Chapter 1
House Kellion, the renowned family of black magic, was located at the westernmost tip of the Karseon Empire.
They had amassed great wealth through the creation of Chimera guards, surgical procedures, and the production of strategic materials using the undead.
Mitchell Kellion, born as the eldest son of such a prestigious house, was the family’s pariah.
There were two main reasons for this.
The brat who killed his mother to be born.
A tragic genius.
His mother, who had a weak constitution, passed away while giving birth to Mitchell, so he had no memories of her.
However, he didn't particularly feel a sense of loss.
It was one thing to lose something you once had, but maternal love was something he had never experienced from the start, so it didn't really resonate with him.
Instead, the mana rampage he suffered at the age of ten left him with a much deeper sense of loss.
"The Young Lord… it seems he will no longer be able to handle mana."
A mana rampage was the worst possible situation a mage could face.
The rampage, which destroyed both the mana hole and the mana circuits within his body, stripped away Mitchell’s brilliant talent.
The family genius, who possessed naturally resilient mana circuits, a massive mana hole, and a rare talent for soul magic, had fallen in an instant.
Despite this, the people of the house initially strove to fix Mitchell.
He was the eldest son of a Grand Duke and a boy called a genius since birth.
The vassals had no choice but to run around trying to heal his body.
"My Lord, I will prepare experiments to fix the Young Lord’s body."
"I will look for anything that might help. If we can find an elixir, it will be much easier."
However, the Patriarch shook his head at their words.
"I can simply have more children, so do not waste the family’s power on useless endeavors."
The Patriarch's command was absolute.
Especially since it came from a 7th-circle Black Mage—a Master.
Consequently, even those who had intended to help turned their backs on Mitchell, following the Patriarch’s will.
Instead, all attention shifted toward a child of a concubine who happened to show talent in magic.
Naturally, the family’s support, which had once been focused on the eldest son and heir, was withdrawn one by one.
'Suddenly… why is everyone suddenly acting like this…?'
The servants who used to wait on him vanished, and his large, luxurious room was moved to a detached annex in a remote corner of the estate.
The banquets he used to enjoy alone in the grand dining hall were replaced by ordinary meals brought by a servant—no, meals where even the concept of taste had been thrown far away.
The vassals, who used to try and get close to him by teaching him even a single piece of knowledge, didn't show their faces once after the mana rampage.
Mitchell, who had lived under the spotlight of the family's undivided attention, could not believe this sudden change.
However, the young Mitchell believed that all the fault lay with him.
He thought he was being hated because he could no longer use magic.
'If I can use magic again, everything will go back to the way it was.'
He decided to study magic as a way to regain love and attention.
However, with no support from the family, self-study was the only option, so Mitchell immediately headed to the family library.
"Whoa, there are so many…."
Countless books filled the shelves.
Since he had always learned magic through books brought to him by personal tutors, this was his first time in the library.
"But… where should I start looking?"
His head spun at the overwhelming volume of books, but Mitchell braced himself.
He believed that if he could just use magic, everything would return to normal.
'Starting from over there!'
Mitchell walked aimlessly toward the bookshelf closest to the entrance.
He climbed the ladder, grabbed a book from the very corner, and sat down at a table.
<A Study on Ancient Magic>
Mitchell was clever enough to be called a genius.
However, this was a book far too difficult for a ten-year-old to understand. Nevertheless, Mitchell read it anyway.
Even when he couldn't understand it, he forced himself to turn the pages.
After reading it thoroughly, he pulled out the next book right beside it and read that too.
It was an ignorant method, but for Mitchell, who had been left alone after his mana rampage, it was the best he could do.
And so, two years passed.
Mitchell was flipping through a book rapidly.
The time he spent on a single page was close to an instant, and he closed the book after only thirty minutes.
Thud—
"Phew… it’s finally over."
In two years, he had read every single book in the library.
He had read the parts he didn't understand multiple times, managing to cram most of the content into his head.
However, he hadn't found what he wanted.
'There is no way to fix my body.'
As he took a deep breath in frustration, the musty scent unique to the library tickled the tip of his nose.
At first, he had hated that smell, but now he was quite used to it.
Two years was a long enough time to grow fond of something you once disliked.
It was also time enough for Mitchell to grow.
When a child is thrown into the world alone, they must be faster than a deer, cleverer than a fox, and more sensitive to danger than a rabbit to survive.
But if you want more than that—if you want your life to improve—you must do something else.
The venom to never let go once you bite, the persistence to never stop swinging a sword until you have done so tens of thousands of times, and the fighting spirit to never turn your back in fear.
Only by remembering these things can you move toward a new life.
These were words from the heroic epic of the first Knight King.
He had become a Master after endless training with a sword. Then, as heroic tales usually go, he defeated his enemies and was revered.
The important thing was that he, like Mitchell, had been abandoned by his family and rose from the very bottom.
Because of that, Mitchell was deeply moved by his words.
Although he was holding a book instead of a sword, he felt it wasn't much different.
So, he cheered himself up and made a vow.
'First, let's do what I can! I can use the magic called Soul Drain. If I can use such high-level magic, Father and the family will look at me again!'
Soul Drain was an auxiliary spell used to absorb and store souls, but it was surprisingly high-level.
This was because it required no mana, but only affinity and control over souls.
For that reason, only Black Mages of the 7th-circle or higher—masters of soul magic—could use it.
Occasionally, those with immense talent could handle it before becoming a Master.
But for Mitchell, whose mana circuits were ruined, this was the only magic he could delve into.
Mitchell took the grimoire containing the formula for Soul Drain and headed to the training grounds.
Another long three years passed.
Mitchell focused solely on mastering Soul Drain.
Finally, when he was able to use it perfectly, he emerged from the training grounds.
Mitchell believed that since he could use magic, he could become a member of the family again.
But that was a very foolish thought.
"What? He mastered Soul Drain? How persistent."
"Heh, I guess his innate talent didn't go anywhere even with the mana rampage."
"So what? He can't use any other magic."
"That's true, but… isn't it amazing? For a child to put in five years of effort to show such results. His tenacity is commendable. The Patriarch might even take interest."
"Hey, don't say useless things. Can't you tell by the fact that the Patriarch hasn't called for him yet? If he gets his hopes up after hearing you, it'll only hurt him more."
The reactions around him were cold.
No one was interested in Mitchell, who had no room for further growth.
Furthermore, while Mitchell was living in the library and training grounds, his half-brother had already become a 4th-circle Black Mage.
'Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!'
For a while, he despaired and cried countless times.
But Mitchell stood up again.
He remembered that if he wanted to do more than just survive—if he wanted his life to improve—he had to do something else.
To do that, he had to stop being a wounded young master of a prestigious house and become someone who had survived from the bottom.
At this moment, Mitchell, determined to completely discard his former self, thought about what he had to do next.
'I'll fix my body and then leave the family. I gained a hint while mastering Soul Drain.'
The problem was that he needed many souls for that.
And in the family’s training cave, the souls of serious criminals lay dormant.
'I have to meet Father—no, the Patriarch.'
Having organized his thoughts, Mitchell left his room to meet the Patriarch.
While walking, he saw a servant carrying food.
As soon as Mitchell saw the servant, he lowered his head and looked at the ground. He had always been like this.
Because he felt everything was his fault, it was hard for him to meet the eyes of the family members.
'Damn it, I just decided to change, and here I am again.'
But hadn't he decided to be reborn?
Mitchell straightened his hunched back and chest, and spoke in a bright, cheerful voice.
"You're the servant currently in charge of me, right?"
"…That is correct."
"I almost forgot because it's been so long since I saw your face. Anyway, just leave the food there and go. I have something to do."
He was clearly the Young Lord who had only been training in silence.
The servant’s eyes shook at the sudden change in atmosphere.
Mitchell walked on with a smile, and every servant and worker he met whispered as they watched him pass.
When Mitchell arrived in front of the Patriarch's office, he encountered another familiar face.
"It's been a long time, Elder Sa. I think this is the first time I've seen you since I moved to the annex. Have you been well?"
