Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

[Mana Pool: 3067/3067]

Adom opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath misting slightly in the cool air atop the temple. The meditation had worked perfectly—his reserves were completely replenished. He stretched his arms overhead, working out the stiffness that came from sitting motionless for hours.

Time to see what was inside.

Adom stood up and walked toward the edge of the roof, where a set of stairs had emerged when the temple rose from the ground. The steps led down to what appeared to be the main entrance—an archway so massive it made Adom feel like he'd somehow shrunk during his meditation.

Before heading down, he tested Wam and Bam, flexing his fingers inside the battle gauntlets. Wam emitted a faint blue glow at the knuckles, while Bam hummed with a barely audible vibration. Both responding perfectly—just for good measure.

"I'm ready," he said to no one in particular.

The descent took longer than expected. Each step had been designed for beings three times his height, forcing Adom to carefully navigate his way down. By the time he reached the bottom, he'd counted seventy-three steps.

The entrance loomed before him—a doorway that stretched upward at least fifty feet, with stone slabs thick enough to withstand a siege. The doors themselves stood partially open, with a gap of about three feet between them—more than enough for a human to slip through, but barely a crack by the standards of whoever built this place.

Adom approached the opening and peered inside. Darkness greeted him, though his enhanced vision picked up faint glimmers of the same purple-blue light he'd seen in the runes above.

He hesitated at the threshold, suddenly aware of his size relative to the structure. The gap between the doors made him think of how insects found their way into houses—squeezing through cracks in foundations or tiny spaces between boards. Or a mouse finding its way into the walls of a house.

A mouse. Valiant.

The little beastkin navigated a world like this every day—everything oversized, built for creatures many times his height. Beds like vast fields. Tables like plateaus. Doorknobs positioned at the level of bookshelves.

Adom had never really thought about how the world must look through Valiant's eyes. Sure, the beastkin had never known anything different, but his entire life experience was shaped by that perspective—constantly climbing, jumping, finding creative ways to interact with objects designed for much larger beings.

He made a mental note to be a bit nicer to Valiant when he returned to the Arkhos. Maybe ask him about his perspective on things. It seemed important now, standing here dwarfed by architecture built for giants.

Adom raised his hand, weaving a simple pattern. A sphere of light materialized above his palm, casting a warm glow that barely penetrated the shadows beyond the doorway.

Adom took a deep breath and stepped into the temple.

His footsteps echoed through the vast space like tiny pebbles dropping into a canyon. The sound bounced off distant walls, returning to him seconds later as ghostly whispers.

A cloud of dust rose with each step, disturbed after who knew how many centuries of stillness. The air was thick with the smell of earth and age—a musty, ancient scent that tickled his nose.

"Ah—" Adom's sneeze exploded in the silence, triggering another echo and stirring up more dust. He coughed, quickly pulling a cloth from his inventory and tying it over his nose and mouth. Better, but the fine particles still made his eyes water and his glasses dusty.

He increased the intensity of his light orb, willing it to shine brighter. The sphere expanded, casting stronger illumination that revealed more of the temple interior. Adom directed it upward, letting it rise higher and higher until—

"Whoa."

The word escaped him involuntarily as the light reached what should have been the ceiling. Except there wasn't one, not in the conventional sense. The space extended upward into darkness so profound his light couldn't penetrate it. The walls vanished into that same darkness on either side, suggesting a chamber of truly immense proportions.

"It's like being inside a mountain," he muttered, voice muffled by his mask.

As the light sphere drifted higher, it illuminated the walls. Adom stopped walking, his attention caught by what covered nearly every inch of the massive stone surfaces.

Murals. Thousands of them. Intricate, detailed scenes carved and painted across the temple walls in panels that stretched from floor to unseen ceiling.

Adom moved closer, fascinated. The nearest panel depicted figures—giants, obviously—but these images weren't static. As he watched, stunned, the carved figures shifted subtly, the colors rippling across their surfaces. Nothing dramatic, not like a moving picture, but more like watching reflections in water that occasionally disturbed.

Adom reached out to touch the wall. The stone felt cool and solid beneath his fingers, yet the images continued their subtle movement.

He adjusted his light orb again, positioning it to illuminate a sequence of panels that seemed to form a narrative. The first panel showed a barren landscape—just earth and rock. As he watched, the ground in the image seemed to shift and bulge.

A form rose from the clay, taking shape—humanoid but massive, easily twenty times human size. The clay figure solidified, details emerging—a face with deep-set eyes, broad shoulders, powerful limbs.

The first giant.

In the next panel, a second figure emerged, this one with softer features—female, perhaps. The two giants stood together in a world that seemed empty except for them.

Adom moved along the wall, following the story as it unfolded. The giants multiplied. They built shelters, cultivated plants that looked like enormous versions of familiar crops. They created communities, built structures. They looked... normal. Like humans, just scaled up to incredible size.

But something was missing.

"Where's the magic?" Adom muttered, scanning the images more carefully.

None of the depicted giants showed any signs of manipulating mana. No spells, no enchantments, no runic work. Just physical labor and tool use.

This contradicted everything Adom had learned about giants. The common narrative was that giants were natural mana manipulators from the very beginning—that their ability to work with the Axis was innate and powerful.

"Interesting," he said, mentally filing away this discrepancy. "So either the academic consensus is wrong, or..." He left the thought unfinished, continuing to follow the story along the wall.

The giants' civilization grew more complex. Their numbers increased. They spread across landscapes that gradually became more recognizable—mountains, forests, plains that resembled the continent as Adom knew it today.

Still no magic.

Then the murals changed.

A new panel showed dark forms descending from the sky. At first glance, they resembled humans, but as Adom looked closer, he noticed wings, horns, twisted limbs. One figure in particular dominated the scene—larger than the others, with multiple wings and eyes that seemed to follow Adom as he moved.

"Demons?" he wondered aloud.

The next panels told a story of violence. The winged beings attacked the giants, who fought back with stone weapons and brute strength. But they were outmatched. The demonic figures wielded what could only be magic—dark energies that curved and twisted through the air, striking down giants who collapsed like felled trees.

Adom quickened his pace, following the narrative as it grew darker. New attackers joined the demons—massive scaled creatures that breathed fire. Dragons. Birds wreathed in flame. Phoenixes. And shadowy entities that seemed to drain the very life from giants they touched. Umbras.

The giants were losing. Badly.

Panels showed them fleeing, hiding in caves and valleys. Their numbers dwindled. Those captured were forced to labor, building structures for their new masters. Chains bound their limbs. Their faces showed suffering Adom could feel even across the millennia.

"This isn't how the story is supposed to go," Adom muttered, his unease growing.

The academic consensus placed giants as powerful, dominant beings who shaped the early world before humans. Not as victims. Not as slaves.

Yet the evidence before him told a different story—one of subjugation and survival against overwhelming forces. A story where giants weren't the conquerors but the conquered.

Interesting.

Adom continued along the wall, transfixed by the unfolding story. The next panel showed a single giant fleeing through a forest engulfed in flames. A demon—wings spread wide, horns curling from its forehead—pursued him relentlessly.

The chase stretched across several panels. The giant ran through burning forests, across scorched plains, over mountains. The demon never faltered, always just behind. Blood trailed from wounds on the giant's back, spattering the ground as he fled.

In the next panel, the giant reached a cliff edge overlooking what appeared to be an ocean—except the water glowed with an eerie blue light unlike any sea Adom had ever seen or read about.

The giant glanced back at his pursuer, then forward at the glowing water. A choice between two deaths.

He jumped.

The next image showed the giant plummeting, arms outstretched, toward the luminous water. The demon halted at the cliff's edge, rage visible on its distorted face.

"Why wouldn't it follow?" Adom murmured, leaning closer.

The giant hit the water in the next panel, his massive body creating a splash that rose higher than the cliff itself. He sank deep into the glowing liquid, trailing blood that mingled with the blue radiance.

But he wasn't alone.

Something approached him in the depths—a being that defied easy description. It had wings, but not like birds or dragons or demons. These wings seemed made of light itself, geometrical patterns shifting across their surfaces. Its body was vaguely humanoid but composed of intersecting lines and curves that hurt Adom's eyes if he tried to follow them too closely.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"What the hell is that?" Adom whispered.

The being approached the wounded, drowning giant. Their eyes met—the giant's wide with fear, the creature's impossibly bright.

Then the being simply... entered the giant. Not violently, not like possession. More like it slipped between the giant's molecules, becoming part of him.

The next panel showed the giant's eyes snapping open, now glowing with the same blue light as the ocean around him. His wounds closed. His body radiated power.

He swam upward.

The demon still waited at the cliff edge, peering down at the water. It never saw the giant coming. In one fluid motion, the giant erupted from the water, shooting upward like a projectile. His fist connected with the demon's jaw, and—

Light exploded from the point of impact. Not carved or painted light, but actual illumination emanating from the mural itself. Adom stepped back, blinking spots from his vision.

When he could see again, the panel showed the demon dissolving into particles, scattered by the giant's glowing fist.

"The first spell," Adom breathed.

The story continued. The giant returned to his hiding kin, now radiating blue light. In the next panel, he pressed his palm against another giant's forehead, transferring a spark of that same light.

Panel after panel showed the process repeating—the first mage sharing his gift with others. With each transfer, the recipient's eyes began to glow. Their postures straightened. Their wounds healed.

The tide of battle shifted.

Adom quickened his pace, following the story as giants armed with newfound magic pushed back against their tormentors. Blue energy flowed from their hands, formed shields, became weapons. Demons fell. Dragons retreated. Phoenixes extinguished.

"So that's how it happened," Adom muttered. "Not born with magic. They found it. Or it found them."

The first mage giant stood at the center of it all, directing the others, teaching them to harness their power. Under his guidance, they created defensive structures—buildings not unlike the very temple Adom stood in. They carved the first runes, circular patterns that amplified their abilities.

Their civilization flourished again. The panels showed peace returning, though giants now posted vigilant guards at their borders. They built new settlements, developed more complex magic and runes, created wonders that rivaled anything in the modern world.

And at the center of it all, the first mage led them, his eyes still glowing brighter than any other's.

Until—

Adom stopped short. The narrative had shifted abruptly.

A new panel showed the first mage surrounded by other giants—but not in celebration. Their faces were twisted with something that looked disturbingly like jealousy. Or fear.

"No way," Adom said, leaning closer.

The next panel showed an argument. The first mage gesturing toward the sky, toward what might have been the demon territories. The others shaking their heads, making countering gestures.

Then betrayal.

It happened suddenly in the narrative—one giant stepped behind the first mage and drove what looked like a spear through his back. The mage's expression showed not pain but surprise. Betrayal.

Blood poured from his wound—but not red blood. Blue, glowing like the ocean he'd emerged from.

Adom felt his stomach tighten. "After everything he did for them..."

The next panels showed the first mage falling, his body crumpling as other giants—those he had saved, those he had gifted with magic—surrounded him. Not to help. To finish what the first traitor had started.

Adom could almost hear their shouts, the thud of weapons against flesh, the first mage's cries of confusion and pain. The murals seemed to vibrate with violence, the subtle movements of the figures now more pronounced, more disturbing.

"This isn't right," Adom muttered, a strange protective anger rising in him for a being dead for millennia. "This isn't how it should have ended for him."

But the story wasn't finished.

The next panel showed the first mage's broken body lying on stone similar to the temple floor. His blood—still that luminous blue—pooled around him, flowing into channels carved in the ground.

Where the blood flowed, it changed. In some channels, it thickened and formed slender, graceful figures with pointed ears and lithe bodies.

"Elves," Adom breathed, recognizing the distinctive forms.

In other channels, the first mage's bones—broken by his attackers—dissolved into the blood and reformed into stockier, hardy figures.

"Humans."

And in yet others, strands of the mage's hair—impossibly long and flowing—twisted together with blood and bone to create shorter, sturdier beings with magnificent beards.

"Dwarves."

Adom stepped back, trying to process what he was seeing. "We came from him? From his... remains?"

They were smaller than giants but inherited the magical abilities of their unwilling progenitor.

The narrative continued along the wall, revealing what happened after the creation of the new races. Adom expected to see the rise of human civilization—instead, he saw extinction.

The giants didn't survive the aftermath of the first mage's murder. Panel after panel showed them weakening, their numbers dwindling, their magic failing. Disease swept through their remaining settlements. Their children were born smaller, weaker. Within a few generations, most of them perished—massive skeletons arranged in ceremonial burial grounds.

A race that had ruled the world, gone.

The next section of murals shifted focus to the newly created races—humans, elves, and dwarves. At first, they worked together, combining their unique approaches to magic. Elves with their innate connection to natural energies. Dwarves with their affinity for earth and metal. Humans with their adaptability and innovation.

They built settlements together, shared knowledge, developed complementary magical techniques. For a brief time, it seemed like harmony might prevail.

Then shadows crept back into the narrative.

Demons appeared again—not in open warfare this time, but in secret meetings with elven leaders. Dragons approached human settlements with offerings of protection. Phoenixes nested in dwarven mountain holds. Umbras drifted between all three races, whispering.

"Divide and conquer," Adom said grimly. "The oldest strategy in the book."

The panels showed the first conflicts—minor at first. Trade disputes. Territorial disagreements. But the tensions escalated quickly. Elves, guided by demonic whispers, began claiming forest territories as exclusively their own. Dwarves, influenced by phoenixes, hoarded mineral resources. Humans, under draconic "protection," grew more aggressive.

Within a few generations, the three races were at war.

And while they fought each other, their ancient enemies returned in force.

Adom watched as dragons, phoenixes, umbras, and demons emerged from hiding and did what they had done to the giants—subjugate and rule. But this time, they didn't have to fight as hard. The three races, weakened by their conflicts with each other, fell quickly.

The murals showed elves retreating deep into forests and plains, hiding their magic and knowledge. Dwarves disappeared into mountain depths, sealing their tunnels behind them. Humans, lacking such refuges, bore the brunt of the conquest.

"History repeats itself," Adom said quietly.

The subjugated humans began worshipping their conquerors. Temples rose to dragon gods. Phoenixes became symbols of divine judgment. Demons were depicted as messengers between worlds. Umbras became death deities.

But then—a change.

A single human appeared in the narrative, unremarkable at first glance. But behind him, almost imperceptible, lurked a shadow. Not a demon or an umbra, but something else—something familiar. It resembled the light-being from the ocean, but darker, more subtle.

The shadow seemed to follow the human, whispering to him. In the next panel, the human's hands glowed with magical energy—the first human mage since the subjugation.

"Is that an umbra helping him?" Adom wondered aloud. "A benevolent one?"

The shadow-guided human learned quickly, his power growing. The panels showed him challenging a dragon—not the largest or strongest, but significant nonetheless. The battle was brutal, the dragon's fire contrasting with the human's shadow-infused magic.

Against all odds, the human won.

The dragon's death changed everything.

The next panels showed a masterful human strategy unfolding. The victorious mage didn't attack the other ancient beings directly. Instead, he sowed seeds of distrust among them. He stole a phoenix egg and placed it in a dragon's lair. He redirected umbra-guided human sacrifices to demon altars.

"He turned them against each other," Adom realized, admiration mixing with horror at the ruthless brilliance.

The strategy worked better than anyone could have predicted. Dragons accused phoenixes of egg-theft. Demons blamed umbras for stealing their tributes. Ancient alliances fractured.

War erupted between the four ancient powers—a war that made their previous conflicts look like skirmishes.

Dragons unleashed infernos that scorched entire landscapes. Phoenixes responded with purifying flames that reduced dragon strongholds to ash. Demons summoned armies from other realms. Umbras drained life from everything they touched.

And humans? They retreated to high castles and hidden valleys. They watched their former masters destroy each other.

"Hah. We didn't win through strength," Adom muttered. "We won through cunning."

The war raged for generations, depicted in panels of increasingly apocalyptic destruction. Mountains shattered. Forests burned. Oceans boiled. The very fabric of reality strained as the ancient powers unleashed their full might against each other.

When it finally ended, all four races were decimated. The few survivors retreated to distant realms, too weak to maintain their hold on the mortal world.

The Primordial Age had ended. Just like that.

Adom took a deep breath, processing.

Nothing in the historical texts suggested humans had manipulated ancient powers into mutual destruction. The official narrative credited human courage and magical prowess—not cold-blooded strategy.

The next section of murals showed the aftermath. With their oppressors gone, humans emerged from hiding and began rebuilding. Cities rose. Fields were planted. Trade routes established.

But humans, being humans, couldn't maintain peace for long. The panels showed new conflicts arising—not against ancient powers, but against each other. Kingdoms fought kingdoms. Mages battled mages.

Dwarves emerged from their mountain sanctuaries, only to find humans had claimed much of the surface world. Elves ventured from forests to discover their sacred groves converted to farmland.

Instead of cooperation, the three races fell into patterns of competition and sabotage. Elven spies stole human magical innovations. Dwarven raiders destroyed human enchantment facilities. Both races seemed determined to keep humans from advancing too quickly.

This was common knowledge. The dwarves and elves actively sabotaging humans. Magical knowledge declined generation by generation. Techniques were lost. Apprenticeships interrupted by war. Libraries burned. Within a few centuries, true magic was practiced by only a tiny minority.

Until another figure appeared.

A human, ordinary in appearance, was shown meeting with a creature of shadow and light—similar to what the first giant mage had encountered, but neither entering him nor following him. Instead, it seemed to be teaching him, whispering secrets.

"That's not an umbra," Adom realized. "It's something else entirely."

The human listened, learned, and began practicing magic unlike anything his contemporaries knew. He rediscovered lost techniques. He created new ones. He taught others.

Adom recognized this figure immediately. "Law," he whispered. "The First Age. About three thousand years ago."

Law, the human who rediscovered magic and brought it back to humanity. The founder of the first magical academies. The creator of the modern runic system.

But the Academy taught that Law had discovered magic through study and meditation—not through the guidance of a mysterious entity.

The murals showed Law teaching others, codifying magical practices that formed the foundation of current systems. Under his guidance, human magic flourished again.

War with elves and dwarves followed, but this time, humans held their own. Law's trained mages turned the tide.

The narrative continued through the ages. At each critical juncture in human history, the same shadow-light being appeared, guiding a key figure through a potential catastrophe.

During the Great Plague of the Second Age, it guided a healer to discover magical cures.

During the wars of the late Second Age, it helped a peacemaker create the Concord that prevented magical destruction of the continent.

In the early Third Age, it showed a runesmith– ancestors of runicologists– how to contain the Void Breach that threatened to consume the eastern kingdoms when the laws of magic were transgressed.

"...What are you?," Adom whispered, looking at the shadowy figure.

The murals approached more recent history. By the architecture, and desolation, the monsters roaming, and the chaos, Adom's eyes widened as he realized this was his time. The late Fourth Age. The start of World Dungeon.

The final sequence of murals showed a beach at night. An old man crawled across the sand, his body emaciated, reaching toward the sea as if it held salvation.

A tall woman appeared before him—thin, with flowing black robes.

Oh.

They seemed to converse, the old man pleading, the woman considering. Then they clasped hands—a deal struck.

The next panel showed the transformation. The old man's withered body straightened. His white hair darkened. His wrinkled skin smoothed. Youth returned to him.

Adom was about to speak when something caught his eye—the murals continued beyond the beach scene, wrapping around the corner into a previously unnoticed corridor.

He felt a sudden chill, as if someone was watching him. The hair on his arms stood on end.

He followed the new section of murals and froze. This wasn't ancient history anymore.

"..."

The images showed a boy—twelve years old, gangly, with a familiar determined expression—descending into a cave. Beside him was a small, green-clad figure.

"Bob." Adom whispered.

The next panels depicted scenes Adom remembered vividly—passing the Trials, receiving the Book of Law, Bob's farewell at the cave entrance.

His pulse quickened as he moved faster along the wall.

The murals became more detailed, more recent. His confrontation with Helios. The tearful reunion with his parents. His with with Gale. Using the Thunder Shrimp.

Everything was there. Everything was accurate.

He began to move erratically, almost running now, scanning the images with growing alarm. There he was entering the Fae Realm. His desperate battle with the Witch. The frantic escape with his companions.

"Who made these?" he demanded of the empty temple. "Who are you?"

His journey to the Highlands appeared next. The Krozball tournament. The towns where he'd rested. His discovery of the path that led to this very temple.

The final panel showed Adom himself, standing exactly as he was now, looking at the murals with an expression of dawning horror.

The wall ended there. No more images. No hint of what might come next.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his voice echoing in the chamber.

Then, from deeper within the temple, a soft blue light flickered to life. Just for a moment—there and gone, like a beckoning finger.

Adom stared into the darkness beyond, where no murals guided his way.

The light appeared again, steady now. Waiting.