Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Dong.

The first bell toll hung in the air, heavy as wet wool.

Dong.

People paused in the streets of Arkhos, conversations trailing into silence.

Dong.

Three bells. The Imperial Announcement pattern.

Adom stood in the crowd forming near the Hall of Justice, his recently broken arm still stiff despite the academy's nurse, Miss Thornheart's treatment. Just an hour ago, he'd been half-drowned in the ocean, locked in combat with a homunculus. Now he was here, academy uniform hastily donned, watching as the city transformed around him.

I maintain this is inadvisable, came Zuni's voice in his mind. The quillick adjusted his position on Adom's shoulder, careful to maintain his balance. You should be resting.

And miss whatever this is? Adom replied quietly. Not a chance.

Your constitution may be exceptional, but even you have limits.

Noted.

A vegetable seller nearby hastily packed her cart. "Last time those bells rang like that," she muttered to no one in particular, "they raised the harbor tax to twenty percent."

"Doubt it's taxes this time," replied a man with a weather-beaten face. "Not with what happened at the trial."

The bells continued their monotonous call as Adom pushed deeper into the growing crowd. His right arm, though no longer bent at that sickening angle, still ached dully. The academy's nurse– Miss Thornheart –had set and treated it, her expression growing increasingly puzzled as the bone began knitting itself together faster than normal healing should allow.

"There you are!" Sam called, emerging from the shadow of a baker's awning. "Thought you might have drowned."

"Nearly did," Adom replied, accepting Sam's firm handshake with his good arm.

Sam's eyes flickered to Adom's injured arm, then to his face, searching. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. A subtle nod, a slight relaxation of his shoulders. "Glad you made it back."

"I'm exceptionally durable," Adom said with a half-smile.

"So it seems." Sam replied. He glanced at Zuni, who returned an almost imperceptible squeak of greeting.

The crowd thickened as more citizens arrived, responding to the persistent bells. City guards in polished breastplates directed the flow of people, their expressions tense beneath their helmets. More guards appeared at the edges of the square, subtle but unmistakable in their vigilance.

"Something's happening," Sam said, nodding toward the Hall's grand entrance where imperial guards—distinguished from city guards by their crimson cloaks—had begun to form ranks on the steps.

"I'm guessing that's why we're all here," Adom replied dryly.

A merchant shuffled past, his arms laden with scrolls. "War with Farmus," he declared with absolute certainty. "My cousin's boy works in the harbor. Says they turned back a whole fleet this morning."

By 'turned back,' he likely means 'utterly destroyed,' Zuni observed privately to Adom. If what you told me was accurate.

Let's not spread that around, Adom replied.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Adom. "That true? About the fleet?"

Adom looked at Sam and nodded.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The bells continued their relentless rhythm as the crowd grew denser. People pressed forward from all sides. The mood was mixed—tension in some faces, excitement in others, resignation in many.

A woman nearby clutched her shawl tighter. "It's bad luck, that's what it is. First that unnatural storm out at sea, now this. The gods are angry."

"The gods have nothing to do with it," her companion scoffed. "It's politics, plain and simple."

"The storm weren't politics. My brother saw it from the harbor wall. Said it was like the ocean itself was at war."

Adom shifted his weight, conscious of how his hair still smelled faintly of saltwater despite his hasty attempts to rinse it. The broken arm was already feeling better—another hour and he'd barely notice it. One of the benefits of his unique physiology.

The crowd's murmuring intensified as figures began to emerge from the Hall. First the military commanders in their dress uniforms, then the heads of the great merchant houses, followed by the representatives of allied nations in their traditional garb. They arranged themselves on the wide steps in a precise formation, each group in its designated place.

Your heart rate has increased, Zuni noted. Are you in pain?

Just curious, Adom replied mentally. Like everyone else.

I doubt everyone else was personally involved in today's events.

Fair point.

The bells grew louder, though whether they actually increased in volume or the crowd's hushed anticipation just made them seem that way, Adom couldn't tell. The square was packed now, citizens pressed shoulder to shoulder from the Hall's steps all the way back to the fountain at the district boundary.

"It's almost certainly about the prince," Sam murmured, keeping his voice low. "Given what happened at the trial."

"We'll know soon enough," Adom replied.

The crowd's murmuring intensified as the last council members took their positions. Only then did the mages appear, nine figures in elaborate robes representing the Magisterium. Gaius was among them, looking as composed as he had when he'd plucked Adom from the ocean. Their eyes met briefly across the distance, the old mage giving no sign of recognition.

The bells reached a crescendo, then held a single, sustained note that seemed to vibrate the very stones beneath their feet.

"Here it comes," Sam whispered.

The great doors of the Hall opened wider, and the crowd collectively held its breath. The Emperor emerged into the sunlight, his simple gold circlet gleaming against his gray-streaked hair. Though not physically imposing, his presence commanded attention, shoulders straight beneath robes of imperial purple.

The Emperor moved to the edge of the top step and raised his hand.

The bells stopped.

The sudden silence was deafening.

The Emperor's hand remained raised, holding the crowd in that perfect, expectant silence. No cough, no whisper, no shuffling of feet disturbed the moment. Adom felt the weight of it pressing against his chest—the collective breath of thousands, held.

The imperial herald stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. He cleared his throat once, then called out in a voice that carried to every corner of the square:

"Citizens of Arkhos! Nobles, merchants, craftsmen, and laborers! Bear witness to the words of His Imperial Majesty, Rayhan Vi Savarnis. Third of his name, Emperor of the eternal Sundar, Protector of the Realm, Guardian of the Ancient Compact!"

As one, the crowd dropped to one knee, heads bowed—all except the nobles and officials already on the steps, who merely lowered their heads in deference. Sam tugged at Adom's sleeve, and they knelt together, Zuni maintaining perfect balance on Adom's shoulder.

This is unnecessarily theatrical, Zuni commented privately.

Tradition, Adom replied. It matters to people.

The Emperor gestured for his subjects to rise. When they had, he stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the gathered faces.

"My people," he began, his voice surprisingly strong for a man his age. "I come before you today with grave news."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

"This morning, Prince Kalyon was found guilty of all charges brought against him."

A ripple moved through the crowd—not surprise exactly, but the confirmation of long-held suspicions. The prince had been under investigation for months, his trial the talk of every tavern and marketplace in the city.

"As punishment for his crimes against the crown, Prince Kalyon is hereby sentenced to life imprisonment at the Imperial Fortress."

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Life imprisonment rather than execution was unusual for treason. The woman next to Adom whispered to her companion, "The Emperor's mercy shows. Blood is blood, after all."

"Citizens!" the Emperor called, raising his hand again for silence. "What I share next will shock many of you. Prince Kalyon's crimes extend far beyond what was publicly known."

The crowd quieted immediately.

"Evidence presented at his trial revealed that the prince has been in secret correspondence with the Empire of Farmus."

Gasps. Curses. Someone spat on the ground at the mention of their longtime rival.

"The prince conspired with Farmus to overthrow the legitimate rule of this empire. Today was to be the culmination of their plan—a coordinated attack that would begin with my assassination and end with Farmusian warships in our harbor."

"What?!"

The crowd erupted. Men shouted curses, women clutched at their children. A fruit seller overturned his cart in anger, sending apples rolling across the cobblestones.

Adom remained still, watching. He'd suspected this announcement was coming, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way his knowledge hadn't.

Sam leaned close. "Is that why—"

"Yes," Adom cut him off quietly. "That's what I was dealing with."

The Emperor allowed the outrage to build for precisely long enough, then raised both hands. The imperial guards stamped their spears against the stone steps, the sharp crack cutting through the noise.

"Their plan has failed!" he declared, his voice rising. "Thanks to the vigilance of our Archmage and the courage of our mages, we uncovered this plot before it could succeed. This very morning, as some of you witnessed, a magical battle took place off our coast."

Adom felt Sam's eyes turning toward him.

"What few of you know," the Emperor continued, "is that this battle was merely the first blow in what would have been an invasion. One hundred Farmusian warships approached our shores, hidden by foul weather magic, intending to support the coup from within our walls."

Adom almost smiled at the exaggeration. Fifty ships, not a hundred. But the effect on the crowd was electric regardless.

"One hundred!" a man nearby gasped. "The bastards were coming for our children!"

"Where are they now?" another shouted. "These ships?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

The Emperor's expression hardened, a flash of satisfaction crossing his features. "At the bottom of the ocean, where all enemies of Arkhos belong."

The roar that followed shook the square. People stamped their feet, clapped their hands, embraced strangers in shared jubilation. A woman started singing the imperial anthem, and others quickly joined in, voices rising in rough harmony.

The Emperor let them celebrate, standing tall and impassive on the steps. Only when the anthem ended did he signal for silence once more.

"Make no mistake," he said, his voice lower now, compelling them to lean forward to catch his words. "This was not merely the action of a wayward prince. This was an act of war by Farmus against our nation, our people, our way of life."

The crowd grew still, sensing what was coming.

"For generations, we have maintained an uneasy peace with Farmus. We have tolerated their provocations, their border incursions, their trade manipulations. We have sought diplomatic solutions when military ones might have been justified."

He paused, looking out over the sea of faces.

"That time is over."

A hush fell across the square so complete that Adom could hear the flutter of imperial banners in the breeze.

"Citizens of Arkhos. Of Sundar," the Emperor's voice rang out, clear and resolute. "Today, I declare war on the Empire of Farmus and all who ally with them."

For a heartbeat, silence held the square. A collective intake of breath as the words settled into the minds of thousands.

Then, somewhere near Adom, a merchant with callused hands whispered, "About time." His voice was barely audible, meant only for himself.

An old veteran with a scar across his cheek nodded slowly. "To war," he murmured.

A woman clutching a child to her chest echoed, "T-to war," her voice trembling between fear and determination.

Like a stone dropped in still water, the sentiment rippled outward. A young apprentice nearby, face flushed with emotion, raised his voice slightly. "To war."

From the back of the crowd, a deep voice bellowed, "WAR!" The shout broke whatever restraint had held the crowd in check.

"WAR!" cried a dozen voices in response.

"WAR!" A hundred more joined in.

The chant built like a wave, cresting as it moved across the square.

"WAR! WAR! WAR!"

Faces that moments ago had been shocked now twisted with emotion—righteous anger, patriotic fervor, the intoxicating relief of finally confronting a long-feared enemy. Men thrust fists into the air, women called out their support, even children joined the chorus, caught up in the moment without understanding its meaning.

"WAR! WAR! WAR!"

The chant gained a rhythm, feet stamping in time, until it seemed the very stones beneath their feet vibrated with it. No longer individual voices but a single roar—the voice of Arkhos itself, answering its Emperor's call.

Adom remained silent, watching.

He'd seen this coming from the moment the bells began to toll. Perhaps even earlier, when he'd been planning his counter attack. War had become inevitable the moment Farmus committed their ships.

And yet...

I sense you're troubled, Zuni observed privately.

War means casualties, Adom replied. On both sides.

Indeed. But was there another path?

Adom considered the question as the Emperor raised his hands, calling again for the crowd's attention. The chanting subsided gradually, people wiping tears of emotion from their faces, gripping each other's arms in solidarity.

"This will not be a swift conflict," the Emperor cautioned, his tone somber now. "Farmus has been preparing for war while we have been maintaining peace. Their armies are ready. Their coffers are full. They believe us weak, divided, unprepared."

He smiled thinly.

"They are mistaken."

The crowd murmured its agreement.

"Beginning today, all citizens of age will be called upon to serve the empire in whatever capacity they are best suited. Some will take up arms. Others will forge those arms. Still others will ensure our people are fed, clothed, and cared for."

Heads nodded throughout the square. The practical reality of war was setting in.

"I promise you this," the Emperor said, his voice rising for the final time. "When this war is over, Farmus will never again threaten our shores, our trade routes, or our people. The threat they have posed for generations will be eliminated, once and for all."

He raised his fist high.

"For Sundar! For our future!"

"FOR SUNDAR!" the crowd roared back. "FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR OUR FUTURE!"

The Emperor turned and walked back into the Hall of Justice, his council following in precise order. The imperial guards remained on the steps, standing at attention as the crowd continued its chant.

Adom watched them go, his expression carefully neutral.

No, he thought in answer to Zuni's earlier question. There wasn't another path. Not after what Farmus had attempted. This response was the only one that made sense.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what the cost would be. War wasn't fought with speeches and cheers, but with blood and magic and steel. He'd had a taste of it today, over the water. How many more would face similar battles in the months to come?

"So," Sam said quietly beside him as the crowd began to disperse, still buzzing with excitement. "War."

"War," Adom agreed.

"Think they have any idea what they're cheering for?"

Adom shook his head slightly. "Most of them have never seen real combat. They don't know what's coming."

Sam's eyes flicked to Adom's injured arm. "And you do?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

They stood together in silence as the bells began to ring again—a different pattern now, not a summons but a declaration. The war bells. He hadn't heard that in Arkhos since his past life.

The sound followed Adom as he and Sam finally turned to leave, Zuni still perched on his shoulder, watching everything with those too-perceptive eyes.

Dong.

Dong.

Dong.

*****

Adom walked along the shoreline, his boots sinking slightly into the wet sand with each step. Waves lapped gently at the shore, erasing the day's events one tide at a time.

He'd dropped Zuni off with Sam an hour ago.

Sam had accepted the temporary guardianship with surprising ease, offering Zuni a perch on his bookshelf and a small dish of roasted nuts. "I'll keep him out of trouble," Sam promised, though it wasn't clear which of them he was talking about.

Adom rounded a bend in the shoreline and spotted a solitary figure ahead, seated on a large, flat rock. Archmage Gaius, his gray robes fluttering slightly in the breeze, gazed out at the horizon where the sun hung low, bleeding orange and red across the water.

Adom slowed his pace.

Something about the scene—the old man, the setting sun, the gentle waves—struck him with uncomfortable familiarity. It reminded him of that day, when he'd met Death on a shore much like this one. Same golden light, same salt-tinged air, same sense of a world balanced on the edge of transformation.

Gaius didn't turn as Adom approached, though he must have heard the footsteps in the sand.

"You're late," the archmage said, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

Adom smiled despite himself. "A mage is never late, sir. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

Gaius let out a startled laugh, deep and genuine. "You learn quickly, young man. Very quickly indeed."

"So I've heard," Adom replied, coming to stand beside the rock. The archmage held something in his right hand—a communication crystal. It caught the dying sunlight, splitting it into miniature rainbows across his fingers.

They remained in silence for a moment, watching as the sun continued its descent toward the water. Small waves rolled in, erasing Adom's footprints behind him.

"How's that arm?" Gaius asked, glancing at Adom's previously broken limb.

"I'm not even feeling the pain anymore," Adom replied, flexing his fingers to demonstrate.

Gaius nodded reflectively. "Miss Thornheart does excellent work."

Adom made a polite chuckle, as he was glancing at the crystal.

"You needn't worry," Gaius added after a moment. "No one is listening to our conversation. I've taken precautions."

"I didn't—" Adom began to protest.

Gaius turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in silent challenge. The look said everything: Really? We're going to play this game?

Adom's attempt at innocence collapsed. He smiled and shrugged. "Old habits."

The archmage nodded, then held up the comm crystal, allowing the sunlight to pass through it. The object was substantial, heavy with magic, clear except for a faint blue tinge at its core.

"Ingenious," Gaius said, turning the crystal to examine it from different angles. "Truly ingenious. The runes are microscopic, layered within the crystal structure itself rather than etched on the surface. I've never seen anything quite like it." He looked at Adom with curiosity. "Were you the one who created it?"

Adom didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the water.

"No matter," Gaius continued after a moment, seemingly unbothered by the silence. "I've always had an interest in magical artifacts. The advancement of runecraft, in particular, has fascinated me since my own academy days."

He returned his attention to the crystal, watching how it refracted the light. "I attended Xerkes myself, you know. Tried to become a runicologist in my third year. Failed my courses two years running before I had to accept that I was more brawn than brain."

Adom frowned, looking up at him. "What?"

"Oh yes," Gaius continued, his tone casual. "Switched to battle magic after that. Much more suited to my talents. Though it didn't stop the academy from expelling me eventually."

Adom's frown deepened. The archmage—the most powerful mage in the empire, head of the Magisterium, advisor to the Emperor himself—had been expelled from Xerkes Academy?

"After they kicked me out," Gaius continued, tossing the comm crystal from one hand to the other, "I took odd jobs. Mercenary work mostly. Protection details for merchants, artifact recovery for collectors who didn't ask too many questions."

Adom listened, his confusion growing with each word. This didn't align with anything he knew about Archmage Gaius. The man's life history was documented in official imperial records, taught in history classes at Xerkes.

"Got better at battle magic through practical application rather than theory," Gaius went on. "Nothing teaches control like having to conserve mana for a week-long trek through bandit country."

He chuckled, his gaze distant with memories. "I even led a guild called the Azure Blades for about a decade. We specialized in magical threats conventional armies couldn't handle. Dungeon outbreaks, rogue constructs, that sort of thing."

Adom's frown deepened. What was the meaning of this?

The official biography of Sir Gaius described a prodigious student who graduated at the top of his class, followed by a meteoric rise through the imperial magical corps. There was no mention of mercenary work or expulsion.

"Eventually, I caught the eye of the previous Emperor—this would have been Emperor Kherin, of course. He offered me a position training his personal guard in anti-magic tactics." Gaius shrugged. "From there, politics. You know how it goes. Became Archmage at Sixty, which was considered young for the position."

Adom said nothing, but his mind raced.

Was this some kind of test? There had been, to his knowledge, no falsification of the archives that Adom knew of—and he had studied the archmage's career extensively.

Gaius caught Adom's stare and laughed.

"You must be wondering why I wanted to talk with you," he said, "and why I'm telling you things that seem... incorrect."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Adom admitted cautiously.

Surely, he wasn't...

Right?

Gaius nodded, his expression growing more serious. "What I've told you so far is only half the story. I lived that life—the one you've never read about—until I was 124 years old. Became one of the greatest mercenary mages in the world, if I do say so myself."

He turned the crystal in his palm, watching how the light played through it. "And then I was killed."

Adom's eyes widened slightly.

Oh.

"People in the imperial court," Gaius continued, his voice matter-of-fact. "They hired me for what seemed like a standard mission. Extract information from a rival noble's estate. But it was a setup from the beginning."

He set the crystal down on the rock beside him, his weathered hands coming to rest in his lap.

"Before I died, though, I met something. A being of sorts. I wasn't sure what exactly it was until we started speaking." Gaius looked directly at Adom. "It offered me a deal. The chance to come back in time. A second chance at life. The opportunity to avoid my regrets."

Adom remained silent. What was there to say?

"I accepted, of course. Who wouldn't? I came back, avenged my death from my previous life, and lived the life you and the rest of the world have come to know from the history books. Excellent student, meteoric rise, respected archmage." He smiled thinly. "Amazing what you can accomplish when you already know what's coming."

How unexpected.

"The butterfly effect," Gaius continued, picking up the crystal again. "That's what a mage I used to know called it. One small change can create ripples that transform everything. I've caused many changes in this timeline—some intentional, others not."

He turned the crystal, examining it from yet another angle. "But no matter how I turn it in my head, I can't understand one thing."

His eyes met Adom's. "You."

"Me?" Adom asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"I never saw you in my past life. Never heard of you. And yet here you are, quite exceptional in this run of mine. Arresting princes, establishing a merchant guild, creating devices I've never seen before." He held up the crystal. "Like this one."

Gaius leaned forward slightly. "There's a pattern here. One only someone like us could see."

The waves lapped at the shore, filling the silence that stretched between them.

"You're like me, aren't you?" Gaius finally asked. "A returner?"

Adom didn't immediately respond. The question hung in the air, both an accusation and an invitation.

"I have been observing you," Gaius said. "The signs are subtle, but they're there. The way you sometimes speak and behave. The comfort with which you handle magical theory that should be beyond a third-year student."

He set the crystal down again. "And then there's today. The way you fought that homunculus. Not just the skill—plenty of people have skill—but the strategy. You knew exactly what you were facing and how to counter it. No boy your age would be this strong, and know exactly how to use that strength."

Adom remained silent.

"I'm not trying to expose you," Gaius said more gently. "If anything, I'm relieved. I thought I was alone in this... condition."

The sun was almost touching the horizon now, the light turning from gold to deep orange.

"How many times?" Gaius asked quietly.

Adom looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since arriving. "What?"

"How many times have you done this? Come back, I mean. For me, this is only my second life." Gaius studied him.

"This is my first time as well," Adom said quietly, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

"HAH!" Gaius slapped his knee, his face lighting up with delight. "Incredible! And you're already this powerful at your age? God, that's remarkable!"

The archmage stood, brushing sand from his robes. His smile was different now—warmer, more natural than the composed expression he wore in court. He turned to face Adom fully, his eyes bright with something like hope.

"I don't believe either of us was sent back for nothing," he said. "There must be some purpose to it all. Some reason we've been given this... opportunity."

He reached out and gripped Adom's shoulders firmly. "I've struggled with this. Been... quite depressed, if I'm honest. After I avenged my death and accomplished everything I'd dreamed of, I found myself asking: what now? What was the point of coming back if I've already fixed what went wrong?"

He searched Adom's face, his voice dropping. "You probably lived longer than me, didn't you? In your first life?"

"I died at 79," Adom said. "After the world's end."

"The world's end, huh?" Gaius released Adom's shoulders, turning back toward the ocean. The sun was now halfway below the horizon, casting long shadows across the beach. "With the way things are going, I can't say I'm surprised."

He tilted his head, studying Adom. "I suspect this version of me was the same in your first life, since you seem so surprised by all this. Which means I must have not died a natural death?"

"Assassinated," Adom replied simply.

"Ah, goddammit." Gaius laughed, but there was no humor in it. "What a bleak future."

"You have no idea," Adom muttered.

The waves continued their steady rhythm against the shore. A gull called somewhere in the distance. Gaius picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water's surface—one, two, three, four bounces before it sank.

"Tell me your story then," he said, his tone gentler now. "I'll listen. And I'll help you. We're the same, you and I. Whatever comes next, we don't have to face it alone."

Adom considered the old mage for a long moment. The sun had almost disappeared now, leaving just a thin crimson line between sea and sky.

He sat down on the sand, drawing his knees up to his chest. Gaius joined him, settling onto the beach with a soft grunt.

"So," Adom began, his voice low, "it all started with this weapon called Dragon's Breath..."