Mushoku Tensei: The Fool Magician

My name is Rudeus.

I've been in this world for two years now.

And to be frank, life here hasn't been great.

I mean, I could've used my infant status to get away with all the things I never dared to do in my past life.

But that damned little brat—oh, no, that damned big brother—keeps getting in my way every single time.

Today, though, I'd decided to teach him a lesson. Teach him what it costs to humiliate someone like me.

With that thought fueling my resolve, I crept toward Roy's room, moving silently on my tiptoes. The door was ajar, so I nudged it open further, making sure it didn't creak.

Then, as I slipped inside, I was struck dumb by the scene before me.

There he was, that delicate little doll of a boy, holding a dagger in his pale, slender fingers. The blade was pitch black, shrouded in tendrils of dark threads that coiled and twisted like living things.

The moment I entered, Roy turned his cold, golden gaze on me.

His fingers flicked, spinning the dark blade like a butterfly knife. The blade twirled gracefully in the air, leaving black trails that seemed to ripple through the space around it.

"That's... incredible." I murmured, mesmerized.

But then his icy stare fell on me again, utterly devoid of warmth.

"Rudeus." He said, his voice calm and composed, with an oddly commanding undertone for a child so young. "Don't you know how to knock?"

I waved my chubby little hands, fumbling for an explanation.

But under the weight of that piercing gaze, I instinctively lowered my head and muttered, "Sorry."

Roy sighed softly. "Don't do it again." He said, gesturing for me to leave with a casual wave of his hand.

I was about to retreat when my curiosity got the better of me. "Nii-san..." I asked tentatively, "Was that magic you were using just now?"

Roy gave a small, indifferent nod.

"What kind of magic is that? And why didn't you chant?"

Ever since learning about magic at the age of one, I'd been obsessed with it, researching spells and training my mana. I'd even developed a way to cast magic without chanting. I thought I was pretty remarkable for my age.

But then Roy's lips curled into what I could only describe as a mocking smirk.

"Who told you magic requires chanting?" he asked, his tone light, almost mocking.

I blinked in confusion. "B-But... all the books say you have to chant really long phrases to cast spells." I stammered.

Roy shot me a withering look. "Magic isn't some clumsy tool. Did you honestly believe the nonsense those incompetent mages wrote in their books? If they couldn't figure it out, that's their problem. Use your brain. Just because it's written down doesn't make it true."

His words hit me like a brick. I stared at him, this four-year-old with the expression of someone who'd seen through the world's flaws. My pride felt bruised. I'd thought I was talented, extraordinary even, but now I wasn't so sure.

Before I could sink too deep into self-pity, Roy continued. "This technique I used just now? I call it Magic Sword."

My eyes lit up. "Can I learn it?" I asked eagerly.

Roy considered for a moment, then asked, "How's your mana control?"

"It's decent." I replied.

"Can you condense mana?"

"Yes, I can." I said with a confident nod.

"Good. Now try compressing it further. Don't let it transform into any element—just keep it as pure mana and compress it as much as you can."

I furrowed my brow and tried, but after a moment, I felt my mana drain rapidly. Pale and out of breath, I sighed. "I can't. The mana requirement is way too high."

Roy waved dismissively. "Figures. Looks like you're not ready yet."

Those words—"not ready"—stabbed me right in the heart.

My face turned red with frustration. He might have been expressionless, but I was convinced he was mocking me on purpose.

Just then, Roy glanced out the window. The summer sun blazed in the sky, its warmth making the clouds roll lazily across the deep blue expanse.

"Let's go outside." He said suddenly.

The words sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to refuse, but before I could say anything, his cold voice cut through the air.

"That wasn't a suggestion. It's an order."

I plastered on a forced smile, trying to reason with him. "Why go outside? It's so hot out there, and it's so much cooler here at home. Why not just stay inside?"

Roy didn't reply. He just stood there, staring at me in silence.

That silence was far more terrifying than any argument he could've made.

Rudeus swallowed nervously, locking eyes with that piercing death glare. He wanted to say something, to voice even a feeble protest against going outside, but the words refused to come out.

In the end, he was dragged out the door anyway. With a weak, reluctant wave to Lilia and a muttered, "I'm heading out." He followed Roy, his expression akin to someone being led to their doom.

Yet, outside, the world was surprisingly beautiful. The weather wasn't unbearably hot today; a gentle breeze brushed past, bringing with it a faint, cooling touch. Fields of golden wheat stretched out before them, farmers busily working the land, while children their age played carefree in the distance.

Rudeus glanced around warily, his apprehension etched on his face. Despite two years having passed, the trauma in his heart hadn't healed. He'd always been a timid soul, and this open, lively world still made him uneasy.

Then, unexpectedly, a warm hand clasped his own.

Rudeus froze, startled. His gaze darted up to see Roy's face, where a faint smile rested at the corners of his lips.

It was a smile as gentle as spring sunlight, as soothing as an autumn breeze. Subtle, but mesmerizing.

The sunlight illuminated Roy's golden hair, strands shimmering like liquid gold as they swayed softly in the wind. His serene blue eyes reflected a tranquil calm, like an unspoiled spring untouched by turmoil.

For a moment, Rudeus found himself captivated.

Roy led him to the edge of the golden wheat field and spoke quietly, "Hold out your hand."

Rudeus obeyed, stretching out his small hand. Roy guided it toward the wheat, allowing his fingers to graze the golden stalks. The heads of the wheat swayed gently, the ripe grains warm to the touch. A soft, ticklish sensation spread through Rudeus's hand as his fingers brushed against the stalks.

There, nestled among the wheat, a tiny insect clung to the grain, its delicate form crawling lazily.

Rudeus stared at the scene, entranced by the simplicity of it all. He was struck by a sudden, inexplicable sense of clarity.

When his gaze shifted back to Roy, their eyes met. Roy's calm, unflinching eyes seemed to see right through him, as if every secret and fear buried in his heart had been laid bare under that steady gaze.

Roy spoke softly, his voice carrying a quiet authority, yet tinged with warmth.

"I don't know what it is you're afraid of..." He said. "But life only comes once. Your health, your purpose, and the people you love—those are the things that truly matter."

Rudeus stared at him, his mind blank.

The soft, golden sunlight bathed Roy's face, casting him in an almost divine glow.

In that moment, Rudeus felt something shift deep within him.

He elevated Roy in his heart, placing him on a pedestal he'd once reserved for Roxy.

Now, Roy had claimed that sacred space.