Magic had always demanded a price.
From the very moment humanity learned to carve mana into shapes, from the first trembling spark summoned by trembling hands, magic had been an act of defiance against the world itself. To bend reality was to invite resistance. To reach higher was to suffer more
And yet—
At the peak of the arcane tower, beyond the clouds that hid the sky from mortal eyes, a single man stood unchallenged.
A circle formed beneath his feet.
Not one.
Not two.
Ten.
Ten perfectly interlocked circles of mana, each one inscribed with runes that no modern mage could even recognize, rotating in silent harmony. The air screamed as reality strained against their existence. Space warped. Time slowed. Even causality itself hesitated, unsure whether it was allowed to function in the presence of such power.
The world had long declared it impossible.
The 10th Circle —a myth. A theoretical absurdity. A concept that violated the established laws of
And yet, here it was.
"Still resisting," the man murmured.
His voice was calm, almost amused, as though the storm of mana threatening to tear the continent apart was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. He raised one gloved hand, fingers tracing an invisible sigil in the air. The surrounding pressure immediately stabilized, collapsing inward like a tamed beast.
His name had once been feared across kingdoms.
Archmage. Grand Sorcerer. Catastrophe Incarnate.
Titles piled upon him like meaningless decorations. In the end, he had abandoned them all.
He had reached the end.
The last step.
No mage in history had ever come this far. The 9th Circle alone was considered divine. Beyond that lay nothing but speculation, madness, and death.
And yet, after centuries of research, blood, sacrifice, and solitude, he had forced the world to yield.
The 10th Circle was real.
"…So this is it," he said softly.
The mana within his body burned—not painfully, but intensely, as if every cell had been rewritten into something no longer human. His heart beat not with blood, but with raw arcane flow. His soul felt vast, heavy, eternal.
He could see everything.
Not metaphorically.
He could see the leylines of the world like veins beneath translucent skin. He could feel the thoughts of distant beings brushing against reality. He could hear the echoes of spells cast centuries ago, still lingering like ghosts.
Power without limit.
Knowledge without boundary.
And yet—
Something was wrong.
The ten circles trembled.
A hairline fracture appeared in the innermost ring.
The Archmage's eyes narrowed.
"So this is the cost."
He had known. Of course he had known. No ascension came without consequence. The world had allowed the 10th Circle to exist—but only briefly.
The structure was unstable.
NOt due to his lack of skill, nor an error in calculation. The fault lay with reality itself. The world simply did not possess a framework capable of sustaining such a state.
He laughed quietly.
"Typical."
The fracture spread.
Mana surged violently, overflowing like a breached dam. The tower beneath him groaned as ancient wards shattered one after another. The sky darkened, clouds spiraling inward as if pulled by an invisible hand.
This was not a failure.
It was an ending.
The Archmage closed his eyes.
He felt no fear.
Only disappointment.
"So even at the peak… this is as far as I go."
The 10th Circle collapsed.
Light consumed everything.
Darkness followed.
Not the comforting darkness of sleep, nor the cold void of death—but something deeper. A space where thought existed without form, where time flowed without direction.
The Archmage drifted.
His body was gone.
His mana was gone.
Even the immense structure of the 10th Circle had vanished, as if it had never existed at all.
Only his soul remained.
He expected oblivion.
Instead, he felt movement.
A pull.
A force far gentler than the violent resistance of the world he had known. It wrapped around his soul, guiding rather than tearing.
"…Reincarnation?" he thought.
The concept was not foreign. He had studied countless theories regarding the transmigration of souls, the cycle of rebirth, the persistence of consciousness beyond death.
Most were flawed.
Some were lies.
A few… were incomplete.
"If this is reincarnation," his thoughts continued calmly, "then it's operating on a higher principle than anything I documented."
The pull intensified.
Sensation returned.
Weight.
Warmth.
Sound.
A pounding rhythm echoed around him—slow, steady, alive.
A heartbeat.
Not mine, he realized.
The darkness began to crack.
Light seeped in.
And then—
Pain.
Sharp, overwhelming, suffocating pain.
His soul slammed into something fragile, unprepared, unbearably small.
The Archmage gasped.
Air rushed into lungs that had never drawn breath before.
The world exploded into sensation.
He screamed.
Not out of fear—but instinct.
The sound was thin, weak, pitiful.
A baby's cry.
Voices erupted around him, distorted and loud.
"He's breathing!"
"By the gods, he's alive!"
"Quickly, wrap him—don't let the mana chill touch him!"
Mana.
His mind latched onto the word immediately.
So this world used the same terminology.
Good.
That meant continuity.
He forced his awareness inward.
His body was… tiny. Ridiculously so.
His limbs barely responded. His senses were dull, unfocused, overwhelmed by raw input.
And yet—
His soul remained intact.
Memories flooded back with perfect clarity.
Centuries of research. Countless spells. The rise and fall of empires. The moment the 10th Circle had formed beneath his feet.
All of it remained.
"I see," he thought.
The Archmage—no, the infant now—calmed his breathing. His cry weakened, then ceased, much to the relief of the surrounding adults.
"So this is my second life."
He could feel mana.
Faint.
Thin.
Barely present.
His new body possessed a mana core—but it was dormant, undeveloped, fragile as glass. A normal child's.
No circles.
No spells.
No power.
A slow smile formed on his tiny lips.
"…How nostalgic."
He allowed his eyes to open.
The world was blurry, shapes bleeding into one another, colors indistinct. Still, he could sense more than he could see. The emotional states of those nearby. The ambient mana density of the room.
Low.
Very low.
"This era is weaker," he concluded.
"Much weaker."
That explained it.
The 10th Circle had likely never existed here—not because it was impossible, but because no one had ever reached high enough to challenge the world.
Interesting.
Extremely interesting.
He felt hands lift him gently, wrapping him in cloth. The warmth was comforting, unfamiliar.
A woman's face hovered above him, eyes red, expression exhausted yet relieved.
His mother.
The realization settled without emotion.
He had lived too long in his past life to be shaken by such things.
As he was held, he focused inward again.
His soul was stable.
That alone was a miracle.
Even more astonishing—his soul retained its structure.
Though the 10th Circle was gone, the imprint remained.
Not the power.
The understanding.
The pathways.
The experience of standing beyond the limits of magic.
"…So that's how it is," he thought.
The world had destroyed the 10th Circle—but it had failed to erase what it meant.
He would start again.
From the beginning.
With a child's body.
With a weak mana core.
In a world that believed the 9th Circle was the end of all things.
A faint, silent chuckle echoed within his soul.
"This time… I won't rush."
The infant closed his eyes.
Around him, the world continued unaware—oblivious to the truth that had just been born into it.
That the strongest Archmage in history had returned.
Not as a god.
Not as a legend.
But as a child.
And this time—
He would surpass the 10th Circle itself.
End of chapter 1