The wind howled like a dying beast across the ruined valley, carrying with it the smell of ash, blood, and burned mana. Cracks of unstable magic flickered across the shattered ground, illuminating the broken battlefield in violent flashes of blue and violet. At the center of the devastation stood a single man, his breathing ragged, his robes torn and soaked in blood that was not entirely his own. His name was Shatter. Once, that name had belonged to the second son of one of the most respected pure-blooded noble mage families in the kingdom. A bloodline famed for prodigies who could command powerful spells before they even reached adulthood. A lineage where every generation produced archmages that stood above common magicians like mountains above pebbles. Yet the man standing there now, barely able to keep himself upright, had never belonged among them.
Across from him loomed the monster.
It was enormous—an abomination of twisted flesh and chitin that seemed to absorb the light around it. Its many eyes glowed with sickly crimson light while dark mana pulsed around its grotesque body like a living storm. Every breath it released warped the air itself, heavy with malice and ancient power. This creature was not something meant to exist in the human world. A calamity given form.
And Shatter… was far too weak to fight it.
A bitter laugh escaped his cracked lips.
"Of course… something like this… would be my opponent."
His voice sounded small against the monstrous growl echoing from the creature before him. Even now, standing face to face with death, his thoughts wandered back to the same bitter truth that had haunted him his entire life.
Talent.
Or rather… the complete lack of it.
Shatter slowly raised his trembling hand, feeling the faint trickle of mana circulating inside his body. The amount was pitiful. Pathetic. It always had been.
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the countless tests conducted when he was a child. The crystal orbs used by mages to measure mana capacity. The shocked silence of the instructors when the results appeared.
The second son of a pure-blooded mage lineage…
And yet his body could barely hold mana.
The shame had spread through the noble house like poison.
Every member of his bloodline was expected to become a powerful mage. His older brother had reached the Fifth Circle before turning seventeen. His cousins were already mastering advanced elemental magic before adulthood.
But Shatter…
Shatter struggled his entire life just to reach the Fifth Circle.
Even now, standing on this ruined battlefield well into adulthood, that pathetic Fifth Circle was still his limit.
Others from his family achieved that level before they even turned twenty.
For him…
It had taken everything.
Years of relentless training.
Endless nights studying spell formations until his vision blurred.
Meditation that lasted for days in an attempt to expand his mana circuits.
Countless failures.
Countless humiliations.
Countless whispers behind his back.
The monster roared, shaking the valley.
Shatter opened his eyes again.
"Yeah… yeah, I know," he muttered, staring at the towering creature. "You're probably wondering why someone like me is standing here."
His lips curled into a faint smile.
"To be honest… I'm wondering the same thing."
He lifted his staff slowly. The wood was cracked and worn from years of use, the mana crystal at its tip dim compared to the radiant artifacts wielded by true noble mages.
But it was all he had.
Just like it had always been.
His mind drifted again—this time further into the past.
Back to the day his family decided his fate.
He remembered the cold hall of the noble estate. The long marble table where the elders sat like judges delivering a sentence.
He remembered the disappointment in their eyes.
No.
Not disappointment.
Disgust.
"A disgrace to the bloodline."
Those words had been spoken without hesitation.
A pure-blooded mage family that had stood proud for centuries could not afford to keep a failure within its ranks. Reputation mattered more than blood.
And so the second son had been cast aside.
Stripped of his family name.
Stripped of his inheritance.
Thrown out of the estate like trash.
He had been barely sixteen.
Shatter clenched his jaw.
Even now, the memory still burned.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part had come years later.
When they realized he was still alive.
A shadow crossed his expression.
Because apparently…
Being a disgrace wasn't enough.
A disgrace that continued to exist was even worse.
They sent people.
Assassins.
Mages from the same bloodline he once belonged to.
His own family had tried to erase him.
Shatter remembered running through forests under the cover of night. Remembered the burning pain of spells barely missing his body. Remembered the cold realization that if they caught him, they wouldn't even hesitate.
He had run.
For years.
Across cities, across kingdoms, across battlefields where no one cared about the name he had once carried.
He survived as a wandering mage.
A mercenary.
A nobody.
And through all those years… he trained.
Not because he believed he could become strong.
But simply because stopping meant dying.
Eventually…
He reached the Fifth Circle.
A level that would make ordinary mages proud.
But for him?
It was nothing.
Still a failure.
Still a disappointment.
Still weak.
The monster took a step forward, the ground trembling beneath its massive weight.
Shatter exhaled slowly.
"Well," he said quietly. "Guess this is the end."
He could feel it.
The exhaustion in his body.
The nearly empty mana circuits.
The broken ribs that stabbed his lungs every time he breathed.
He had fought this creature for what felt like hours already. Every spell he cast barely scratched it.
It was like trying to chip away at a mountain with a spoon.
And yet…
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Funny thing," he murmured.
"I spent my whole life running away from death."
His eyes sharpened.
"But this time…"
He raised his staff.
"I think I'll stay."
Mana flared weakly around him, forming a small magic circle beneath his feet. The pattern flickered unstable, struggling to maintain its shape.
A Fifth Circle spell.
The strongest one he could cast.
Even that… was barely enough to inconvenience the monster.
But Shatter didn't stop.
His voice echoed across the battlefield as he began chanting the incantation.
Each word drained what little mana he had left.
His body trembled violently.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
But he continued.
Because for the first time in his life…
He wasn't running.
The monster lunged.
Its claws tore through the air with terrifying speed.
And at that exact moment—
The magic circle beneath Shatter erupted with light.
A violent surge of mana exploded outward, forming a storm of shattered crystal-like energy that shot toward the monster like thousands of blades.
For a brief moment…
The creature screamed.
The attack actually hurt it.
Shatter laughed.
A loud, raw laugh that echoed across the battlefield.
"So even someone like me… can hurt you!"
But the laughter didn't last long.
Because the monster's claw had already reached him.
Time seemed to slow.
Shatter felt the immense pressure before the impact even arrived.
He knew instantly…
He wouldn't survive this.
Oddly enough, he felt calm.
As his body was torn apart by the monster's attack, his thoughts drifted again—this time not toward anger or regret.
But reflection.
His life had been nothing but struggle.
Running.
Failing.
Being rejected.
Being hunted.
All because his body couldn't hold enough mana.
Because he wasn't talented enough.
Because he wasn't strong enough.
"Maybe… in another life…" he whispered.
"…I'd like to be someone stronger."
Darkness swallowed him.
The battlefield vanished.
The monster vanished.
The pain vanished.
For a moment…
There was nothing.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The monster's roar faded.
Even the pain tearing through Shatter's body disappeared, as if the world itself had erased his existence.
For a brief moment there was nothing.
Then—
A voice.
Soft.
Confused.
"Why… am I crying?"
Shatter's consciousness slowly returned.
But something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
No sound.
No light.
No thoughts.
Just endless silence.
Then—
A faint sensation appeared.
Warmth.
Softness.
Something strangely comforting wrapped around his body, like being submerged in gentle light.
Shatter's consciousness stirred slowly.
His mind felt heavy, like it had been buried beneath layers of fog.
A distant sound reached his ears.
"…Is she breathing?"
Another voice followed, colder.
"Barely. Illegitimate children rarely survive childbirth."
Illegitimate…?
The unfamiliar word echoed faintly through the haze clouding his thoughts.
Shatter tried to move.
His body didn't respond the way he expected.
It felt small.
Fragile.
Weak in a completely different way than before.
A strange sensation pressed against his chest.
He inhaled instinctively.
Air rushed into tiny lungs.
And suddenly—
A cry escaped his mouth.
A high, soft cry.
Not the voice of a grown man.
The voice of a newborn.
Shatter's consciousness snapped awake.
Wait.
That voice…
His mind raced.
He forced his eyes open.
Blinding light flooded his vision.
Shapes slowly came into focus.
Above him stretched a high ceiling made of polished white stone, decorated with intricate magical engravings that faintly shimmered with mana. The air itself felt different from the battlefield—clean, refined, saturated with controlled magical energy.
Several figures stood nearby.
A woman dressed in healer's robes.
Two maids.
And a tall nobleman wearing dark ceremonial clothing embroidered with silver runes.
They were all staring downward.
At him.
No.
Not at him.
At the tiny body lying in the cradle.
Shatter blinked slowly.
Once.
Twice.
His thoughts moved sluggishly.
Then he tried to lift his hand.
A tiny hand rose into the air.
Small.
Soft.
Completely unfamiliar.
The skin was pale and smooth, untouched by scars or calluses.
His mind froze.
The healer sighed quietly.
"Well… she's alive."
One of the maids spoke hesitantly.
"But… my lord… what should we do with her?"
The nobleman's expression darkened.
His gaze carried no warmth as he looked at the cradle.
Only irritation.
And faint disgust.
"…Tch."
The sound was sharp.
"A bastard child."
The word struck Shatter's mind like lightning.
Bastard.
The nobleman turned away as if the sight itself annoyed him.
"She carries impure blood. A stain on our lineage."
The maid lowered her head nervously.
"But… she is still your daughter, my lord."
Silence followed.
A cold, heavy silence.
The nobleman's voice returned, filled with disdain.
"A daughter born from a low-born woman is no daughter of mine."
Shatter's tiny body stiffened.
His thoughts raced wildly.
Low-born woman…?
Impure blood…?
What were they talking about?
The healer carefully wrapped the infant in cloth.
"At least she seems healthy," the healer muttered. "That's unusual."
"Of course she is," the nobleman replied coldly.
"Our bloodline is among the strongest mage families in the empire."
His tone hardened.
"Even diluted, it produces something that can survive."
Shatter's mind struggled to process everything.
Bloodline.
Mage family.
Nobles.
The words stirred distant memories.
His old life.
The noble house he once belonged to.
The pure-blooded mages who despised weakness.
His heart sank.
No way…
No way…
He slowly turned his head, catching a faint reflection in the polished silver tray sitting nearby.
What stared back at him was not the face of the wandering mage who died on the battlefield.
It was the face of a newborn girl.
Soft silver hair clung gently to her tiny head.
Large eyes blinked in confusion.
Delicate features that would likely grow into striking beauty someday.
Shatter's mind went blank.
A girl.
He had become…
A girl.
The maids continued speaking quietly.
"I heard the lord ordered the mother removed already."
"Of course. She was just a servant."
"Poor thing… she must have known this would happen."
Shatter listened silently.
Each word slowly painted a clear picture.
His new body belonged to the illegitimate child of a powerful noble mage family.
A child born from a servant.
An impurity.
And judging by the nobleman's expression…
A mistake that shouldn't exist.
The nobleman looked back toward the cradle briefly.
His gaze was sharp and evaluating, like he was examining an object.
"Test her mana capacity later," he ordered.
"If she inherited enough talent, she might still have some use."
One maid hesitated.
"And if she didn't…?"
The nobleman didn't even pause.
"Then dispose of her quietly."
The words fell with terrifying calm.
As if he were discussing broken equipment rather than a living child.
Shatter's mind felt strangely calm.
He had heard words like these before.
Different people.
Different life.
But the same meaning.
Disappointment.
Rejection.
Disgust.
In his previous life, his noble family despised weakness.
In this life…
This family despised impurity.
He slowly looked at his tiny hand again.
So this was his second life.
Not as a wandering mage.
Not as the disgraced son of a noble house.
But as something even worse in the eyes of nobles.
A bastard child.
Someone with impure blood.
Someone who should not exist.
A faint, bitter thought crossed his mind.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
If he could laugh, he probably would have.
His previous life ended fighting a monster far beyond his strength.
A lifetime of struggle just to reach the Fifth Circle.
A lifetime of being chased by the very family that abandoned him.
And now…
Now he had been reborn into another noble family that already despised him.
His tiny fingers curled slowly.
But something strange happened.
For the first time since waking up…
He felt it.
Mana.
Not the weak trickle he remembered from his old body.
But something deeper.
Denser.
More stable.
The mana inside this body flowed naturally through its circuits like water through a river.
Shatter's eyes widened slightly.
This body…
It could hold mana.
A lot of it.
Far more than his previous body ever could.
The realization sent a strange feeling through his mind.
His previous life had been cursed with a body incapable of holding power.
But this one…
This one might be different.
The nobleman began walking toward the door.
"Send the child to the outer residence," he said coldly.
"She will not be raised in the main estate."
One of the maids nodded.
"Yes, my lord."
As the door closed behind him, silence filled the room again.
The maids approached the cradle cautiously.
"…Poor thing," one of them whispered.
"Born into the wrong family."
Shatter stared quietly at the ceiling.
Born into the wrong family.
Maybe.
Or maybe…
This time…
Things would be different.
A faint spark of determination flickered deep within his mind.
His previous life had been defined by weakness.
By running.
By barely surviving.
But this time…
If this body truly possessed talent…
If this body could actually hold mana…
Then maybe…
Just maybe…
This life wouldn't end the same way.
Shatter slowly closed his eyes.
For now, he was just a helpless newborn.
But someday…
Someday he would stand again.
Not as the weak mage who struggled to reach the Fifth Circle.
But as something far greater.
And when that day came—
No noble family would ever look down on him again.
Or rather…
Her.
The illegitimate daughter quietly slept in the cradle.
Unnoticed.
Unwanted.
But deep within that small body…
The soul of a man who had died fighting a monster was already planning his return to power.