Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

The funny thing about world-changing discoveries is how they always seem to start with the best intentions. ”This will revolutionize everything,” they say. ”Think of the possibilities,” they insist.

And they’re right, of course. Just not in the way they expect.

Take Dragon’s Breath, for instance.

When Professor Kim first unveiled his prototype, he could barely contain his excitement. Here was a material that could store as much magical energy as a proficient second-circle mage. ”Imagine,” he’d said, eyes bright behind those ridiculous goggles, ”a world where even those without magical talent could access powerful enchantments. Where every home could have the energy equivalent of a mage at their disposal!”

The academic community went wild. Papers were published. Theories were proposed. Everyone wanted a piece of what promised to be the greatest magical breakthrough since the re-discovery of magic by Law, the Farmer Mage.

No one stopped to ask the obvious question: what happens when you give that much power to people who really shouldn’t have it?

Well, no. That’s not entirely true. Some people did ask that question. They just weren’t the ones anyone was listening to.

Three months after the initial announcement, Professor Kim was found dead in his laboratory. The official report called it an accident - something about an experimental malfunction. Quite convenient, really, how all his notes burned in the same ”accident.” Even more convenient how the prototype vanished without a trace.

The world moved on. New discoveries were made. Papers were published about other breakthroughs. Life continued its predictable pattern of magical academia doing what magical academia does best - arguing about theoretical frameworks while missing the bigger picture.

And then Verdant Isle disappeared.

One day it was there, a thriving community of fifteen thousand souls. The next? Nothing but a smoking crater where an island used to be. The first public demonstration of Dragon’s Breath wasn’t exactly subtle.

The textbooks would later call it ”The Mana Conflicts” - a nice, sanitized term for what was essentially everyone trying to either steal, replicate, or defend against a weapon that could turn cities into memories.

Within five years, three more countries had their own versions of Dragon’s Breath. Within ten, the death toll had reached numbers that made statisticians quit their jobs and take up farming. The kind of numbers that stop being numbers and start being tragedies.

Which just goes to show that if you’re brilliant enough to create something revolutionary, you should probably be smart enough to imagine how people might revolutionarily misuse it.

Then again, Professor Kim did keep glowing fish in his laboratory and seemed to regularly set his own mustache on fire, so perhaps expecting that level of foresight was asking a bit much.

Adom had one mission: sabotage the prototype that would one day become Dragon’s Breath and eventually kill millions. Simple enough.

But first, he needed Professor Kim to stop talking.

Just. Stop. Talking.

”—and see, the crystalline matrix here interfaces with the—” the professor was saying, hands waving enthusiastically as he knocked over what looked like a very expensive piece of equipment. He caught it without looking, still focused entirely on his explanation of magical theory. ”—which creates a cascading effect through the secondary array—”

The world’s most dangerous invention was sitting right there, covered in dust and old papers, and its creator was currently explaining the proper way to calibrate resonance frequencies while his mustache smelled like burnt hair and gel. Lots of gel.

”—absolutely fascinating implications for energy transfer across multiple—”

Stop. Talking.

That’s when Adom noticed his cat, perched on the highest shelf with predatory focus, blue eyes fixed on the dust-covered prototype.

”—and if we adjust the resonance frequency, we could theoretically—” Professor Kim’s endless monologue cut off abruptly as he spotted the cat. ”Oh! Hello there, kitty cat! Aren’t you a cute little—”

The cat didn’t even blink.

”Professor,” Hugo said slowly, ”I don’t think it likes that name.”

The cat’s eyes met Adom’s.

There was a moment of perfect understanding between man and feline. The kind of silent communication that transcends species, time, and common sense.

”Kitty cat, don’t you dare—” the professor warned, scrambling toward the shelf.

The cat’s tail twitched. Once. Deliberately.

Time seemed to slow as both Professor Kim and Hugo raised their hands, weaving a spell. But they were too late.

The cat maintained perfect eye contact with the Adom as it extended one paw and, with the kind of casual malice only felines can achieve, viciously batted the prototype off the shelf.

Adom watched it all unfold like a perfectly choreographed disaster: the prototype tumbling through the air, Professor Kim and Hugo diving forward with matching expressions of horror, papers scattering in their wake.

The cat remained on its perch, looking thoroughly pleased with itself, as if it hadn’t just potentially altered the course of history.

Or prevented it.

But then...

No sound of feline-induced destruction followed.

Adom looked down, heart sinking as he saw Hugo, hand raised and brow furrowed in concentration, holding the prototype suspended in a perfect levitation spell. Damn it.

Professor Kim stood frozen, arms still outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream that had yet to catch up with reality. For perhaps the first time since Adom had met him, the professor was completely silent.

”I’ve got it, Professor,” Hugo said, carefully maneuvering the prototype back to safety. ”It’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

The professor seemed to remember how to breathe. ”Oh thank the circles, Hugo. Thank you. Thank you!” He practically collapsed against his desk, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. ”That was... that was...”

”I am so sorry,” Adom said, watching his cat stretch lazily on its perch, looking entirely too satisfied with itself. ”I really don’t know what got into—” Actually, he knew exactly what had got into it. The same thing that made him wish Hugo had been just a fraction slower with that spell.

”No, no,” Professor Kim waved him off, definitely wiping away tears now. ”It’s a cat. Cats do cat things. It’s what they do. Can’t blame them for following their nature, can we?”

Hugo carefully placed the prototype on the professor’s desk. ”Maybe we should keep it somewhere more... secure?”

The professor’s eyes fixed on the device, now free of its dusty cover. ”Oh, this?” He noticed Adom’s intense gaze. ”I suppose you’re wondering what all the fuss is about?”

”It must be something important,” Adom said, trying to keep his voice neutral. ”To cause such a reaction.”

”Important?” Hugo snorted. ”It’s only twenty years of the professor’s life.”

”Twenty-three, actually,” Professor Kim corrected, running a gentle finger along the prototype’s edge. ”My magnum opus, you could say. The project that’s consumed nearly half my life.”

”Really?” Adom leaned forward, feigning fascination while his stomach churned. ”What exactly does it do?”

The cat’s tail twitched again, but this time Hugo shot it a warning look. ”Don’t even think about it.”

So Adom endured three more hours of theoretical discussion, nodding at the appropriate moments while the professor excitedly explained concepts that Adom had already learned – would learn? – from the professor’s own published works. Future works. Works that would be scattered across charred library remains.

The irony of correcting the professor’s theories using the professor’s future discoveries was not lost on him.

”That’s... actually a fascinating perspective,” Professor Kim said for the third time, scribbling frantically in his notebook. ”I never considered approaching the resonance matrix from that angle. Hugo, are you noting this down?”

”Every word, Professor,” Hugo replied, though he kept shooting suspicious glances at Adom. Whether it was due to the cat incident or Adom’s surprisingly deep knowledge of experimental magical theory, it was hard to tell.

Adom could have completed the prototype in two weeks if he wanted to. He had all the knowledge, after all – decades of research compressed into his memory. But that was exactly why he needed to guide the professor down a different path. Plant seeds of doubt. Suggest alternative approaches that would lead nowhere. Buy time.

”But what if,” Adom said carefully, watching the professor’s eyes light up with each new suggestion, ”we considered a non-linear absorption pattern?”

The professor’s quill stopped mid-sentence. ”Non-linear? But that would mean...”

”Complete restructuring of the base theorems,” Hugo finished, frowning at the equations.

”Exactly,” Adom said, trying not to smile as he watched twenty-three years of research begin to unravel. Sometimes the best way to prevent a disaster wasn’t to destroy it, but to ensure it never quite came together in the first place.

The guilt gnawed at Adom’s stomach as he watched the professor enthusiastically tear through decades of his life’s work, redesigning fundamental principles based on suggestions that Adom knew would lead nowhere.

The man’s pure excitement and genuine love for discovery made it worse. But then Adom remembered Verdant Isle, and the guilt became a bit more manageable.

”Oh circles!” Professor Kim suddenly exclaimed, checking his pocket watch. ”The council meeting! I completely forgot!” He scrambled around the laboratory, stuffing papers into his bag in no particular order while Hugo calmly collected the actually important documents and slipped them in as well.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author’s consent. Report any sightings.

”It was wonderful talking with you, truly fascinating discussion—” the professor rambled as he headed for the door, nearly tripping over three different chairs in the process. ”Hugo, could you—”

”Already locked the prototype cabinet, Professor.”

”Ah, yes, thank you, and the—”

”Secondary arrays are powered down.”

”Right, right, and—”

”The fish are fed, the wards are up, and you’re already ten minutes late.”

”Right! Yes! Thank you!” The professor disappeared through the door.

Adom had just started to relax when the professor’s head popped back in. ”Oh, and Adom!”

”Yes, Professor?”

”This was absolutely wonderful! Such fresh perspectives! You must come back, we have so much more to discuss! The non-linear absorption patterns alone could revolutionize—”

”Professor,” Hugo interrupted. ”The council?”

”Right! Yes! But Adom must return!”

”Don’t worry, Professor,” Hugo said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ”I’ll make sure to bring him back myself.”

”Marvelous! Simply marvelous!” And with that, the professor finally disappeared, his rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Hugo adjusted his glasses, leaning against one of the workbenches.

”So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. ”Want to tell me how a second-year student knows more about experimental magical theory than most 6th years?”

The cat jumped down from its perch, landing silently between them.

”I read a lot,” Adom said, which wasn’t technically a lie. He had read everything – would read everything? – about this field. Including Hugo’s own future contributions to magical theory.

”You read a lot,” Hugo repeated, a slight smile playing at his lips. ”And somehow developed insights that took the professor decades to reach?”

”Sometimes fresh eyes see things differently,” Adom said, carefully constructing each response. ”When you’re not bound by established theoretical frameworks, you can spot patterns that others might miss because they’re too close to the work.”

Hugo’s eyebrows rose slightly. ”That’s... actually a good point.”

”Besides,” Adom continued, ”half of what I suggested might be completely wrong. I just think it’s worth exploring different approaches.”

”No,” Hugo said, pushing off from the workbench. ”Your suggestions about the non-linear absorption patterns? Those calculations were solid. Complex, but solid.” He paused, studying Adom with renewed interest. ”You’re not just well-read. You understand this at a fundamental level.”

Adom shrugged, letting a bit of genuine pride show through. After all, he had learned from the best – including the man standing before him. ”I find it fascinating. Always have.”

”You know,” Hugo said, a glint of academic excitement replacing the suspicion in his eyes, ”there are some other projects I’ve been working on. Things that could benefit from... fresh eyes.”

”I’d be honored,” Adom said, meaning it. Future-Hugo’s research had saved countless lives during the Mana Conflicts. Getting to see his early work would be genuinely fascinating.

The cat, apparently bored with their academic détente, began methodically knocking empty vials off a nearby shelf.

”Although,” Adom added, watching the cat, ”maybe somewhere with fewer breakable things?”

Hugo laughed, the last of his suspicion melting away. ”Agreed. The east wing’s cafeteria’s still open. We could grab something to eat while we talk theory?”

*****

The day had slipped away faster than Adom expected, and he was still sitting there, staring at an empty book through Riddler’s Bane like it would somehow make words magically appear on the blank pages. Despite spending the better part of the week trying to figure out what exactly Law had given him, he had made exactly zero progress. Which was both frustrating and impressive, considering there wasn’t even anything to make progress on to begin with.

No words. No invisible ink. No hidden messages. Not even a single doodle in the margins. Just page after page of absolutely nothing.

He was starting to wonder if Law was just messing with him at this point. Maybe the real treasure was the time he’d wasted along the way.

”Hey,” Sam said from his bed, where he was sprawled out looking like he’d been hit by several successive waves of exhaustion, which, considering the day’s training, wasn’t far from the truth. ”You could just buy new glasses instead of trying to read with some old guy’s monocle.”

Adom snorted, finally letting the book drop onto his lap. ”Yeah.”

His mind was still racing with theoretical frameworks and potential alterations to history, while his cat lounged across his pillow like it owned it. The empty book could wait - it wasn’t like it was going anywhere, being empty and all.

”You know,” Sam said, voice muffled by his pillow, ”I’m really glad you didn’t die during running practice today.”

Adom snorted again. ”Thanks?”

”No, seriously.” Sam actually pushed himself up to sitting position, which was impressive given how he’d been declaring himself ’permanently horizontal’ just moments ago. ”You looked like death warmed over, but you kept going. Like, I’ve never seen anyone look so absolutely done with existence but still refusing to stop.”

”I mean, stopping would have meant dying on the spot, so...”

”That’s exactly it!” Sam was fully animated now, gesturing with unusual enthusiasm. ”You just... pushed through. And I was thinking, maybe I should do that too, you know? Not just with running, but with everything. Like, maybe I could be... better? A better version of me?”

Adom turned to look at his friend, genuinely surprised. Sam, who took pride in his ability to find the path of least resistance through life, Sam who once spent three hours figuring out how to avoid a ten-minute task, was talking about self-improvement?

The silence stretched between them, growing increasingly awkward as Sam seemed to realize what he’d just said out loud.

Adom couldn’t help it. He started laughing.

”Oh, shut up,” Sam groaned, falling back onto his bed, his face noticeably redder. ”This is why I don’t say things.”

”No, no,” Adom managed between chuckles. ”It’s just... you know what? You are changing. You’ve been different lately. In a good way.”

”Yeah?” Sam asked, trying and failing to sound disinterested.

”Yeah.” Adom stood up, stretching. ”Change looks good on you.”

The cat opened one eye to watch him move toward the door.

”Where are you going?” Sam asked, propping himself up on an elbow.

”Just need to walk a bit. Bit of insomnia tonight.”

”Ah.” Sam was already sinking back into his pillow. ”I’ll probably be asleep when you get back.”

”Probably for the best. You look like you’re about to pass out mid-sentence.”

”Do not,” Sam mumbled into his pillow, already half-asleep. ”G’night.”

”Night, Sam.”

The cat silently padded after Adom as he slipped out the door. Behind him, he could already hear Sam’s soft snoring beginning to fill the room.

Whether it was the [Iron Lungs] skill making him more resilient to fatigue, or just the endless stream of magical theories bouncing around in his head, sleep felt like a distant concept.

The conversations with Professor Kim and Hugo had stirred something in him – that familiar excitement of pushing magical boundaries that he’d known in his previous life.

The night air was crisp as he walked through the academy grounds, watching the massive stone buildings slowly drift across the landscape like clouds made of marble and granite.

The Third-Year dormitory was currently rotating clockwise, its gothic spires scraping against the star-filled sky, while the Library Tower seemed to be waltzing with the Alchemy Department, their foundations leaving trails of soft blue light in their wake.

”Evening, Adom,” called out Guard Captain Marina from her patrol route. She was accompanied by two newer recruits – Adom recognized them from last week’s incident with the escaped experimental frogs.

”Everything alright?” asked Devon, the younger of the two guards, hand instinctively resting on his wand.

”Just couldn’t sleep,” Adom replied, gesturing vaguely at the shifting buildings. ”Thought I’d walk it off.”

”Ah, insomnia,” Marina nodded knowingly. ”The gardens are particularly nice tonight. Just keep an eye out – the Rose Garden’s getting a bit territorial again. Tried to eat Thompson’s hat yesterday.”

”I liked that hat,” the other guard, Thompson, muttered.

”I’ll keep my distance from any suspicious-looking roses,” Adom promised, earning a chuckle from the guards.

”Stay safe, kid,” Marina called as they continued their rounds. ”And try to get some sleep eventually!”

Adom watched them disappear around a corner before continuing his walk. The Rose Garden was indeed settling into place near his dorm – he could already smell the mix of night-blooming varieties.

It was his favorite among the academy’s numerous gardens, not just for its beauty but for its personality. Even now, he could see some of the more mischievous bushes trying to rearrange themselves into new patterns while the older roses swayed disapprovingly.

A particularly bold red rose attempted to snag his sleeve as he passed, but the cat swatted it away with practiced indifference.

Finally, he reached his destination – one of the practice rooms, its stone walls still settling into place with a soft grinding sound. The room had just finished its nightly migration.

He placed his hand on the door, feeling the protective wards recognize him. This was probably a terrible idea, especially with tomorrow’s meeting with Cisco looming. But his mind was too awake, too full of possibilities, and sometimes the only way to quiet a restless mind was to exhaust it completely.

The door swung open silently, revealing the empty practice room beyond. The cat slipped in first, its tail held high like a banner, while Adom followed.

The crystal lights embedded in the walls flickered to life as he walked deeper into the practice room, casting a soft blue glow that made the polished stone floor shimmer. Adom reached the center of the room, the magical circles etched into the floor dormant but ready.

The cat settled itself on the edge of the innermost circle, tail wrapped neatly around its paws, watching him with those too-intelligent eyes. Over the past weeks, their relationship had shifted dramatically.

Ever since that conversation about curses, when Adom had tested his theory by asking the cat to respond to increasingly complex questions, things had been... different.

The cat wasn’t just smart – it was human-level intelligent, trapped in feline form. Sometimes, late at night in their dorm room, Adom would find himself discussing magical theory with it, and the cat would respond with deliberate movements: one tap for yes, two for no, or complex patterns of movement that somehow conveyed entire concepts. It was unnerving how quickly they’d developed their own form of communication.

Most people at the academy assumed it was his familiar, which made things easier to explain, but also felt wrong somehow. How do you treat something that looks like a pet but isn’t?

The cat noticed his hesitation and gave him what he’d come to recognize as its ”you’re overthinking things again” look.

”I know, I know,” Adom said quietly. ”Once I sort out a few things on my end, I promise you’re next on the list. There has to be a way to break your curse.”

The cat blinked slowly at him – their shared signal for agreement – before settling in to watch whatever experiments he was about to attempt.

Adom pulled out the broken golem knight in front of him – or what was left of it, anyway.

He’d been working on it a lot these past few days.

The cat’s ears perked up with interest, moving closer to inspect the remains.

”See this?” Adom murmured, picking up one of the larger pieces. ”Golems shouldn’t be able to use Fluid. They’re magical constructs powered by runes and crystallized mana. But this...” He traced the channels where the fluid had once flowed. ”This is more like a circulatory system. Almost organic.”

The cat placed a paw on one of the smaller pieces, then looked up at Adom with what he’d come to recognize as its ”theoretical question” expression.

”Exactly,” Adom nodded, already setting up a basic analysis array on the floor. ”If someone managed to create a hybrid between mechanical and organic systems in a golem, that would be...” He paused, remembering the future he was trying to prevent. ”Well, that would be groundbreaking. And potentially terrible.”

The cat’s tail twitched – their signal for danger or warning.

”Don’t worry,” Adom said, arranging the golem pieces within the array. ”I just want to understand how it works. Knowledge itself isn’t dangerous. It’s what people do with it that causes problems.”

The cat gave him a look that clearly said ”that’s debatable,” but settled down to watch as Adom began his analysis. Sometimes he wondered if the person trapped in that feline form had been a researcher too – they certainly had the mindset for it.

With methodical precision, Adom began dismantling the golem’s outer shell. Each piece of armor came away with careful application of a minor dispelling charm – whoever had built this hadn’t wanted it to be easily taken apart.

The cat watched intently, occasionally batting away pieces that rolled too close to the analysis array’s boundaries.

”Let’s see what you’re really made of,” Adom muttered, using Riddler’s Bane. The monocle immediately sharpened his perception, making the magical patterns more distinct. The construct’s internal structure began to make more sense – or rather, its strangeness became more apparent.

”I really don’t get it,” he said, tracing what appeared to be crystallized fluid channels. ”These pathways... they’re not just conducting mana. They’re transforming it somehow.” The cat leaned in closer, equally fascinated.

The internal architecture was unlike anything he’d seen in standard golem crafting. Instead of the usual rigid mana channels, these were more like veins, flexible and adaptive. ”It’s almost like...” Adom paused, an idea forming. ”Like it’s turning regular mana into fluid form as it flows through the system.”

But that would require...

His fingers found the central chamber where the core should be. Most golems had a simple crystalline core, a power source that fed mana through fixed channels. This was different. The core was organic, almost heart-like in its construction.

”This isn’t just a core,” he realized. ”It’s a converter. But converting mana to fluid form requires...” He trailed off, carefully extracting the core-like organ from the dismantled body and setting it on the analysis array. The golem’s remains lay scattered around them, completely inert without its power source.

The cat made a questioning sound.

”Well, technically, if we want to understand how it works...” Adom began, already knowing this was probably a terrible idea. He formed a small mana channel between his palm and the core. ”We just need to restart it. Just enough to observe the conversion process.”

The cat’s tail began to twitch nervously.

”Just a tiny bit of power,” Adom assured it, feeding a careful stream of mana into the core. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the core pulsed, once, twice, and a pattern of runes he’d never seen before began to glow along its surface.

”That’s... interesting,” he said, leaning closer to examine the runes. ”These look almost like—”

The cat suddenly hissed, fur standing on end.

”What’s wrong?” Adom asked, looking up from the core in his hands.

”Oh.”

Behind the dismantled pieces of armor, behind the exposed channels and deconstructed parts, the golem’s eyes were glowing blue.

Without its core.