way.

”Wait!” he called out, waving his papers as he approached the gate. ”Hold the portal!”

The guild officer—a stocky man with a magnificent mustache and the dead-eyed stare of someone who’d seen too many idiots die in dungeons—turned toward Adom with a sigh. He held a clipboard in one hand and a glowing stamp in the other.

”Cutting it close, aren’t you?” he said, eyeing Adom’s Academy-adjacent appearance with obvious skepticism.

”Got held up,” Adom explained, catching his breath as he handed over his papers. ”But I’m registered.”

The officer scanned the documents.

Behind him, the last few adventurers were stepping through the portal—a serious-looking woman with twin daggers at her hips, a burly man hauling what looked like an impractical amount of weaponry, and a pair of younger men who radiated the dangerous combination of inexperience and overconfidence.

”Adom Sylla,” the officer read aloud. He glanced at Zuni, who chose that exact moment to start grooming himself in a particularly undignified manner. ”Solo entry?”

”That’s right.”

”No party backup?” The officer stamped the papers with more force than necessary, leaving a glowing blue mark. ”Bold choice or stupid one. Time will tell.”

”I work better alone,” Adom said, accepting his badge back.

”They all say that right before they—” the officer caught himself with practiced professionalism. ”Just be careful in there. These C-rank dungeons aren’t playground games. With Misty Vale closing today, the competition for remaining resources will be fierce. Some adventurers get desperate near dungeon death.”

”I understand.”

”Stick to the outer rings if you’re solo,” the officer advised, suddenly sounding almost fatherly. ”Inner rings are where the big predators gather before a collapse. Portal closes precisely at sundown, not a minute later. If you’re not out by then...” He made a slicing gesture across his throat.

”Got it,” Adom said, tucking his badge away. ”Thanks.”

The officer nodded and gestured toward the portal. The blue-white energy within the stone arch flickered slightly—a sign the dungeon’s anchoring runes were already beginning to destabilize.

”Best of luck,” the officer said.

Adom stepped forward, pausing briefly at the threshold. Zuni chittered nervously, burying himself deeper in Adom’s collar.

”It’s alright,” Adom told him quietly. ”Just a C rank dungeon.”

Drawing a deep breath, he stepped through the gate. The world dissolved into blue light as the runes flickered around him, pulling him across the barrier between worlds.

*****

The portal spat Adom out onto soft grass, the transition jarring but surprisingly painless.

Huh. Getting used to this.

He blinked away the blue afterimages dancing across his vision and found himself standing in a sunlit clearing ringed by towering trees. Not the dark, damp forest he’d expected from a place called ”Misty Vale,” but rather a picturesque meadow dotted with wildflowers in many colors—some of which seemed to be watching him with unsettling interest.

Zuni erupted from Adom’s collar like he’d been shot from a tiny catapult, chirping in frantic excitement. The quillick bounded across the grass, rolling and tumbling through the flowers, which swayed away from his hyperactive path as if offended by his enthusiasm.

”Don’t eat anything!” Adom called after him, though he suspected this advice would be cheerfully ignored.

The air here felt different—crisp and impossibly clean, with none of the city’s smoky undertones. Each breath felt like drinking cool water after a long thirst. It carried strange scents too—something sweet like honey but sharper, and underneath it all, the earthy musk of large animals.

Somewhere in the distance, something let out a deep, resonant call that made the hairs on Adom’s neck stand up.

The same adventurers he’d seen at the portal were scattered around the clearing, getting their bearings or consulting maps. The serious woman with twin daggers was already checking the treeline, her movements precise and economical. The burly man with too many weapons was adjusting his straps, cursing under his breath each time one of his blades clanked against another. The two younger men were pointing excitedly at something in a tree that Adom couldn’t see.

”Aren’t you a bit too young to be adventuring all alone in a C-rank dungeon?” asked a voice behind him.

Adom turned to find a fifth person he hadn’t noticed before—a lean man with salt-and-pepper hair and the relaxed posture of someone who’d seen enough danger to know how to conserve energy between threats. He wore simple leather armor with faded guild patches and carried a crossbow that looked more practical than impressive.

”I manage,” Adom said, weaving a small [Flame] spell on his palm, where it danced between his fingers. The message was clear enough: I’m not defenseless.

”A mage, eh?” The man nodded appreciatively. ”Handy.”

The burly man looked over, his attention caught by the flame. ”Hey, Danner, what’d you find?” He lumbered over, the arsenal on his back jingling like a one-man band. Up close, his face was surprisingly youthful beneath a poorly-grown beard that seemed to be compensating for something.

”Got ourselves a mage,” Danner replied. ”Solo entry.”

”No shit?” The big man extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. ”Name’s Kord. That’s Lissa over there.” He gestured to the woman, who acknowledged them with a slight nod without interrupting her survey of the perimeter. ”And those two idiots are Brennel and Jace.”

This tale has been pilfered from NovelFire. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The younger men, hearing their names, waved enthusiastically.

”Adom,” he replied, shaking Kord’s hand and managing not to wince at the bone-crushing grip.

”Listen,” Danner said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, ”we could use a sixth. Having a mage is like walking with a safety net. What do you say? Standard cut, one-sixth share of anything we haul out.”

Brennel bounded over like an over-eager puppy. ”Yeah, come with us!”

”What are you all hunting?”

”Anything that’s left,” Kord grunted. ”Last day means slim pickings—best stuff’s been cleared out already. But with a dungeon this size, there’s always something valuable left behind.”

”Particularly in the inner rings,” Danner added meaningfully. He had the air of someone used to being listened to. ”That’s where the real prizes are.”

Adom watched Zuni attempting to befriend a flower that was trying to inch away from him. ”Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got other plans.”

”You sure?” Lissa spoke for the first time, her voice unexpectedly melodic for someone who radiated such deadly competence. ”Solo diving is risky. Especially with that thing to look after.” She nodded toward Zuni, who was now rolling in what appeared to be glowing pollen.

”I’m sure,” Adom said firmly, scooping up the now-luminescent quillick before he could cause more trouble. ”Good hunting to you all.”

Danner opened his mouth to insist further, but Adom was already walking away, heading toward a gap in the trees that led north. He could feel their eyes on his back, evaluating, considering.

He didn’t need to look back to know that Brennel and Jace were whispering excitedly about how mysterious he seemed, that Kord was shrugging off his departure as no great loss, that Lissa was recalculating their odds without magical support, and that Danner was watching him with the thoughtful expression of a man wondering if paths might cross again later.

Many paths in a dungeon, but only one exit. And everyone would be heading for it by sundown anyway.

Adom pulled out the map Mr. Biggins had given him, carefully unfolding it on a flat rock. The parchment was yellowed with age but meticulously detailed, with neat annotations in flowing script that hadn’t faded despite the passage of time.

”Biggins has been in and out of every dungeon in Arkhos,” Adom murmured to Zuni, who was attempting to eat a corner of the map. ”And apparently dragons never forget a single detail.”

Mr. Biggins had traced a specific route in red ink—a winding path that would take Adom through progressively more challenging areas before reaching the silverback territory in the deepest part of the northern section. The old dragon had been adamant about following this exact route, claiming it would maximize Adom’s skill growth while minimizing the risk of encountering monsters beyond his capability.

”Training while hunting,” Adom said, folding the map and tucking it away. ”Efficient.”

He reached into his inventory and pulled out his gauntlets—WAM and BAM.

Next came John, his two-meter golem knight. The construct materialized with a whisper of displaced air, standing at attention beside Adom.

Zuni immediately abandoned his attempt to taste a nearby flower and scrambled toward John, chirping excitedly. The quillick scampered up the golem’s leg and perched on its shoulder, looking immensely pleased with his new vantage point.

”First step,” Adom said, orienting himself using the map’s landmarks. ”The Bristlehorn Glades.”

According to Biggins, the Glades were home to aggressive but manageable monsters—perfect for warming up and building skill experience. The old dragon had described every creature Adom would encounter with remarkable precision, complete with their attack patterns and weaknesses. Dragon memory was apparently no exaggeration.

They moved through the forest at a steady pace, John’s heavy footfalls surprisingly quiet for something of his size and weight. The vegetation gradually changed—trees thinning out, underbrush giving way to chest-high grass with purple-tinged tips that swayed even when there was no breeze.

Adom spotted them before they spotted him—a small herd of what looked like warthogs if warthogs had been designed by someone with a fondness for nightmares. Each was roughly the size of a large dog, with mottled brown hide covered in bony plates. Their tusks curved upward like scimitars, and multiple sets of red eyes glinted with predatory intelligence.

[Identify]

The information flooded his awareness:

Bristleback Charger (Moderate threat)

A territorial omnivore known for its aggressive pack tactics and surprising speed.

”Just as Biggins described,” Adom murmured, rolling his shoulders as he prepared for battle. The goal here wasn’t to blast them with magic—it was to engage directly, to push his body to adapt and evolve through stress and recovery.

One of the Bristlebacks raised its snout, catching Adom’s scent. Its eyes locked onto him, and it let out a high-pitched squeal that alerted the rest of the pack. Eight sets of red eyes swiveled in his direction.

”Zuni, brace yourself,” Adom called. The quillick chirped and dug his tiny claws into John’s shoulder armor.

The Bristlebacks charged as one, their hooves kicking up dirt as they barreled toward him with surprising speed. Adom shifted into a fighting stance, WAM and BAM humming with Fluid as he prepared to meet the attack.

The first Bristleback reached him, tusks lowered to impale. Adom sidestepped, driving a gauntleted fist down onto the creature’s armored back.

WAM.

The impact was violent.

The Bristleback squealed in pain as the enchanted metal connected with its spine.

No time to celebrate—two more were coming from different angles. Adom ducked under one set of tusks and caught the second Bristleback with an uppercut that lifted it off its hooves. His muscles burned with the effort, but the satisfaction of seeing the creature crash to the ground made it worthwhile.

”John, defensive perimeter!” Adom called. He did not need to speak for the golem to execute his orders, but it felt right. John moved immediately, positioning itself to intercept three Bristlebacks that were trying to flank Adom.

A tusk grazed Adom’s thigh, tearing through his pants and leaving a shallow but painful gash.

Adom pivoted, using his momentum to deliver a crushing hook to the offending Bristleback’s jaw.

BAM.

Bone crunched under his fist, and the creature staggered sideways, disoriented.

Another charged from behind. Adom sensed rather than saw it coming as [Flow Prediction] came into play. He dropped into a roll that carried him under the creature’s leap. He came up in a duelist’s stance, both gauntlets positioned to block the next attack.

There was something deeply counterintuitive about letting monsters wound him when he could have jsut scorched them with a few good [Fireball] spells. Every instinct screamed to avoid injury completely. This was the opposite of how most mages fought. Most would keep enemies at a distance, preserving their fragile bodies while their magic did the work. But that approach would never get him what he needed.

Damn it all. He thought through gritted teeth.

Two Bristlebacks came at him simultaneously. Adom met the first with a straight jab that caught it between its multiple eyes, then twisted to avoid the second’s charge. The creature’s momentum carried it past him, and Adom hammered a blow between its shoulder blades as it passed.

”OW!”

Pain flared across his back as a third Bristleback he hadn’t seen scored its tusks across his spine.

”You little-!” Adom spun, driving his Fluid powered elbow into the creature’s snout with enough force to shatter bone. The Bristleback collapsed, legs twitching.

Nearby, John was methodically dispatching the remaining attackers, his armored fists coming down with precise, devastating force.

One Bristleback remained, larger than the others, clearly the alpha of the pack. It pawed the ground, eyeing Adom with what seemed like calculating hatred.

Adom didn’t wait for it to charge. He rushed forward, feinting left before pivoting right as the creature lunged. His timing was perfect—as the Bristleback overextended, Adom delivered a devastating combination: a left hook to the creature’s exposed flank, followed by a straight right that connected with its temple.

The alpha Bristleback wobbled, stunned but not defeated. It gathered itself for another charge, but slower now, its movements uncoordinated. Adom met it head-on this time, catching its tusks with his gauntlets and using the creature’s momentum to flip it onto its back. Before it could recover, he delivered a final, crushing blow to its exposed throat.

Silence fell over the clearing. Adom stood among the fallen Bristlebacks, chest heaving, various cuts and bruises. His muscles ached with exertion.

A notification appeared in his awareness:

[+10 White Wyrm’s Body]

[+03 Healing Factor]

”Not enough,” Adom muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

He glanced at John, where Zuni was bouncing excitedly on the golem’s shoulder, apparently having enjoyed the spectacle immensely.

”We’re just getting started,” Adom told the quillick, checking his map for the next hunting ground.