Chapter 5: Chapter 05

“That’s it?” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. He even tried pumping more of his free points into Wisdom and Intelligence, but the numbers didn’t change. Mana regeneration stayed as slow and stubborn as ever. “So the system doesn’t reward big brains with faster recovery. Great. Guess I’ll just collapse every time I overcast.”

Stamina, at least, made more sense. He tested it by running laps around the storage room until he was out of breath, then watched the green bar refill. One point per second. Fast, reliable, and enough to keep him from collapsing even during the tavern’s busiest rush.

Health was the mystery. He’d never been hurt badly enough to see the red bar dip, so he had no idea how quickly it would tick back up. Part of him wanted to test it, but stabbing himself with a kitchen knife in front of Elaine didn’t seem like the brightest plan.

Still, the experiment left him satisfied. Now he knew exactly where his limits stood—and more importantly, where he could exploit them.

“Mana’s slow. Stamina’s fast. Health… unknown.” Ludger smirked as he stacked another clean plate. “That just means I’ll have to get smarter about when to use what. Numbers are numbers—but I’ll make them work for me.”

Ludger wasn’t finished testing. If Wisdom and Intelligence didn’t help his mana regeneration, maybe they did something else. So he waited until his mana was full, held out his hand, and cast Create Water.

At first, it seemed no different—the familiar stream poured into the basin, draining his blue bar at the same sluggish pace. But when the spell cut off, the system flashed in his vision:

(Create Water +12 EXP)

He blinked. Last time, with the same mana spent, he had only gained +8.

“…So that’s it,” he muttered, eyes narrowing with satisfaction. “More Intelligence means more water per mana. More water means more skill efficiency. And more efficiency means more experience.”

He tested it again, just to be sure. With his slightly boosted stats, the water gushed thicker, filled the basin faster, and left his mother shaking her head at the mess he made on the floor.

(Create Water +14 EXP)

Ludger smirked. “Confirmed. The system rewards output. Same mana, bigger result, more exp. Perfect.”

As he dried his hands on a rag, another thought crept into his mind—one equal parts clever and ridiculous. If he could keep this up, he could become…

“A living irrigation system,” he mused, smirking at his reflection in a spoon. “Imagine: farmers lining up, paying me pocket money just to water their fields. A walking, talking well.”

It wasn’t exactly the heroic fantasy he had pictured, but Ludger wasn’t above making coin if the opportunity presented itself. Besides, it would be good training. Every bucket, every barrel, every stubborn farmer’s field—it all meant more experience.

“Not glamorous,” he thought as he went back to stacking dishes. “But every great mage starts somewhere. If mine’s at the bottom of a well, so be it.”

Despite all his clever tricks—washing dishes with Create Water, filling barrels in the back, even sneaking a few experiments when Elaine wasn’t looking—it still took a long while for Ludger to push his Mage Class forward.

Five months, to be exact. Five months of draining himself to exhaustion, waiting for his pitiful mana regeneration to crawl back, then casting again. Over and over, day after day, until the system finally rewarded him.

(Mage Class — Level 05 reached!)

(All Parameters +2 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom.)

Ludger collapsed on his bed that night, a tired grin stretched across his face. The Cook Job had sharpened his hands and given him precision, but the Mage Class was shaping his mind, slowly sculpting his build toward something far more magical. Each level doubled down on the same bonuses, and it was showing.

His thoughts flowed sharper than ever, connecting dots before he even realized he’d made the leap. Words in the local language came faster, equations clicked into place, and his mana control—even with its glacial regeneration—felt smoother every time he summoned it.

“Two Intelligence, two Wisdom per level…” Ludger muttered, staring at the glowing screen hovering above him. “At this rate, I’m going to turn into a walking mana battery. Definitely not the path of a swordsman.”

Still, he wasn’t disappointed. In his first life, he’d wasted his chance. In this one, he was becoming something else entirely. A mage—not just any mage, but one with a system, a stubborn streak, and more ambition than the world would be ready for.

And this was only the beginning.

Despite all his clever tricks—washing dishes with Create Water, filling barrels in the back, even sneaking a few experiments when Elaine wasn’t looking—it still took a long while for Ludger to push his Mage Class forward.

Five months, to be exact. Five months of draining himself to exhaustion, waiting for his pitiful mana regeneration to crawl back, then casting again. Over and over, day after day, until the system finally rewarded him.

(Mage Class — Level 05 reached!)

(+2 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom.)

Ludger collapsed on his bed that night, a tired grin stretched across his face. The Cook Job had sharpened his hands and given him precision, but the Mage Class was shaping his mind, slowly sculpting his build toward something far more magical. Each level doubled down on the same bonuses, and it was showing.

His thoughts flowed sharper than ever, connecting dots before he even realized he’d made the leap. Words in the local language came faster, equations clicked into place, and his mana control—even with its glacial regeneration—felt smoother every time he summoned it.

“Two Intelligence, two Wisdom per level…” Ludger muttered, staring at the glowing screen hovering above him. “At this rate, I’m going to turn into a walking mana battery. Definitely not the path of a swordsman.”

Still, he wasn’t disappointed. In his first life, he’d wasted his chance. In this one, he was becoming something else entirely. A mage—not just any mage, but one with a system, a stubborn streak, and more ambition than the world would be ready for.

And this was only the beginning.

When the glowing message of his Mage Class reaching level five finally faded, another line of text appeared in Ludger’s vision.

(New Skill Acquired — Tinder Lv 01)

He sat up straighter, eyes gleaming as the description scrolled across his mind.

Tinder (Lv 01): Creates a small spark of fire that remains active as long as mana is maintained. Mana cost: 5 per second.

Ludger immediately raised his hand, letting mana gather at his fingertip. A tiny spark crackled to life, flickering like the flame of a match. It wavered in the air, fragile but steady, and warmth brushed against his skin.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His mana ticked downward with every passing second, but he couldn’t stop grinning. “So that’s it,” he whispered to himself. “Fire.”

It wasn’t a fireball. It wasn’t an inferno. But it was the start.

He remembered Maurien’s gravelly voice, echoing in his head: Magic begins with survival. Water, fire, shelter—these are the tools you need to live.

Maurien hadn’t been joking. First water, now fire. Spells meant to keep a person alive in the wild, not wage wars. Practical, basic, humble—and exactly the foundation Ludger needed.

He snuffed out the spark before Elaine could peek in and panic, then flopped back onto his bed, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“Survival first,” he thought. “But give me time… and this spark will become something much bigger.”

Ludger’s magic training became routine—drain his mana with Create Water and Tinder, wait for the blue bar to crawl back point by agonizing point, then do it again. Day after day, it was the same cycle. And as much as he loved the thrill of seeing new skills bloom, one truth gnawed at him:

He had far too much downtime.

When his mana ran dry, he was useless. A lump. A genius toddler stuck twiddling his thumbs while his system bars crawled upward.

Ludger hated that.

One night, staring at his status screen, his eyes slid down to his Stamina bar. Unlike Mana, that green bar refilled fast—so fast it almost never emptied. And when it did, it came back in minutes, not hours.

He tapped the air where the bar floated, lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been playing the magical genius, sure. But what’s the point of sitting idle every time I run out of mana? If I had a physical class, I’d never waste time.”

It made perfect sense. Even if his child’s body was too small to swing a sword or carry heavy armor, the skills were what mattered. Skills that consumed stamina, skills that let him train endlessly. They’d be easier to grind, too—stamina recovered so quickly it was practically begging to be used.

“Magic for when my mana’s full. A physical class for when it’s empty,” Ludger thought, grinning as the plan formed in his head. “Why not both? The system gave me infinite paths—I’d be a fool not to walk more than one.”

The only question now was how.

He needed a Master again. A swordsman, a brawler, even a guard willing to humor a child. Anything that would unlock the physical side of the system and let him burn through that endless green bar.

And this time, Ludger was determined to choose wisely.

There was a problem, though.

Even after months had passed since that night in the tavern—when Ludger had let Create Water overflow into a cup for the first time—people still whispered whenever he walked by.

They weren’t loud whispers, but Ludger’s sharpened ears caught them all the same.

“That’s him, the boy who made water spill from his hand…”

“I heard Maurien took him as a disciple.”

“No wonder the old mage hasn’t left the city—he’s got a prodigy under his wing.”

Some voices carried awe, others carried unease. A few even carried suspicion.

But no one dared to act.

Maurien had made sure of that. His name alone was enough to silence questions, and every time someone began to wonder aloud, the thought of crossing one of the city’s oldest mages quickly shut their mouths. Low-life opportunists and petty thugs avoided Ludger like he carried the plague. Even the tavern’s rowdier adventurers kept their distance, unwilling to test Maurien’s claim.

For Ludger, it was both a relief and a frustration. On one hand, it meant safety for him and his mother. On the other, it meant people still treated him like something strange—something unnatural.

He learned to play dumb, smiling innocently when he was out in the streets, pretending not to hear the hushed tones around him. But inside, he smirked. Maurien’s words had worked perfectly.

No trouble had arisen yet.

But Ludger knew it was only a matter of time before whispers alone wouldn’t be enough to keep danger away.

Since that night in the tavern, people had simply assumed Maurien was Ludger’s mentor. After all, the old mage had claimed him openly as a disciple to shield him, and no one had been foolish enough to challenge those words.

But that created a new problem.

If he went looking for another master—someone to teach him a physical art—it would raise questions. Why would a mage’s disciple need training from a swordsman or a brawler? At best, people would find it strange. At worst, they’d suspect something he couldn’t explain.

Still, Ludger wasn’t worried.

He didn’t need a grand apprenticeship or years of lessons. The system didn’t care about contracts, oaths, or bloodlines. All it needed was one thing: a spark. A single, genuine transfer of knowledge, and it would do the rest.

If someone was willing to teach him one basic skill—just one—then the system would recognize that person as his Class Master and unlock a new path. From there, Ludger could grind it endlessly on his own.

He smirked at the thought. “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand forever. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll take it from there.”

The trick, then, was finding someone who wouldn’t hesitate to humor a curious child. A guard teaching him how to swing a stick. A brawler showing him how to throw a punch. Even a farmer handing him an axe for chopping wood.

One skill. That’s all he needed. And the system would do its magic.

The best class, Ludger reasoned, would be one that didn’t need a weapon. Weapons were expensive, they broke, and more importantly, Elaine would never let him near a blade big enough to do real damage. If he wanted a physical class, it had to be something he could train anywhere, anytime, with nothing but his body.

Martial arts.

The thought made him grin. In his old life, before the endless grind of corporate slavery crushed him, he’d lived for it. Karate in dusty gyms, boxing in cramped rings, Muay Thai in sweat-soaked studios—each one had been a piece of his soul. The rhythm of footwork, the snap of a punch, the burn of training until his muscles screamed… those had been the moments when he felt most alive.

And then, he’d thrown it all away. Too many excuses, too much “real life” in the way, until all that remained was paperwork, deadlines, and regret.

But now? Now he had a second life, and the system at his side.

“If I could unlock a Martial path,” Ludger thought, eyes glinting as he clenched his small fists, “I could bring all that back. No gear, no excuses, just fists, feet, and stamina. The perfect counterbalance to my magic.”

He smirked. Every punch and kick could be training. Every repetition would be progress. With his stamina regenerating so quickly, he could grind forever.

The only question was simple: who would teach a four-year-old the first step of martial arts?

Ludger decided to start simple. If there was any place to find a fighter, it had to be the tavern. Mercenaries, brawlers, guards—they all drank here eventually. All he needed was one hint, one name, one person to latch onto.

So he listened.

Every time he passed between tables with a rag or a stack of dishes, his ears perked. He strained to catch snippets of conversation between clinks of mugs and bursts of laughter. Maybe someone would brag about a local champion. Maybe he’d overhear a story about a fighter who trained others.

Unfortunately, taverns weren’t libraries.

The noise was relentless. Dice slammed against tables, drunken arguments broke out over spilled ale, and half the stories he caught were slurred nonsense about dragons as big as mountains or someone’s cousin beating ten men with a spoon.

By the end of the night, Ludger rubbed his temples, scowling as he ducked behind the bar to escape the chaos. “Who would’ve thought drunkards would be so noisy?” he muttered. “How’s a guy supposed to track down a martial artist when everyone here can barely stand straight?”

He sighed, already recalculating. If he wanted real information, he might have to change tactics. Taverns gave gossip, yes—but too much of it, buried under drunken exaggeration.

Still, somewhere out there was the right person. And Ludger wasn’t about to give up.

While Ludger sulked in the back, trying to decide his next move, the tavern door creaked open. A gust of cold evening air swept in, along with a heavy clank of metal boots against the floor.

He looked up—and his annoyance vanished instantly.

A new group of clients had arrived, but they weren’t like the usual mercenaries or drunkards with rusty swords. These people had gear. Not just weapons, but polished steel armor that gleamed under the tavern’s lantern light. A longsword strapped to one man’s back, a warhammer nearly dragging across the floor in another’s grip, a bow taller than Ludger himself resting at the side of a woman with sharp eyes.

They moved with the kind of presence that made the tavern quiet for a moment, every head turning to watch them pass. Their steps were confident, practiced—not the swagger of amateurs, but the calm assurance of seasoned adventurers.

Ludger’s eyes widened, his little fists tightening with excitement. “Finally,” he thought. “The real deal.”