Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Early morning.
The birds chirped outside, feasting on the last of the insects drawn to the dawn-lit streetlamps. Their song filtered through the window's narrow cracks.
It was that time of year when the sunlight pierced through thinning clouds, the air warmed slowly, and life began to stir again.
I sat at the edge of my bed, watching the morning light spill into the room, lost in thought.
The subject?
"How can I die more quickly, more cleanly, and more discreetly?"
To anyone else, those words might've sounded like the unraveling of a suicidal man. But to me, they were a practical concern—almost mundane.
'Decapitating myself every time is too inefficient.'
Now that I had mastered the activation of the Blessing of Revival, I could trigger it with minimal effort. A huge advantage.
But still...
'Too flashy.'
In my dorm room, lopping off my head wasn't an issue. But doing it outside—say, during outdoor training—was another story.
If someone saw my severed head roll across the ground only to watch it reattach itself and heal?
'I'd lose the element of surprise.'
The Blessing of Revival was one of my trump cards. I wanted to keep it that way.
Even if there came a day when I'd need to reveal it, that day wasn't today.
'Faster, simpler, cleaner than decapitation…'
One possibility came to mind.
'Poison.'
In my past life, I often used it as an emergency trigger for the Blessing. I'd store a capsule under my tongue like an assassin.
But the drawbacks were obvious.
'I'd need a poison strong enough to kill even a hero instantly... and I'd have to use it four times a day.'
Too risky. Too inconvenient.
'Forget poison. If I have to be careful anyway, I might as well stick to decapitation.'
That's when another idea struck.
'Magic Bullet.'
The most basic of spells—compressed magical energy formed into a projectile. Any first-year cadet in the Magic Department could use it.
But what if I created it inside my body?
'A single magic bullet to the brain or heart would be enough to trigger the Blessing.'
Sophia would've scolded me just for thinking something so reckless.
Theoretically, it was possible. Practically? Borderline impossible.
Magic naturally flowed through the body's Qi Paths like ink through veins. If I tried forming a spell within my body, the magic would just be reabsorbed.
'To prevent that, the bullet has to be extremely small... small enough to avoid contacting any Qi Paths.'
But small wasn't enough. It had to be deadly—capable of obliterating a vital organ instantly.
The task felt like threading a needle blindfolded. No, worse—like engraving letters onto a grain of rice.
And yet…
"Seems worth trying."
Not arrogance. Not blind faith.
Just realism.
Controlling tiny amounts of magic with surgical precision? That was my domain. Not Iris's. Not Sophia's. Not even Yuren's.
They didn't need to. With magic reserves overflowing, efficiency was irrelevant to them.
But for someone like me?
'It was survival.'
Attempt One.
I drew a thin thread of magic from the stigma in my chest.
The spell collapsed immediately, reabsorbed before forming.
'Smaller.'
Visualize a speck. A dust mote.
Attempt Two.
A shape began to form—then fizzled out.
'Not enough stability. Still too large.'
My third, fourth, and fifth tries came in a flurry. Each closer than the last.
Sweat rolled down my temples. My shirt clung to my back.
A headache bloomed behind my eyes. Blood trickled from my nose.
"Just a little more…"
Time blurred.
And then—
'Got it.'
A stable magic bullet—small, dense, and deadly—hovered inside my Qi Path, nestled just outside my heart.
I released it.
"GRAAAH!"
Agony tore through my chest like a blazing lance. But the Blessing of Revival didn't activate.
"...Not enough power?"
I clenched my fists, trembling.
'So close.'
A prototype, nothing more—but a promising one.
'If perfected, this would be the cleanest method yet.'
Not only discreet but also strategic.
The Blessing of Revival only triggered on fatal wounds. Lose an arm? Too bad. Get stabbed in the stomach? No effect.
Without a fatal injury, it wouldn't activate at all.
'That's why I used to carry poison in my mouth.'
Because if I was dismembered—unable to move or speak—I needed something guaranteed to kill me fast.
'But if I can end my life with a single thought…'
A magic bullet, formed internally, would be the perfect failsafe.
No more poison. No more panic.
"Alright," I muttered, rising unsteadily. "Let's call it a day."
My mind felt frayed. Every nerve, burned.
This kind of micro-control was more exhausting than any sword drill. It required relentless focus—pure discipline.
"Okay then. Time to train my body instead."
I headed toward the training hall.
Ding.
A chime echoed from my Hero Watch.
[The prototype is finished. If you have time, please come to the lab.]
Professor Jade.
So much for physical training.
[I'll be right there.]
Professor Jade's Lab
"You're here," he said, gesturing me in.
"Yes, Professor."
The room was still an unholy mess. Books, flasks, and mana-reactive tools were strewn about like a war zone.
He handed me a glass vial filled with glowing blue liquid—like melted sapphire.
"This is the prototype of the Stigma Amplifier," he said.
"When you drink it, your stigma will go into overdrive and begin generating mana."
"How long does it last?"
"About five minutes. After that…"
"...The aftereffects begin."
He nodded, stroking his thick beard.
"Your blood and life force will twist violently. You'll die instantly."
"That's fine."
"You're sure?" he asked, genuine concern creeping into his tone. "If the Blessing of Revival doesn't trigger…"
"Didn't I already prove it works?"
I could show him again if he needed another demonstration.
He sighed, resigned.
"Fine. I'll trust you."
He paused before adding, "I focused purely on maximizing mana output. The aftereffects were... not my concern."
"Good."
"But..."
"But?"
"The amplifier's effect is underwhelming. If the theoretical limit is 100, this prototype only reaches about 30."
That was low—especially given the cost of its side effects.
"Why?"
"It's not a missing ingredient," he explained, opening a drawer and pulling out a dried, withered flower. "It's the quality."
The flower was familiar.
"Seven-Star Grass."
"Right," Jade nodded. "Common enough, but finding one that holds mana? Incredibly rare."
The flower was known to be blessed by the seven gods and served as the national flower of the Holy Kingdom.
"I see."
You could find ordinary Seven-Star Grass growing along roadsides. But the kind infused with mana? Practically mythical.
"I'd like you to find one yourself," he said finally.
I raised a brow.
"A fetch quest?"
But I didn't complain.
After all—if it meant accelerating my growth, I'd track the gods themselves down if I had to.