A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor

Ian ascended the throne as a mere boy.

And before he reached manhood, his head was severed.

These two sentences would be the epitaph of Emperor Ian Verossian. A child emperor swept in and out by the tempestuous tides of a turbulent era, who would remember him?

A man entered the dungeon, seizing Ian by the hair. Though his face was a mask of blood, his eyes burned with a fierce light.

"Uncle Ian."

The man's name was Kroni. A twisted family tree made him Ian's nephew, despite being twenty years his senior. With each tug of his hair, a bloody spittle dripped from Ian's lips.

"How did you end up like this? I told you. You lacked the qualities of an emperor, you should have refused the throne. Had you listened to me then, none of this would have happened."

Ian stared back at Kroni, offering no reply. Displeased by the defiance in his gaze, Kroni slapped Ian hard across the face.

Crack!

"Even a thoughtless teenager should know better than to bite off more than they can chew! That magic of yours! What good is it now?"

Ian sighed inwardly.

Magic, a sublime and awe-inspiring power, considered a vestige of the gods. And it was the very reason Ian had ascended to the throne.

"Uncle, look! Your precious magic can't even stop a single kick from me!"

Thud! Thud!

It was true. Bound by mana-sealing shackles, Ian was nothing more than an ordinary nineteen-year-old. Even if the seals were broken, facing imminent death, his fate was sealed.

"One in ten thousand, they say. The first noble mage, they boast! All meaningless before the edge of this blade."

Swish.

Kroni finally drew his sword. Even for a deposed emperor accused of treason, to meet his end in a dank dungeon like this… A bitter laugh escaped Ian's lips.

"...Ha."

"Laughing?"

"...Yes. It's laughable, Kroni. You haven't changed. Are you still envious of my magic?"

Kroni's face hardened at Ian's words.

Just as rarity dictates value, so too was it with mages. Scarce as they were, numbering perhaps a hundred in the entire Variel Empire.

It was unprecedented in the history of the grand Variel Empire for a mage to be born into a noble family.

"I remember. When I was a child, a mere mana manipulator, ignorant of the world, you told me this: 'Mages are rare, but most are born commoners. Hide your abilities, or you'll be cast out of the manor.'"

"...Ian. Why bring up the past?"

"Isn't it funny? Of course, commoners vastly outnumber nobles, so naturally, most mages would be of common birth."

"Shut up!"

"Why, are you ashamed?"

"I said, shut up!"

Thud!

Ian's vision went black. Kroni's fist had connected squarely with his eye. He felt the heel of Kroni's boot grind against the back of his head.

"What does it matter? I stand here, and you grovel at my feet. That's all that matters."

Kroni pressed the tip of his sword against Ian's throat. Just as he was about to end Ian's life without a moment's hesitation, a sound came from outside.

"Lord Kroni. A message from Duke Hilon."

"...Is it urgent?"

"Yes. My apologies."

Kroni clicked his tongue, removing his foot from Ian's head. He glanced at Ian, who lay still as death, before exiting the dungeon.

How much time passed?

Click. Clatter.

"Your Majesty..."

The unfamiliar sound of metal and a familiar voice. Ian struggled to consciousness, his eyes fluttering open. He lacked the strength to even turn his head. He managed to shift his gaze to see Naum, the Minister of Magic, tearfully unlocking his shackles.

"Your Majesty. Please, please come to your senses."

"Naum, what are you… doing here…?"

"This is no time for questions. You must escape, you must live. Your Majesty, please, find the strength…"

But the mana-sealing shackles wouldn't budge. Moonlight streamed through a small window, illuminating Naum's hands, raw and bleeding from his efforts.

"...Stop."

"Your Majesty?"

"...I want it to end."

"W-what are you saying?"

Ian smiled faintly, closing his eyes again. He vividly recalled his first days in the Ministry of Magic.

"Thank you. It was thanks to you that I, a mana manipulator, became a mage, and ascended to the throne. Though my inadequacies led to this, you must survive and protect the Variel Empire."

"No. It can't end like this. Without you, the Ministry of Magic has no meaning. So please, gather your strength and take my mana. If you die… if you die, it's all over…"

If he died, it would all be over. That was precisely what Ian longed for. He was so tired, so weary, so utterly exhausted. The past three years as emperor had broken him.

"Your Majesty. Listen to me."

But Naum wouldn't give up.

He gently cupped Ian's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"There's a Ministry annex next to the main building of the Second Imperial Palace. You know the one? The place you went to cry every time you felt overwhelmed when you first arrived at the palace."

"...I only cried there once."

"Yes, well, anyway."

Why did he cry?

Ian frowned, trying to dredge up the hazy memory. Just then, Naum seemed to sense something and looked towards the dungeon entrance. Kroni, having finished his business, was undoubtedly returning.

"...I've unsealed the barrier. Hide yourself quickly."

"I can't. Your Majesty, go that way. If you go there, you'll find a way out."

"What do you mean?"

Naum only responded with silence. Ian realized it wasn't the dungeon's darkness that shadowed Naum's face, but worry and dread. Clinging to his fading consciousness, Ian grasped Naum's sleeve.

"Naum, I asked you a question."

"I mixed my blood with the magic."

"...Naum!"

"I prayed for an answer. It told me that if you went there, a path would open. I don't know why there, perhaps it's my lack of ability. Regardless, you must hurry."

The power of magic, defying the natural order by its very existence. The slightest imbalance could plunge one into the abyss. The Church called it Hell, mages called it the Eternal Curse.

"You warped spacetime?"

"I had no choice. Your Majesty, so…"

"Why, why!"

Creak.

"I knew it. Even if we weed out the Ministry scum, it's useless if the Minister himself acts like this."

It was Kroni. Behind him stood the man poised to succeed Naum as Minister. Naum gritted his teeth, chanting a magic spell. The wavelengths shimmering from his fingertips, the intricate patterns flickering and failing to shine as brightly as before. The mana-sealing shackles binding Ian's wrists were too powerful.

"Naum! Please! Stop!"

"Your Majesty. It's alright. There's always, always a chance. God doesn't give us problems without solutions."

Woooom!

Naum's magic circle began to burn crimson. But strangely, the flames weren't directed at Kroni, but consumed Naum's hand.

"Aaargh!"

"...No! Naum, wait! Stop!"

Ian cried out, lifting his head from the floor.

He had no attachment to his own life, but he couldn't bear to see those precious to him die because of him.

He only understood after becoming emperor. The weight of the crown was the weight of the loyalty of those who followed him. And it wasn't him who bore it, but them.

Whoosh!

"Ugh!"

Kroni shielded his left hand from the erupting flames. If the mage behind him hadn't erected a barrier, his face would have been burned.

'Damn it.'

Meanwhile, Ian felt his consciousness slipping away again in the intense heat. As everything turned white with light, and even pain became distant, Ian suddenly noticed a metallic ring echoing in his ears.

Clang.

Kroni's sword grazed Ian's throat. This was the end of a three-year reign. He thought he had done his best for Variel, but those who were loyal to him were devoured, and he himself was about to be beheaded.

"Ian. May you never be born again."

With Kroni's cruel words, everything vanished. The silence was so profound, it felt like the very definition of death. And then, he saw…

'A fork and a knife?'

Held awkwardly in his own hands.

Ian slowly raised his head.

His body felt heavy, but compared to the agony of the past few days, it was as light as air.

"Ian."

An unfamiliar woman looked down at him from across the table.

A sprawling garden, meticulously manicured flowerbeds, and a lavish spread of food before him. He found himself surrounded by people, all watching him.

"Ah."

It didn't seem like Hell. Was it Heaven, then?

But the scenery wasn't that different from where he lived. Compared to the Imperial Palace, it even seemed a bit… shabby.

"What's wrong with him? Ian. That's rude to our guests."

"I suppose her lack of manners shows no matter the occasion."

"Chel. Watch your tongue."

"Ian. Snap out of it."

A plump boy sitting next to the woman spat out harsh words, but Ian paid him no mind. The aroma of the food before him was too enticing. Imprisoned in the dungeon, he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten.

'...I don't know what this is, but… it's driving me crazy.'

He acted on pure instinct. With a graceful gesture, Ian adjusted the cutlery and assumed the proper dining posture. Then, with more elegance and speed than anyone present, he began to carve and devour the steak.

"Mmm."

His movements were refined and dignified, a stark contrast to the person who had just been clutching a fork like a fist. His appreciative hum was equally restrained and low, devoid of vulgarity.

The Margrave across from him, his stepmother the Countess, and his half-siblings stared at him in disbelief.