Even though I reincarnated… these slums hit different.
Worse, even.
No cops. No order. Just dirt roads, cracked homes, and too many hungry eyes.
Ain't no steel or tech out here—just sticks, swords, and pure desperation.
And the older kids?
They kill in broad daylight like it's a game.
Yesterday, I saw a twelve-year-old get jumped by three teens twice his size.
Left him leaking in the alley.
Just for bread.
Same Memphis energy.
Different world.
"Try that s*** on me," I mutter, cracking my knuckles.
"I'll show y'all what kind of devil just landed in your backyard."
Grandma don't live in the main village. She off-grid. Says it's safer.
I see why.
The town got no guards. Just a rusty-ass bell they ring if some beast shows up.
Or a fight breaks out.
They got mana academies here.
Not for everyone, though.
You gotta test in. Most commoners never make it.
Only nobles get easy access to magic schools—Mana Pillars, Blessed Peaks, names like that.
Me?
I don't want robes and scrolls.
I want heat.
"I'mma build a gun," I tell myself one night, sittin' by candlelight.
"A real one. But this time, it's powered by mana."
They don't got guns in this world.
Never heard of one.
They got bows, they got magic blasts, some enchanted blades. But nothing that go click-clack boom.
I don't want no sword. I want a different kind of stick.
A Draco.
That's my dream weapon.
A handheld Draco that spits mana bullets fast and loud.
I study metal. Wood. Enchantments.
I don't know how I'll pull it off yet. But I'm startin' young.
By five, I already built a rough shape with wood and stone.
Ain't much. But it feel right in my hand.
Sometimes, the village kids come by, tryna flex.
One of 'em was this tall kid, older, dirty-blonde hair, swingin' a sword like he own the place.
Talkin' down to us like lowly pests.
Then a older girl walked by.
And I thought, "Damn… I wonder if these older bitches banging. Nice t—"
SLAP.
"Braken!" Grandma bust in like a shadow. "Watch your mouth. I can hear it braken".
I rub my cheek.
Smirkin'.
"Bet."
Now I'm Eight years old.
That's how old I am when I finished my first Draco.
Ugly. Crooked.
But it had a trigger, a mana crystal socket, and a carved grip that said "Murder."
I looked down at it and whispered,
"I'm finna shoot until the sky crack."*
I stepped outside like I was that dude.
The village dirt road was quiet.
Sun hangin' low.
My footsteps echoed.
Then I saw him.
Krenz.
Big for his age. The local slum tyrant.
Wore a tooth necklace like he ate wolves for breakfast.
He spotted me and smirked.
"You still makin' wooden toys, broke boy?" he laughed.
"Shouldn't you be begging for scraps?"
"I got something better today," I said, smiling.
"Wanna see it?"
He rolled his eyes.
I pulled out the Draco like it was Excalibur.
Pointed it.
"Goodbye."
CLICK.
Silence.
Then…
CRACK!
The whole thing fell apart in my hand.
Barrel snapped. Trigger dangled. Mana crystal popped out and rolled into the sewer.
Krenz stared.
Then burst out laughin'.
"You serious? You thought that junk could hurt me? Get lost."
He turned his back like I was nothing.
But I'm not nothing.
Not now. Not ever.
I grabbed a nearby stick. Mana surged to my palm.
My spirit veins burned.
I swung with all my strength—
THWACK!
Right into his neck.
Not enough to kill.
Just enough to make him stumble like a toddler.
I took off running.
"Eat that, pussy!" I screamed behind me, grinning like a demon.
By ten, I stopped messing around.
Started forging a new Draco. A long one.
More durable. Real iron parts. Bound with tree-sap resin.
Fused with mana like a blade would be enchanted.
I practiced reloading. Practiced channeling energy into the chamber.
It still didn't shoot real bullets — but I got it to fire a concentrated blast of heated wind that burned a hole in a tree.
Progress.
Then…
One night, Grandma sat beside me. Weak in the eyes. Voice like wind.
"Braken," she said, stroking my hair.
"The academy starts next month… You do good, okay?"
"I don't have much time left."
"Don't say that," I whispered.
"You strong. You always been strong."
But the next morning… she was gone.
Peaceful.
Like she knew it was coming.
I didn't cry loud.
I didn't scream.
I just sat on the porch with the Draco across my knees.
And for the first time in my new life…
I said,
"Damn. These real gangster tears."
The world didn't stop.
The slums didn't care.
But I did.
I buried her with a cross of carved stone and her name in mana script.
"When I make it out this bitch," I swore,
"It'll be because you raised a monster."
Every day 'til the academy started, I was in the woods.
Shooting.
Charging.
Modifying.
This long Draco was my lifeline.
The first real thing I ever built.
The last promise I ever made.
And when I walk into that academy…
They better be ready.
'Cause Braken is.