Chapter 1: The End Times
After transcribing the final character of the Figaro Formula, Leon carefully closed his spellbook and left the vast, decaying library.
The sky overhead was a dull gray, scarred by deep wounds—rifts torn open by the Voidstorm. The blood-red sun, like a dying flare, spilled its light and heat recklessly, its scorching rays flooding every corner of the city. As the mist rose, life itself was being drawn out of Heather City.
The Sanctuary Tower at the city’s center still functioned, but its faint, wan glow reminded one of an aging elder at dusk. For over three thousand years, it had protected Heather City, and now, it too was nearing the end of its time.
This was Northend—a world that once birthed a glorious magical civilization, but now, drained of mana, was dying.
At its peak, Northend’s mages had elevated magic to unimaginable heights. Back then, they wielded power enough to shatter worlds, crossing the Void to wage war across countless planes. Entire races trembled beneath their staffs.
Some even called themselves living gods. Truthfully, were it not for the depletion of mana, a few among them might have achieved eternal life, their mastery of magic rivaling the divine.
But with the exhaustion of mana, all of it came to an end.
Humanity grew weaker day by day. The mighty arcane fleets lay forever moored in their ports, and the terrifying magi-crystal cannons would never roar again. The thousands of planes fell silent, no longer fearing the sudden arrival of uninvited guests.
Even those mages who once challenged gods began to fall, one after another. Only then did they realize, stripped of magic, they were powerless before time. Legendary names were carved into tombstones, buried with Northend’s decline, and finally forgotten as the ages passed...
They left behind only one thing—the library Leon had just departed from, its shelves packed with tens of thousands of magical tomes. Each book was the crystallization of their life's wisdom and experience. In the age before magic faded, any mage would have gone mad for a collection like this.
But now...
They lie quietly in the library, buried under thick layers of dust. Aside from serving as a reminder of Northend's former glory, they have no meaning left.
To Leon, they were less useful than a tiny Figaro Formula. At least the Figaro Formula could help him squeeze out a scrap more mana during meditation. Those profound theories and powerful spells, in a world where magic was utterly exhausted, were nothing more than reading material to pass the time.
"I'm really just cursed..." Leon muttered. After twenty years in Northend, he still couldn't let go of his rotten luck.
Otherwise, why is it that when others cross over, they get to save the world and carve out a glorious destiny, while I have to hunt for food in a blistering desert—and might just get buried with this doomed world someday?
It's just not fair...
At the very least, fate could have picked a better era for me...
Take Northend from ten thousand years ago, for example. Back then, magical civilization was still in its infancy, mages struggled along thorn-strewn paths, and humanity hadn't yet used magic to create miracles. But at least, in those days, the sky hadn't been torn apart by the Voidstorm, the land hadn't been swallowed by endless desert, and mana was everywhere—boundless and inexhaustible.
Most importantly, living in that era meant not having to spend every night haunted by nightmares of the world's end...
"Sigh..." Leon let out a breath, dragging his weary body through silent streets. There wasn't a sound anywhere, as if he were the last person left in the world.
Northend was dying, its resources dwindling day by day. Fewer and fewer people survived in Heather City. At this rate, the city would become a true graveyard long before the final moment arrived—swallowed by silence.
The almost hopeless future sent a chill down Leon's spine.
"No, it's really getting cold..." Leon had spent twenty years in Heather City, grown used to the blazing sun and the scorching desert outside. The sudden chill creeping up his back felt like a venomous snake slithering under his shirt—something he hadn't felt in two decades.
Fear etched across Leon's face as he looked up at the sky. Instantly, his complexion turned deathly pale.
Heather City's sky was pitch black. Endless darkness swallowed the last remnants of light. The Sanctuary Tower, which had protected Heather City for thousands of years, had finally burned through its last drop of mana.
As the final, faint glow vanished, Northend was about to face true apocalypse.
The moment the light died, the Voidstorm tore the sky apart. Giant meteors, wreathed in flame, plummeted from above. Wild energies surged, shredding the already fragile reality. Outside Heather City, howling winds and waves of sand rose like a tidal wave, crashing inwards.
The ground beneath Leon's feet collapsed. The world shook violently. Towering buildings crumbled, and countless lives vanished in an instant.
Cries for help, prayers, screams...
Heather City, silent for thousands of years, suddenly erupted in chaos. Blood and fire filled every corner. Humanity's final city had reached its end...
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"So it's finally here..." Leon stood outside his home, face blank as he watched it all unfold.
Then, he was swallowed by endless darkness.
………………
When Leon woke, the sky above him was a clear, brilliant blue. No jagged scars, no blood-red sun, and beyond the city walls, no endless desert.
Thick forests, rolling mountains, rushing rivers—everything teemed with boundless vitality.
And of course, mana—mana everywhere...
Compared to the end times, where wringing out even a drop of mana was a struggle, this era of Northend was like a shameful nouveau riche—mana saturated the air, inexhaustible, waiting to be squandered by any mage.
For Leon, who survived over twenty years in the apocalypse always scheming for even a scrap of mana, this was paradise itself.
But now, waking in paradise, Leon found no time for joy.
Because Leon realized he was inhabiting a stranger's body.
From the scraps of memory left in his mind, the body's original owner was named Matthew Merlin—a diligent ninth-level mage apprentice, once a student of the great mage Seth. His father, Roger Merlin, used to run an alchemy business and headed Goldspark Trading Company, one of Seaview City's seven major guilds.
It sounded promising—a privileged upbringing, a bright future.
Unfortunately, all that was in the past.
Matthew Merlin was truly unlucky. He'd reached the threshold of ninth-level mage apprentice, just one step away from donning the black robe and earning the respect of a true mage.
But just then, his father—the alchemy merchant—met with disaster.
A storm swallowed Goldspark Trading Company's fleet. Hundreds died, including Roger Merlin, and priceless goods sank to the bottom of the sea.
It was a true catastrophe, shaking all of Seaview City.
Naturally, that included Goldspark's creditors...
Goldspark Trading Company, one of Seaview City's seven major guilds, was picked clean overnight by creditors. Every day, bereaved families came demanding compensation—crying for lost loved ones, carting away the last scraps from the house. With no income, Matthew Merlin could no longer afford his costly magical studies and had to abandon his path a month ago to help with the debts at home.
Now the once-grand house was empty—even the mice wouldn't bother coming in. The last servant had run off three days ago with a handful of coins. All that remained was one loyal old butler and Leon, who'd crossed over into this world.
Oh, and one contract...
The contract was delivered by Roger Merlin's cousin, Felix—technically Matthew's uncle. When Roger was alive, he took good care of Felix, sharing profits and even spending a fortune to secure him a cushy job as Seaview City's sheriff—a position with endless perks.
As usual, before Roger set sail, he gave his cousin a share in the business. Felix didn't have to invest a dime—just wait for the fleet to return and collect a fat bonus.
No one expected the fleet to meet disaster, and even less that Felix would show up with the contract demanding payment the moment Roger was gone...
Now, the contract sat before Leon. The sum wasn't huge—just eight thousand gold coins. Back when Roger was alive, Matthew could burn through that much in a single magical experiment.
But things weren't what they used to be...
Eight thousand gold coins was a crushing figure for Matthew Merlin now. He couldn't pay it off even if he sold everything he owned.
But he had no choice. Felix wasn't nearly as easygoing as he used to be...
With the payment deadline looming, the already exhausted Matthew finally broke down. After breakfast this morning, he fainted—and when he woke, he was Leon...
"This guy really was unlucky..." After digesting the leftover memories, Leon couldn't help but sigh. To fall from privileged youth to this—Matthew Merlin's misfortune was truly something else.