"For a mage, the most important thing is, first and foremost, pedigree. Next comes talent. And finally, effort."
William Bordeaux, the progenitor of all mages.
Those were the very first words spoken by the headmaster during his opening address at the Magic Academy’s entrance ceremony.
He went on to explain that for a mage, lineage and blood were paramount, followed by talent; effort, he claimed, was practically meaningless.
Pedigree went without saying. Ancient, prestigious families inherited rare grimoires and staggering wealth, and their bloodlines, cultivated over generations, were refined and concentrated to ensure their descendants were as potent and sophisticated as possible.
Talent was naturally vital as well. An aptitude for handling mana, reading comprehension, the ability to reproduce and understand phenomena, physical capacity... those blessed with superior talent often surpassed even the most prestigious of houses.
And finally, there was effort. This didn’t mean that hard work was useless.
Effort was merely the baseline.
Anyone aspiring to be a mage was already expected to temper their mind and body, never skip their daily training, and study their grimoires until they knew them by heart. Everyone did it.
"Therefore, strive diligently every day." That was how the speech concluded.
To be honest, I didn't care about any of that.
I was born a commoner and told I had no significant talent, but I simply loved magic.
The mystery of flames, ice, and lightning manifesting from nothingness. The miracles of the spell formulas, each revealing a different face of magic. The pure bliss of weaving it all with my own hands.
I had quickly become a captive of the craft, and my life at the Magic Academy was a dream come true.
But those days were destined to come to an abrupt end.
It all started when a grimoire belonging to the heir of a certain ducal house went missing.
"A proud noble would never stoop to theft."
With those words, he turned a suspicious eye toward me—the only commoner-born student at the Magic Academy.
It was true that my household was poor compared to the nobility. I had barely paid the entrance fee with my own earnings, and I could only afford a single book on Basic Magic.
But even with just that one volume, there was so much to explore. I made new discoveries every day. Magic was incredibly deep; even within Basic Magic, one could produce countless phenomena just by experimenting with different combinations of spell formulas and catalysts.
I was far too busy with my experiments and procuring materials to pay any attention to what others were doing.
When I told him exactly that, he flew into a rage and challenged me to a duel.
I dislike fighting. I was going to decline immediately, but then I hesitated.
I wondered... what kind of magic did these nobles actually use?
The resources and talent available to a noble were worlds apart from a commoner like me. I thought that perhaps he would show me magic I had never even dreamed of.
Once that thought took hold, I had to see it. I ended up accepting the duel.
I figured I might get hurt a little, but surely I wouldn't lose my life. That was my mistake. My naive, foolish mistake.
To put it simply, their magic was magnificent.
I suppose that was what they called High Magic. Enormous flames swirled into a vortex, and a freezing blizzard raged; I was utterly mesmerized by the sight.
I stood there, transfixed, and took the blow defenselessly. And then, I died.
People often warned me that I’d lose sight of my surroundings once I got absorbed in something, but I never imagined it would lead to this. My own stupidity was pathetic.
Yet, in my final moments, I wasn't cursing my foolishness, nor was I resenting the noble who had attacked me. I wasn't even thinking of my parents, who had worked so hard to put me through school.
All I could think about was the magic that had just killed me.
What was the spell formula? What was the logic behind it? Was it even possible for a single person to produce that much output? If so, how much mana did it require? What were the specific incantations? Were there special activation conditions, or perhaps a unique catalyst? Or maybe it was a combined effort from multiple mages?
The more I thought about it, the more I felt my fading heart race.
Ah, what a tragedy.
The world was surely full of magic I had never seen, and yet I was dying without knowing any of it.
If I could have one wish, I wanted to know all magic.
I wanted to understand it, master it, and reach its very depths.
I wanted to drown in the abyss of magic.
With those lingering thoughts, my consciousness drifted away into the dark.
My vision was blurred.
My body wouldn't move the way I wanted it to.
What was happening? I felt as if I weren't even myself.
"—, —"
I heard a voice. It belonged to a woman.
As I strained my eyes, a face came into focus. She was beautiful, and her clothes were hanging open, exposing her chest.
Wait, it felt strangely large.
"—, —"
The Woman approached me, whispering something.
Sensing potential danger, I desperately moved my hands and visualized a Fireball.
It was a simple offensive spell that created a small flame—the only one I could truly use. It was only good for scaring off weak monsters, but it should have been enough of a deterrent. At least, that was the plan. But something was wrong.
Sensing a strange surge of power, I instinctively jerked my aim away from the Woman. Immediately after—
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion shook the room.
A massive hole had been blown into the wall. The Woman was frozen in shock, and I felt exactly the same way. There was no way my Fireball should have had that much power.
What in the world...? Just as the thought crossed my mind, I caught my reflection in a full-length mirror.
A tiny body. Short limbs. Large, round eyes.
I was a baby. I had been turned into an infant.
I recalled hearing stories about this—how some people were reborn while retaining the memories of their previous lives. Reincarnation.
If that was the case, then that Fireball made sense.
A mage's status was largely determined by pedigree and talent—essentially decided the moment they were born. In families of elite mages, it wasn't unheard of for children to cast magic from a very young age.
If my current self possessed that kind of raw talent, then perhaps it wasn't so strange to be capable of such power.
...But wait. Even so, I had never heard of anyone casting magic like that the second they were born. The people panicking around me didn't even seem to realize I was the cause.
Looking around, I realized the room was incredibly vast. The furnishings looked like high-end pieces you’d see in a museum, and there were several women who appeared to be maids.
This wasn't just a noble's house. This was something else entirely. Royalty? A high-ranking Duke?
As I pondered this, my eyes fell upon a grand, ornate crest.
I recognized it instantly. It was the royal crest of the Kingdom of Saloom.
...Could it be that I’ve been born into an absolutely absurd situation?