Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

The portal spat Adom out onto weathered stone, and he immediately stumbled forward three steps before catching his balance.

His stomach clenched with that familiar, nauseating twist that came with interdimensional travel. After countless trips through portals over the past years, his digestive system still treated each journey like a personal insult. The sensation of having his body briefly scattered across different planes of existence never got easier to handle.

"Every damn time," he muttered, pressing a hand to his abdomen and waiting for the queasiness to settle. He breathed slowly through his nose until the world stopped feeling like it was tilting sideways.

The portal snapped shut behind him with a sharp crack that made the air shimmer.

Adom straightened and looked up at the tower.

It really wasn't much to look at.

Two stories of practical grey stone, maybe forty feet tall, sitting on this small island like someone had plunked down the most boring building they could imagine right in the middle of the archipelago. No dramatic spires reaching toward the sky, no mystical crystals embedded in the walls, no lightning crackling around the peak. Just a solid, functional building that screamed "serious work happens here" rather than "behold my magical prowess."

Which was exactly the point.

Three years ago, Archmage Gaius had called in favors that Adom hadn't even known existed. The old man had connections that reached deep into the Imperial bureaucracy, and more importantly, he understood exactly how to present their research in terms that made the Emperor's advisors decide to leave them alone rather than interfere.

Getting that Imperial backing had been absolutely crucial.

The work they were doing here—deciphering and reproducing the primordial runes from Law's book—required resources on a scale that went far beyond what even Wangara could fund alone.

And Wangara wasn't small. The merchant guild had serious money, enough to back major trade expeditions and fund entire commercial districts. But this research was something else entirely.

Each rune they'd successfully cracked had taken months of experimentation with materials so rare and expensive that acquiring them required negotiations with suppliers across multiple nations. The failed prototypes filled entire storage rooms, and some of the more unstable experiments had required specialized disposal methods that involved launching the results into pocket dimensions just to avoid accidentally destroying half the archipelago.

They'd managed to decipher three runes in five years. The mana disruptor had been one of the easier ones, and even that had taken eight months of trial and error before they'd produced a stable prototype.

The arrangement with the Empire was elegant in its simplicity. They provided the location and, more importantly, they stayed completely out of the way.

Adom retained absolute control over the research direction and could choose exactly who had access to their work. The Archmage handled all the political maneuvering required to keep various Imperial departments from asking inconvenient questions about why three mages needed an entire fortified island for what they called "theoretical research."

So far, Adom had chosen only Professor Kim to join the project. The man was brilliant, completely trustworthy, and understood the significance of what they were attempting to accomplish.

The security around the tower reflected just how sensitive their work had become.

Guard posts were positioned around the island's perimeter, though Adom knew there were at least twice as many that remained hidden from casual observation. Magical wards layered the air so thickly that anyone with even minor magical sensitivity got splitting headaches just from approaching the place. The defenses were designed to detect, discourage, and if necessary, detain anyone who didn't belong here.

At the center of it all, the tower itself was keyed to recognize exactly three magical signatures: his own, Professor Kim's, and Archmage Gaius's. The recognition system was woven so deeply into the building's fundamental structure that trying to bypass it would require dismantling the tower stone by stone.

Anyone else who attempted to enter would find themselves immediately transported to a pocket dimension. Not harmed, but definitely stuck there until one of the three authorized individuals came to sort out the situation. The pocket dimension was comfortable enough—it had air, light, and basic amenities—but there was absolutely no way out without outside assistance.

According to every security expert Adom had consulted, the tower was as close to impregnable as magical engineering could make it. Not literally impossible to breach, because nothing was truly impossible given enough resources and creativity, but so difficult that any serious attempt would require weeks of careful preparation and leave enough magical traces to alert security forces across the entire archipelago.

Which made the stolen prototype a very serious problem.

The good news was that the leak had to come from someone with legitimate access to the tower's interior. That narrowed down the list of potential suspects to exactly three people.

The bad news was that those three people were himself, Kim, and the Archmage. And while Adom was reasonably confident that he hadn't stolen experimental devices from himself, the other two possibilities made something cold and unpleasant settle in his chest.

There had to be another explanation. There had to be some detail he was missing, some aspect of the situation that would make sense of how their prototype had ended up in the hands of would-be bank robbers.

Two guards in Imperial colors approached as he made his way up the narrow stone path toward the tower's entrance. Their armor managed to look both ceremonial and entirely functional, and their hands rested with casually near weapons that were definitely not just for show.

"Morning, Magus Sylla," the taller one said, offering a crisp salute. "Wasn't expecting you today."

"Change of plans," Adom replied. "Is Professor Kim inside?"

"Arrived about an hour ago," the second guard confirmed. "Been in the workshop since he got here, far as we know."

"And the Archmage?"

"Due this afternoon, according to the schedule we were given."

Adom nodded his thanks.

The guards stepped aside, and he approached the tower's entrance.

Said entrance was marked by a single rune carved into the stone, no bigger than Adom's palm. He placed his hand against it and pushed a small thread of his Axis into the pattern.

The rune flared briefly with blue light as it recognized his magical signature, then faded back to inert stone.

"Open says me," he muttered under his breath for absolutely no reason.

The wall didn't move. Didn't shift, slide, or swing open like a door. It just stayed exactly where it was, looking precisely the same as it had a moment before. But when Adom stepped forward, the stone became permeable to him specifically, allowing him to walk through solid rock like it was nothing more than a curtain of water.

The security was elegant that way. Even if someone somehow managed to be there when he entered his magical signature, they'd still need to actually be him to pass through.

The interior hit him like stepping into a different world.

The space was enormous, easily ten times larger than the tower's exterior suggested. Magical expansion had transformed what should have been a cramped two-story building into something that felt more like a cathedral dedicated to research. The ceiling soared overhead, supported by arches that seemed to be made of crystallized mathematics rather than stone.

Blackboards covered every available wall surface, filled with equations, rune diagrams, and theoretical frameworks written in at least three different hands. Chalk dust hung in the air like academic snow. Workbenches ran in neat rows down the center of the space, loaded with prototypes in various stages of completion, testing apparatus, and carefully labeled components. Scrolls and books were stacked on every horizontal surface, organized according to some system that probably made perfect sense to the people who worked here daily.

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It should have been chaos. Instead, it was the kind of organized complexity that spoke to brilliant minds working in harmony.

In the middle of it all sat Professor Kim, hunched over a workbench with his attention completely absorbed by whatever he was tinkering with. His grey hair stuck up at odd angles where he'd been running his hands through it, and there were ink stains on his fingers that suggested he'd been taking notes while working.

He looked up at the sound of Adom's footsteps, and his face immediately broke into a kind, wide smile.

"Young Adom!" Kim practically bounced up from his chair. "You're back!"

He crossed the space between them in quick strides and pulled Adom into an enthusiastic hug that nearly lifted him off his feet. Kim was a small man, barely reaching Adom's shoulder now, but he had the grip strength of a krozball athlete.

Adom hugged him back, surprised by how much he'd missed the professor's unbridled enthusiasm for everything. "Good to see you too, Professor."

Kim laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. "Look at you! Three months away and you've grown another inch, I swear. When are you going to stop getting taller? You're going to bump your head on my workbenches soon."

"I think I'm done growing," Adom said, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true.

"Ha! That's what they all say." Kim stepped back but kept his hands on Adom's shoulders, looking him over. "You look good, though. Northern missions agreeing with you?"

"How's Vex?" Adom asked. "And your son?"

Kim's entire expression transformed, shifting from professional enthusiasm to something softer and infinitely more complex. "Oh, they're wonderful. Better than wonderful. The boy's walking now, can you believe it? Just started last week. Vex says he inherited my inability to sit still."

He gestured toward one of the workbenches where a small framed drawing sat propped against a stack of books. Even from a distance, Adom could see it was the kind of artwork that could only be produced by a very young child—lots of bright colors and shapes that might have been people if you squinted.

"He made me that," Kim said, grinning. "I have no idea what it's supposed to be, but Vex insists it's a picture of me in my workshop."

"That's amazing."

"You know what's interesting though?" Kim's voice took on the speculative tone he used when he was working through a theoretical problem. "I'm starting to think he might not be a mage. Nothing concrete yet, obviously—he's far too young to tell for certain. But there's just something about the way he interacts with magical objects. Or rather, the way he doesn't interact with them."

Oh, right. Vex and Professor Kim had gotten married two years ago, in a ceremony that had surprised absolutely everyone who knew the chronically absent-minded academic. The marriage had been one of those unexpected developments that somehow made perfect sense in retrospect, and their son had arrived the following year.

The change in Kim had been remarkable.

Not in his passion for research—that remained as intense as ever—but in his approach to risk. The man who had once thought nothing of testing experimental devices on himself now carefully considered the safety implications of every experiment. He'd started eating regular meals instead of surviving on whatever happened to be within arm's reach of his workbench. He'd even begun keeping normal hours, something that would have been unthinkable before.

"I want to see him grow up," Kim had told Adom once. "I want to be there when he gets married. Hell, I want to be there when he decides what he wants to do with his life, whether that's magic or blacksmithing or raising sheep. Which means I need to stop treating my own life like it's expendable."

"Maybe he'll surprise you," Adom said. "Magic doesn't always manifest early."

"True, true." Kim waved a hand dismissively. "Either way, I'll be proud of him. Vex keeps reminding me that not everyone needs to blow things up in the name of science to live a fulfilling life."

"Wise woman."

"The wisest." Kim's smile turned softer. "She's the one who suggested I should probably stop taste-testing experimental potions, if you can believe it. Apparently 'But how else will I know if they work?' isn't a compelling argument when you have a family depending on you."

Adom's expression shifted, the warmth draining out of it as reality reasserted itself. "I hate to bring this up, especially since we haven't seen each other in months, but—"

"I know," Kim finished. "We discussed it over the comm crystals."

Kim was already moving before Adom could respond. He walked toward the far wall where a particular rune was embedded among the dozens of others carved into the stone.

"I was waiting for you to activate it," he said over his shoulder.

Adom stood and followed, watching as Kim approached a rune that looked different from the others. More complex, with interlocking patterns.

Kim placed his palm against the carved stone and pushed his mana into it.

The rune pulsed with soft white light, then that light began to spread.

It flowed along channels carved so subtly into the walls that they were almost invisible, connecting to other runes positioned throughout the chamber. One by one, they began to glow, creating a network of interconnected points that covered every surface of the expanded interior.

"I still don't fully understand how you came up with this," Kim said, stepping back as the activation sequence continued its slow progression around the room.

"It was just a culmination of a lot of things I'd been thinking about," Adom replied, watching the lights chase each other along the walls.

The idea had come to him after his first visit to the Giant Highlands five years ago. Law had created a system for recording the past itself, preserving memories so vivid they felt like stepping back in time. The complexity of what Law had achieved was still beyond Adom's understanding, but he'd managed to grasp the basic principles.

Sound recording runes could capture voices and ambient noise. Visual runes preserved images and motion. Temporal markers allowed for precise chronological indexing. Combined properly, they created something that went beyond simple documentation—they preserved experience itself.

Adom hadn't managed to replicate the full extent of what he'd found in the Highlands, not yet, but what they had here was sophisticated enough for their purposes. The rune network recorded everything that happened within the tower's walls, storing it in a format that could be reviewed like accessing a particularly detailed memory.

They'd originally installed the system to review their own research, to be able to go back and examine exactly how successful experiments had progressed or where failed ones had gone wrong. It was also invaluable for bringing new team members up to speed—though so far, the team remained just the three of them.

The final runes activated with a soft chime that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

A crystal structure began to rise from the floor near the center of the room, growing upward like an impossibly fast plant until it reached about waist height. The crystal was perfectly clear, shaped like an elongated teardrop, and it pulsed gently with the same white light as the runes.

Adom approached it as the last few runes completed their activation sequence.

The moment his hand touched the crystal's surface, the air above it shimmered and began to display the last few seconds of recorded time. There was Kim, placing his hand on the activation rune. There was himself, standing and following. The images were perfectly clear, showing everything in the room from a perspective that somehow managed to capture all angles simultaneously.

The crystal responded to his touch, allowing him to control the flow of recorded time. He could move backward or forward, speed up or slow down, focus on specific areas or pull back to see the entire chamber. It was like having complete control over time itself, at least within the confines of this recorded space.

Adom guided the crystal backward through time, watching days compress into hours, hours into minutes. The recorded images flowed in reverse—Kim working at various benches, the Archmage's occasional visits, routine maintenance, nothing out of the ordinary.

He kept going back. Ten days. Twenty. Thirty. Forty-five days of perfectly normal research activity, late nights, early mornings, the usual rhythm of their work.

Then Kim made a sharp noise. "Huh?"

"What?" Adom looked up from the crystal.

"That," Kim pointed at the display, where a figure that looked exactly like him was entering the tower. "This never happened."

Adom frowned and manipulated the crystal to slow down the playback. There was Kim—or someone who looked exactly like Kim—walking through the entrance well after dark. "What do you mean it never happened?"

"Vex doesn't let me stay here past eight in the evening," Kim said, his voice tight with confusion. "Not since the baby was born. She says I need to be home for dinner and bedtime stories."

They both looked at the workshop's clock, which showed the same position it occupied now but displayed a different hour.

It was past midnight.

"Who is that, then?" Adom asked, but even as he said it, something cold was settling in his stomach.

On the display, the Kim-figure moved through the workshop, examining various projects with what looked like curiosity. He touched equipment, picked up notes, handled delicate components.

"How did they enter?" Adom's voice was barely above a whisper. "I mean, assuming your form is one thing, but your mana signature as well?"

Kim turned to look at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

"Oh no," the two of them said quietly.

They turned back to watch the recording.

Adom watched as the figure approached the storage area where they kept failed prototypes—devices too unstable for regular use but too valuable to simply destroy. The thief selected items seemingly at random, choosing things that looked valuable or interesting rather than understanding what any of them actually did.

Several experimental orbs went into what was clearly a dimensional storage bag, along with other artifacts that probably seemed worthwhile to someone who had no idea how dangerous they were.

The thief moved quickly but without real purpose, grabbing whatever seemed portable and potentially valuable. He clearly had no understanding of what he was stealing or which items were worth the risk of transporting.

Then, just as casually as he'd entered, the false Kim made his way back to the entrance and walked through the wall.

Adom deactivated the crystal. The images faded, leaving them in complete silence.

Kim cleared his throat. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"There's no other explanation," Adom said.

In all the world, there was only one race capable of copying a person's most intricate details so perfectly that even magical signatures could be replicated. The stories about them were old, passed down through generations of scholars and adventurers, but they were consistent enough to be taken seriously.

They were rare beyond imagination. So rare that most people lived their entire lives without ever encountering one. They dwelled in the deep deserts, far from civilization, and were known to be generally passive. They kept to themselves, rarely interfering in the affairs of other races.

They were so uncommon, in fact, that it simply hadn't occurred to Adom—or to Kim, or to anyone who might have been in their position—that all their careful security measures could be completely bypassed by that one particular type of creature.

It was the kind of oversight that seemed obvious only in retrospect.

Adom pressed his palms against his face and let out a long, frustrated breath.

"A changeling," he said.

This was a huge problem.