Mushoku Tensei: The Fool Magician

Elena's talent was barely passable, sufficient only for mundane tasks. With her swordsmanship prospects limited, Roy shifted his focus to her potential as a magic swordsman. If she could excel in this area, she might one day be worthy of standing among the Seven Shadows by his side.

"Elena," Roy began, his tone steady, "don't be nervous. Relax your mind completely and try to guide your magic. Wait, you probably don't even know how to do that. Fine, I'll take care of it. Just trust me and keep yourself calm."

Elena nodded, her wide eyes betraying her apprehension.

When Roy extended his hand again, her body tensed instinctively.

He sighed, exasperated. "What did I just say? Don't be nervous!"

Realizing words alone wouldn't suffice, Roy conjured a black cloth from his magic and gently blindfolded her.

With her vision obscured, Elena's other senses sharpened. She became acutely aware of the faint electric sensation his hands left as they moved across her skin.

Roy focused intently, carefully guiding the latent magic within her.

Her magical reserves were meager—scarcely a trickle.

If Roy's magic was an ocean and Rudeus's the Yangtze River, then Elena's was nothing more than a small puddle filled by rain. The disparity was overwhelming.

Although she was still young, and her magic reserves could theoretically be expanded, her natural limits seemed painfully low. At best, she might reach the rank of a King-tier mage, but even that was a stretch. Saint-tier would be almost unattainable.

To ordinary adventurers, such an assessment might seem shocking. In their eyes, a Sword King or King-tier mage represented extraordinary power. A mere advanced-level swordsman could traverse 80% of the known world unchallenged, and an advanced mage was often the cornerstone of any party.

But for Roy, these benchmarks were pitifully low.

The true nature of this world was far more complex.

The Dragon God—a mountain so unscalable that most could only dream of even glimpsing its peak.

Hitogami's schemes—a web of intrigue impossible to unravel without immense power and cunning.

Still, when it came to magical reserves, Roy knew there was a solution.

He leaned forward, locking eyes with the crimson orbs of the silver-haired girl. "I will grant you rebirth," he declared.

Unlike Roxy, Elena was not someone Roy felt obligated to protect. He wasn't a benevolent mentor, nor did he see himself as some kind of selfless benefactor. Roy wasn't evil, but he wasn't about to hand out power freely.

Lifting Elena into his arms, he moved with purpose. The dim candlelight caught the silvery glow of her hair as he raised his right hand.

Threads of magic began weaving together, drawing in elemental forces from the air—wind, fire, water, earth. These natural energies dissipated rapidly, replaced by an ever-thickening aura of dark, malevolent magic.

The black energy grew dense, almost tangible, exuding a sinister aura so oppressive it sent chills down the spine of anyone nearby.

This was no power of a benevolent soul.

Blinded by the black cloth, Elena couldn't see the eerie spectacle unfolding. Yet, her instincts screamed at her to run.

She didn't understand what was happening, but with her body held tightly in Roy's arms, escape was impossible.

All she could do was wait—for the power she had been promised, or for whatever fate lay ahead.

Helpless, with no means to resist, she whispered a silent prayer for Roy's mercy.

The pitch-black magic seed manifested, its ancient patterns exuding an irresistible, enigmatic allure—much like the abyss itself. The more one stared into it, the more they felt an intense, dangerous pull, terrifying yet sweetly intoxicating.

Elena felt it, too. Every drop of her blood seemed to scream in desperate warning, urging her to flee. Her survival instincts, screaming for her to escape, collided with an unfamiliar, almost unnatural longing deep within. Her heart raced, not from fear, but from an insatiable craving.

It was a paradox, a deep, eerie pull that ensnared her mind and body. Despite her instincts telling her to run, she found herself drawn to it, trapped in this strange, intoxicating web.

However, the moment her thoughts began to spiral, Roy's finger touched her right arm, halting everything.

The magic seed began its integration.

The inky blackness of the seed spread like threads along Elena's arm, creeping toward her entire body. It was a force unlike anything she'd known, an immense power that surged through her veins, filling her body with something foreign yet commanding.

Roy's fingers traced her skin, and a dark, ethereal power flowed from him, guiding the magic into Elena's body. The black magic snaked through her, pulling at her life force, drawing out her own energy as it worked its way through her veins.

Despite Roy's careful guidance, Elena's face turned pale, and her body trembled. The process was far from simple. The magic was devouring her own life force, and as it did, it consumed more than just energy—it threatened to strip her of vitality itself.

Magic was an amalgamation of life force and mental power. Devouring it, therefore, was akin to consuming one's very essence. Though the magic would replenish itself once the seed fully integrated, the process was draining. She would need rest afterward to recover, and even then, the toll would linger.

Loki, being a demon, suffered little from such a process, as demons lived for millennia, their endurance beyond human comprehension. But for Elena, this was an excruciating ordeal.

Sweat poured down her face as the magic worked its way through her, the pain almost unbearable. But Roy was undeterred, focused solely on the goal. If she wished to achieve anything beyond human limits, this suffering was inevitable.

And if she couldn't bear such pain, then her potential would remain nothing more than a fleeting possibility.

Roy remained expressionless as he guided the magic toward Elena's heart, his fingers finally resting against it. Elena let out a muffled cry, tears falling silently, soaking the black cloth that covered her eyes.

Though she didn't speak, her silence surprised Roy. There were no cries of pain, no words of surrender.

In fact, Elena's resolve was not something Roy had expected. She had long ago learned to accept her origins and the hardships ahead. Her stubbornness wasn't a result of training alone—it had been forged in the crucible of her brutal upbringing.

Life in the slums was a constant battle, where every fight was ten times as dangerous. Her older brother had always protected her from the adults, but when it came to her peers, he never intervened.

Elena was brash, and she fought fiercely—often getting into brawls. After each fight, she'd rise, silently recovering, and then return to challenge them again. From one-on-one battles, she'd graduate to facing groups of three, five, and eventually, even ten. Fearless, she stood strong, always ready for the next round.

She'd often turn her gaze toward those younger and weaker than her, then to those stronger, until eventually, she'd face off with swordmasters. It was clear: Elena's resilience and mental strength far surpassed that of most her age. That was the reason she'd made it this far.

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Bonus Chapter:

100 Power Stones = 1 BC

300 Power Stones = 2 BC

500 Power Stones = 3 BC

700 Power Stones = 4 BC

1000 Power Stones = 5 BC

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