Marth used his magical sense to examine his new body. To his satisfaction, he found that he had retained all the magic power from his past life—after all, the source of magic was the soul, not the body.
Of course, there were limits. He couldn't cast high-tier spells freely. His current body simply couldn't withstand the strain of channeling dense mana. In his previous life, he had undergone countless body enhancements to bear the intensity of powerful magic—rituals, alchemical transmutations, and necromantic alterations that gradually refined his vessel into something superhuman. More than that, as a demilich, he had long since evolved into a high-tier magical being capable of surviving streams of pure arcane energy.
Now, in the fragile body of a twelve-year-old boy, he estimated he could handle spells up to Tier Four, and that only because of his near-perfect control over mana flow. His precision and discipline made what would be impossible for most, barely manageable for him.
Magic was formally divided into twelve tiers, with Tier One being the weakest and Tier Twelve reserved for world-shattering sorceries. Beyond that, there were a few obscure spells that surpassed even Tier Twelve—magic that warped reality itself. Marth had access to some of these forbidden arts, though casting them in his current form would be suicidal. He could still use a handful of them, but only under extremely controlled conditions—and only if he was prepared to pay the price.
Marth stepped out of his room and made his way through the quiet wooden house, searching for his grandmother.
After his parents had been killed by magical beasts when he was only two, it was his grandmother who had taken him in and raised him. She was a witch—a practitioner of an older, more ritualistic form of magic that had long fallen out of favor. Witchcraft emphasized ritual magic, soul binding, mind enchantments, and traditional alchemy and potioncraft. Though many mages considered witches outdated, Marth knew firsthand how deep their knowledge ran. When mastered, any path of magic—no matter how obscure—could lead to unimaginable power.
In his first life, his magical foundation had been built under his grandmother's care. From a very young age, she had introduced him to the arts of brewing, sigils, and the old ways of soul sensing. Though her methods differed from the formal arcane systems taught at the Imperial Academy, they had given him an edge others lacked.
He searched the house but found no sign of her. Then he remembered—she often worked in her basement laboratory during the early hours.
Sure enough, when he descended the creaking stairs and opened the old iron door, he found her standing at her workstation, carefully pouring a thick, glowing liquid into a glass vial. Marth instantly recognized it—a modified version of the Body Rejuvenation Potion, a formula meant to restore minor vitality and ease the burdens of aging.
He waited silently until she finished her task. When she finally corked the bottle and set it aside, he spoke.
"Grandmother..." he said quietly.
Without turning, she replied, "What is it? Shouldn't you be meditating at this hour?"
"I want to borrow three silver coins."
She was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she turned to face him, studying him with those tired but sharp eyes. After a pause, she simply said, "Take it from the cupboard."
Then she turned back to her work, trusting him without question.
Marth nodded and obeyed. She knew him well. Even at this young age, he had always been different—never playful, never reckless. While other children ran in the fields, he had buried himself in books, rituals, and spell circles. He had always seemed far older than his years.
With the coins in hand, Marth left for Rosehollow's herbalist, a small shop nestled between a bakery and a tanner's workshop. He purchased ashferns, glowmoss, whiteshade leaves, and a few other basic magical herbs—spending nearly the full three silver. Then, without delay, he returned home.
Inside his room, he arranged his old potion-making equipment. Using distilled water, he began to add the herbs in a precise sequence, pausing between additions to stir the mixture or adjust the temperature with minor flame spells. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now.
As the potion brewed slowly in the cauldron, Marth sat back and closed his eyes. He wasn't just preparing a simple concoction—this was a primer for the plan forming in his mind.
He hadn't forgotten what lay hidden just outside the town. The ruins.
Barely a mile beyond Rosehollow's outskirts, deep within the forest glen, rested the collapsed remains of an ancient structure—half-buried in the earth, veiled by vines and forgotten history. Most of the townsfolk considered it a cursed place, avoided even by hunters and herbalists.
To others, it was nothing more than crumbling stone.
But Marth knew better.
That ruin… had once been the site of a powerful underground complex—a forgotten relic of a pre-Empire civilization that toyed with the boundaries of soul magic, dimension compression, and void rituals. In his previous life, he had only discovered its significance too late.
And more painfully... it had cost him something dear.
His grandmother.
It happened during his first year at the academy. One day, a letter arrived: vague, rushed, and filled with unsettling language. She had been conducting a personal investigation near the old ruins—something she hadn't told anyone about. A week later, a second message arrived, written by the town's apothecary.
She was dead.
Found at the edge of the ruin's boundary, her body scorched by wild magic. No one could explain it. The Empire didn't investigate. They never even sent a scribe.
In his old life, Marth was too far away, too focused on climbing the academy ranks. By the time he returned home, it was too late.
But now… now he was here again.
He wouldn't waste this second chance.
This time, he would enter the ruins before anyone else. Whatever killed her—it wasn't just ambient magic or unstable wards. He suspected a seal, or worse, an incomplete binding ritual long dormant beneath the earth.
He glanced toward the bubbling potion and extinguished the heat with a flick of his fingers.
It was decided.
He would explore the ruin in secret—within the next three days, before the academy session began. He needed time to prepare a basic warding array, mana-infused rope, a soul-thread detector, and possibly a defensive charm against corrupted spirits.
There was risk, yes. But there was also reward. That ruin might contain the very artifacts or rituals needed to advance his plan for true immortality. Even incomplete fragments could grant him an edge.