Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.

The bells of Arkhos sang their victory song, each chime carrying across the snow-laden city. People emerged from their homes like cautious animals after a storm, first in ones and twos, then in crowds. Their voices rose with the bells, a chorus of relief and joy echoing off the walls.

"No blood! No blood!" The chant started somewhere in the merchant district, spread like wildfire through the streets. "The Wolves stand down! Peace! Peace!"

High above the celebration, where the cliff face caught the morning sun, Prince Kalyon sat alone in the snow. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the wine glass to his lips. Expensive stuff - from his personal collection. The kind meant for celebrations, not... whatever this was.

The crunch of footsteps behind him barely registered over the distant sounds of the city's joy.

"My Prince-"

"The Specters failed?" Kalyon didn't turn around. The wine tasted bitter now.

A moment of silence. Snow fell softly between them.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Kalyon lifted the bottle, studying how the rising sun caught the deep red liquid within. Then he brought it to his lips and drank deeply, steadily, until the last drop was gone. The empty bottle made a soft sound as he set it in the snow beside him.

Below, the crowds were growing. More voices joining the chorus of celebration. More people emerging to share the news that there would be no battle today, no blood in their streets. How wonderful for them.

"Is my boat ready?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Everything is prepared as ordered."

Kalyon nodded absently, his mind already drifting through the wreckage of carefully laid plans. Years of preparation. The right people in the right positions. Why did this happen? One student. One curious, persistent little rat who'd stuck his nose where it didn't belong.

Adom Sylla.

The name tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd been ready for the Guild masters, for the Iron Wolves, for the Magisterium's guard. But a student? One who'd died and somehow come back, bringing chaos to their carefully orchestrated plans?

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. The wine was hitting him now, making the world soft at the edges. He stood, swaying slightly, one foot sending loose stones skittering over the cliff's edge. The drop looked almost inviting.

"Your Highness!" Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back from the edge.

Kalyon smiled, a broken thing that didn't reach his eyes. For a moment - just a moment - he wondered if stepping forward might have been the better choice. But no. Perhaps there were still moves to make, pieces to salvage.

"How quickly they celebrate," he murmured, watching the growing crowds below. "How quickly they forget who protected them all these years." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Who kept the darkness at bay while they slept safe in their beds."

The rage came then, hot and sudden despite the numbing wine. Not at the people - they were sheep, following whatever shepherd looked strongest. No, his anger burned for the ones who'd forced his hand. The ones who'd never understand what he'd sacrificed, what he'd endured, what he'd become to keep the empire standing.

And now? Now they'd hunt him like a common criminal. His own father would have to... would have to...

The thought wouldn't complete itself. Some things were still too bitter to contemplate, even drunk.

The guard's grip remained steady on his shoulders, anchoring him to the present.

"The escape route, is it secured?" Kalyon's voice was steady despite the wine.

"Yes, my prince. Through the old tunnels beneath the merchant district. They connect to a series of caves that the smugglers used during the Last War. The city guard abandoned those passages years ago - they think they're too unstable."

"And you're certain no one else knows?"

"Only the handful of men we trusted with the preparation, Your Highness. They'll search the docks first, then the main gates. By the time they think to look in the caves, we'll be far at sea."

Kalyon nodded slowly. "The remaining Specters?"

"Already aboard the vessel, secured in the lower hold."

"Good. Good." The word tasted hollow in his mouth.

He reached for a coarse wool cloak the guard offered - a farmer's garment, thick with the smell of sheep and old sweat. His fingers, used to the finest silks of the empire, recoiled at the rough texture. Ten years as Crown Prince, and here he was, donning a peasant's rags. The humiliation burned worse than the wine.

Still, he pulled it around his shoulders. What choice did he have?

The tunnels eventually led them back to street level, where they had to cross a small section of the lower city. Kalyon kept his head down, the rough farmer's cloak pulled tight around him. The celebrations had spread everywhere now, like a disease.

Children ran through the streets, throwing snow at each other. Merchants had opened their shops, offering free drinks. Someone was playing a fiddle. The joy of the common folk grated against his ears like broken glass.

"...the prince himself! Can you believe it?"

"Always knew there was something wrong with that one..."

"Thank the gods they stopped him before..."

Kalyon's jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The guard's hand pressed against his back, urging him forward through the crowd. A group of revelers stumbled past, singing some victory song about wolves and justice. One of them bumped into him, spilling ale on his cloak.

"Sorry there, friend!" The drunk man laughed, never knowing he'd just doused his prince with cheap beer.

They turned down another alley, the sounds of celebration pursuing them like hungry dogs. Just a little further to the cave entrance. Just a little longer until he could leave these sheep and their ignorant joy behind.

The hidden dock was little more than a narrow strip of stone jutting into dark water, deep within the cave system. A small vessel waited there, its crew moving with practiced silence. The lap of waves against the hull echoed off the cave walls.

"Where to, Your Highness?" one of his men asked as they approached the gangplank.

Kalyon paused, his mind racing through possibilities. The capital? He almost laughed at the thought. The vipers of the imperial court would be waiting for exactly that - waiting to see the prince stumble into their reach. He'd be in chains before he could speak a word in his defense.

The southern kingdoms then. He had allies in Miris, people who owed him favors. People who understood the need for strength against the immortal races.

But God, what a mess he'd left behind. The Specters alone were enough to mark him traitor - forbidden foreign assets on imperial soil. And Professor Kim... he should have moved faster, should have had him smuggled out weeks ago. The Iron Wolves being occupied with the peace talks would have made it perfect. Now the professor was lost to him, and with no word from Boyle, his agent in the city...

A bitter smile crossed his face. He'd been so careful with some things, so sloppy with others. All those contingency plans, all those careful preparations, and he'd still somehow missed the moment when everything started going in exactly the wrong direction.

"Your Highness?" the guard prompted again. "Where should we set course?"

Kalyon looked back toward the city one last time, though all he could see was darkness. "Miris," he said finally. "We make for Miris."

A change in the air made Kalyon freeze mid-step on the gangplank. The cave's chill gave way to an unnatural warmth that made his skin prickle. Behind him, steel rasped against leather as his men drew their swords.

Then came the screams.

Not battle cries or shouts of anger - these were sounds of pure terror, echoing off the cave walls until they seemed to come from everywhere at once. His guards rushed to surround him, urgently pushing him toward the boat's cabin.

"Your Highness, get inside, now-"

The words died as light flooded the cave. Kalyon turned, squinting against the sudden brightness, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

A child hovered in the air at the cave's entrance, suspended as if gravity had simply forgotten him. White strands caught the light in his otherwise black hair. His face was a mess - one eye swollen shut, the other a startling blue that seemed to glow in the magical light surrounding him. Blood trickled from his split lip.

Behind the floating boy came the Iron Wolves in their dark cloaks, Magisterium mages with their staffs already raised, and the gleaming armor of imperial soldiers. But Kalyon barely registered them. His eyes were locked on that small, battered figure.

Adom Sylla.

Recognition hit him like a physical blow, followed immediately by a wave of rage so intense it made his vision blur. This? This was what had destroyed everything he'd built? This skinny, broken child had torn down years of careful planning?

But as he watched, something shifted in the air around the boy. The cave itself seemed to hold its breath. Power rolled off him in waves that made Kalyon's teeth ache. For just a moment - a fraction of a heartbeat - the prince saw something else overlaid on that small frame. Something old. Something vast.

The fireball that formed in Adom's hand cast dancing shadows on the cave walls. As it grew, Kalyon felt an almost hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. Of course. Of course it wasn't just a child. There had to be more, hadn't there? The universe couldn't be cruel enough to let him fall to a simple boy.

Heat washed over his face as the spell launched. Time seemed to slow. In that stretched moment, Kalyon saw his reflection in the approaching flames - a prince without a crown, a schemer without a scheme, a man watching his last hopes burn.

His smile was razor-sharp as he turned to the Specters waiting in the shadows of the hold.

"Kill him."

The words left his mouth before he could question them. Was this because of pride? Desperation? Or simply the need to prove he wouldn't go quietly into exile? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wouldn't bow to this child-who-was-not-a-child without one final act of defiance.

Heh. It was over anyway. Everything happened so fast.

The Specters moved. The Iron Wolves charged. The fireball struck. Wood splintered. Water hissed. And in the chaos that followed, Kalyon thought he saw the boy smile back.

*****

What a stubborn, unlucky bastard.

Adom had led the men here after analyzing the prince's likely escape routes.

In his past life, Arkhos had very few places where people could escape when the city fell under siege. The Iron Wolves had dispatched knights to all these known locations, one of which were these tunnels, and bingo.

There was the prince.

He watched the chaos unfold. The Specters moved fast, but against the combined might of the Iron Wolves and Magisterium mages, they might as well have been standing still. Lightning crackled. Gravity twisted. In seconds, the mercenaries dropped to their knees, bound by spells that gleamed like chains.

The prince's guards lasted even less time. Shield spells deflected their arrows. Wind magic tore swords from hands. Bodies hit the ground with dull thuds, alive but thoroughly incapacitated.

No blood. No death.

Through the settling dust, Adom caught Kalyon's eye. The prince was smiling at him from the sinking vessel, that same razor-sharp smile from before. Something about it made Adom's skin crawl. He smiled back anyway, letting a touch of smugness show. We've got you now.

Then he saw the flash of steel.

Kalyon had grabbed a dagger from one of his fallen men. The blade rose toward his own throat.

"No!" Several voices shouted at once.

Adom's hands moved without thought. Push with the left, keeping himself airborne. Pull with the right, targeting Kalyon's knife hand. The prince's arm jerked back just as the blade bit skin. Blood trickled down his neck - superficial, nothing fatal.

Another gesture and crushing gravity slammed Kalyon face-first into the dock. Adom landed beside him, maintaining the spell's pressure.

"The smugglers' tunnels, huh? Clever. But we're not done with you yet, Your Majesty."

Kalyon thrashed against the invisible weight. "Kill me!" he screamed, voice cracking. "Just kill me!" His fingers clawed at the stone. "You don't understand, you can't understand, it's all gone, all of it-"

The words dissolved into broken sobs. The prince of the empire - the man who'd nearly started a war - lay crying in a pool of seawater and his own blood.

Iron Wolves moved in with restraints as Adom eased the gravity spell. Kalyon didn't resist as they bound his hands. He just kept mumbling, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime on his face.

The boat slipped beneath the dark water with barely a sound.

In his past life, Adom had watched countless families escape through these very tunnels when enemy forces were destroying Arkhos. The caves had been a lifeline then, letting people slip away to safety while the city burned above.

Now that knowledge had served him again - though for a very different purpose. The prince's options had been limited from the start. The harbor was watched, the city gates guarded, and staying hidden in Arkhos itself would have been impossible with so many searching. These tunnels were the obvious choice for anyone who knew the city's older history. And who knew that history better than someone who had lived it?

The Iron Wolves and Magisterium mages formed a loose circle around the captured prince. No one spoke above a whisper. No curses were thrown, no taunts - he was still royalty, after all, even in chains. The cave's chill seemed to deepen as Captain Darius approached, scroll in hand.

Water dripped steadily from Kalyon's clothes, now ruined by seawater. His head remained bowed as Darius unfurled the scroll, the parchment crackling in the damp air.

"Prince Kalyon of House Savarnis." Darius began. "You stand accused of high treason against the Empire of Sundar. Specifically: conspiracy with foreign agents, harboring forbidden mercenaries on Imperial soil, the abduction of Professor Kim of Xerkes Academy, and attempted murder of a Xerkes student."

The charges continued. Rights were read, procedures explained, all with precise, measured words. Throughout it all, Kalyon remained still, water running down his face.

Then came a soft sound - barely audible at first. A chuckle.

Arthur stepped forward from among the Iron Wolves. "Something amusing, Your Highness?"

The chuckle grew stronger. "Amusing?" Kalyon's voice was rough. "I tried to help you. All of you. And this is how you repay me?"

"Help us?" Adom started. "You were trying to create a weapon that-"

"We're losing."

Adom frowned. What was he talking about?

"We've been losing battles for twelve years, boy." Kalyon's eyes fixed on Adom. "You wouldn't know, would you? Safe in your academy walls." His gaze swept across the gathered soldiers. "But these men? They know."

He turned to Arthur. "Don't you, Commander Sylla? Your battalion carries such prestige, such reputation - but you can't be everywhere at once, can you?" His chains clinked as he shifted. "How many fronts have you had to abandon? How many positions lost because you didn't have enough men to hold them?"

The silence in the cave grew heavier. Several of the Iron Wolves exchanged glances.

"The elves press south from the northern forests. The dwarven kingdoms steal our eastern territories piece by piece." Kalyon's voice carried bitter certainty. "Other human lands chip away at our borders. You know this, don't you? Many of you have been at the frontlines."

No one answered.

"Even the orcs grow bold enough to raid our territories now." His chains clinked as he straightened. "It's only a matter of time before they realize how weak we've become. Before they pour across our borders in force. We needed a way out. We needed something to make them think twice about-"

"You breached Imperial law," Darius interrupted. "You kidnapped a professor of Xerkes. You put a student's life in danger. You brought Specters into our territory-"

"And when they come for you," Kalyon's voice rose, "when the elves and dwarves and everyone else decides to carve up what's left of our empire, when you find yourselves outmaneuvered on all sides - don't come crying to me." His eyes blazed in the torchlight. "Everything I did was for Sundar's survival!"

Adom might have been swayed by the prince's words, if he didn't know better. The man spoke of real threats to the empire, of a ruler trying desperately to protect his people. Any patriot would have understood that fear, that drive to find something, anything, to turn the tide.

But Adom knew what came after.

In his past life, Dragon's Breath hadn't saved the empire - it had started its fall. Not just Sundar's, but every empire that got their hands on it. The weapon had changed everything, turned calculated wars of territory into desperate scrambles for survival. The elves, the dwarves, the human kingdoms - all of them had torn each other apart trying to either claim it or defend against it.

Looking at Kalyon now, seeing the conviction in his eyes, Adom understood something else. The prince must have been manipulated by whoever he was working with. Because Sundar hadn't even been the first to demonstrate Dragon's Breath - they'd been the third nation to acquire it. And Kalyon? He'd died just two years after taking the throne, supposedly from an illness.

The pieces fell into place. This was how it had happened. Kalyon would steal the research from Professor Kim, complete the weapon, only to have it stolen from him. Then, most likely, he'd be assassinated, his "illness" just a convenient cover story.

The prince's plans were doomed from the start. He just didn't know it yet.

"Take him away," Darius commanded, and the soldiers led the prince into the darkness of the tunnel, the sound of chains growing fainter with each step.

Adom stood there, watching them go, his mind churning. When he'd first come back, he'd thought it was simple - Professor Kim would make his prototype public, which would draw the wrong kind of attention. The professor would die, the prototype would be stolen, and everything would spiral from there.

But then he'd discovered the truth about the funding, about the powerful figures pulling strings from the shadows. People like Prince Kalyon, except... Kalyon wasn't even the endgame, was he? He was just another piece on the board, probably being played just like the professor.

A chill ran down Adom's spine. If Kalyon wasn't the real threat, then who was? How much did they already know about the prototype? Goosebumps spread across his arms as the implications sank in. He'd probably only delayed things. With so many unknown players involved, Dragon's Breath wasn't a question of if, but when. Could be days, months, years - but someone would make it. He had to assume they would.

And so-

A hand landed on his shoulder. Adom looked up to find Arthur smiling down at him, his father's face lined with pride and exhaustion.

"You did good, son."

The words warmed something in Adom's chest, even as his mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. It all swirled in his head like storm clouds. And then, almost without thinking, his mouth moved on its own.

"I've been thinking about becoming a Battle Mage."

His father went quiet, and for a moment, all Adom could hear was the drip of water in the cave.

Then Arthur smiled. "Ha! I won."

"Won what?"

"The bet with your mother. She said you'd never give up on being a Runicologist. I said you'd probably become a Battle Mage."

Adom hurried after his father, who had already started walking away, following his men down the tunnel. "Wait - when did you make this bet?"

"Last time we saw each other."

"How did you know?"

Arthur stopped, turned. His face was half-shadow in the torchlight. "You've seen war."

The face Adom made probably prompted his father to elaborate. "Not many could have predicted the prince's movements so accurately."

"Well, I had some insider knowledge," Adom said with a slight smile.

"I suppose you did," Arthur nodded. "Your... perspective is proving quite valuable."

Arthur shrugged, continuing down the tunnel. "The Iron Wolves could use someone like you. When you're ready."

"I have other plans," Adom said, falling into step beside his father.

"Oh?"

"Something bigger. Actually, Father, I'd like to tell you about a few things. Events that are coming soon that we might be able to change."

Without warning, Arthur's hand shot out, ruffling Adom's hair. Before the son could protest, his father scooped him up and tossed him in the air like he weighed nothing.

"Father!" Adom yelped, caught completely off guard. "Put me down!"

"You used to love this when you were little," Arthur laughed, catching him. "Always begging for 'up, up!'"

"You do realize I'm not little anymore, right? Like, at all."

But Adom couldn't keep the grin off his face as his father set him down.

"I'm all ears, son," said Arthur. "Tell me what you know."

*****

Adom emerged from the tunnels like a swimmer breaking the surface. Light hit his eyes in a sudden burst, making him squint. The celebrating crowds hadn't diminished - if anything, they'd grown larger. Snow drifted down between buildings while people danced and sang in the streets below.

"No blood! No blood!" The chant still echoed through Arkhos, punctuated by cheers and laughter.

He climbed the worn steps toward the upper district, each movement sending little spikes of pain through his battered body. His split lip throbbed. But the air felt clean up here, crisp with winter and possibility.

Children threw snowballs near the fountain square. Merchants handed out free drinks. Someone had started playing drums, and the beating rhythm carried over the general chaos of celebration.

"Adom!"

Sam's voice cut through the noise. His friend burst from a group of students gathered near the stall, practically bowling through the crowd to reach him.

"Dude!" Sam grabbed his shoulders, grinning ear to ear. "You should have seen it! We went to the actual council chamber! The Archmage was there - the Archmage! I mean, your mother did most of the talking. All of it, really. But still! We were there and-"

"Thank you, Sam."

"Heh, don't sweat it. What are friends for if not storming into highly restricted government meetings, right?"

Adom smiled, then winced as the motion pulled at his split lip. "No, really. I know I've been saying it a lot lately, but... I want you to know I mean it. I'm grateful. For everything."

Sam's face flushed red. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the snow-covered cobblestones fascinating. "Yeah, well... maybe try staying out of trouble for a while?"

Adom laughed, the sound joining the general celebration around them. "Yes. No more trouble. At least for a little while."

The rest of the club members were making their way over now, drawn by Sam's shout. Behind them, the bells of Arkhos kept ringing their victory song, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Adom let himself simply listen.

*****

The next few days were, to put it mildly, quite eventful.

Prince Kalyon's walk through the city streets marked the only moment of silence in an otherwise jubilant day. The crowds parted as the Iron Wolves escorted him, their usual chants dying in their throats at the sight of their former crown prince in chains. He kept his head high, but his eyes never left the ground.

They took him to the Glass Tower - a prison specially constructed within the hour by the combined efforts of the city's most skilled mages. Its crystalline walls, they said, would dampen any magical attempts at escape. The prince disappeared behind those walls without a word, though some claimed they heard laughter echoing from his cell that night.

Mid-afternoon brought a messenger in imperial colors, riding hard through the gates astride a pegasus. Children abandoned their games and celebrations, running after the magnificent creature as it landed in the square. Its wings, spanning wider than two carriages, stirred the falling snow into miniature whirlwinds.

Adom couldn't help but stare - it had been years since he'd last seen one of these creatures. In forty years, they would be gone completely, hunted to extinction. But here, now, the beast stood proud, tossing its silver mane as children gathered at a respectful distance, pointing and whispering in awe.

The scroll the messenger carried bore the Emperor's personal seal - deep crimson wax pressed with House Savarnis' dragon devouring the sun. The proclamation was read in every square, at every corner: Prince Kalyon was stripped of his titles, his claims, his very name. The words fell like stones in quiet pools, rippling through the celebrating crowds.

No one quite knew how to react to that. Some cheered. Others simply nodded, grim-faced. A few of the older citizens wept quietly, remembering a younger prince who had once been kind.

The announcement of his trial date - eight months hence - sparked fresh debates in every tavern and gathering place. Too long, some said. Too short, others argued. But at least there would be justice, they agreed. At least there would be answers.

The swelling around Adom's eye had already greatly subsided. [Healing Factor] was quickly becoming his favorite skill - the way it quietly worked in the background, steadily repairing damage, felt almost like having a second heart.

Word came that Gale had fallen into a deep slumber in the infirmary, his body working to recover from the massive blood loss. The healers expected him to wake in a few weeks' time. Then would come the questioning, the trial, and whatever punishment the Council deemed appropriate for his crimes.

They found Ernest Boyle, alias Mr. Fox, during the chaos of the morning battles - or rather, Valiant's people captured him. Adom hadn't been prepared for him to be, well, an actual fox beastkin.

No one asked exactly how he lost his legs. The former head of the Children Of The Moon was discovered hours later in the merchant district square, bound by ropes, and screaming in agony. A detailed note had been pinned to his chest, listing his crimes, his aliases, his connections. The city guard couldn't exactly ignore such a public display.

Under interrogation, Boyle's composure cracked like thin ice. He spoke of years working as Prince Kalyon's agent, of arranging the funding that kept Professor Kim's research going, of managing the network of corrupt city guards who turned blind eyes when needed. Names spilled from his mouth like poison - captains, lieutenants, senior officers. By nightfall, dozens of guards found themselves sharing the prison cells they'd once watched over.

Boyle's trial was set for three months hence. When they told him execution would be his fate if found guilty, his ears lay flat against his skull, and he spent the next hour heaving into a bucket.

Marco was another story entirely.

He'd slipped away during the fighting, leaving only footprints in the snow and a trail of blood that ended somewhere in the Dregs. But Valiant, now heading his uncle's organization and backed by newfound allies, assured Adom it was only a matter of time. The city had become much smaller for people like Marco.

Stolen from NovelFire, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.