Rowan rcer did not announce himself to the creator of this new world.
He slipped in quietly.
Caution, not courtesy, guided him.
He had no asure yet of this world’s architect. If the being proved reasonable, dialogue could follow. If not, the creator could swat one of his lesser avatars out of existence without effort. Rowan would be forced to abandon the attempt and begin searching for another viable reality from scratch.
This vessel was expendable.
Weak by design.
But it carried his soul.
And with that ca access to authorities far beyond the body’s natural limits.
The mont his consciousness pierced the veil of the new world, he searched for a suitable anchor. A corpse—recently deceased, intact enough to serve.
There.
A boy lay in tall grass at the edge of a forest road, blood dark against the soil.
Rowan descended into the body.
He activated three intertwined authorities in silence.
The body answered.
Control settled in.
mory opened.
He breathed.
—
The Kingdom of Clover.
Magic Knights.
Wizard King.
Rowan opened his eyes slowly.
The body belonged to a fifteen-year-old nad Nokia.
An unfortunate na, he thought.
Nokia had been born in Soshi Village, a poor settlent in the kingdom’s lower realm. His parents were farrs, modest and practical. He had been neither.
He’d dread of joining the Magic Knights.
Every child in this world was born with magic. Even peasants used it to till soil, water crops, nd fences. But power varied. Most possessed only enough to assist with labor. Few were fit for battle.
At fifteen, each child received a grimoire.
The grimoire amplified spells, refined control, and could even record new magic as the wielder grew.
Nokia had received his.
Encouraged by nothing but stubborn hope, he had left ho alone to travel to the capital and take the Magic Knight entrance exam.
He never arrived.
A wild boar had charged him on the road.
With only minor healing magic and almost no combat training, he had died in the dirt.
It was not an uncommon fate.
Every year, hopeful teenagers from poor villages traveled to the capital. Most failed the exam. So never made it that far. Bandits with magic, hostile beasts, treacherous terrain—this was not a gentle world.
Rowan sifted through the boy’s mories.
Information was limited. Nokia knew little beyond village gossip and stories passed down by elders. The broader political map of the world remained unclear.
But so fundantals were clear.
The Magic Knights were Clover’s military backbone.
They answered directly to the Wizard King, not the monarch.
The Wizard King was not royalty but the strongest mage in the kingdom.
Long ago, a demon had nearly destroyed the world. A single mage had risen, led humanity’s resistance, and defeated it. That hero beca the first Wizard King. Since then, the title had passed from one powerful mage to another.
Rowan closed his eyes briefly.
A frontier boy’s perspective would not suffice.
He needed the capital.
He needed scholars, archives, high-level mages.
And perhaps—he thought with faint amusent—he could honor the boy’s ambition in the process.
"Let’s see your grimoire."
He extended a hand.
A book manifested instantly in his palm.
It was not rely an enchanted object. Rowan sensed sothing deeper—an interface between the wielder and the world’s magical law itself. A personal conduit to the underlying structure of this reality.
He flipped through its pages.
Only one spell.
Healing.
Basic wound restoration.
No offensive capability.
No elental projection.
No defensive constructs.
A farr’s spell, not a warrior’s.
No wonder a boar had killed him.
Still, Rowan considered it thoughtfully.
Healing magic was rare compared to elental types. Even minor restorative ability could make one valuable in the Knights—if displayed properly.
In Nokia’s hands, the spell nded cuts and bruises.
In Rowan’s—
He raised his hand and brushed it across his chest.
"Restore."
Light flowed.
The ragged hole left by the boar’s tusk sealed instantly. Flesh knit. Bone reford. Skin smoothed as though untouched.
The spell had not changed.
The caster had.
Rowan flexed his fingers experintally.
"With here," he murmured, "you would have made it."
He closed the grimoire.
The capital awaited.
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