Rebirth of the 8th-Circle Mage

“Again.”

At the words of the swordsman instructor, the boy picked up his sword again. He was very young, just turning ten years old. At this age, the boy needed lots of love, delicious sweets, and running around and playing with toys. But instead of that, he had to wield a wooden sword.

“It’s your last chance, scum. If you fail again, there’s no dinner for you tonight.”

With that, the instructor pointed down with his finger. The boy looked down, only to see the remains of rice balls next to the instructor’s military boots.

“Get started, scum.”

The instructor hated this child, so he didn’t even call him by his name. There were dozens of children in front of him, all in the same situation, holding wooden swords. Of course, he knew some of them by name, having memorized them either because the kids had potential or because they were particularly obedient.

However, the boy who had just dropped the wooden sword didn’t have that potential, which was why his name was just “scum”.

“Sigh…”

This was the boy’s last chance. He picked up his wooden sword again, the words of the instructor swirling in his head. His hands were full of calluses, and he had scratches and bruises all over his body.

Those weren’t marks of abuse but of harsh training. At least that was what the instructor thought. The boy didn’t even think about complaining and crying over his scars, as he knew that wouldn’t change anything.

This time, the child glared at the rice ball in the instructor's hand, his eyes full of fierce determination.

‘I’ll make sure I’ll eat that!’

The instructor was holding a salty rice ball, and that was the staple food for the children living here. Thinking of food only invoked the image of that salty lump of rice. Sometimes, a kid would be lucky enough to get rice balls with a bunch of extra salt on the side.

Even though the food was limited to rice and salt, no one complained. After all, many kids couldn’t even eat that because of their poor performances. Everyone gave their best to at least get a bit of that salty rice.

“Get up, scum,” the instructor urged, irritated by the kid’s hesitation.

The child was angered by how the instructor kept talking to him, but he quickly calmed down, knowing that anger wouldn’t do him any good. It was almost like his mind was a sword, constantly being tempered in the forge of his heart.

Every time he heard the word “scum,” the boy’s thoughts ran wild. He knew that the instructor was being this harsh because he wanted to bring the best out of him. Somehow, starvation and abuse was supposed to make him stronger.

The child picked up his wooden sword, got up on his feet, and took a stance.

“There we go,” the instructor said with a smile.

The boy felt like a demon was grinning at him, but he couldn’t care less about that. He was more interested in the rice ball in the demon’s hand.

“Sigh…”

That day, the instructor was testing the swordsmanship skills the kid had learned. He had memorized every more perfectly, knowing all too well that failure meant sleeping again on an empty stomach.

Determined to avoid starvation, the child had learned swordsmanship with a desperation unmatched by anyone else.

However, the instructor was displeased for some reason, and he had made the child repeat the same thing nine times already.

‘Fucking bastard.'

The boy’s eyes burned with determination. Deep down, he just wanted to plunge the wooden sword into the instructor’s throat instead of practicing swordsmanship. However, his hunger was stronger than his anger, which was why he endured everything.

“Sir, I’ll start.”

With that, the boy started with basic swordsmanship footwork, moving in a diamond pattern. He couldn’t even remember how many times he had practiced these steps. He had to have practiced a lot, for his soles were covered in painful blisters.

The smile vanished from the instructor’s face. He observed the child’s footwork with a cold, stern gaze.

The child eventually finished with his footwork, and now all he had to do was showcase his sword dance.

The child was learning a unique kind of swordsmanship, passed down through a certain noble family from generation to generation. Naturally, mastering all the original techniques would be ideal, but the instructor made these children only learn the secondary sword techniques, claiming that only the noble family deserved to use the core techniques.

Of course, this battered boy couldn’t care less whether he was performing the main or the secondary technique. Their main motivation for being here was the promise that if he executed the techniques perfectly, he would be given food.

He continued with his sword dance. His motions were perfect, flowing like water. Some of the children watching curled their lips and unwittingly cheered for the boy.

‘Come on… Just a bit more…!’

Everyone knew that the child was almost done with his sword dance, just a couple of more turns and swings to finally satisfy his hunger with some salt rice balls.

The boy made a circle with his feet and twisted around. Then, he thrust his sword and slashed in a diagonal line, instantly following with two somersaults.

Just a couple of more swings and everything would be over…

But then…

“Enough!” the instructor shouted before the child managed to complete his sword dance. He hadn’t shouted that loud, but his voice nonetheless felt like a sharp dagger to the child, cruelly piercing him.

The boy had goosebumps all over, and he broke into a cold sweat. He immediately stopped and stared at the instructor.

And at that moment, the instructor kicked the child in his lower abdomen.

“Gaah!”

Thud!

The child went flying after a pained groan. He was now covered in sweat and dirt, making him even dirtier than before.

The instructor slowly lowered his foot and said, “You lousy bastard.”

The boy was sure that he had executed the sword dance flawlessly. No matter how many times he replayed the dance in his head, he couldn’t think of any mistakes.

But regardless, the instructor looked down at him with a frown, dissatisfied with something that the child had no idea about.

“Food? Food, my ass. You think you deserve to eat with those pathetic moves? No food for you.”

The child was in disbelief. The instructor threw the salty rice ball on the ground. It was covered in dirt, but as the child stared at it, all kinds of thoughts raced through his mind.

‘I bet I can still eat the inside if I scrape off the outer part a little bit.’

However, no sooner had the child thought that than the instructor mercilessly trampled on the rice ball with his foot.

“Don’t even think about eating it.”

And with that, the boy’s hopes were shattered. His turn was over. Tears welled up in his eyes, but not because of the pain in his lower abdomen.

The boy had gone quite a few days without eating, so he had been quite weakened already. But in order to finally eat, he had mustered up all his strength, the last shred of willpower to showcase his skills this time.

But in the end, the instructor crushed his rice ball. That sticky white ball had been the child’s only hope, and it had been within his reach just moments ago.

However, unfazed by the child’s dejection, the instructor gestured with his chin for the others to drag him away. The other children quickly complied. Some of them cast the poor kid penitent looks before switching their gazes to the next child who was getting ready.

“Next, come out!”

***

Night had rolled in, but the boy couldn’t sleep; he was aching all over, and the disappointment over his performance kept his mind awake. More than that, he was very, very hungry.

The boy was in pain.

He had come here after hearing that this place wouldn’t let him starve to death, but on second thoughts, it did seem that this place was just barely keeping the children alive. In fact, not a single child had died from starvation.

“Hey, scum. Get up.”

The dreadful silence was disturbed by a familiar voice.

It was Colon. He had come here at a young age, just like the boy, and he was one of the few children who were good enough at swordsmanship to earn salty rice balls.

The boy hated Colon. He was one of the few children whom the instructor favored, and he himself was aware of that. In fact, he considered himself special, and just like the instructor, he called other kids “scum.”

The others hated Colon as well, and not just because of his attitude. They had many reasons to resent him, but the biggest one was the fact that he would beat up other kids with his gang at night. He did that as a form of recreation, to relieve the stress and fatigue accumulated over a hard day of training.

The instructor did favor Colon, but that didn’t mean he excused him from the arduous training. And now, Colon had come to pick on the boy.

It hadn’t even crossed the boy’s mind that he could be Colon’s next victim. He heaved a sigh. It wasn’t that he was scared of Colon, but he was terribly weary and weak after going several days without food.

In any case, he couldn’t just ignore Colon by pretending to be asleep. His gang would just drag him out of bed regardless.

The child sighed again and stood up, which seemed to offend Colon.

“How dare you sigh when I call you?”

The child was baffled by how arrogant Colon was despite being in the same pitiful situation as the rest. He was disgusted by his attitude.

In this place, everyone had to act for themselves, as having each other’s backs wouldn’t help them survive.

“Come at me,” said the boy.

“...What?”

“Come at me, you damn bastards! I know you’re going to harass me all night long if you’re not satisfied.”

The child knew how those who tormented the weak thought. Rather than standing still and taking the beating, the child decided to fight back as much as he could. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be hit in the head if he submitted.

The child scanned the members of the gang—five kids in total. Of course, he was well aware that he couldn’t beat all five of them; besides starving, he didn’t even have his wooden sword.

But even so, the child was determined to do his best to fight back.

“I’ll make your wish come true. Kill this scumbag,” Colon told his friends.

“You arrogant piece of shit!”

With that, Colon’s four peers threw themselves at the child, causing a ruckus. There were many children sleeping under this roof, and they all realized what was going on, but none dared to make a sound. Getting dragged into this mess and taking a late-night beating was the last thing they wanted.

Besides, most of these children were starving, and getting involved meant spending additional energy that they didn’t have. Thus, whoever was unfortunate enough to get chosen by Colon had to fight alone until the end.

“Die!”

Although the instructor had never acknowledged the boy, he was actually just as skilled in fist fighting as he was with the swordsmanship techniques he had memorized. He managed to quickly knock down one of his attackers, reducing the disadvantage by a bit.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the strength to keep going. He was so hungry and exhausted that he could barely clench his fists.

That was the reason he lost.

“You bastard! Grab him!"

The child had managed to knock down another attacker, but he was completely overpowered when Colon joined.

Spit!

“You fucking piece of shit! You should’ve stayed down from the beginning if you were going to go down like this anyway!”

The boy had managed to land a punch on Colon, busting his upper lip. However, Colon had made short work of him, spitting the blood from his lip on him.

“I’ll make you pay for what you did to me. Hey, kick this guy out.”

At Colon’s words, his lackeys wrapped up the child in a blanket and threw him out of the dorm. There weren’t any adults around, as only children slept here.

It was cold outside. It wasn’t freezing cold, but that was how it felt to someone who had been beaten up and starved for several days.

The boy curled up in the blanket, shivering. His wounds were throbbing, both his fresh ones and the ones inflicted by his instructor during the day. Tears rolled down his face. Was this what hell felt like…?

“Just… Why the hell was I even born…? For this…?” muttered the child. He had been abandoned right after being born, so he had no idea what his parents looked like. He had come to this place to get his life together, but now it seemed that living on the streets might’ve been a better choice.

The child regretted every single day spent here. Of course, this wasn’t his first difficult phase in this place, but the previous day had really just kicked him down in every way possible, both physically and emotionally.

Tears continued to flow from his eyes.

“At this point, I should’ve just slept outside from the beginning,” the child muttered to himself. As he wiped his tears, he whispered, “I want to die…”

He truly meant it. But then, he heard an unfamiliar voice, not too far away from him.

“Is that what you really want, Ronan?”

The moonlight revealed Henry. He had come to Foram Castle, specifically where all the adopted children were housed.