Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

The warm, rich aroma of fresh pastries and roasted coffee beans enveloped Adom as he settled into a corner table at the Crimson Leaf Teahouse. The establishment was relatively new, having opened just two months ago, and Adom had been curious about it ever since hearing fellow students rave about their unique offerings.

The display case near the entrance showcased pastries he’d never seen even in his past life—airy ring-shaped dough glazed with vibrant fruit coatings that the Valandian bakers called ”doh-nats,” elongated cream-filled tubes with chocolate tops from Southern Cascadia known as ”éclairs,” and his personal favorite, the flaky, buttery shells filled with sweet custard that everyone simply called ”puffs.” The small Eastern Isles influence was evident in the delicate rice-flour confections dusted with powdered sugar.

Not that Adom could blame the place for becoming something of a tourist attraction—the chocolate pastries alone were worth traveling for.

Zuni perched on the table’s edge, his smile fixed in place as he surveyed the bustling tearoom with those amber eyes.

”Don’t stare,” Adom murmured, though he found himself doing exactly that.

Not at Zuni, but at the group of elves seated three tables away. Five of them, some with silver-white hair and angular features that marked them as High Elves from the northern forests. They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally breaking into laughter.

Elves in Arkhos City weren’t completely unheard of, but they were rare enough to draw attention. Especially now.

With Sundar’s recent annexation of two elven border cities—Silvermoon and Everbranch—the already tense relationship between humans and elves had deteriorated further. The official line was that these were ”protective occupations” against Farmusian influence, but nobody really believed that. Not when human settlers were already being moved into formerly elven districts.

The elves in the teahouse were clearly diplomatic staff, judging by their formal attire and the small silver pins on their collars marking them as protected foreign dignitaries. Likely here for negotiations that would go nowhere.

Everyone in the teahouse kept stealing glances at them, some with curiosity, others with barely disguised hostility. The current political climate had done nothing to improve centuries of mutual distrust.

”Here you are, sir.” A waitress appeared at Adom’s table, setting down a steaming cup of black tea, a chocolate pastry with cream oozing from its sides, and a small dish of candied peanuts. ”Will there be anything else?”

”No, this is perfect. Thank you,” Adom replied, sliding a few copper coins across the table as a tip.

As the waitress departed, Adom pushed the dish of peanuts toward Zuni, who had been eyeing them with steadily increasing intensity since their arrival.

”These are for you,” he said. ”Try not to make a mess.”

Zuni stared at the candied peanuts. Then at Adom. Then back at the peanuts. His spines quivered slightly, betraying an excitement that his permanent smile couldn’t express.

With caution, as if approaching a potentially dangerous object, Zuni extended one tiny paw and selected a single peanut. He sniffed it thoroughly, turning it over several times before finally taking a small, tentative bite.

There was a moment of absolute stillness.

Then Zuni’s amber eyes widened dramatically, the pupils dilating to almost completely black. Without warning, the quillick lunged at the dish, cramming peanuts into his mouth with such ferocious speed that Adom nearly spilled his tea in surprise.

”Whoa! Slow down!” Adom reached for the dish, but Zuni let out a warning chirp that sounded disturbingly like a growl.

Four, five, six peanuts disappeared into the quillick’s cheeks, which bulged to absurd proportions. It looked as though Zuni had somehow managed to store several times his face’s volume in food. His chewing motions were minimal—he seemed more intent on hoarding than actually eating.

”You’re going to choke,” Adom warned, making another attempt to remove the dish. This time, Zuni actually hissed at him, spines bristling defensively while maintaining his eerily permanent smile.

”Fine, choke then. See if I care,” Adom muttered, reaching for his tea instead.

A sudden thought struck him, and he pulled out the care instructions from his pocket, scanning quickly for dietary information. His eyes landed on a paragraph bordered in red:

WARNING: Quillicks are highly susceptible to sugar addiction. Even small amounts can trigger compulsive consumption. AVOID ALL SWEETENED FOODS, particularly candied nuts, which quillicks find irresistible to the point of potential self-harm.

Adom looked up from the paper to find Zuni now completely motionless, cheeks bulging impossibly, one paw frozen halfway to his mouth with another peanut. The quillick’s eyes had glazed over in what could only be described as a sugar-induced trance.

”Oh no you don’t,” Adom said, snatching the dish away. ”Spit those out.”

Zuni responded by slowly backing away, maintaining eye contact while somehow looking simultaneously guilty and defiant.

”Zuni,” Adom said firmly, ”those are bad for you. Spit. Them. Out.”

The quillick’s spines flattened against his body, and he hunched down, protecting his ill-gotten treasure.

”Don’t make me force you,” Adom warned. ”I will physically remove those peanuts if I have to.”

Zuni made a muffled chirping sound and somehow managed to fit yet another peanut into his already overstuffed cheeks.

Adom lunged across the table, hands outstretched to capture the sugar-crazed creature. Zuni darted sideways with surprising speed, especially given his hamster-like cheek pouches. The ensuing chase knocked over Adom’s teacup, sending dark liquid spreading across the table.

”Come here, you little—” Adom made another grab, fingers just brushing Zuni’s spines as the quillick scurried behind the pastry plate.

Several patrons were now openly staring at the spectacle. From the corner of his eye, Adom could see the elves watching with expressions of amused disdain, as if his inability to control one small creature confirmed everything they believed about human incompetence.

Zuni, clearly enjoying the attention, performed an elaborate evasive maneuver that somehow involved spinning in a complete circle while maintaining his improbable head tilt. He chirped triumphantly through his stuffed cheeks.

”This isn’t funny,” Adom hissed, grabbing a napkin to dam the spreading tea before it dripped onto his pants. ”You could seriously harm yourself!”

Adom mentally wove [Levitate]. The magic took effect immediately, surrounding Zuni in a faint blue glow and lifting the startled quillick a few inches into the air. The creature’s legs paddled frantically, finding no purchase as Adom calmly reached out and plucked him from his magical suspension.

”Gotcha,” Adom declared, holding the squirming quillick. ”Now, open up and—”

”Is this a bad time?”

Adom looked up to find Yann standing beside the table, eyebrows raised as he surveyed the chaos—spilled tea, abandoned pastry, and Adom holding a squirming, chipmunk-cheeked quillick at eye level.

”He’s going to choke himself on candied peanuts,” Adom explained, as if this were a perfectly normal explanation for the scene.

Yann’s lips twitched. ”I see. And here I thought you were just enthusiastically bonding with your new familiar.”

”He’s not my familiar,” Adom corrected automatically, still maintaining his grip on the struggling Zuni. ”He’s just a class project.”

”Mm-hmm,” Yann replied, sliding into the seat across from Adom. ”A very successful project, judging by his willingness to die for your candied peanuts.”

A waitress approached, eyeing the commotion with professional wariness. ”Can I get you something, sir?”

”Chamomile tea and whatever pastry isn’t chocolate,” Yann said without looking up. ”I’m allergic.”

She nodded and disappeared, leaving them to their peculiar tableau.

”So,” Adom said, giving Zuni a stern look, ”how’s Sonja doing?”

Yann’s eyebrows shot up. ”Why would you ask me that?”

Adom didn’t say anything, just fixed Yann with a flat stare that conveyed volumes. The kind of stare that said, ”Really? We’re doing this?”

Yann sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. ”She’s fine. We were together this morning, actually. Her leg’s healing well—almost no limp now.”

”Thought so,” Adom said, failing to suppress a smile.

”Don’t look so smug,” Yann muttered. ”It’s not what you think.”

”Sure it isn’t.”

Zuni chose that moment to launch another escape attempt, twisting in Adom’s grip and pressing his grinding plates against Adom’s thumb in what appeared to be an attempt to bite. Between [White Wyrm’s body] and the quillick’s ineffective mouth parts, he barely felt it.

”He’s persistent,” Yann observed.

”You have no idea,” Adom replied, repositioning his grip to avoid the quillick’s grinding efforts. ”I think the sugar made him feral.”

The waitress returned with Yann’s order, setting down a steaming cup of chamomile tea and a plain pastry dusted with powdered sugar. If she found anything strange about the ongoing quillick situation, she kept it to herself.

”Thank you,” Yann said, offering her a warm smile.

Once she’d left, he turned his attention back to Adom and the still-struggling Zuni. ”So, this is what Xerkes is teaching third-years now? Quillick wrestling?”

”Basic Bonding,” Adom explained. ”Supposedly to help us understand druidic principles. All I’ve learned so far is that quillicks are stubborn and have no sense of self-preservation.”

Zuni made an affronted noise and pressed his grinding plates against Adom’s thumb again. This time Adom just rolled his eyes.

”Those don’t hurt?”

”After what we went through in the dungeon? This is nothing.”

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Yann nodded, taking a sip of his tea. A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by Zuni’s occasional chirps of protest.

Finally, Adom asked the question that had been on his mind since their return. ”So, what did you want to talk about? You seemed pretty serious at the checkpoint.”

Yann set down his cup, expression turning thoughtful. ”I was, yes.” He glanced around the teahouse, noting the other patrons—particularly the elves—before continuing. ”It’s about the dungeon.”

”The gankers?” Adom leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. ”Is this about them?”

”Not entirely,” Yann said, carefully running a finger around the rim of his teacup. ”Though they’re certainly part of it.”

Adom waited, but Yann seemed unusually hesitant. The healer took another deliberate sip of his tea, buying time.

”Do you remember when I mentioned knowing your father?” Yann finally asked.

Adom’s eyebrows shot up. Zuni, sensing his distraction, performed one final squirm and broke free, scampering across the table to lick up the last few crumbs of candied peanuts. Adom barely noticed. The quillick had emptied the plate anyway.

”I remember,” Adom said cautiously.

Yann set down his cup with a soft clink. ”There’s something I didn’t tell you at the time. I was always planning to join your party in that dungeon.”

”What?” Adom’s voice came out sharper than he intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables.

”Your father called in a favor,” Yann continued, lowering his voice. ”Asked me to keep an eye on you. From a distance, of course.”

Adom’s mind raced. His father hadn’t mentioned this at all. Not a word. Not even a hint. ”Why wouldn’t he tell me that?”

”Don’t make that face,” Yann said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. ”He had his reasons.”

”Which were?”

”Your father knew I was leaving the army. Around the same time, he received some concerning news about changes at the Academy—before you students did, I imagine. It was making quite a stir in certain circles.”

Yann glanced around before continuing. ”There was talk about students potentially being drafted for military service. Nothing official yet, but enough smoke to suggest fire.”

Adom frowned.

”Your father received this news right around the time I was preparing to leave the service,” Yann continued. ”He was worried. With your involvement in Prince Kalyon’s arrest, sending you to Xerkes suddenly felt like—”

”Throwing me to the lions,” Adom finished, understanding dawning.

”His words exactly.”

Zuni, having licked the plate clean, waddled back to Adom with obvious difficulty. His distended cheeks made him look like an entirely different species. He curled up in an exhausted sugar-induced stupor next to Adom’s hand.

”But why the secrecy?” Adom asked, absently stroking Zuni’s back. ”I’m not mad. An extra hand is always welcome, especially one as skilled as yours. Why not just tell me?”

Yann broke off a piece of his pastry, considering his words carefully. ”Initially, your father only asked me to keep an eye on you for a short while. Make sure everything was alright, then move on.”

”And?”

”And then the dungeon happened.” Yann’s expression hardened. ”No help during a ganker attack? In a beginner dungeon? That doesn’t just happen, Adom.”

”You think someone set us up too, huh?”

”I think,” Yann said slowly, ”that the coincidence is too convenient to ignore. Gankers ambushing third-year students in what should have been a safe training environment? And no response team arriving despite multiple distress signals?”

”Sabotage,” Adom murmured.

”Exactly. Which is why I decided to stay a bit longer than your father originally asked. I wanted to tell you about his involvement so you wouldn’t find my continued presence suspicious.”

”You want to investigate,” Adom said. It wasn’t a question.

”Someone has to,” Yann replied. ”And if I’m right, you’re still in danger.”

Adom stared at the ceiling for a moment, considering. His father might not have had time to send a letter about Yann before he left for the Academy, but it was unusual for him to leave out such a detail. Still, jumping to conclusions wouldn’t help.

I’ll send a letter to him through Bob, Adom thought finally.

Zuni stirred from his sugar-induced nap, struggling to his feet with visible effort. His distended cheeks wobbled as he attempted to climb Adom’s sleeve.

”So what exactly do you want to do now?” Adom asked, gently depositing the quillick back on the table. ”Stay with the party? Keep investigating?”

Yann traced the rim of his teacup with one finger. ”Well, I owe your father a favor. I’ll stay and help however I can.” His expression softened unexpectedly. ”And Arkhos is... nicer than I anticipated.”

He gazed out the window at the bustling street. ”I could see myself setting up a small restaurant here. Something simple but elegant. Maybe find someone to settle down with, start a family...”

Yann’s voice trailed off, his eyes taking on a distant look.

Adom regarded him with the skeptical squint of an old man who’d heard too many wild schemes in his lifetime. It was the same look he’d perfected in his previous life when hearing yet another ”foolproof” investment pitch.

Yann caught the expression and cleared his throat. ”Anyway. Yes, I intend to stay with the party. We should investigate who might be targeting you—possibly someone supporting the Prince?”

”And I should report this to the Academy,” Adom added.

”Exactly. Though carefully. Until we know who’s involved...”

”Trust no one. Yeah, that was already the plan.” Adom sighed. ”This is going to complicate things.”

”Better complicated than dead,” Yann pointed out.

Adom couldn’t argue with that logic.

They moved on to lighter topics after that and after finishing their tea and settling the bill, they stood to leave. Zuni, recovering from his sugar binge, looked marginally more alert but still moved with the sluggishness of someone deeply regretting their life choices.

”Ugh, come on,” Adom said, scooping up the quillick.

”Want me to take a look at him?” Yann offered.

”Oh, he’ll be fine. A hard lesson learned.” Adom tucked Zuni into his robe pocket, where the creature immediately curled into a spiny ball.

”Until next time, then, I’ll send you a raven.” Yann said with a nod.

Outside the teahouse, Adom stretched his arms overhead, feeling tension leave his shoulders as joints popped. Zuni stirred in his pocket, still groggy from his sugar binge.

”Making enemies isn’t exactly surprising,” Adom muttered to himself as he set off down the street. ”Comes with the territory of helping arrest a prince.”

A group of students passed by, their Academy uniforms pristine compared to his slightly rumpled appearance. They nodded politely, probably recognizing him.

The trial couldn’t come soon enough. Once Kalyon was judged, Adom might finally get some clarity on who exactly he needed to attack for Dragon’s Breath. The waiting was the worst part—knowing someone was working on the weapon without knowing exactly how many.

He needed to get ready to face them when the time came.

Adom paused at an intersection, a sudden thought striking him. Speaking of getting ready—what about Mr. Biggins? Had he and the others returned?

He changed course, heading toward the Weird Stuff store instead of the Academy. The detour would add twenty minutes to his walk, but curiosity won out over practicality.

The storefront appeared—slightly crooked sign, windows packed with odd trinkets that seemed to shift positions when you weren’t looking directly at them. The three cats that served as unofficial store guardians lounged on the front steps, soaking up patches of late afternoon sunlight.

Adom waved at them as he approached. The orange tabby lifted its head and meowed lazily. The black one didn’t bother opening its eyes, while a gray one with a torn ear stood and stretched dramatically, as if Adom’s arrival was the perfect excuse for a comprehensive repositioning.

The bell over the door jingled as he entered. The store seemed different somehow—new items on shelves, different arrangements, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had changed.

”Hello?” he called out. ”Mr. Biggins?”

A rustling sound came from behind the counter, followed by the appearance of a hat. Mr. Biggins’ spectacles caught the light as he straightened up, his face breaking into a delighted smile.

”Oh! Young Adom!” he exclaimed, hurrying around the counter with surprising speed. ”How marvelous! I was just thinking I needed to send for you, and here you appear, almost as if summoned!”

He clapped his hands together. ”Hohoho! Fortuitous timing indeed! I have the most extraordinary things to show you, my boy.”

”Welcome back,” Adom said, watching Mr. Biggins flit around like an oversized hummingbird. Nobody would believe this was dragon. ”Your expedition was successful, I take it?”

Mr. Biggins placed a warm hand on Adom’s shoulder, his expression turning suddenly serious. ”The Order is getting back on its feet now that you’ve appeared, my boy. It means recruiting a few more individuals, establishing new connections.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. ”Dangerous times require trustworthy allies.”

”What did you want to show me?” Adom asked, trying to steer the conversation back to something concrete.

Mr. Biggins froze mid-gesture. His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles, focusing on Adom with sudden intensity. The shift was... jarring. The old dragon leaned in closer, head tilted at an inquisitive angle.

”What’s this?” he asked, eyes fixed on the lump in Adom’s pocket. ”A guest?”

Adom pulled the pocket open slightly, revealing Zuni’s drowsy form. ”School project. He’s sleeping off a sugar high.”

”A quillick. Fascinating.” Mr. Biggins wasn’t looking at Zuni anymore, though. His gaze had moved to Adom’s face, then down to his hands, studying him with unsettling thoroughness. ”Hmm. How very curious.”

”What?” Adom took an instinctive step back. ”What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, Mr. Biggins beckoned with one finger. ”Come, my boy. Backroom. Now.”

Before Adom could protest, the shopkeeper had already turned and was heading toward the curtained doorway behind the counter.

Curiosity was a powerful force. With a sigh, Adom followed.

Mr. Biggins stood before what appeared to be a blank wall. His fingers traced a complex pattern on the wooden paneling, leaving faint blue lines that faded almost as soon as they appeared. A series of runes briefly flashed across the surface before the entire wall shimmered and dissolved, revealing a passage.

”After you,” Mr. Biggins said with a theatrical sweep of his arm.

This was Adom’s third time entering this hidden space, but the sight still impressed him. The room beyond was massive—easily ten times larger than the entire shop—with bookshelves stretching to a ceiling so high it disappeared into shadows. Artifacts of all descriptions sat on display pedestals. A massive table dominated the center, covered with maps, scrolls, and what appeared to be astronomical charts.

”Sit,” Mr. Biggins instructed, pointing to a chair beside the table. ”I need to verify something.”

Adom sat, unease growing. ”Verify what, exactly?”

Instead of answering Adom’s question, Mr. Biggins stepped forward and placed a hand on Adom’s stomach.

”Pardon the intrusion,” he said, his eyes half-closed in concentration.

”Mr. Biggins.” Adom stiffened. ”What exactly are you doing?”

”Sensing something... interesting.” Mr. Biggins moved his hand slightly, fingers splayed as if feeling for something invisible. ”There’s a change in your mana pool.”

Adom started to pull away, but Mr. Biggins held up his other hand in a pacifying gesture.

”Just one moment more,” he murmured. Then, seemingly satisfied, he stepped back. ”You mentioned taking a skill from a vampire, yes? Healing Factor, was it?”

”Yeah,” Adom replied cautiously. ”What about it?”

”How fast does it heal you now?”

Adom thought back to his recent injuries. ”About 5.5 times faster than normal now. Why?”

Mr. Biggins straightened suddenly, his eyes wide with excitement. He took a step back, studying Adom with newfound intensity.

”Tell me,” he said, ”do you remember when I told you that you would reach your full mana pool potential around age thirty? Due to the skill?”

”Yes?” Adom’s brow furrowed. ”You said that was normal progression for—”

”I was wrong!” Mr. Biggins declared, slapping both hands on the table with enough force to send a nearby quill rolling off the edge.

”What the fuck?” Adom blurted out.

In his pocket, Zuni stirred at the commotion, poking his head out with his permanent smile somehow looking groggy.

Mr. Biggins paced back and forth, hands gesticulating wildly. ”You see, mana pools are like muscles. They grow with use, yes, but every person has a natural limit—a ceiling, if you will.”

”I know this already—”

”No, no, you don’t understand.” Mr. Biggins leaned across the table. ”For humans, that ceiling is relatively fixed. Some reach it faster than others, but the ultimate potential rarely changes. That’s why even the most talented human mages plateau eventually.”

Adom nodded impatiently. ”Right. I will stop at two circles.”

”Exactly! And I calculated that you would reach your maximum by your thirties.” Mr. Biggins’ eyes gleamed with the fervor of discovery. ”But your Healing Factor isn’t just healing wounds, my boy. It’s optimizing your entire system.”

”What are you saying?”

”Your mana pool isn’t just expanding at an accelerated rate—it’s evolving. Healing Factor is continuously rebuilding your magical pathways, making them more efficient each time. You’re not just growing faster; you’re growing beyond what should be possible.”

Adom sat back, trying to process this. ”So... I’ll reach two-circle sooner?”

”Oh, much sooner. And then you’ll keep going.”

”What?” Adom nearly stood up. ”Keep going where?”

Mr. Biggins spread his hands wide. ”That’s the fascinating part! I can’t tell you precisely. Your body is rewriting the rules.”

”How long?” Adom asked, leaning forward. ”How long until I reach one-circle?”

Mr. Biggins tapped his fingers against his chin, calculating. ”At your current rate of development... you could reach one-circle capacity by your late teens rather than mid-twenties. Maybe sooner if the skill keep developing.”

”And two-circle?”

”Early twenties, possibly. And then...” Mr. Biggins trailed off, his eyes distant with calculation.

”And then what?” Adom pressed.

”And then you keep growing.” Mr. Biggins’ voice dropped to an almost reverent whisper. ”The Healing Factor isn’t just repairing damage. It’s constantly refining your entire system—magical pathways, mana retention, even conversion efficiency.”

Adom sat in stunned silence. He had expected advantages from his abilities, certainly, but this was beyond anything he’d imagined.

”Are you sure about this?” he finally asked.

”As sure as I can be without watching you for the next decade,” Mr. Biggins replied. ”Your mana signature has already changed since I last examined you. It’s denser, more refined. Like comparing rough wool to fine silk.”

Zuni had fully emerged from Adom’s pocket now, stretching his tiny limbs before settling on the table to watch the proceedings with curious amber eyes.

”I didn’t expect this,” Adom admitted. ”I initially thought Healing Factor would just... well, heal me.”

”That’s the beauty of magic, my boy.” Mr. Biggins’ voice took on a lecturing tone. ”It rarely behaves exactly as we expect, especially when different systems interact. Your reincarnated soul, a non human ability, and your own natural talents are creating something entirely new.”

The image of Eren flashed through Adom’s mind. He had plans for helping the kid develop his talents, but had always worried it might be too much to put on his shoulders.

Now though...

Suddenly, Adom felt an emotion he never thought he’d direct at one particular person: gratitude.

Not for Helios the person, of course—the vampire had been a monster in every sense of the word. But for what he had gained from their encounter...

”Thank you, Helios,” he murmured, ”wherever you may be.”

Which was, of course, nowhere. Or hell. Depending on one’s belief.

Adom hoped it was the latter.