Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Plans.

We all make them.

When done well, we agonize over every detail, map out every contingency, and consider every variable. We layer them like an intricate house of cards, placing each element just so, confident in our architectural brilliance. And then, inevitably, reality happens.

Adom understood this principle better than most. His strategy with Crimson Scale had been meticulously orchestrated—a pressure campaign of escalating defeats designed to corner them until they made a fatal mistake. Each move calculated, each response anticipated. Push Deroq's guild into increasingly desperate positions. Strip away their allies. Undermine their contracts. Whisper just the right rumors in just the right ears. All while keeping his own hands seemingly clean.

The auction house was to be the masterstroke. Every major merchant guild from across the Empire had representatives present. The Inspector himself was in attendance. Even the Archmage had deemed the event worthy of his presence. The perfect audience for Crimson Scale's final, reputation-destroying blunder.

See, in merchant circles, diffamation is practically a death sentence. One's reputation isn't merely valuable—it's the only currency that truly matters. Contracts, handshakes, promises—the entire economic ecosystem functions on the bedrock of reliability. Break that, publicly, and you might as well close up shop and take up goat herding in the northern provinces.

And so, to openly accuse a merchant of a crime without any proof was often suicide.

Adom had anticipated angry words. He expected Deroq to lash out verbally, to make wild, unsupported allegations that would be quickly dismissed by the assembled dignitaries. That would have been sufficient. That would have been perfect.

What he hadn't anticipated was the disruptor.

Not that disruptors themselves were unusual. Quite the contrary.

Although very expensive, in high society, any merchant with half a brain carried one, just as they might carry a handkerchief or a pocket watch. In a world where magical artifacts could shift the balance of power in an instant, only a fool traveled without some form of nullification protection. They were defensive tools, commonplace as walking sticks at a gathering of the elderly.

Deroq, like everyone else in the room, would have naturally assumed Cass was wearing at least three layers of protective artifacts. Standard practice for someone of her standing, especially someone who'd recently dodged assassination. The shields wouldn't be visible—ostentatious displays of defensive magic were considered rather gauche in polite society—but they would absolutely be present.

So to draw one, to actually activate a disruptor in the Grand Aurium Auction House, with the explicit intention of using it offensively against a guild leader? That was like bringing a butter knife to dinner and suddenly attempting to perform open-heart surgery with it. It wasn't just inappropriate—it was lunacy.

Never in his most exhaustive contingency planning had Adom imagined Deroq would be quite so... enthusiastically self-destructive. There were knights present. Imperial guards. Private mercenaries. No fewer than seven mages of respectable power. And witnesses. Endless, impeccably credentialed witnesses.

Deroq managed precisely three steps before the binding spells hit him. Not one or two—forty-three distinct magical restraints, by later count, all triggered simultaneously with such force that the air itself seemed to crystallize around him. The Archmage's contribution alone would have held a rampaging manticore. The others were, perhaps, overkill.

But then, no one had ever accused the magical community of subtlety.

So Deroq remained frozen in place, suspended in a web of magical restraints that glowed with dozens of distinct patterns. But while his body was immobilized, his mouth unfortunately remained functional.

"Release me!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. "This is outrageous! They're the criminals here!"

Around him, the auction house had transformed into an impromptu armory.

No fewer than twenty-seven blades had been drawn—everything from ceremonial daggers to enchanted longswords. Eight archers from the Auction House security detail had arrows nocked and aimed directly at his chest. Three battle mages stood with spells crackling at their fingertips, ready to unleash devastation at the slightest provocation.

Really, really overkill.

"I demand to be released!" Deroq continued, oblivious to the overwhelming force arrayed against him. "You're all blind! Can't you see what they've done?"

The Archmage, Sir Gaius, sighed deeply. With a casual gesture, he dismissed his own binding spell—a cascading blue lattice that had formed the backbone of Deroq's restraints. The remaining spells held firm as Sir Gaius simply returned to his seat, apparently deciding this particular circus wasn't worth his continued participation.

Lord Evanstar, owner of the Aurium Auction House, approached Deroq with the careful deliberation of someone inspecting a particularly disgusting insect. His silver-threaded robes rustled as he came to a stop three precise paces away.

"In five hundred years," Evanstar said, "no one has ever attempted violence within these walls." He adjusted his emerald cufflinks with exquisite disdain. "And you chose to dishonor my establishment in the presence of the Archmage himself."

Deroq's eyes darted around frantically. "You don't understand—"

"Silence," Evanstar cut him off. "You will speak when addressed and not before. Your behavior has brought shame upon your guild, your seat, and yourself."

From the seventh row, Master Heracles Hatus rose to his feet. The Imperial Inspector adjusted his spectacles as he approached, notebook already in hand.

"Fascinating," Hatus said, examining Deroq like a specimen under glass. "I came tonight expecting to observe standard guild politics. Instead, I witness a 50th seat representative attempting murder in public." He made a show of consulting his notes. "Before we address the attempted violence, let's discuss your earlier assertions. You stated—quite emphatically—that the Wangara Guild orchestrated the destruction of your warehouse. What evidence supports this claim?"

Deroq's face contorted. "It's obvious! The timing—"

"Circumstantial," Hatus interjected, scribbling in his notebook. "Continue."

"They've undermined our contracts, stolen our clients—"

"Competition is not evidence of criminal activity." Hatus looked up from his notes. "Do you have witnesses? Physical evidence? Anything tangible that would stand before an Imperial tribunal?"

Across the chamber, Cass sat with one hand pressed against her chest, her breathing still uneven. The color had drained from her face, but her composure was rapidly returning. Artun stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of a short sword that hadn't been visible moments before.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Cass nodded, her eyes never leaving Deroq. "He actually tried to—" She stopped, collecting herself. "I didn't think he'd go that far."

The golem remained in a protective stance, its frame poised to intercept any threat. Through its eyes, Adom watched the scene unfold with a mixture of satisfaction and concern. This was better than he'd hoped, but also more dangerous.

"They've orchestrated everything!" Deroq was shouting now, his voice cracking. "Ask your precious Archmage! Those communication crystals—they're using them to coordinate attacks against us!"

Hatus raised an eyebrow. "The communication crystals that the Banking Guild purchased three hundred pairs of this morning? The ones the Imperial Treasury is currently evaluating for official use? Those communication crystals?"

"Yes! That's how they did it!"

"I see." Hatus made another note. "So your claim is that the Wangara Guild—established less than one month ago—has developed a revolutionary communication technology, sold it to multiple reputable organizations, deployed it to destroy your warehouse through some unspecified means, and then came here tonight to... what? Spend six million gold just to deny you an artifact?"

Put that way, even Deroq seemed to recognize how absurd it sounded. "I—you don't understand—"

"No, I believe I understand perfectly," Hatus replied, closing his notebook with a snap. "Lord Evanstar, I've seen enough for my report to the House."

Evanstar nodded gravely, then turned his attention back to Deroq. "You have brought violence into my house. You have threatened the life of a guild leader in front of witnesses. You have disturbed the peace of this gathering and insulted the dignity of the Archmage with your barbarity." He made a subtle gesture, and the security forces tightened their circle. "You will be removed from these premises and held until the City Watch arrives to formally detain you."

"No!" Deroq screamed, struggling uselessly against his magical bonds. "Tresh, tell them! Tell them what really happened!"

All eyes turned to Tresh Mavarin.

The Crimson Scale guildmaster rose slowly from her seat. She straightened her crimson robes, touched a hand briefly to her silver-streaked hair, and then stepped into the aisle.

"Guildmaster Mavarin," Evanstar acknowledged with a curt nod. "Have you something to add to these proceedings?"

Tresh surveyed the room, meeting the stares of dozens of merchant guild representatives, nobles, and mages. Her gaze lingered briefly on Cass before returning to Evanstar.

"Lord Evanstar," she began, "the Crimson Scale Guild extends its deepest apologies for the unconscionable behavior displayed here tonight." She walked forward, each step measured and deliberate. "My second-in-command has overstepped his authority in the most grievous manner possible. There can be no excuse for his actions."

Deroq stared at her, his expression crumpling. "Tresh, no—"

"Be silent," she commanded, not even looking at him. "You have said quite enough."

She stopped beside Evanstar, standing straight-backed and proud despite the humiliation of the moment. "As Guildmaster of the Crimson Scale, I take full responsibility for the conduct of those under my command. The stress of recent setbacks is an explanation, not a justification. We will, of course, accept whatever consequences the House of Merchants deems appropriate."

Hatus watched her carefully. "You understand, Guildmaster Mavarin, that those consequences may include a review of your guild's seat."

"I understand," she replied without hesitation.

"And what of these allegations?" Hatus pressed. "Do you stand by your subordinate's claims against the Wangara Guild?"

Tresh didn't flinch. "The Crimson Scale Guild makes no formal accusations at this time. We reserve the right to present evidence through proper channels should any become available."

It was masterfully done—acknowledging Deroq's error while leaving open the possibility that he wasn't entirely wrong. A political tightrope walked with perfect balance.

Evanstar seemed unimpressed. "Regardless of allegations, there remains the matter of attempted assault. Your second-in-command must be detained pending investigation."

"I request that he be released into my custody," Tresh said smoothly. "I will personally ensure—"

"After what we've witnessed?" Evanstar cut her off. "Absolutely not. He will remain in custody until—"

"I won't press charges."

All eyes turned to Cass, who had risen from her seat. She stood straight, her initial shock replaced by a composed determination.

"Excuse me?" Evanstar said, clearly surprised.

"I said, I won't press charges," Cass repeated, louder this time. "The Wangara Guild has no interest in pursuing this matter further."

Through the crystal, Adom's voice came softly. "Perfect."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Tresh's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why would you be so... magnanimous, Guildmaster Drake?"

Cass met her gaze evenly. "Because this isn't about revenge. It's about business." She gestured to the multiplier artifact, still sitting on the auction block. "I got what I came for. The rest is just... noise."

Artun suppressed a smirk beside her. "Generous of you," he murmured. "Very dignified."

Evanstar looked between the two guildmasters, clearly displeased. "While I appreciate your forbearance, Guildmaster Drake, this man attempted violence in my establishment. That cannot go unpunished."

"Perhaps," Hatus interjected thoughtfully, "a compromise. Mister Dwayne Deroq will be banned from all future Aurium events and fined an appropriate sum for the disruption. The Crimson Scale Guild will post a substantial bond guaranteeing his future good behavior. And this incident will be noted in my official report to the House of Merchants."

He looked to Tresh. "Would these terms be acceptable to you, Guildmaster Mavarin?"

Tresh inclined her head slightly. "They would."

"And you, Lord Evanstar? Would this satisfy the honor of your establishment?"

Evanstar didn't seem entirely pleased, but he nodded stiffly. "It will suffice. The fine will be one million gold, payable immediately."

A ripple of whispers spread through the audience. One million gold—on top of the auction expenses and after losing the multiplier—would be a crippling blow to Crimson Scale's already strained finances.

Tresh didn't blink. "Agreed."