2 Rebirth

It hurts.

Pain assaulted me, bringing me out of my dream-like state. I instinctively opened my mouth to gasp-

But I had no mouth.

I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I couldn't smell.

But I could feel.

And all I felt was pain.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

But if it hurts, if I feel, it means it's working. Through the pain, I feel the barrier keeping 'me' together, slowly breaking down and spreading apart. The idea was that the barrier would be torn apart and scattered in place of myself, carrying me into-

Pain. It hurts. It hurts so bad.

This wasn't in the plans. I imagined dying would hurt, that being torn apart and scattered across the universe would put me in unimaginable pain. Yet, the act of keeping myself together burned me, pain growing from the inside out, demanding to be spread out. It was unnatural, I needed to break, I needed to stop this, I want to scream, I want to cry I need to cry I want to die I want it to stop no this is too much no it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts-

"Aaaaaaaah!"

Air! Breath! It hurts so much!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"

I can still feel the pain, slowly draining away as I scream and scream, arms flailing, eyes tearing up. It hurts, but less now, so much less, but its still unbearable, so unbearable.

"Aaaaaaah!"

I feel myself getting wrapped up in something, unable to move. The warmth soothes me as the pain ebbs away into a memory, a nightmare to be revisited one day.

A voice murmurs melodic gibberish, but the pain is gone now. It doesn't hurt, but I am so very tired. So tired. I just want to sleep…

***

So. I'm a baby now.

That was to be expected really. After all, the idea was to be reincarnated. In terms of the actual goal, looks like I'm still working at a 10/10.

However, it seems I had miscalculated a little.

Being a mage and a king, it didn't leave me wanting much. If I wanted something, I could usually get it quite easily. Even if it was something that most kings of mages couldn't get, I, being the genius I am, could usually figure something out in a few days or so.

So when it came the reincarnation spell, I figured I'd just spend a couple weeks on it, figure it all out, then implement and die in peace (but not really).

Except I had made one, crucial, unforgivable mistake.

And that was that I had to start my magic cultivation all over again.

"But *********, you knew you were going to be a baby, why wasn't this part of your plan?"

"Excellent question me. The answer is 'shut up.'"

Recreating a magical core, refining it, building up a solid seal base, all while keeping it a secret from other mages. That wasn't even counting my original plans of becoming stronger, grafting more seals onto my body, possibly using some body slaves to graft more complex seals, all in order to eventually overturn this world and become the Mage King Reborn...urgh, just going over a brief overview just to get to where I was before made me want to scatter my mind over the universe once more.

Actually no. I am never, ever...doing that again. Well, I mean, since I was going to die eventually, even if it was going to be when the universe imploded, I guess I was going to have to go through some kind of reincarnation once more. But this time, I'll make sure to make it as painless as possible.

Once I regain my magic, at least.

On the bright side, at least it seems like I've been born into a wealthy family. A family that can afford to paint portraits of stern men to look down on babies in their cots. I'd much prefer if it were a stern woman, but I can at least appreciate the artistry. I had a couple of my own portraits hung up in my room when I was a king. I could appreciate a well-painted man.

Also, it seemed like I was now one of the Ghost Folk. Those northern nomads with skin as white as snow. I was shocked at first, but I guess it only made sense. I could've reincarnated as any person, an Alvian, Mestoal, Gershevial...I guess a Ghostie was never off the table.

That said, it seems like they've had a bit of a cultural shift over the last who-knows-how-long, if they're building houses and painting portraits. If they start dragging me around to multiple mansions, talking about their traditions though, I may have to speed up my cultivation just so I can kill myself quicker.

Alright, focus. Let's try and get this core done before the year is out, at least.

***

Okay. That is weird. Good, but weird.

I know I was aiming for a year to get the core made, but somehow I managed in six months.

The fastest anyone has ever taken to form a core, at least according to my knowledge, was in a year. And that was by me, the Mage King.

Then again, this wasn't my first time doing it. Maybe my previous knowledge was helping?

Except that made no sense. Gathering magic to create a core was an exercise in sensing magic and gathering it until it condensed into a center of power. Sure, I had an upper hand in sensing magic and gathering it, but I also needed luck to find a place with magic dense enough to gather.

Could this house be built on top of some sort of magic geyser? I mean, there's no other explanation. My family is definitely rich enough for it.

And yet...I get the feeling that isn't the reason.

Not because my family doesn't have the resources to do something like that. Actually, I get the feeling they might be the king and queen on this country, wherever it is.

And that is because they are incredibly, filthy rich. They are so rich, it makes me, a former Mage King, feel a little disgusted. I saw the garden from the window the other day, and it was arranged into a maze. A color-coded maze, the sections divided into different types of flowers.

My mother was swaddling me as she looked down. She seemed annoyed by something. So she called an attendant…

...and told her to remake the garden.

"I'm sick of it," were her exact words. "I need something more tasteful."

She gave them one day.

The next day the garden was rearranged to look like a battlefield, with the plants cut into the players of the particular battle.

And even then, she wasn't satisfied.

This was the first time in my entire life I had sympathized with the common folk. The demands of the powerful really were quite burdensome, especially for the Unguided.

Still, the fact that my family had such influence was only good news for me. They will probably be able to answer my questions and doubts once I am older.

In the meantime, I suppose I should celebrate that the ultimate goal of ruling this world just became a little easier.