Something slammed into my back. I took a step forward but managed to stay on my feet.
A girl. Black hair, a piercing gaze. She appeared suddenly, her eyes sliding over me and leaving a strange feeling behind. The look was sharp and targeted, filled with an assessment, a careful measuring she didn't bother to hide. It was like I was dissected on the spot, everything I was laid bare. And then came the disdain.
"Worthless." I could see it. She probably thought exactly that. Hey! Who gave you the right to think about people like that!
She didn't stop. Didn't even turn her head to check if I was okay. Just kept running, straight onto the road, leaving me with that strange feeling.
An ordinary passerby, an ordinary collision. But that look— it stuck in my mind and wouldn't fade no matter how much I blinked.
"Forgive her… she…"
Without stopping, he ran after her.
"Damned kids…"
A sharp screech of tires. Light flashed into my eyes.
I saw his face. The boy froze in fear.
Damn.
A lunge. Wind in my ears. A moment. The girl. The boy. My shoulder slamming into his body, pushing him out of the way.
Pain.
A white ceiling, walls. A strange place, but familiar.
I blinked.
Sunbeams slipped through the curtains.
"Wh-what…"
I woke up.
***
A sharp breath. My back was sticky with sweat, my heart pounding in my chest like I had just died again. My breathing hitched. But I was alive.
That dream again. That moment again. The same headlights, the same feeling of falling.
"What a stupid way to die…" I muttered under my breath, leaning back on the pillow.
I tried to get up and immediately winced from the pain.
Every muscle ached. My whole body throbbed like I'd been beaten with sticks all night.
Well, essentially, that's exactly what happened. Paul probably should go easier on his own son, but he clearly isn't the type to care about such details. He decided he'd turn me into a swordsman, and now he runs me back and forth every day. I hope it's not for nothing.
I stretched, and the muscles in my back and arms tensed.
This is madness.
It feels like not long ago I lived a normal… well, probably fairly normal life.
And now I'm swinging a wooden sword and getting hit in the head. I hope I won't ever have to use it. The thought of having to use a weapon and kill someone sends cold sweat down my back. In my past life I couldn't even fight, and I doubt I could beat anyone with this body.
A sword stood in the corner. The very one they gave me for my fifth birthday.
It looked heavy. Too heavy for someone like me. But I was starting to get used to it.
Why give a five-year-old a sword anyway? Or is that some kind of warrior tradition?
I had no desire to use it in battle. But the truth is, if I plan to survive in this world, I'd better know how to swing it.
Taking the hilt in my hand, I drew the blade from its sheath. Even though I had never used this thing before, it seemed to settle naturally into my grip.
The blade gleamed in the light, thin mithril patterns catching the sun.
A sharp steel edge. Even though this piece of metal was deadly, its weight in my hand was calming.
"Artifact weapon…" I muttered.
Artifact weapons were the foundation of every elite warrior's armament. Everyone wanted to get their hands on something like that. Such things rarely appeared for sale, since most of them belonged to wealthy people or nobles. They were extremely expensive—Paul told me he had to spend half his savings on this sword.
I even felt a bit embarrassed.
This kind of weapon requires a source of magical energy. It draws magic from its owner, stores it, and releases it at the most important moments. Most artifact weapons have unique abilities that only manifest when they resonate with their owner.
Just like the blade I was given. So far it hasn't shown anything, and its only ability is taking up space in the corner.
Sigh.
I sighed, slid the blade back into its sheath, and set it aside. I still had to get up. My body protested, but I wasn't planning to give in.
Carefully stepping so as not to wake the whole house with creaking floorboards—though who was there to wake?—I went outside.
Cold morning air, but I drew it in deeply. Nice. It was always clean and fresh here, unlike the stuffy streets of my world.
Inhale. Exhale.
I took a step forward. Then another. I felt my muscles warming, my body gradually falling into rhythm. Slowly at first, then faster.
Inhale. Exhale.
My legs moved faster and faster, carrying me onward. My stamina improved day by day.
I ran every day. I didn't know how many kilometers I covered, but the distance felt significant. But that wasn't the hardest part. When the hill began to rise, I had to speed up. The steep incline drained my strength. Every step took more effort than the last.
One hundred steps.
Two hundred.
Five hundred.
Seven hundred.
Reaching the top of the hill, I felt blood rush to my ears. My breathing quickened, my vision blurred a little. I rested for a couple of minutes, hands on my knees, catching my breath.
The hill and the huge tree atop it. The leaves rustled soothingly. Lately this place had become my favorite spot to rest. It was hard to find a better view.
From here I could see everything. The village below, the fields stretching toward the horizon. The Buena Forest, a dark mass in the distance. An ordinary landscape. My new world. My new life.
This view alone made it worth leaving the house and stepping past the fence. In my previous world, the old me was afraid to even stick my nose out of my room. Because of the difficult rebirth, I remembered this only when I could already freely walk here to enjoy the scenery. That helped me overcome the fear of going outside.
Every day I woke up at the same time. I went outside and ran here, and afterward Paul drilled me with a wooden sword. It was terribly boring, and I just wanted to do nothing. Maybe sit at a computer, go online and… there was none of that here.
How boring.
The only thing that interested me was magic. Magic that had been impossible in my previous world was here now. In this world. Literally within arm's reach, and I…
I couldn't study it.
Zenith had told me the same thing hundreds of times, no matter how much I begged.
"Magic isn't for children."
Damn.
And the worst part—she could cast spells herself.
I saw her fill cups with water, heal small and large wounds after my training with Paul, light candles without flint. But the moment I brought up her teaching me, I heard the same thing:
"What I know is too difficult for a child. You can't just pick up magic and start casting spells. It takes preparation."
But where was I supposed to get that preparation if no one would explain anything to me?
Walking toward the house, I remembered the book. There weren't many books in the house. But one of them was different.
A grimoire.
A book with spells written in it. Zenith never let me take it. She said I wasn't ready.
So I would have to find a way to read it secretly.
Zenith forbade it? Fine. I'd figure it out myself.
Inhale. Exhale.
When I was running past the well, I ran into a short girl. But her large… incredibly large breasts couldn't help but catch the eye. I didn't even notice how I stared, and because of that I almost bumped into her…
Clink.
"Whoa, careful!" The girl with the basket only noticed me then. She almost dropped it, frowned a little, then gave a warm smile when she saw who it was. "Ah… hello, Rudy-y-y…"
She took my cheek and tugged it to the side. Hey, enough of that! I'm not a kid… but it felt nice. Fine, I didn't mind.
"Hello, Suzy!" I greeted her with a bright smile. "Are you coming from our place?"
"Of course… Milady Lilia asked me to bring something over," she smiled, a blush appearing on her cheeks. "And Milady Zenith even gave me a bottle of wine! 'Recilotto'!"
We talked a little more; I tried to joke, and she laughed even at my silliest ones. Her chest kept rising and falling with her laughter. No way they were really that big!
She said something about "they'll drink till night again," but I barely listened, and then we went our separate ways.
***
Hot rays of sunlight fell on the small house at the edge of Buena Village.
Zenith woke with a sharp exhale. Her body ached, her temples throbbed with a dull pain.
She sat up in bed, rubbing her temples. In the corner, on the bedside table, stood empty bottles and glasses. She had drunk too much yesterday. Again.
It took her a few minutes to pull herself together.
The sunlight outside the window told her that morning had passed and day had begun.
"Feels like my head is stuffed with cotton from this heat," she thought to herself as she got out of bed and went to the dresser.
After putting on a simple everyday dress, she looked at her reflection in the mirror: dark circles under her eyes, puffy cheeks, oily hair, pale skin.
"Wonderful. You look like a soaked chicken," she sighed and poured water into a bowl.
The cool water on her face brought some relief, but the headache only worsened. She wanted it to stop. The hangover reminded her of the evening spent with a glass of wine.
She went downstairs and found the hall empty. Taking a piece of bread and some dried meat, she stepped onto the porch.
Outside smelled of dry grass, the trees rustled lazily in the hot wind, and Lilia was diligently sweeping the path leading to the road. She was focused on her task, sweat beading on her forehead.
"Good day, madam," she said dryly, giving her a brief glance.
The hangover hadn't passed, but at least her mind had cleared a little. Better to do something useful than lie around and drink more. Although…
"Lili, I need something fresh. Something… invigorating."
"Of course, madam."
Lilia nodded and left. She returned shortly with a tray: cheese, bread, and a bottle of wine.
Zenith narrowed her eyes.
"You decided that by 'invigorating' I meant wine?"
Lilia calmly uncorked the bottle with one swift motion of her fingers.
"You have very predictable preferences, madam."
"You have strong fingers…"
Lilia froze for a second.
"Thank you?"
"Remind me not to let you give massages. I'll be rolling on the floor for a week after."
Lilia raised an eyebrow; her gaze remained steady, but the corner of her lips twitched with the faintest shadow of a smile.
"As you wish, madam. Unless you enjoy rolling."
Zenith took a glass but didn't drink yet, studying Lilia more closely.
"You know this isn't good for me, right?"
"I know you'll do as you please anyway."
Zenith smirked, swirling the glass in her hand.
"So caring, aren't you."
Lilia inclined her head.
"Care is part of my duties."
Zenith took a sip. Then another. The wine spread across her tongue, leaving a tart aftertaste. She set the empty glass aside and absently looked at the green lawn stretching before her. It wasn't perfect—there were weeds at the edges—but the huge garden was in bloom.
"Oh, Lili. How's Rudy?"
"This morning, the young master was on the hill near the village."
Zenith waved her hand dismissively.
"Of course he was. Always staring at nothing… Maybe he should make some friends? Send him to school, perhaps?"
"It would be good for the young master to start socializing with children his age," Lilia said quietly.
"No one's arguing," Zenith leaned back in her chair. "But Paul will surely decide it requires a plan, a strategy, and a sword…"
Zenith stayed there for a little longer, savoring the light taste of wine and thinking about the passing moments. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a tall figure cautiously peeking from around the corner. A messy mop of hair, a muscular build.
Paul gave her a wide grin and waved as if greeting someone important, then settled comfortably into a chair.
"You're early today," Zenith noted. "What, did Laws throw you out?"
"You know, it's so blazing hot outside I decided not to roast myself longer than needed and left early. We'll finish it tomorrow anyway."
Zenith raised an eyebrow.
He grabbed a jug and drank in one go, chasing it with cheese.
"By the way, where's our favorite genius?"
"On the hill," Zenith replied, narrowing her eyes. "I think he's bored. We should send him to school."
"School?" Paul snorted. "You mean the boarding school for nobles? We already talked about it. He's not thrilled."
"Maybe he still needs friends…"
"I'm not against friends. Just not in places where he has to wear a mask every day. I'll find somewhere to send him myself or take care of it personally. Right, Lilia?" he turned to her.
"Of course, sir," she answered. Even though her voice was steady, there was a faint note of doubt.
Zenith chuckled.
"See? Even Lilia agrees with me! No schools."
"It would be good for the young master to start socializing with children his age," Lilia replied coldly, maintaining her formal tone.
Zenith only smirked.
Paul sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"I wouldn't mind," he muttered. "But he doesn't want to. Said kids are stupid and boring…"
And then…
BOOM!
The house shook from a deafening blast.
"WHAT THE?!" Paul jumped up, grabbing his sword.
They exchanged glances and rushed inside.
***
Flipping through the pages of the book, I sunk into its contents again. With every word it opened up to me more clearly, its meaning shifting, becoming easier to grasp—yet still unclear.
A grimoire.
Zenith's magic book, the one she said contained spells. A very expensive and rare book. You couldn't just buy one in any shop. That's what Zenith told me.
But I couldn't read it.
The language it was written in was special—a magical one. The one all spells were written in, created specifically for magic. So why did I take it if I couldn't even read it?
Simple—if I focused and looked closely, I could understand short phrases and feel their meaning rising through the letters. It was strange, reading without knowing how to read. Maybe that was magic? Maybe that's how a grimoire worked? If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the actions. But it was hard. As if the meaning of the text shifted depending on which part I looked at.
When I first picked it up, Zenith had snatched the book from my hands immediately. She said something like:
"No. You don't need this."
"Why?"
"This is a magic grimoire. Not reading material for children."
I didn't back down then.
"But you can use magic yourself, can't you?"
"Yes. But the magic I use isn't something you can simply hand to someone else."
"Why?"
"Because there are those who decide who is allowed to wield this magic."
"The Church?" She nodded silently.
"I can't teach you the church language," she finally said. "And the magical one… I don't know it completely."
Back then, that explanation was enough.
But it didn't mean I would give up on understanding what was written! If Zenith found out… better not think about it.
Carefully turning the yellowed pages, I stared at the strange symbols again. The longer I looked, the stronger the strange feeling grew. As if I had never learned this language—but had once known it. And now I was simply remembering it on my own.
Still, I couldn't understand why Zenith wouldn't let me take the book. Magical spells weren't dangerous, right?
And then I read:
"Air. Become a blade." The unfamiliar symbols slipped off my lips as if on their own.
The spell was very long. Because of that, I didn't fully understand it and simply repeated what surfaced in my mind. As if someone whispered the needed words in an unfamiliar language.
"Cleave. Air. Flesh."
A chill ran down me. That… didn't sound very friendly. What if it was dangerous? I swallowed. Maybe I should stop?
"Wind Sickle!"
Something clicked inside me, like a key turning. Then a sudden lightness, followed by something being pulled out of me. The air around me vibrated. I felt a gust hit my palm, lifting strands of my hair. Thin threads of wind swirled before my eyes, wrapping around my hand.
But that was all.
I expected more. Thunder, lightning, a water sphere blasting through a wall—anything. But it was just a short push of wind. Not even the nearby candle flickered.
I exhaled. Fear turned into disappointment. So nothing dangerous after all. So much fuss for nothing. Pfft…
"Come on, I can do this."
I closed my eyes, focusing, stretching out my hand again…
And suddenly—pain. Sharp and instant, like thousands of tiny blades cutting into my skin.
"Ah!" I cried out, the book falling from my hands.
My gaze dropped to my palm—a cut. Red drops fell onto the parchment. The gusts of wind I held suddenly broke free. They grew and swirled wildly.
"Stop… damn it, stop!"
But the wind didn't listen.
In the last moment I remembered Zenith's words.
"Rudy, magic is very dangerous. It requires special knowledge and preparation. Better not try anything on your own."
With that thought, I heard a monstrous crash that seemed to deafen me. Then everything vanished. Sounds blurred, became indistinct. From somewhere far away came muffled shouts and cries.
***
I came to from a sharp ringing in my ears. The room spun, shadows swam before my eyes. A nasty taste clung to my throat, like I had swallowed blood. I took a deep breath, and a sharp, strange smell hit my nose.
The attic was destroyed. Slash marks covered the walls, floor, and furniture. Jagged lines stretched everywhere, as if invisible blades had carved through the very space.
Magic really was dangerous. Next time I had to be more careful…
That thought vanished the moment I looked at my hand.
Fingers. Bone. Flesh.
Skin torn open, tendons twisted, as if someone tried to take my hand apart piece by piece. In some places, shards of white bone showed through the bloody mess.
This… what? My hand? — The question felt absurd.
Only now did I notice — everything around me was covered in blood. My blood?
"B-blood! A-a-a!"
My throat tightened in fear. The smell of blood made my head spin. Pain swallowed my mind, blocking any thought.
"N-no…! This… can't be…"
Tears blurred my vision, turning everything into a smeared nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to look. But it didn't help. The image was carved into my mind. This nightmare wouldn't disappear.
I knew it. — I'm going to die!
The room twisted, walls closing in, the world losing all sense. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, mixed with frantic breathing.
"RUDY!? WHAT THE—"
A shout. The last thing I heard.
Then the world collapsed into darkness.