Cold…
It was the first sensation that Merlin felt.
The cold pressed evenly against his back, seeping through both his clothes and skin alike.
Though it wasn't as serious as a numbing cold, or like he was sitting on a bed of ice…it was more like warmth leaving from his body.
Alright, it seems my senses are working somewhat. Let's try other functions.
Merlin focused as his eyelids stuttered up and down, light flickering in his vision just before they disappeared.
With a harder push, he managed to open his eyes.
A wooden desk, it was mostly standard, with many drawers to store papers and the like, used mostly by scholars.
The first thing he noticed on top of the table was a small lamp. It was hard not to, as it was the only light source within the room. Yet, it was peculiar.
There's no candle or fire inside?
To the right, was a collapsed chair. Though it was nothing like Merlin had expected. The chair was filled and padded with what looked like miniature pillows.
But he couldn't focus on it more, as finally he felt some control, some power coming back to his limbs after sitting for a while.
Merlin tried once more, this time to move his body.
He pressed a palm against the floor, trying to straighten his back using the wall behind him as leverage.
To his surprise, it worked, maybe even a bit too well.
There was no protest from muscles or any aches along his spine. His balance wavered for a heartbeat, tipping over just before he corrected it.
Good. Locomotor systems are working as intended.
His fingers flexed slowly, one at a time, and finally brought his hands up.
They were unfamiliar, slender, and clean—free from all the scars that he'd accumulated.
Now that he was standing upright, the contents of the table were finally in view.
Old books, diagrams, maps and various other pieces of paper were scattered.
Near the edge of the desk, half-hidden beneath a stack of notes, lay the object he had been subconsciously searching for. The object that would finally explain what had happened.
A mirror.
Picking it up, his reflection stared back.
Early to mid-twenties, if he had to estimate. His face was slender, almost delicate in its structure, but unmistakably handsome. Dark hair framed around it, mostly unkempt strands but were tied up at the back in a short ponytail.
What he noticed most were his piercing blue eyes, as endless as the deep sea, giving the overall features a quiet scholarly air.
"So the spell worked…" Merlin muttered out loud.
Not in the way he had planned, nor with the precision he would have preferred, but the result was a success all the same.
9th Level Spell – Reincarnation.
It was a magic he had only completed after reaching the very peak of his power, and one he had never believed he would be forced to use.
"Tch."
The memories he had buried with his death surged forward all at once.
Humanity was finally able to stand on their own.
Above driven back into the heavens.
Below sealed beneath the earth.
Angels and demons alike pushed beyond the world's borders, their war finished by a single group.
They had succeeded.
Merlin felt the certainty of it settle deep within him. This was not conjecture; it was a fact.
He had stood beside the Hero at the end of it all. Together, they had unified the world and carved out an age meant for humans alone.
And yet—
He could not remember why it had happened.
Only that it had.
Somewhere after the victory, the Hero had started looking at him differently. Lulled by the promise of finally being given peace and quiet, of finally being able to rest, Merlin lowered his guard.
A blade plunged into his abdomen, driven down without hesitation, as the Hero looked at him with his shit-eating grin.
Merlin would always remember the final words.
"You're strong," the Hero said softly. "And the strong are not what we need now."
His vision snapped back to the dimly lit room. His hands trembled as anger swelled from inside.
Immediately, Merlin slammed a hand down onto the table hard.
The impact sent papers skittering, diagrams sliding out of place as the table shifted ever-so-slightly.
Merlin stood there, fingers clenched and knuckles pale.
So that was how it ended.
Sealed. Betrayed. Discarded once his usefulness had run its course.
His lips curled faintly, into a cold smile.
"…Arthur," he muttered.
"I don't care how long it takes," Merlin said quietly, voice low and even. "Nor what form you've taken."
He straightened.
"I will find you."
The lamplight reflected in his eyes as his fingers closed even tighter.
"And I will tear down everything you left behind."
His gaze instinctively came back down to the table, where it looked a little bit lighter than it once had before.
Now that useless papers had fallen, two new objects had caught his eye.
A small card, and a notebook.
Merlin reached down and picked up the card, turning it between his fingers. It was made with some sort of thin, unfamiliar material—clearly not very durable and likely mass-produced.
An identification card.
His eyes moved to the printed text.
Simon Alcott.
Professor of Magic Theory.
Leonis Academy.
Ah, so this body belonged to an academic.
Merlin nodded once more. It explained the books, notes and various incomplete theories littering his desk. A man who studied magic rather than using it in battle.
Merlin set the card back onto the desk.
So magic still exists in this era.
Magic used to be almost a service, where those of talent seeked out other higher Masters to train them. Now, there were whole academies dedicated to teaching the craft.
Without thinking, Merlin lifted a hand.
He did not speak an incantation. There was no need. For him, magic was always second nature, almost muscle memory.
Yet, nothing happened.
Merlin reached once more, imagining a small flicker of flame, and the calculations needed to make it work.
Nothing changed.
He frowned.
That was… unexpected.
This time, he did not look outward.
Merlin looked inward.
His awareness turned toward his body, toward something that should have existed there.
Mana loops—a solved structure that allowed mages to draw upon mana, the fundamental energy that powered the world.
They should have been there.
Layered circles woven around the heart, guiding flow and regulating output. A system Merlin himself had helped perfect long before magic became standardized.
Instead—
What he found was worse than he'd ever imagined.
The loops were shattered, as if something had torn through them without regard for consequence.
"You've got to be kidding me," Merlin sighed.
"I really have the worst luck."