Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Harlin squinted against the harsh sunlight, his weathered hand shading his eyes as he stared out at the horizon. The spyglass in his other hand was cold against his palm, an old relic from his Navy days that still worked better than any modern contraption he'd tried.

What he saw didn't make sense.

The waters stretching toward the Giant Highlands should have been clear today. Weather reports had promised calm seas and blue skies for at least the next three days. Perfect conditions for the kid's return journey.

Instead, a wall of darkness loomed in the distance, churning clouds that didn't move like natural formations. Lightning flashed within them, but it was wrong somehow—too purple, too persistent, like veins pulsing through a massive, living thing.

"You worried about that kid too, huh?"

Harlin lowered his spyglass and glanced over his shoulder. Willem stood a few feet away, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers. His eyes were bloodshot, his normally neat beard unkempt.

"Didn't take you for the drinking type, Willem," Harlin said, avoiding the question.

Willem snorted and took another swig. "Didn't take myself for the 'deliver a bunch of academy brats to their deaths' type either, but here we are."

"You took some kids to the Highlands?" Harlin's stomach clenched. "Same day I took the Ghost?"

"Ghost?" Willem frowned, then his eyes widened. "Wait, that championship kid? With the white streak? That's who you ferried over?"

"He dyed his hair," Harlin muttered. "But yeah."

Willem dropped heavily onto a nearby crate, the wood creaking under his sudden weight. "Fuck me. If I'd known who those kids were..."

"What kids exactly?"

Willem took another long pull from his bottle. "Bunch of students. Looking for their friend, they said. One of them was a Dimitry. Another was the daughter of the Tirajin ambassador. A Lightbringer too, I think."

"Nobles and merchant families," Harlin said, suddenly understanding Willem's state. "That's a noose around your neck if something happens to them."

"Tell me something I don't know." Willem's laugh was hollow. "What about your boy? The Ghost. He somebody important too?"

Harlin shrugged. "New merchant family. Wangara."

"God." Willem dragged a hand down his face. "We're both dead men."

Harlin turned back to the horizon, raising his spyglass again. The unnatural storm hadn't moved, but it seemed to have intensified. The churning clouds now had a sickly green tinge at their edges.

"I've been sailing these waters for forty-three years," Harlin said quietly. "Never seen anything like that."

Willem stood unsteadily and moved to Harlin's side. "Lemme see."

Harlin passed him the spyglass. Willem fumbled with it for a moment, then steadied his hand enough to look through it.

"Shit," he breathed. "That's not natural."

"No," Harlin agreed. "It's magic-made."

Willem lowered the spyglass, his face ashen. "What the hell is happening out there?"

They stood in silence for a moment, the contrast between their surroundings and what they'd seen making everything feel surreal. The harbor was peaceful—sunlight glinting off calm waters, seagulls circling lazily overhead, dock workers calling cheerfully to each other as they loaded cargo.

Just another perfect day in Northhaven.

Except for that... thing... lurking on the horizon.

"We should report this," Harlin said finally. "Harbor authority, at least. Maybe the Academy."

"And tell them what?" Willem's voice rose in pitch. "That we illegally transported students to a restricted zone and now there's a magic storm? That's not a report, that's a confession!"

"They're children, Willem."

"I know that!" Willem hurled the empty bottle into the water. It made a small splash before disappearing beneath the surface. "But what can we do? Neither of us can sail into that." He gestured at the horizon. "Even if our boats could make it, we'd be suicide missions."

Harlin's jaw tightened. "I'm going to alert the authorities. You can do what you want."

"You'll hang yourself."

"Maybe." Harlin tucked the spyglass into his jacket pocket. "But I can't just stand here and do nothing."

Willem cursed under his breath, then suddenly stiffened. "Wait. Look at that!"

Harlin turned sharply, following Willem's pointed finger. He pulled out his spyglass again, adjusting the focus.

A dark silhouette had appeared at the edge of the storm—something large moving across the surface of the water, headed toward Northhaven.

"What is it?" Willem demanded. "A boat?"

Harlin adjusted the spyglass, trying to make out details through the distance and haze. "Too big for a boat," he muttered. "And it's... moving wrong."

Then...

"That's not a boat," Harlin said slowly, adjusting the spyglass again. "That's... that can't be right."

"Let me see," Willem demanded, grabbing for the spyglass.

Harlin surrendered it without protest, his eyes still fixed on the horizon as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd seen.

"Holy shit," Willem breathed. "Is that a—"

"Leviathan," Harlin finished. "Yeah."

The word carried across the dock like a spark hitting dry tinder. A nearby dockhand stopped coiling rope and looked up sharply.

"Did you say leviathan?"

Before either fisherman could respond, the dockhand was shouting, his voice carrying across the previously peaceful harbor.

"LEVIATHAN! COMING THIS WAY!"

Activity on the docks froze for one perfect second of disbelief before erupting into chaos. Workers abandoned their tasks, running to the water's edge. Merchants left their stalls unattended. Even the harbormaster emerged from his office, telescope in hand.

"Where?" someone shouted. "I don't see anything!"

"There!" Willem pointed, passing the spyglass to a burly stevedore who had appeared at his elbow. "Coming out of that storm."

The crowd at the edge of the dock swelled, everyone straining for a glimpse. The word "leviathan" passed from person to person, some in awe, others in fear.

"I see it!" a woman cried. "Gods above, it's massive!"

Harlin pushed his way to the front of the growing crowd, his eyes never leaving the approaching shape. The leviathan was easier to make out now, even without the spyglass—a vast serpentine form cutting through the waves, its scales black as midnight.

"Wait," he muttered, squinting. "There's something on its back."

Willem appeared beside him, having reclaimed the spyglass. "What? Let me see." He raised it to his eye, then nearly dropped it. "People! There are people riding it!"

"Impossible," someone in the crowd scoffed.

"See for yourself!" Willem thrust the spyglass at the doubter.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of exclamations and disbelief as the leviathan drew steadily closer to Northhaven. The crowd continued to grow, news of the spectacle spreading through the city like wildfire. Guards appeared, attempting to maintain some semblance of order as civilians pressed forward for a better view.

Now the creature was close enough that everyone could see it clearly. Its massive head rose from the water, yellow eyes visible even at this distance. Behind it stretched a body longer than three fishing vessels, a ridge of obsidian spines running along its back.

And there, perched between those spines, were unmistakably human figures.

"I count eight... no, nine of them," a guard said, lowering his own spyglass. "Children, by the look of it."

"The students," Willem whispered, his face ashen. "It's them."

Harlin felt his heart hammering against his ribs. "And the Ghost?"

As if in answer, the leviathan surged forward with sudden speed, covering the remaining distance to the harbor in a burst of movement that sent waves crashing against the docks. People stumbled back, some crying out in alarm, others frozen in awe.

The creature slowed as it approached, its massive head turning slightly as if surveying the gathered crowd. It came to a stop just short of the harbor entrance, the water around it strangely calm despite its size.

Now they could see the riders clearly.

"That's them," Willem gasped. "That's all of them. They're alive!"

Eight students sat awkwardly along the leviathan's spine, clinging to the massive scales and each other. At the front, closest to the creature's head, sat a dark-haired boy who Harlin immediately recognized despite the dyed hair.

Adom.

The leviathan approached the main dock with surprising grace for something so enormous. Its massive form cast the entire area into shadow, making the afternoon feel suddenly like twilight.

"Stand back!" a guard shouted, though no one seemed eager to approach the giant sea creature.

The leviathan lowered its head toward the dock, allowing its passengers to clamber off. They slid down its neck one by one, looking exhausted but remarkably unharmed.

Willem burst forward the moment the last student's feet touched the dock, nearly bowling over a startled guard in his haste.

"You're alive!" he cried, tears streaming freely down his face. "Thank every god in every pantheon, you're all alive!"

He grabbed the nearest student—a confused-looking ginger boy with a small blue creature on his shoulder—and embraced him so tightly the boy wheezed.

"I thought you were dead!" Willem babbled, releasing him only to grab a slender girl with silver hair. "I thought you were all dead and they'd hang me for it!"

"Um, we're fine?" the girl said, awkwardly patting Willem's shoulder.

"We had no idea you were so worried about us," another student said, a tall boy with an elegant bearing. "That's... touching."

"I'm sorry," said the ginger, adjusting his glasses. "We shouldn't have asked you to take us there. It was reckless."

Willem sobbed harder, not bothering to correct their misunderstanding about the source of his relief.

Harlin ignored the emotional display, his attention fixed on Adom.

The boy stood apart from the others, facing the leviathan. Something in his posture suggested he was communicating with the creature, though no words were exchanged that Harlin could hear.

The leviathan's massive head hovered just above the dock, yellow eyes fixed on Adom. Around them, the crowd kept a respectful—or fearful—distance, their voices hushed as if witnessing something sacred.

After what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, the leviathan began to withdraw. It moved backward with the same grace, its massive body sliding beneath the waves until only its head remained visible.

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It gave one last look at Adom, then disappeared entirely, leaving only ripples on the surface to mark its passing.

Sunlight flooded the dock again, the leviathan's shadow no longer blocking the afternoon sun. The crowd erupted in excited chatter, everyone talking at once. Guards struggled to maintain order, pushing back civilians who pressed forward for a closer look at the students who had apparently tamed a leviathan.

Harlin approached Adom slowly, feeling oddly hesitant. The boy turned as he neared, and Harlin was struck by how... unchanged he seemed. Tired, yes, but not frightened or traumatized as one might expect after whatever had happened in the Highlands.

"Hey there," Adom said, as casually as if they'd run into each other at the market.

"Gave us quite a fright there, boy," Harlin managed, his voice gruffer than intended.

"Yeah." Adom glanced back at the harbor entrance, where the unnatural storm still churned on the horizon. "Didn't expect things to go quite like this."

"That storm," Harlin said, nodding toward it. "What is it?"

Adom studied it for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Magic."

They stood in silence, watching the distant tempest. It hadn't moved or dissipated, still hanging over the Giant Highlands like a threat.

"You going to tell me what happened out there?" Harlin finally asked.

Adom turned to him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "No," he said simply. "I don't think I will."

*****

The journey back to Arkhos was markedly different from their trip out. Champions' Road, people were calling it now.

Every stop along the way—from Northhaven to Cascadia to Lireth and beyond—welcomed Team Xerkes with a reception that ranged from enthusiastic to borderline fanatical. By tradition, the champions carried the Inter-Academy Cup to each participating city, giving local fans a chance to see the trophy up close.

"Did you know Krozball generates more revenue than the entire textile industry in three provinces?" Hugo said one morning as they waited for their escort to the day's ceremony. He was reading from a newspaper, eyebrows raised. "Apparently there's talk of forming professional leagues after graduation."

"Unsurprising," Adom replied, buttering a piece of toast. "Did you see the crowd sizes?"

Damus sat across from them, methodically working through a bowl of porridge. The table felt oddly normal—the three of them sharing breakfast before the day's festivities began, as if they'd been doing it for years instead of days.

"You're in here," Damus said flatly, sliding the newspaper toward Adom. "Again."

The headline read: "GHOST OF XERKES: TACTICAL GENIUS OR LUCKY AMATEUR?" Below it was a sketch of Adom mid-play, somehow capturing both his determination and his youth in a few skilled lines.

"Lucky amateur," Adom decided, pushing the paper away without reading further. "Definitely."

The corner of Damus's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but the closest thing to one Adom had seen from him in this lifetime.

"The sketch doesn't capture your hair correctly," Damus noted. "Too neat."

"My hair is perfectly neat," Adom protested, reaching up to touch the white streak that had refused to stay dyed after the second washing.

"It looks like you stuck your finger in a lightning socket," Hugo said with a grin.

"It does not."

"A small lightning socket," Damus clarified, his voice utterly serious while his eyes betrayed something that might have been amusement.

Mira joined them, dropping into a chair beside Hugo. "Are we talking about Adom's terrible hair?"

"We've moved past it," Adom said firmly.

"Not past enough," Serena called from across the dining hall. "It still looks like that."

Adom sighed, but there was no real frustration behind it. These moments—the casual banter, the shared meals, the quiet normalcy between public appearances—had become unexpectedly precious during their journey home.

The team had noticed, of course. It was impossible not to. The shift between Adom and Damus—from cold hostility to something approaching normal interaction—had been the subject of subtle glances and unspoken questions.

The two of them rarely spoke of anything important, but they spoke—about breakfast preferences, weather patterns, the strange customs of each city they visited.

No one mentioned it directly, as if drawing attention to the fragile truce might somehow break it.

Only Hugo, walking back to their quarters after a particularly long day in Cascadia, had said anything.

"I'm glad you two figured things out," he'd said quietly, falling into step beside Adom as Damus walked a few paces ahead. "Whatever it was."

"We haven't, not really," Adom had replied. "But we're working on it."

Hugo had nodded, seeming to understand what Adom couldn't quite articulate. "That's enough," he'd said. "Teams don't need everyone to be best friends. They just need everyone to respect each other."

Even Coach Viriam had relaxed around them.

Where once he'd positioned himself between Adom and Damus during team meetings—an unconscious buffer against potential conflict—now he allowed them to sit together without nervous glances.

"My mother always said time heals all wounds," Viriam had told Serena, who'd looked so shocked at the positive spin that she'd actually stopped her warm-up routine. "Well, that's not entirely accurate. She actually said time reveals which wounds are worth keeping. But I prefer my version."

In Lireth, they'd been treated to a military parade—all precision and discipline, with the academy's senior cadets forming an honor guard that escorted them from the harbor to the city center.

"Seems excessive," Damus had muttered as they walked past row after row of rigidly attentive cadets.

"It's not for us," Adom had replied quietly. "It's for them. Shows they can lose with dignity."

Damus had considered this, then nodded once. "Makes sense."

In Cascadia, the reception had been more elegant—a formal dinner at Verron Institute where even the table settings probably cost more than most people's monthly wages. Adom had watched with quiet amusement as his teammates tried to figure out which fork to use for each course.

"Just work from the outside in," he'd whispered to Talef, who looked ready to stab himself with the seafood pick rather than use it incorrectly.

By the time they reached Arkhos, they had the routine down to a science. Arrive at port, accept the local dignitaries' welcome, participate in whatever ceremony had been arranged, give a few appropriate quotes to the local papers, then retreat to their accommodations for a blessed few hours of normalcy before doing it all again the next day.

Sam, Eren, and the others had taken a different ship back—partly due to limited space on the team vessel, but mostly because Sam had insisted on visiting every bookshop in Northhaven before leaving. Mia had joined them, ostensibly to supervise but really because several rare alchemical ingredients were only available in the northern markets.

"We'll meet you in Arkhos," Sam had promised, barely looking up from the dusty tome he'd been examining. "Save me a spot at the celebration."

Except Arkhos was different.

They were still half a mile from the harbor when the first explosion lit up the sky.

"What the—" Hugo started, bolting upright from where he'd been leaning against the ship's railing.

"Fireworks," Adom said, watching another burst of color bloom against the late afternoon sky. "They're welcoming us home."

Zuni, who had been napping on Adom's shoulder, lifted his head at the noise.

Good heavens, he projected into Adom's mind. Is that truly necessary?

"Apparently," Adom murmured, scratching gently between Zuni's quills.

I suppose next they'll have a parade.

"Probably," Adom agreed. "With musicians and everything."

Hmm. Well I hope there will be sugar. I miss sugar.

As they drew closer to the harbor, the full scale of Arkhos's celebration came into view. The docks were packed with people—not just students and faculty, but what looked like half the city. Banners in Xerkes hung from every available surface, and someone had erected a massive wooden platform that appeared to be a viewing stage.

"I didn't think this many people even lived in Arkhos," Serena said, coming to stand beside Adom at the railing.

"Krozball," Coach Viriam explained, sounding almost resigned. "It's not just a sport. It's practically a religion."

The coach had undergone something of a transformation during their journey. The nervous, self-doubting equipment manager was still there somewhere beneath the surface, but public adoration had forced him to develop at least a veneer of confidence. He still flinched when reporters shouted questions, but he no longer looked like he might faint at any moment.

Another firework exploded overhead, this one forming the Xerkes Academy crest before dissolving into a shower of silver sparks.

Gaudy, Zuni observed. Though I suppose the craftsmanship is adequate.

"I think it's nice," Adom said. "They're proud of us."

They're proud of you, Zuni corrected. The rest are merely along for the recognition.

"That's not fair," Adom murmured. "Everyone contributed."

If you insist, Zuni replied, his mental tone suggesting he was only agreeing to be polite.

Their ship docked amid cheers that somehow managed to be louder than thirty thousand people in an enclosed arena. The gangplank lowered, and at the bottom stood Headmaster Meris, resplendent in formal academic robes that looked like they hadn't seen daylight in decades.

"Do we have to?" Talef asked, eyeing the crowd with sudden apprehension.

"Unfortunately," Hugo replied, adjusting his uniform robes. "Just smile and wave. It'll be over soon."

"That's what you said in Cascadia," Mira grumbled. "I'm still finding glitter in my hair."

Headmaster Meris's voice boomed across the harbor, magically amplified to reach even the farthest spectators. "Ladies and gentlemen! Citizens of Arkhos! I present to you... the champions of the Inter-Academy Krozball Tournament!"

The noise that followed was beyond description—a wall of sound that seemed to physically push against them as they descended to the dock. Hugo led the way, carrying the championship cup high above his head. The rest of the team followed in loose formation, waving and smiling as instructed.

Adom found himself scanning the crowd automatically, noting the mix of enthusiasm and political opportunism. Several members of the city council had positioned themselves prominently near the viewing platform. Merchants Guild representatives stood in a neat block near the harbor master's office, their guild badges polished to a shine.

And there—near the back, trying not to be noticed but failing completely due to his height—was Mister Biggins. The old man caught Adom's eye and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment, then disappeared into the crowd.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of speeches, congratulations, and what felt like a thousand handshakes. Hugo spoke briefly, thanking the city for its support. Coach Viriam managed to say a few words without mentioning his mother once, which was progress.

When it was finally over, when they'd been escorted back to the academy grounds and the crowds had dispersed, Adom found himself standing in the quiet courtyard, watching the last of the fireworks fade from the darkening sky.

The past few weeks had been surprisingly pleasant.

He'd expected the fame to be a nuisance—and parts of it certainly were—but he hadn't anticipated how much he'd enjoy the simple human connections it created. First-years stopped him in hallways to ask for training tips. Shopkeepers insisted he take free pastries. Even professors who'd barely acknowledged him before now greeted him by name.

He went back to his dorm, and sprawled on his bed, flipping through Law's book, when his comm crystal began pulsing in his pocket.

The sensation was so unexpected that for a moment he didn't recognize it. The crystal had been silent for weeks—not unusual given its limited range, but still. He fished it out, feeling the familiar weight in his palm as the crystal's surface flickered with incoming connection energy.

Only a handful of people had crystals tuned to this frequency. He knew immediately who it was.

Adom pressed his thumb against the activation rune and held the crystal near his face. "Hey Valiant, how are you do—"

"GHOST! HOLY SHIT YOU WON!"

The voice exploded from the crystal with such volume that Adom nearly dropped it. Zuni, who had been napping on the windowsill, jerked awake with an indignant squeak.

"Keep it down," Adom muttered, glancing at the door. "Zuni is sleeping."

"Sleeping? Who cares about sleeping? You're a champion! The Ghost of Xerkes! I've been following the newspapers—did you know they're selling illustrated prints of that final match? I've got three! One for the wall, one for my collection, and one just in case something happens to the other two! Could you sign them for me please? I'm gonna sell them. Well, just the first one. I am sure it's gonna sell well. Hey, we could make this a new business venture!"

Adom couldn't help smiling. Valiant's enthusiasm was infectious, even from the other side of the city. He could picture the mouse beastkin perfectly—whiskers twitching with excitement, small paws gesturing wildly, tail probably knocking over something fragile.

"It was just a tournament," Adom said. "Not that big a deal."

"Not that big a—are you insane?! It's the biggest deal! Nobody expected you guys to get past the first round! And then that duel with the military guy? And that final shot by the girl? It was incredible!"

"Her name is Serena," Adom said. "And how do you even know all that? I thought you were in Arkhos."

"Oh! That's actually why I called—well, not the only reason, but one of them. I've been thinking, right? About the comm crystals. They're great for talking, but what if we could see things too? Like, what if I could have watched your match in real time?"

Adom frowned. "You mean like... scrying?"

"No, no, way better than scrying! Scrying's all fuzzy and weird. I'm talking about something clear, something immediate. Picture this: a device with a flat crystal surface that shows you exactly what's happening somewhere else, right as it happens!"

"Hmm. It's a good idea. But they're expensive and—"

"Bigger! I'm talking bigger! And connected to comm networks, so everyone with a receiver could watch the same thing at once!"

Adom sighed. Knowing exactly what Valiant meant. "Like a public broadcast? To multiple receivers simultaneously?"

"Yes! Exactly!" Valiant's voice crackled with excitement. "And we could do announcements too! Like, 'Coming up next, the Inter-Academy Krozball finals!' And people would gather around their crystal viewers and—"

"You know," Adom interrupted, "I've actually been thinking about something similar. If you aligned the communication runes in a networked pattern instead of the standard point-to-point configuration, you could potentially—"

"Little Boss!" A deeper voice rumbled in the background. "For the love of the gods, get to the point!"

"Oh! Right! Sorry, Thormund!"

Adom recognized the second voice immediately.

"Is that Thormund?" He asked, his stomach tightening. If both of them were on the comm, this wasn't just a social call.

"Yeah, he's here," Valiant confirmed, his voice dropping several decibels. "We're actually... um... there's sort of a situation?"

Adom closed the book and sat up. "What kind of situation?"

"Well, it's about the prince's trial. The one coming up next month?"

"I'm familiar with it."

"Right, so... the thing is..." Valiant's voice dropped even lower. "Farmus is planning an attack. During the trial."

Adom waited for more, for the frantic elaboration that usually followed Valiant's announcements. When none came, he found himself almost thrown off balance by the uncharacteristic brevity.

"And you couldn't have started with that?" Adom asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Hey, I told you, right?" Valiant's voice had the defensive quality of someone who genuinely thought he'd been quite efficient.

Adom sighed, feeling the peaceful bubble of the last few weeks pop like a soap bubble. "Of course this peace couldn't last," he muttered. "Details, Valiant. I need details."

"Oh! Well, we've been tracking some suspicious shipments coming in through the southern ports. Lots of small crates, official paperwork but weird routing patterns. Thormund managed to crack one open—"

"After you nearly got yourself killed trying to charm the dock supervisor," Thormund's voice rumbled in the background.

"She was very nice once we got talking!" Valiant protested. "Anyway, the crates had disassembled crossbows. Military grade, not hunting models. And sealed packets of some kind of powder."

"Blackpowder?" Adom asked, his mind already racing through contingencies.

"No, something else. Thormund thinks it's alchemical. It smelled weird, kind of like licorice but... wrong."

That wasn't good. Adom knew at least three alchemical compounds with that general description, and none of them were used for peaceful purposes.

"How sure are you about the timing? The trial is still weeks away."

"Very sure," Valiant said, his voice suddenly serious. "We intercepted a message. Three days before the trial, a ship called The Merry Widow will dock in Arkhos with the 'final delivery.''"

Adom closed his eyes, letting the information settle. An attack during the trial made strategic sense. All the kingdom's leadership would be present, security would be stretched thin managing the crowds, and public attention would be at its peak.

"Have you told anyone else?" he asked.

"Just you. We weren't sure who to trust with this. The royal guard might have leaks, the city watch definitely has leaks, and the merchants' guild is basically one big leak with fancy letterhead."

Despite everything, Adom smiled. Valiant's assessment wasn't wrong.

"Alright. I need you to stay put and keep monitoring the situation. Don't do anything reckless—"

"Me? Reckless? Never!"

"—and keep detailed notes on everything you find. Ship names, cargo manifests, faces, names. I'll handle things from this end. Also, tell the cats to report to me if they spot anything. Let them know we'll double their fish if they can recruit more city cats."

"Got it, boss!" Valiant's enthusiasm returned. "And hey, when this is all over, can we talk more about my crystal viewing idea? I really think it could—"

"Little Boss!" Thormund's exasperated voice cut in again.

"Right, right. Focusing. Bye, Ghost! Don't get stabbed or anything!"

The crystal's glow faded as the connection ended, leaving Adom sitting in silence.

Trouble? Zuni projected, peering at him from the windowsill.

Adom slipped the comm crystal back into his pocket. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Seems like it."