1.
Magic is an incredibly difficult discipline.
To conjure even a single flame, mages had to memorize dozens of magic formulas.
Calculating mana output, setting coordinates, regulating temperature and power.
And to exaggerate slightly, one miscalculation could send a finger flying—that was common.
But all of that was a story from the past.
“Light.”
[Executing Lighting Magic.]
“Indoor temperature, 23 degrees.”
[Executing Temperature Control Formula.]
“Alarm, 7:00 AM.”
[Linking with Sleep Assistance Magic.]
“Ugh. This is convenient.”
As science advanced, people no longer needed to memorize complex magic formulas.
To be precise, this changed after the development of [Nano AI], a new technology that handled the complex calculations for you.
Nano AI.
Rumor had it that the computational efficiency of hundreds of human brains combined was crammed into a device the size of a fingernail?
Anyway, it’s the kind of thing you shove into a person’s brain and go to work.
Well, I forgot all the complicated stuff the moment I graduated high school.
Why bother remembering it when the AI does everything anyway?
Of course, magic researchers and the engineers who built Nano AI still studied.
Because someone had to understand the principles to upgrade the AI.
I was not one of those someones.
But that wasn’t a problem.
All I needed to know was how to use it.
Driving a car doesn’t require knowing how to build an engine, and using a microwave doesn’t mean you need to understand electromagnetic waves.
You say what you want.
The AI handles the rest.
That was the magic I knew, and then I died.
‘Wait, just like that???’
I was on my way to work.
I was waiting at a signal, a loud noise came from beside me, and that’s where my memory cuts off.
Whether I was hit by a car or a magic vehicle exploded, I have no idea.
Maybe it made a line or two in the news.
Not that I had any way to check.
And when I opened my eyes again.
‘Isn’t this an outdated cliché…’
I had been reborn as a newborn baby in another world.
And not just any newborn—one abandoned at an orphanage.
2.
Magic existed in this world too.
Creating fire, moving water, using mana to cause all kinds of phenomena.
On the surface, it wasn’t much different from the magic in the world I used to live in.
I think I was pretty lucky.
Why?
[User’s biological signals have been confirmed.]
Because the Nano AI had followed me all the way to the other world.
‘I guess this is some kind of reincarnation perk.’
I was born again into a world where magic existed, and I had an AI in my head that would calculate all that magic for me.
So, on the day I finally learned to speak, I slipped into an empty alley and carefully opened my mouth.
“Lihgt.”
[No executable magic formula exists.]
At first, I thought it was a pronunciation problem.
My tongue was still short back then.
“Fi-er.”
[No executable magic formula exists.]
“Firball.”
[No executable magic formula exists.]
“Wat can yu do?”
[The surrounding mana’s standard does not match stored data.]
[A sample is required to analyze the new mana system.]
Apparently, the standard was different.
The mana wavelength was different, or something.
It wasn’t compatible with the basic arrays used in existing formulas.
My mana engine was some unregistered type, and so on.
In the end, there was only one thing I understood.
“It dosn’t work…”
It was like bringing the latest smartphone to a place with no network and a different charging port.
Still, I couldn’t just give up.
For the first few years, I did my best.
Whenever a street mage cast a spell, I watched from a distance, and I scavenged discarded magic tools from the junkyard.
After learning to read, I’d squat in front of bookstores and memorize the magic books on display.
More precisely, I’d cram one page into my head, then head back to a back alley and show it to the AI.
The results were always the same.
[Observed magic formula is incomplete.]
[Core calculation unit not identified.]
[Additional sample required.]
Asking for a sample was easy.
The hard part was that a single magic book cost more than I could afford even if I starved for months.
Once, I found a hand-warmer magic tool behind the market.
The outside was cracked, but the mana stone inside was still intact.
I held it to my chest and wandered around for three days, recording every spell the passing mages cast.
Because I thought maybe this time it would work.
[Insufficient comparative samples of the same system.]
The result was the same.
In the end, I just pulled out the mana stone and sold it.
With that money, I bought two loaves of bread—I ate one that day and saved the other until it grew mold.
I should’ve just eaten it right then.
After that, I decided to keep my expectations in check.
Hope is something you can only hold onto for long when your belly is full.
And so, in my 20th year in this world.
“Spare a coin, sir?”
I had become a professional beggar.
Though, Nano AI wasn’t completely useless.
“AI. What time is it?”
[It is 11:28 AM.]
“This is spoiled, right?”
[Mold has completely infested the interior.]
The problem was that even if I knew the time, I had no job to go to, and even if I knew something was spoiled, I often had to eat it anyway.
The conveniences of civilization are, as a rule, only convenient when you have money.
For those without it, a suffering worse than death awaits.
Of course, I didn’t just lie on the street all day waiting for coins.
In the morning, I hauled cargo at the market. At noon, I dug through the trash behind restaurants. At night, I scavenged scrap metal from the junkyard.
But when money ran out, I eventually had to hold out my hand.
Pride never filled a stomach.
“A young man with perfectly good limbs. Tsk, tsk.”
An old man passing by clicked his tongue and tossed a single copper coin.
I quickly scooped up the fallen coin.
“Thank you. May you live long.”
[The subject’s estimated remaining lifespan is—]
“Don’t say that.”
With one more copper coin, my total fortune was now four coins.
Just one more and I could buy a loaf of hard bread.
Freshly baked bread cost seven coins, and soup with meat in it was twelve.
The world had a way of making people miserable with surprisingly specific numbers.
I passed by the bakery and glanced through the window.
Brown loaves of bread sat lined up on the shelves.
“…Smells good.”
Grrrrrgle.
My stomach made a more honest sound.
In my heart, I wanted to land a decent job somewhere and get a paycheck, but this godforsaken medieval fantasy world had no mercy.
They wouldn’t even let an orphan bastard get an interview, and I couldn’t bring myself to steal because of my conscience.
“Isn’t there any way to get out of this beggar life?”
[If you pull your facial muscles upward by 18%, the observed subject’s perceived misery will increase.]
“Oh. Then will I get a job?”
[There is a high probability that your begging income will increase by 30%.]
“You son of a bitch.”
The AI was spouting nonsense like that, and I still didn’t know how to use magic.
Still, I’d survived for 20 years.
That was pretty decent going, all things considered.
“Hey, you.”
Someone called out to me.
I turned my head to see the general store owner standing at the back door.
A middle-aged man with a potbelly.
He gestured with his chin toward an old sack at his feet.
“Throw that in the junkyard. Two copper coins.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“That thing’s half metal, isn’t it?”
“That’s why I’m paying you to do it.”
“Three.”
The man narrowed his eyes.
I stared back calmly.
With just one more coin, I could buy bread and still have money left over.
There was no reason to back down.
“…Tough bastard.”
“Thank you.”
The sack was much heavier than expected.
Broken glass bottles, rusty metal scraps, dented dishes—all mixed together.
When I hoisted it onto my shoulder, something inside clattered and jabbed me in the back.
[Continuous pressure detected on the right scapula area.]
“Then how about carrying it for me?”
[Physical intervention functions are not supported.]
“Didn’t think so.”
3.
When I arrived at the junkyard, I set the sack down and straightened my back.
Three copper coins richer.
Now I could buy bread.
Just as I was about to head back, a crumpled piece of paper slid out from under the sack.
At first, I thought it was wrapping paper.
Yellowed paper covered with dense red lines.
The center was scorched black, and the tiny mana stone powder embedded along the edges had lost most of its glow.
“Is this… a magic scroll?”
Items that nobles or Climbers carried around for situations where they couldn’t use magic.
All you had to do was pour in mana without constructing a magic formula yourself, and the stored spell would activate?
The most important thing was that they were expensive.
Of course, that only applied to unused ones.
The mana stone powder was all burnt out, and there was a large hole right through the middle of the formula.
Even if I took it to a scrap dealer, I’d be lucky to get the paper value.
Still, I picked up the scroll.
“Analyze it.”
[Confirming magic formula.]
I didn’t expect much.
Either way, I figured the answer would be that there wasn’t enough data, or the core calculation unit was lost, or that an additional sample was needed.
[Fire-element mana residue confirmed.]
My hand stopped.
“What?”
[Cross-referencing with existing observational data.]
[3,107 similar samples identified.]
Translucent lines rose above the crumpled scroll.
Red lines spread over the charred black paper.
Severed sections connected, erased characters filled in one by one.
For the first time in 20 years, the meaningless scribbles took shape.
[68.3% of the magic formula has been restored.]
I gripped the scroll tightly.
“What kind of magic is this?”
[Estimated to be a basic fireball.]
Fireball.
The small flame that street mages would float above their palms.
It wasn’t really impressive magic.
In this world, anyone who’d learned even a little magic was said to be able to use it.
But not me.
Because until now, I hadn’t been able to create even a single spark.
“If you restore it, can I use it?”
[Reusing the scroll is impossible.]
I knew it.
I got my hopes up for nothing.
I started to put the scroll down, then stopped.
The message wasn’t over yet.
[The restored magic formula can be reconstructed to fit the user’s mana engine.]
For a moment, no words came out.
“…Does that mean I can use it myself?”
[Additional analysis required.]
I carefully unfolded the crumpled scroll.
“…Analyze it.”
[Measuring the user’s mana structure.]
Red lines rose before my eyes.
[Beginning reconstruction of basic fireball.]