Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

"One thousand and eighty-four."

Adom's arms trembled as he lowered his chest toward the ground, the weight on his back pressing down like a small mountain. Sweat dripped from his forehead, forming a growing puddle on the stone floor of the training room.

"One thousand and eighty-five."

His muscles screamed in protest. Every fiber in his shoulders, chest, and arms felt like it was on fire. The half a ton of draconite metal strapped to his back might as well have been the weight of the world itself.

"One thousand and eighty-six."

This was it. His previous record. His arms shook violently as he pushed himself up, fighting against gravity and the heaviest metal known to exist. His breathing came in ragged gasps.

He tried to lower himself again for eighty-seven.

His arms gave out halfway down.

For a moment, he hung there, suspended between success and failure, his body trembling with exhaustion. Every instinct told him to collapse, to let the weight win, to accept that this was his limit.

But he'd been at this for five years. Five years of pushing his body beyond what any reasonable person would consider possible. Five years of turning himself into something that was hardly human anymore.

He wasn't stopping at his old record.

With a sound that was half growl, half desperate gasp, Adom forced his arms to extend. Slowly. Agonizingly. His entire body shook with the effort, but he completed the rep.

"One thousand and eighty-seven."

The moment he finished, Adom rolled sideways, letting the massive weight slide off his back and crash to the floor with a sound like thunder. He sprawled on the cool stone, gasping for air, his chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

His new record.

A familiar chime echoed in his mind, followed by the appearance of a translucent window .

[Primordial Body has reached Level 2!]

[Benefits Unlocked:]
[Accelerated Healing: Minor injuries heal 300% faster]
[Enhanced Recovery: Stamina regeneration increased by 250%]
[Increased Durability: Resistance to physical damage improved by 200%]
[Superior Strength: Base physical strength increased by 50%]
[Heightened Reflexes: Reaction time decreased by 40%]

Adom grinned despite his exhaustion.

All these years of relentless training in every conceivable category—strength, speed, endurance, flexibility, balance, coordination.

The system's requirements for advancing [Primordial Body] were, to put it mildly, ridiculous. It wasn't enough to be strong. You had to be strong and fast and tough and agile and everything else, all at the same time, all pushed to inhuman levels.

He'd grown considerably during those five years. Not just in muscle mass—though that was obvious enough—but in every measurable aspect of physical capability. He was faster than most people could track with their eyes, more reactive than a startled cat, and strong enough to apparently do push-ups with a literal half a ton of draconite on his back.

At this point, calling himself human was being generous.

Most people he knew wouldn't last thirty seconds in a fight with him. And when he enhanced his already considerable abilities with the Fluid aspect of Axis, he was approaching his father's level in pure physical combat.

Speaking of which...

As if summoned by his thoughts, Arthur's voice drifted across the training yard.

"Ada, you can't climb on my sword arm while I'm trying to block Bennu's aerial maneuvers."

"But Father, I'm helping! I'm making you stronger by adding weight!"

"That's not how training works, sweetheart."

Adom pushed himself up on his elbows and looked toward the far end of the garden.

His father stood in the middle of what appeared to be the world's most chaotic combat drill. Ada had wrapped herself around his left arm, refusing to let go despite Arthur's gentle attempts to dislodge her. Bennu was perched on his right shoulder, wings spread for balance as Arthur moved through what looked like modified sword forms. And Zuni sat proudly atop Arthur's head like a living helmet, his quills flattened to avoid poking anyone.

"I still don't understand the objective," Bennu was saying, his voice carrying clearly across the yard. "Are we training Arthur, or is Arthur training us?"

"Yes," Arthur replied .

Ada giggled. "Father, you're being silly again."

"Well, when you have this many training partners at once, the objectives tend to blur together."

Adom watched his father execute a perfectly balanced pivot despite having roughly thirty pounds of family members attached to various parts of his body. The man's core strength was genuinely ridiculous.

"Father," Adom called out, pushing himself to his feet. "I'd like to try again."

Arthur paused mid-form, turning to look at his son. His gaze took in the sweat-soaked training clothes, the draconite weight lying beside the impact crater it had made in the garden floor, and Adom's slightly unsteady stance.

"Sure," he said simply.

"Alright, everyone off for a minute." Arthur began the delicate process of extracting himself from his various passengers.

Bennu hopped from his shoulder to the ground with easy grace, but his golden eyes were bright with curiosity. "What are you going to do?"

"They're going to fight!" Ada announced before Arthur could answer, finally releasing her death grip on his arm. "Father is the strongest person in the whole world, and Adom is the second strongest, and Father has been training Adom to be the strongest too, so they can be the strongest together!"

Bennu's head tilted with fascination. "You fight each other? For training purposes?"

"Combat practice," Arthur clarified, rolling his shoulders now that he was finally unencumbered. "Controlled sparring."

"Whoa," Bennu breathed. "And Ada says you're the strongest in the world?"

"Father can beat anyone!"

Arthur laughed, stroking a giggling Ada's head vigorously.

Adom was still catching his breath, but there was something in his stance that made Arthur's expression grow more serious.

"Why are you so confident when you were panting like a winded horse just a few seconds ago?" Arthur asked.

"Hit a new threshold," Adom said, straightening up. "Want to test it without magic."

Arthur's eyebrows rose slightly. "No magic at all?" He asked.

"Pure physical combat."

Arthur considered this for a moment, then smiled.

"Make it three rounds then," he said.

"Agreed."

Arthur gestured toward a patch of grass near the garden's edge. "Kids, go sit and watch the spectacle. This should be educational."

Ada clapped her hands together and immediately ran toward the designated viewing area. Bennu followed more slowly, his gaze moving between Adom and Arthur with obvious fascination.

"Is this normal behavior for human families?" he asked Zuni as they settled onto the grass.

Perfectly normal for this family, Zuni replied.

"How exciting," Bennu murmured, his eyes bright with anticipation.

Arthur walked to the center of the training area and stopped about ten feet from Adom, rolling his shoulders once more.

"Come at me whenever you're ready," he said, his tone still carrying that cheerful edge. "And use your Fluid. I want to see what that new threshold looks like."

Arthur took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly.

The change was immediate and dramatic. Bright orange energy erupted across his entire body like he'd been doused in liquid fire. The Fluid clung to his skin, his clothes, outlining every muscle and making him look like a human torch. Even his hair seemed to catch the glow, flickering with inner light.

Adom watched the transformation with the kind of focus he usually reserved for studying complex magical theorems.

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There was an unofficial ranking among the top thirty Star Knights in the Empire.

Out of them all, his father—the former commander of the Iron Wolves—held the number nine position. Which sounded modest until you understood what Star Knights actually were: the only fully human, non-mage warriors who could rival mages of equivalent power.

That alone said everything about their prowess.

The grade itself was only acquired after crossing a specific threshold of physical and mental capability, but even among Star Knights, the differences were vast. The number of stars on their chestplates determined their level within the order. Gale would have probably been a two stars. Same for the Northking.

Nothing Adom couldn't handle now. Even without magic. Rather easily.

The highest decorated Star Knight was a man named Magnus Kane, who bore fifty stars and had recently been named General of the Army.

Arthur wore forty stars at the height of his career

He was still in his peak.

Adom had been having regular spars with his father for the past five years. One hundred and four spars, to be exact. He'd never won a single one in pure physical combat. Not once.

As a mage, the liberal use of magic was often enough to tip the scales—he'd managed to beat his father a handful of times when he fought like a proper mage, using spells and tactical advantages. But in straight hand-to-hand combat?

People like Arthur, like Magnus Kane, they were the reason you needed to know how to fight without relying on spells. Otherwise, you'd need to be a very, very good mage, and maybe have a transport crystal ready for emergency evacuation.

But today felt different. Today, Adom could feel it—the certainty that he could finally match his father in pure physical combat.

"Come on, son," Arthur said, settling into a relaxed fighting stance. "Show me what you've got."

Adom breathed in, then released his own energy.

White flames flowed across his body, the manifestation of pure Axis responding to his will. He approached cautiously, keeping his movements controlled, his strikes measured.

After about thirty seconds of careful exchange, Arthur suddenly stepped back and lowered his guard slightly.

"Adom, are you going easy on me?"

Adom hesitated. "I just don't want to—"

"Don't want to what? Hurt me?" Arthur laughed, though there was a slight edge to it. "I'm not so old that I need to be pampered, son. I asked you to show me what that new threshold looks like. So show me."

"Father—"

"I mean it. Stop holding back."

Adom studied his father's face for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He used [Flow Prediction].

Immediately, Arthur's body language became an open book. The micro-adjustments in his stance, the slight tension in his left shoulder, the way his weight shifted almost imperceptibly to his right foot. Adom could read it all, predicting which limb would move next, how Arthur would react to his approach.

But this time, instead of relying purely on prediction, Adom combined it with his newly enhanced strength and reflexes.

He lunged forward with explosive speed that made his previous cautious approach look like a warmup exercise. Arthur moved to counter, reading the attack perfectly, but when their arms met in the block, Adom's raw power simply overwhelmed the defense.

The force of the impact actually drove Arthur backward, his feet sliding across the stone.

Arthur's eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second—but he recovered quickly, pivoting to redirect Adom's momentum. Except Adom was already adapting, his enhanced reflexes letting him flow around the redirection and drive forward again.

They exchanged a rapid series of strikes and blocks, and Adom could see the calculation happening behind his father's eyes. Arthur was having to work for every counter now, having to use technique and experience to compensate for the gap in pure physical capability.

Then Adom saw his opening.

Arthur committed to a strike that would have been devastating if it landed, but it left him fractionally off-balance. Adom didn't hesitate. He ducked under the attack, drove his shoulder into Arthur's midsection with enough force to lift him slightly off the ground, and used his superior strength to simply power through his father's attempt to regain balance.

They both went down, but Adom controlled the fall, twisting so that Arthur's back hit the ground with Adom's weight pinning him there.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

Arthur lay there, flat on his back, staring up at his son with an expression of shock.

Then he started laughing.

It wasn't a polite chuckle or a forced acknowledgment. It was real, full-bodied laughter that made his whole frame shake.

"Nineteen," Arthur said between laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're only nineteen years old."

Adom stood and offered his hand. Arthur took it, still chuckling as he was pulled to his feet.

"Do you know how few people can say they've beaten a forty-star Knight Commander in pure physical combat?" Arthur continued, dusting himself off. "And you just did it through sheer power. That was like fighting a beast, not a man."

From the sidelines, Ada's voice rang out with confusion. "Did Adom win?"

"He did!" Arthur called back. "He absolutely did."

Bennu's head tilted with fascination. "But I thought Arthur was supposed to be the strongest?"

He was, Zuni replied. Until about thirty seconds ago.

Arthur clapped Adom on the shoulder, still grinning. "You know, I almost wish you'd been in the army with me. With strength like that, you could have made Knight Commander by now."

"I'd have to have been a child soldier for that," Adom pointed out.

"Fair point." Arthur's grin didn't fade. "Though it's not too late to change careers now. I could put in a word with Magnus—"

"I like being a mage, Father."

"Hmm," Arthur gestured at the spot where they'd landed. "Quite a good mage, too."

Adom felt a small surge of satisfaction at that, though he tried to keep it from showing too much on his face. "Round two?"

Arthur's expression shifted immediately. "After embarrassing me in front of the children?"

"You said to show you what I had."

"That I did." Arthur rolled his shoulders, and his stance changed subtly. There was something different in his eyes now—not anger, but focus. Sharp, calculating focus. "Round two then. But don't expect the same result."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

This time, when they engaged, Arthur fought differently. He didn't try to match Adom's strength or rely on overwhelming power. Instead, he became slippery, evasive, using footwork and positioning to stay just out of reach of Adom's strikes.

Adom pressed forward, reading Arthur's movements with [Flow Prediction], but his father was no longer giving him honest tells to read. Every shift of weight was a potential feint, every opening could be a trap.

They circled each other, Arthur giving ground steadily but never quite letting Adom close the distance properly. Then Arthur made what looked like a mistake—his back foot slipped slightly on loose gravel, his balance wavering.

Adom struck immediately, lunging forward to capitalize on the opening.

Too late, he realized it was bait.

Arthur hadn't slipped at all. The moment Adom committed to the attack, Arthur pivoted inside his guard with serpentine grace. His father's movements were a blur of controlled precision—a strike to Adom's extended arm to unbalance him, a foot hooking behind his ankle, a hand grabbing his collar.

Adom felt himself being thrown, his body rotating through the air. He tried to roll with it, tried to land in a way that would let him recover, but Arthur had calculated the trajectory perfectly. Adom was going to land flat on his back, and Arthur would be on him before he could react.

His reflexes kicked in.

He floated.

Just six inches off the ground, hovering for a split second to avoid the impact and Arthur's follow-up.

The moment he realized what he'd done, Adom's stomach dropped.

He landed back on the ground immediately, but it was too late.

"You lose," Arthur said, and though he was breathing harder than before, there was satisfaction in his voice. "You used magic."

Adom lay there on his back, staring at the sky. "I... damn it."

Arthur stood over him, extending his hand. "You've been a mage for so long that using magic is as natural as breathing. Hard to turn that off, even when you're trying."

Adom took his father's hand and let himself be pulled up. "I was winning until that last second."

"You were," Arthur agreed readily. "Which is why I had to get creative. Cunning beats strength when strength gets overconfident."

"Alright, you win," Adom said finally.

"Did you expect anything different?" Arthur asked, but his tone was warm. "You're getting better, though. That last combination was genuinely impressive. Most people wouldn't have gotten me off balance at all."

"Most people aren't carrying around your genetic material," Adom pointed out.

"True. But you're more of a mage than a knight. This fight would have gone very defferently if you were fighting with magic."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Speaking of being serious and dignified, don't you have your first day at the Academy today?"

Adom paused mid-hair-ruffle. "Oh. Right."

"You should probably get ready for that," Arthur continued. "And leave early. First impressions are important."

"When I was a student at Xerkes, we loved it when professors arrived late," Adom said absently. "Or better yet, not at all. Meant we could leave early."

"Well, you're not a student anymore. You're the professor."

"Right. Different perspective entirely." Adom straightened up, already mentally shifting gears. "I should go wash up and get ready."

Before he could take more than two steps, Bennu hopped directly into his path with the determined air of someone about to make a final negotiation attempt.

"I've been thinking," the phoenix began.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. About today's arrangements."

"We've been through this, Bennu."

"But consider the educational value! I could observe human academic institutions firsthand, compare them to draconic learning methods—"

"Ben, you need to learn changeling magic first," Adom said firmly. "It's a natural skill for phoenixes, dragons, demons, and Umbra. Without it, you can't go out in public without attracting exactly the kind of attention we're trying to avoid in these troubled times."

Bennu's feathers drooped slightly. "But I could stay very still and quiet. No one would even notice me."

"You're a phoenix. People notice phoenixes. That's rather the point of being a legendary magical being."

"I suppose," Bennu sighed dramatically. "But changeling magic is so tedious. All that focus on reshaping one's essential form..."

"Essential for not starting riots," Adom pointed out. "I'll be back this afternoon, and we can continue your lessons then."

With that settled—or at least postponed—Adom headed inside to prepare for his first day as Professor Adom Sylla.

The hot water felt incredible against his still-aching muscles as he washed away the sweat from his training session. He'd pushed his body harder this morning than he had in months, and while the new [Primordial Body] benefits would help with recovery, he could still feel the pleasant burn of thoroughly worked muscles.

As he scrubbed, his mind wandered to the larger picture of what today represented.

After graduating from the Academy and applying for the position of Archmage at the Magisterium, he'd entered into what was essentially an elaborate three-year competition. Ten candidates total, each racing to accumulate as many credits as possible before the final deadline. Which happened to be the end of the current Archmage's mandate.

The credit system was elegantly designed, really.

Academic achievements, published research, successful magical innovations, contributions to the Empire's magical infrastructure, training the next generation of mages, missions for the Empire, dungeon conquests, military achievements—all of it translated into a numerical score that theoretically measured a candidate's worthiness for the highest magical office in the Empire.

Of course, credits weren't everything.

The final selection process was more nuanced than a simple tally. The Council of Mages would evaluate each candidate's character, their adherence to magical law, their history of service, their vision for the future of magical practice in the Empire. They'd also scrutinize any hint of heretical thinking or dangerous experimentation.

The voting system itself was weighted carefully.

The current Archmage's endorsement carried the most influence—roughly thirty percent of the total decision. The six Senior Mages– commonly called Magistrates –held forty percent total among them. The twelve Junior Council members split twenty percent among them. And the Emperor himself held the remaining ten percent, though that was largely ceremonial.

He was no mage, after all. His input was more about ensuring the chosen candidate could work effectively with the crown than about evaluating magical competency.

Still, credits mattered enormously.

They were the objective measure that justified the subjective evaluations. A candidate with significantly fewer credits would need overwhelmingly positive character assessments to compensate. And a candidate with the most credits would need to have done something truly egregious to be passed over.

Which meant Adom's position at the Academy was more than just a teaching job.

Every student he successfully trained, every research project he published, every innovation he brought to magical education, every mission he completed for the Empire, every dungeon he helped conquer—all of it would contribute to his final score.

He'd spent his previous life accumulating knowledge. Now he needed to accumulate proof that he could use that knowledge effectively.

Good thing he had a plan for that.