The night wind howled through the trees like a lost soul as Caelum made his way toward the nobles' inn. The stars flickered weakly above him, so similar to those he had stared at during countless sleepless nights in his past life. The long shadows of the buildings seemed to claw at him, trying to pull him back, but his steps never faltered. He carried the weight of two lifetimes, and tonight, he needed answers.
"Do you really think that spoiled noble brat will teach you her secrets?"
Alyssa's voice materialized from the air itself, as clear and painfully familiar as ever. Caelum didn't turn his head, but he saw her in his periphery—her torn military uniform, the dried blood on her cheek, those green eyes that would never laugh again. She floated beside him like a specter, her feet not touching the ground.
"I have no choice," he muttered through gritted teeth, barely moving his lips.
"Liar," she whispered as the wind tousled her hair. "There are always choices. You just pick the one that hurts the most."
Caelum clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. He didn't reply. He knew she was right.
Lysara von Eldrid was practicing fencing alone in the inn's courtyard, her silver sword carving perfect arcs through the night air. Every movement was a masterpiece, every step a lethal dance. Magic shimmered around her blade like a silver aura, casting an eerie glow on her aristocratic features.
Caelum observed from the shadows for a long moment before stepping forward.
"I need you to teach me real magic," he declared without preamble, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade.
Lysara's sword stopped an inch from his throat. He didn't flinch.
"No," she replied, her tone icy enough to freeze blood.
"This isn't a request."
The sword didn't waver.
"And I am no charity instructor," Lysara retorted, finally lowering her weapon in one fluid motion. "Magic is not a game, commoner. It cannot be learned in a single desperate night before battle."
Caelum opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Evan burst into the courtyard like a storm, his face pale, his eyes wild.
"Caelum! Lysara!" he gasped, doubling over to catch his breath. "Messengers came! They hit Joren with a poisoned arrow!"
The mercenary archer was a tall, weathered man with a jagged scar running down his cheek like a bolt of lightning. He retreated with infuriating calm, knowing the green recruits wouldn't dare chase him. His voice echoed from the treeline:
"Consider this a warning. Surrender the village by dawn, or we'll slaughter you like the frightened children you are."
Caelum didn't hesitate. His hand was already moving before the words faded.
The dagger flew from its sheath in a flash of silver, enhanced by the rudimentary Level 1 magic he'd learned. But he added something else—a small adjustment, a twist in the energy's flow, something no one else noticed.
The weapon spun through the air with unnatural precision, as if physics itself bent to its will, and buried itself in the mercenary's throat with a wet thud.
The man collapsed, his blood staining the earth. His companions vanished into the trees like ghosts.
"Idiot," Caelum muttered as he retrieved his dagger, wiping the blade on the corpse's tunic with methodical precision.
When he looked up, Lysara's eyes were locked onto him, greener than ever in the moonlight. There was no disdain now—only a cold, calculating respect.
"That wasn't just Level 1 enhancement magic," she stated, her voice lower than usual.
Caelum shrugged, feigning indifference.
"You said I had no talent for magic."
Lysara sighed, long and exasperated, like a weary mother. But when she spoke again, her mind was made up:
"Fine. I'll teach you—all of you. Basic combat and defensive magic." She paused, her gaze piercing. "But only because we need at least some of you to survive."
Her tone was icy, typical of nobility addressing commoners, but Caelum caught the flicker of interest in her eyes.
It was a start.
The forest clearing looked different in daylight. Golden rays filtered through the leaves, painting shifting patterns on the circle of recruits who watched Lysara with a mix of hope and fear.
The noblewoman paced before them, her sword at her hip, hands clasped behind her back.
"What they taught you at the academy," she began, each word measured, "was Level 1 reinforcement, combat, and defensive magic. The most basic there is." She gestured, and a series of runes flickered briefly in the air. "But magic is an ocean, and you've barely dipped your toes in it."
She explained the tiers:
Levels 1-3: Basic. Any peasant with minimal training could achieve them.
Levels 4-7: Intermediate. The domain of nobles and prodigies.
Levels 8-10: Living legends. Those who could turn the tide of battles with a gesture.
"A Level 10 mage," Lysara said, her eyes lingering on Caelum, "can reduce a fortress to rubble with a single spell. So don't expect miracles after a day of training."
The exercises began, and the differences became stark:
Evan, the shy one, displayed surprising control. His reinforcement runes glowed with elegant precision, as if magic flowed naturally through him.
Kale, the giant, cursed and sweated, his massive hands better suited for hammers than delicate symbols. Yet he managed a wobbly shield that could, at least, stop an arrow.
Leah, the sharp-eyed redhead, was the revelation. Her combat spells burned with intensity, the runes swirling around her fingers like obedient fireflies.
And then there was Caelum.
On the surface, he struggled. His defensive magic was clumsy, his runes sloppy, his progress minimal. Lysara watched him with a mix of disapproval and... relief?
"Not everyone is cut out for this," she told him, not unkindly, just stating a fact.
Caelum nodded with false humility, lowering his head to hide the spark in his eyes.
But I was lying
That night, while the others slept in exhaustion, Caelum sat beneath an ancient oak at the village's edge. The full moon bathed him in silver as he traced symbols in the air with barely trembling fingers.
He didn't follow the rules.
In his past life before entering the army, he had been an engineer. He had studied quantum physics, thermodynamics, the fundamental laws of the universe. This world had magic, but the underlying mathematics remained the same.
He redesigned the runes, shaping them to match quantum equations.
He channeled magic as kinetic energy, calculating force vectors in his mind.
He created something new: A spell that didn't just enhance his dagger—it warped gravity around it, accelerating the blade beyond human limits.
This wasn't Level 2 magic. Not even Level 3.
It was something unique.
"You're playing with fire," Alyssa whispered, perched on a branch above him, her legs swinging as if she were alive.
"I always have."
"Yes. But this time, the fire might bite back."
Caelum smiled—a bitter, genuine smile he hadn't shown in years.
The village had become a makeshift fortress. Trenches snaked around the houses like scars, traps were set, weapons sharpened. The air reeked of upturned earth and sweat-soaked fear.
Caelum leaned against the palisade, staring at the forest where the enemy would soon emerge. The wind carried the scent of grass and the approaching storm.
"Do you think they'll survive?"
Alyssa appeared beside him, as tangible as the weapon on his back. She mirrored his posture, just as they'd done in the trenches of another world.
"Some," he replied without looking at her.
"And you?"
Caelum closed his eyes, letting the breeze brush his face.
"That doesn't matter anymore."
But they both knew he was lying.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he had something to fight for.
Dawn didn't arrive with light.
It arrived with screams.
A horn blared in the distance, a guttural sound that turned veins to ice. Caelum was already on his feet, his grip firm on his sword, his eyes locked on the horizon where the forest met the fields. The air smelled of wet earth and metal—the scent of battle, the scent of death.
"Positions!" Marcus roared, his voice cracking with tension.
Recruits scrambled to the trenches, their ill-fitting armor clattering. Evan tripped over his spear, and Leah yanked him up, her eyes blazing with fear she tried to hide. Kale, the giant, gripped his axe so tightly his knuckles threatened to burst.
And then, they appeared.
The mercenaries didn't march—they advanced.
A dark tide of steel and leather poured from the forest. These weren't disorganized bandits; they were veterans, their armor scarred, their swords already thirsty. Among them, mages in stained robes raised hands alight with burning runes.
The first spell struck like divine wrath.
A crimson fireball exploded in the left trench, where five recruits had just raised their shields. They disintegrated. No screams—just charred flesh and molten metal raining down. The stench of burning meat filled the air.
"MAGES IN THE REAR!" someone shrieked.
Too late.
A volley of flaming arrows streaked across the sky. Caelum tracked them, calculating trajectories like he had with mortar fire in his past life.
"Get down."
The arrows fell. A boy—Rikert? Dann?—opened his mouth to scream as one pierced his eye. He crumpled, fingers clawing at the dirt as if he could drag himself away from death.
The battle began.
Caelum leaped into the trench before the others. He knew. To wait was to die.
The first mercenary was a brute with a two-handed axe. He charged like a bull, his weapon gleaming in the dawn light. Caelum let him come, let him think he'd won—and at the last second, he sidestepped. The axe cleaved empty air, and Caelum's blade opened the man's throat like a letter.
Warm blood splashed his face. He didn't blink.
The second attacker was smarter—a wiry man with twin daggers, dancing like a viper. Caelum studied his patterns (left foot forward, low strike, spin), and when the mercenary lunged, Caelum wasn't there. His sword found the man's lung. The gurgling was familiar music.
"See? You haven't changed."
Alyssa walked among the corpses, her uniform pristine except for the bullet hole in her chest.
"Shut up," Caelum muttered, wrenching his blade free.
A scream snapped his head around.
Evan.
The boy was cornered by three mercenaries, his shield shattered, his magic failing. One raised a sword for the killing blow—
Caelum didn't run.
He calculated.
His dagger shot from its sheath like lightning, propelled by his twisted magic—quantum physics forged into death. It curved midair, evaded the mercenary's arm, and buried itself in his jugular. The man toppled, shocked, and Caelum was already there, snatching his sword and cutting down the second attacker.
The third stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.
"W-What are you?"
Caelum didn't answer. He crushed the man's knee with a kick, gouged his eyes, and when he fell screaming, crushed his windpipe under his heel.
Evan stared at him, equal parts gratitude and horror.
"I-I've never seen—"
"Focus," Caelum cut in, tossing him a dagger from a corpse. "Or you'll be dead next time."
The battle dissolved into a haze of pain and noise.
Leah fought like a wrathful goddess, her spells severing limbs. But she was bleeding—a gash on her thigh, another on her shoulder.
Kale was a wounded bull, charging blindly, until a spear punched through his side, the tip jutting from his back like a metal fang.
Marcus led from the front, his orders lost in the chaos, his sword shattering against a wall of shields.
And Lysara—
The noblewoman was a silver tempest. Her magic wasn't from textbooks—it was raw violence, ice blades erupting from thin air to impale foes, gusts of wind that dismembered. But even she was being overwhelmed.
Five mercenaries encircled her, including a mage with Level 3 runes scorching the air.
The sky is clear.
And for the first time in years, he hesitated.
"What will you do, love? Save her like you couldn't save me?"
Alyssa stood beside him, the blood from her fatal wound staining ground she couldn't touch.
The sky gritted its teeth.
He moved.
It wasn't heroic.
It was murder.
The first mercenary died before he saw the blade—Caelum's sword through his neck. The second turned, but a gravity-warped dagger blew out his eye.
The mage was harder.
"Flamme Rantha!"
A wall of fire erupted between them. Caelum felt his eyebrows singe, but he didn't stop. He remembered.
During the siege of Valtierra, he'd endured worse flames.
He leaped through the fire, the pain an old friend, and when the mage's eyes widened in shock, Caelum was already slitting his throat.
The last two mercenaries fell quickly. Too quickly.
Lysara stared at him, panting, her sword trembling.
"So... you weren't so bad at magic after all."
The sky spat blood.
"Not everything is magic."
A horn sounded. The mercenaries retreated.
But the victory wasn't sweet.
It was corpses piled like firewood.
It was Evan sobbing over a friend's body.
It was Leah vomiting from arrow poison.
It was Kale bleeding out in the mud, laughing because he was alive.
And it was Caelum, standing in hell's center, wondering why he still breathed when so many had stopped.
Alyssa appeared before him, her ghostly hands brushing his bloody face.
"Because the world isn't done punishing you."
Caelum closed his eyes.
She was right.