Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

For some reason, the lutin was looking at Adom strangely.

Not with recognition, exactly, but with the kind of expression you got when you saw someone you were pretty sure you'd met before but couldn't quite place where or when. That slightly puzzled furrow between the eyebrows, the way his gaze lingered just a fraction longer than normal politeness required.

Adom couldn't tell if the banker actually knew him from somewhere or if he was just imagining things. Maybe lutins always looked at people like that. Maybe it was a fae thing.

"Good afternoon," Adom said, settling into the chair across from the desk.

The lutin's expression smoothed back into professional pleasantness so quickly that Adom wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.

"I understand you're here to open an account for an adventurer guild," the lutin said, pulling out what looked like a leather-bound ledger that definitely hadn't been there a moment before.

"That's right."

"Excellent. We've been seeing quite a bit of interest in that particular service lately." He opened the ledger. "Now then, let's start with the basics. What type of guild structure are you looking to establish?"

"Independent, affiliated with the Wangara merchant guild."

"Mmm, good choice. Cross-sector partnerships tend to be quite profitable." The lutin made a note with a quill that seemed to write in multiple colors simultaneously. "Initial deposit amount?"

"Five thousand gold to start."

"Very reasonable. And the guild's primary focus?"

"High-level dungeon expeditions. Primarily fae realm access."

That got the lutin's attention. He glanced up briefly, then went back to his notes. "Interesting specialization. We do offer enhanced services for fae-adjacent operations."

They went through the standard questions—operational scope, expected membership size, insurance requirements. The lutin's manner was thoroughly professional, but there was something almost hypnotic about the way he worked. His hands moved with fluid precision, and occasionally Adom caught glimpses of text appearing in the ledger that he definitely hadn't written.

"And finally," the lutin said, quill poised over the page, "the account holder's name?"

"Adom Sylla."

The lutin's hand stopped moving. He looked up slowly, those otherworldly eyes meeting Adom's directly.

They stared at each other for several seconds. Adom had the distinct impression he was being evaluated in ways that had nothing to do with his creditworthiness.

"Mr. Sylla," the lutin said finally, and his smile was considerably warmer now. "What a pleasure."

"Do I know you?" Adom asked.

The lutin blinked, then his expression shifted as if something had just occurred to him. "Oh! My apologies. I forgot the customs in this realm regarding proper introductions. Where I come from, we're not used to offering names so readily." He straightened slightly, looking genuinely embarrassed. "You may call me Philibert."

"That sounds very human."

Philibert laughed softly. "Well, I can't very well give my true name, can I? Being only half-fae has its complications. I developed the habit of using this one so I'd never slip up when conducting business in the fae realm."

"Ah."

"To answer your question," Philibert continued, his quill moving again across the ledger, "you don't know me, but I know you. I saw you in the fae realm about five years ago. You were with a group of other non-fae and a leprechaun, if I recall correctly." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "I recognized your face immediately, and those blue eyes of yours. They've changed quite a bit since then—you've certainly grown up a lot—but there's no mistaking them."

"What changed a bit? My eye color?"

"Yes, exactly." Philibert set down his quill and leaned back slightly, his expression brightening with enthusiasm. "I have an excellent memory for eye colors, actually. Bit of a fascination of mine—occupational hazard, you might say."

Weird. Adom thought. Keeping his face neutral. Must be a fae thing as well. Though Bob never did that. So must be a lutin thing.

He hadn't noticed anything different about his eyes in the mirror. "What exactly changed?"

"Well," Philibert said, gesturing vaguely with one hand, "the first time I saw your eyes, they had this lovely tint of green running through them. Made them look more like the ocean's blue, if that makes sense. Very peaceful."

Adom found himself oddly flattered by the poetic description. "And what do they look like now?"

Philibert studied his face for a moment, and there was something almost clinical about his attention now. "Fire. They look like the purest, bluest fire one could witness. Quite striking, really." His voice softened slightly. "You must have been going through something significant."

Adom thought of Bennu, but kept that particular detail to himself. He made a mental note to actually look at his own reflection more carefully later. If Philibert was talking about fire...

"Yes, well," Philibert continued with a slight shake of his head, then his voice shifted back to its professional cadence, the personal curiosity tucked away like a book being closed. "But let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?"

He pulled out a different ledger, this one bound in what looked like scales. "Now, there are some additional conditions you'll want to be aware of regarding fae realm operations."

"Such as?"

"We maintain exclusive liaison rights with the fae courts for all registered adventuring guilds in this region." Philibert's quill moved across the page in swift, precise strokes. "Think of it as a... territorial arrangement. We handle all the diplomatic niceties so you don't accidentally start a war by using the wrong fork at dinner."

"Convenient."

"Quite. We also operate what you might call a priority system for fae realm contracts. First registered, first served. Your guild will have access to commission postings as they become available, but there's typically quite a bit of competition."

Adom nodded. That made sense. Fae realm missions paid well enough that everyone wanted them.

"Our standard arrangement is a five percent processing fee on all gains from fae realm expeditions, in addition to the High King's traditional ten percent tribute." Philibert glanced up briefly. "Non-negotiable, I'm afraid. The courts are rather particular about their cut."

"Fifteen percent total."

"Plus whatever your guild's internal distribution looks like, yes." Philibert slid a contract across the desk. "Standard terms, nothing too surprising. Do read through it, of course, but I suspect you'll find everything in order."

Adom skimmed the document. The language was dense but straightforward enough. Exclusive banking partnership, fae realm liaison services, fee structures, dispute resolution processes. All fairly standard, aside from a clause about "dimensional liability coverage" that he didn't entirely understand but figured he'd deal with later.

He signed where indicated.

"Excellent." Philibert made the contract disappear with a casual gesture. "Your account is now active, and you should receive your first commission postings within the week."

"Thank you." Adom stood, pushing his chair back. "This has been... informative."

Philibert's smile was perfectly professional again, but there was something warm lurking behind it. "The pleasure was entirely mine, Mr. Sylla. Do take care of those eyes of yours."

"Will do. Good day, then," Adom said, extending his hand.

Philibert shook it with enthusiasm. "Good day indeed, Mr. Sylla. Best of luck with your ventures."

Adom turned and made his way back through the forest-bank, past the pixies and the tall trees. The transition from magical woodland back to normal banking lobby felt slightly jarring, like stepping out of a dream.

The elderly woman was still there, third in line now.

She spotted him almost immediately and gave an enthusiastic wave, the kind that involved her whole arm and suggested she'd been hoping he'd notice her.

He waved back, couldn't help smiling at her obvious delight. There was something truly pleasant about running into someone who seemed happy to see you, even if you'd only met five minutes ago.

Then his gaze shifted to the person standing behind her in line.

Now, hood up wasn't unusual.

Lots of people wore hoods, especially this time of year when the weather couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Face mask wasn't particularly suspicious either–plenty of folks preferred to keep their faces covered in public, for privacy or health or just personal preference.

But hood and face mask and a cloak that looked specifically designed to hide whatever someone might be carrying underneath it? That was starting to add up to something worth paying attention to.

And when the man noticed Adom looking at him, his reaction sealed it.

The guy's head jerked slightly, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. His weight shifted from foot to foot. His hands moved restlessly at his sides, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for something. His gaze darted around the room, cataloging exits.

Adom had seen enough nervous people to recognize when someone was planning something they probably shouldn't be planning.

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He changed direction and headed toward the elderly woman.

"Still waiting, I see," he said as he approached her.

Her face lit up. "Oh, hello again! Yes, still here. Though I can't complain–this place is fascinating. Have you seen the butterflies?"

"They're pixies, actually."

"Are they really?" She looked delighted by this information. "How wonderful. I was wondering why they seemed so intelligent."

"So tell me about this grandson of yours," Adom said, settling into a more relaxed posture. "The one who's finally getting his own account."

Her whole face brightened. "Oh, Timothy's such a good boy. Sixteen now, can you believe it? Seems like yesterday he was knee-high and getting into my flower garden." She chuckled, adjusting her grip on her cane. "He's been saving up from his apprenticeship at the blacksmith's. Very responsible about money, unlike his father at that age."

"A blacksmith? That's good work."

"Yes, he loves it. Always been good with his hands, that boy. Though between you and me," she leaned in conspiratorially, "I think he's more interested in the magic-enhanced tools than the regular smithing."

Adom smiled, but his attention caught on movement in his peripheral vision. The hooded man had shifted again, this time reaching up to adjust something at his collar. The motion was too deliberate, too practiced.

"Enchanted metalwork is becoming quite popular," he said to the woman, while noting that the hooded man's gaze had flicked briefly toward someone else in the bank.

Following that glance, Adom spotted another figure.

This one was seated on one of the comfortable chairs near the base of a large oak tree, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a face mask. Nothing overtly suspicious about that either, except for the way his hands rested on his knees: ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

"Oh yes, Timothy's fascinated by all that. He keeps telling me about magic things." The elderly woman waved her hand dismissively. "Half of what he says goes right over my head, but his eyes just light up when he talks about it."

"That's wonderful," Adom said, deliberate warmth in his voice. "It's good when young people find something they're passionate about."

But his mind was cataloging details.

Hat-and-mask guy wasn't alone. There was another man near the central fountain, examining what looked like a pamphlet but holding it at the wrong angle to actually be reading. And another by the entrance, leaning against one of the marble pillars in a way that looked casual but gave him a clear view of the entire main floor.

"He wants to open the account so he can start investing in better tools," the woman continued. "Says he's going to revolutionize the craft. Such big dreams."

"Those are the best kind of dreams," Adom replied, while mentally counting heads.

Seven. Seven people who were trying very hard to look like they belonged here while positioning themselves strategically throughout the bank.

The realization settled. This was coordinated. This was planned.

And it was also completely idiotic.

Did they not understand how lutin banks worked? The moment anything went wrong–the instant the security enchantments detected a threat–the entire building would shift into the fae realm.

Every asset, every employee, every scrap of valuable material would simply cease to exist in this dimension. The would-be robbers would be left standing in an empty lot, wondering where the building had gone.

Unless...

Unless they weren't here for the money.

"The line's moving quite quickly," the woman observed. "I was worried I'd be here all afternoon."

"Lutins are efficient," Adom said, his smile never wavering even as he watched the man by the fountain slowly reach into his jacket.

Target assessment: Seven individuals. Spread across the main floor. No obvious magical signatures, these were mundane fighters at best. Likely armed with enchanted weapons, possibly crossbows or throwing knives. The coordination suggested professional training, but nothing that screamed 'elite mercenary.'

Four seconds. That's how long it would take.

First: Levitation on all seven simultaneously. Get them off the ground, eliminate their leverage and mobility. Half a second.

Second: Targeted [Force Push] to slam them against the walls, hard enough to stun but not kill. Another half second.

Third: [Binding Chains] to wrap around their limbs while they were still disoriented. One second.

Fourth: [Sleep] enchantment on any who were still conscious and struggling. Two seconds.

Total time: Four seconds from decision to neutralization.

"You know," the elderly woman said, lowering her voice, "that young man behind me has been acting rather strangely. Keeps fidgeting."

Adom glanced at her with appreciation. Sharp eyes on this one.

"I noticed that too," he said quietly.

The hooded man chose that moment to look directly at Adom. Their eyes met across the fifteen feet of space separating them.

The man's gaze was steady, calculating. There was a question there, unspoken but clear: Do you know?

Adom held the stare, his expression calm but alert. His answer was equally clear: Yes, you dimwit.

The man's hand moved slightly toward his cloak. Not a weapon draw, not yet, but a preparation. A signal.

Around the bank, subtle movements began. Hat-and-mask guy shifted in his chair. Fountain-pamphlet man closed his reading material. Pillar-leaner straightened slightly.

They were committed now. Whatever they'd come here to do, Adom's awareness had forced their timeline.

The hooded man's eyes narrowed. A tiny nod, barely perceptible.

Ten.

Adom felt his magic stirring, spells forming in the back of his mind like weapons being loaded.

Nine.

The woman beside him was still talking about Timothy's apprenticeship, blissfully unaware that violence was about to erupt around her.

Eight.

Hat-and-mask guy's hand was definitely moving toward something concealed.

Seven.

Fountain man had abandoned all pretense of reading.

Six.

Pillar-leaner was scanning the room, probably looking for additional targets or escape routes.

Five.

The hooded man's fingers closed around something inside his cloak.

Four.

Seven simultaneous [Levitation] spells crystallized in Adom's mind, ready to fire.

Three.

The woman was saying something about apprenticeship wages. Adom nodded and smiled while preparing to unleash controlled destruction.

Two.

Every target was in position. Every spell was ready. Every angle was calculated.

One.

The hooded man's hand emerged from his cloak gripping a crossbow.

Seven bodies launched into the air simultaneously.

It happened so fast that none of them had time to process what was occurring. One moment they were reaching for weapons, coordinating their attack, prepared to execute whatever plan had brought them here. The next moment they were floating three feet off the ground, limbs flailing uselessly as Adom's [Levitation] spells stripped away their leverage.

The hooded man's crossbow discharged wildly into the ceiling. Hat-and-mask guy dropped an ornate dagger that clattered against the marble floor. Fountain-reader's enchanted blade skittered across the stone as his grip failed.

Half a second.

Seven [Force Push] spells erupted outward like invisible hammers.

Bodies slammed into walls with bone-jarring impacts. The hooded man hit the marble pillar behind him hard enough to crack the stone, blood spraying from his nose as his head snapped back. Hat-and-mask guy crashed into the base of an oak tree, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a violent wheeze. Fountain-reader struck the ornamental water feature with enough force to shatter the decorative stonework, sending chips flying as blood bloomed across his scalp.

The others fared no better. Pillar-leaner bounced off his chosen support with a wet crunch that suggested broken ribs. Two men Adom had spotted near the side entrances hit opposing walls almost simultaneously, their weapons clattering away as they crumpled.

One second.

Before any of them could recover, before they could even understand what had happened to them, chains of pure Axis materialized around their limbs. The ethereal bonds wrapped around wrists, ankles, and torsos, binding them in place with the kind of absolute restraint that made struggling pointless.

The hooded man tried to reach for a backup weapon at his belt. The Axis chains tightened, pinning his arms to his sides with enough force to make his shoulder joint pop audibly.

Two seconds.

Three of them were still conscious enough to look around in bewildered terror. Adom's [Sleep] spell hit them like concentrated lightning to the nervous system--violent electrical pulses that overloaded their brain's ability to maintain consciousness.

The magical current ripped through their skulls with enough force to shut down higher functions instantly, their eyes rolling back as their bodies went completely limp.

The spell was thorough in its effects: muscles relaxed so completely that two of them immediately voided their bowels and bladders, the acrid smell mixing with the metallic scent of blood. Their heads lolled forward, blood still trickling from various impacts but their struggles finally ceasing.

Four seconds. Just as predicted.

Hmm. Maybe this was overkill. Adom thought, as one of the poor bastards let out a rancid, wet gas.

The elderly woman beside him had gone completely rigid, her cane gripped so tightly in her hands that her knuckles were white.

"I'm so sorry for startling you," Adom said, his voice returning to its earlier gentle tone as if nothing had happened. "Are you alright?"

She stared at him, then at the seven unconscious or farting figures scattered around the bank's main floor, then back at him.

"What... what just..."

"Bank robbers, I think," Adom said matter-of-factly. "Though they really should have done their research first."

Around them, the bank erupted into controlled chaos.

Pixies swarmed through the air, their tiny voices creating a high-pitched alarm that somehow managed to be both musical and urgent. The two orc guards burst through the main entrance, weapons drawn, only to stop short when they saw the situation was already resolved.

Runes carved into the massive oak trees began glowing with soft blue light, responding to the threat. The magical script pulsed in rhythm, and Adom could feel the dimensional boundaries around them growing thin. The lutins were deciding whether to shift the entire building into the fae realm.

"Wait!"

Philibert appeared from deeper in the forest-bank. He raised one hand toward the glowing runes, and the light immediately began to fade.

"The threat has been neutralized," he called out, his voice carrying easily across the space. "No dimensional shift required."

The magical tension in the air dissipated. The runes went dark. The pixies' alarm song shifted to something more like excited chatter.

Philibert approached the scene, stepping carefully around the scattered weapons. An enchanted crossbow here, a poisoned dagger there, what looked like explosive alchemical vials that had rolled away from one of the unconscious men.

"Well," he said, surveying the carnage. "That was efficiently handled."

Other bank customers were emerging from behind trees and marble pillars where they'd taken cover. Some looked terrified. Others seemed more fascinated than frightened, craning their necks to get a better look at the bound attackers.

"Young man," the elderly woman said slowly, "I think there's more to you than meets the eye."

Adom looked down and smiled, pointing at his hat.

"Mage, you see?" he said, tapping the pointed brim. "The hat gives it away."

The elderly woman blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Oh! Of course."

"Hey, pointy hat!" one of the orc guards called out as he approached. "What's the situation here?"

"Contained," Adom replied.

Other customers were emerging from their hiding spots now, chattering among themselves. He caught fragments of their conversations–"the pointy hat just dropped them all" and "did you see that?" and "pointy hat knew what he was doing."

Pointy hat. None of them seemed to recognize him.

"Well, I suppose Timothy will have quite a story to tell when he hears about this," the elderly woman said, her voice still shaky but gaining strength. "Bank robbery thwarted by a helpful young man. Though I'm not sure he'll believe it."

"It wasn't really much of a robbery," Adom said absently, then paused. Something was glowing softly beneath the hooded man's cloak.

"Excuse me for just a moment," he said to the woman, moving toward the unconscious figure.

The glow was faint but persistent, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed almost organic. Adom crouched down and carefully pushed aside the fabric of the man's cloak.

His breath caught.

Nestled in an inner pocket was a wooden orb about the size of his fist, carved with intricate runic patterns that seemed to shift and flow even as he looked at them. The wood itself was dark, almost black, but the runes etched into its surface glowed with a soft amber light.

Adom's eyes widened as he lifted the orb free.

Over the past three years, his studies of the primordial runes had evolved to active research collaboration. Professor Kim had been brought into the project after Adom demonstrated an unusual aptitude for understanding the ancient script. Together, they'd been working to decode the deepest mysteries of primordial runes and, more recently, to create new applications based on their findings.

This orb bore one of those new creations.

The rune carved into its surface was unmistakable–a complex interlocking pattern that resembled a knot made of lightning, with secondary symbols branching out from the central design like the roots of a tree. It was one of their experimental designs, part of a series they'd been developing to create mana disruption fields.

But this wasn't just any mana disruptor. This was the seventh iteration of their experimental design, made to generate a localized null-magic zone probably powerful enough to prevent dimensional shifting for several minutes. In theory, it could have stopped the lutin bank from retreating to the fae realm long enough for a coordinated robbery.

So that had been their plan.

Clever, actually. Use the disruptor to trap the bank in this dimension, then overwhelm the security before anyone could respond.

But that wasn't what made Adom's stomach clench with sudden unease.

The problem was that this device shouldn't exist outside of him and Kim's most secure laboratories. There were only three prototypes, all of them locked away under magical wards that would make a dragon's hoard look poorly protected.

How the hell had these people gotten their hands on one?