The next morning, Astraeus walked through the hallowed halls of Silverwood Academy not as a cowering outcast, but as a silent observer. The aches from the "Primordial Body Tempering" were a constant, grinding reminder of his new reality, but his mind, sharpened by eons of divine awareness and now augmented by the God System, saw everything with terrifying clarity.Silverwood wasn't just a school; it was a living monument to magic. The walls were carved from stone that faintly glowed with stored mana, and the high, vaulted ceilings were enchanted to look like a perpetually clear night sky, complete with swirling nebulae and constellations that shifted with the seasons. Students didn't walk between classes; they glided on small, personalized discs of light. They didn't carry books; their satchels were enchanted to be weightless, and notes were taken with quills that transcribed spoken words directly onto parchment.Everywhere he looked, magic was woven into the fabric of daily life. A girl with fiery red hair whispered to a potted plant, and it bloomed instantly, its petals a vibrant, impossible blue. A senior student flicked his wrist, and a broom and dustpan animated themselves, diligently sweeping a corridor. It was effortless, casual, and ubiquitous.And he was completely, utterly excluded from it.As he walked, he was a ghost in the machine. Students parted around him, their expressions a familiar mix of disdain, pity, and simple disregard. He was a glitch in their perfect, magical world—the boy with no magic. The failure. Before, these looks had been a source of deep shame for the body's previous owner. Now, for Astraeus, they were merely data points
[Social Status: Outcast.]
the system noted dryly in his mind.
[Probability of unprovoked hostility from peers: 42%. Probability of receiving assistance if requested: 1.2%.]
He passed a large, ornate fountain in the central courtyard. The water swirled into the shape of a majestic griffon before splashing back into the basin, a display of complex hydro-sculpting magic. A group of first-year students were gathered around it, their faces alight with wonder. Astraeus felt a pang, not of jealousy, but of profound alienation. He had once commanded the very cosmic forces that birthed the elements. Now, he was a stranger in a world where children played with its pale imitations.
His first class of the day was "Introduction to Elemental Theory." It was held in a large, amphitheater-style lecture hall. Astraeus took his usual seat in the highest, most isolated row. Down below, the other students chattered excitedly, small sparks of fire, ice, and lightning dancing between their fingertips as they practiced.The instructor, a portly, cheerful man named Professor Elmsworth, entered the room and clapped his hands, a small gust of wind sweeping through the hall to silence the students."Good morning, aspiring mages!" he boomed. "Today, we shall be putting theory into practice! We will attempt a simple, first-circle incantation: the 'Ignis Minor,' or 'Lesser Flame.' A fundamental spell for any who wish to master the element of fire!"A wave of excitement rippled through the students. Professor Elmsworth began the lesson, his words flowing in a rhythmic, melodic cadence that was part of the incantation itself. "Remember, magic is about intent, focus, and the channeling of mana from your core, through your limbs, and out into the world. Feel the warmth within you! Coax it forth! Speak the words: 'Incende parvum lumen!'"All around the room, small, flickering flames, no bigger than a candle's, appeared in the palms of the students. Some were bright and steady, others weak and sputtering, but they were all there. A hundred tiny suns in a dark room.Except for one.Astraeus held out his hand, mimicking the others. He spoke the words, his pronunciation perfect. He focused his intent, drawing on the memory of commanding stellar flares that could incinerate planets.Nothing happened.His palm remained empty, cold, and shadowed. A few students nearby glanced up at him, their expressions turning to sneers and whispered jokes."Of course, 'No-Magic Ren' fails again."
"Why is he even still here?"
"It's embarrassing just watching him."Professor Elmsworth's cheerful gaze passed over him, and a flicker of pity crossed his face before he quickly looked away, focusing on praising a student whose flame was particularly bright. The instructor, like everyone else, had given up on him.But Astraeus wasn't feeling the sting of failure. He was analyzing.
[Analysis: Magical Incantation 'Ignis Minor'.]
[Process: User attempts to draw 'mana' from a non-existent 'magical core'. The incantation acts as a focusing key, but without a source, the key has no lock to turn.]
[Conclusion: Host vessel is fundamentally incompatible with this world's power system. All attempts to use magic will result in failure.]
The system's confirmation was cold and absolute. There was no hope of ever using magic. He was, and always would be, an outsider.
The library at Silverwood was a place of hushed reverence. Towering shelves stretched up into the gloom, holding countless tomes on magical theory, history, and forgotten lore. It was one of the few places Astraeus could find solitude. The other students, preferring practical application to dry research, rarely ventured into the deeper archives.He wasn't there to study magic. He was there to study his enemy: this world.Using his "Divine Remnant" intelligence, he absorbed information at a prodigious rate. He didn't just read; he devoured books, his eyes scanning pages in seconds, the system cross-referencing and cataloging every piece of information. He learned about the geography of the continent, the political structure of the magical kingdoms, the hierarchy of the Magic Council that governed all mages, and the history of the academy itself.It was during this research that he found it—a dusty, leather-bound volume titled Summoning and the Outer Planes. Most of the book was dense, academic theory, but one chapter was dedicated to the annual trial.He read about the "Survival Realm," a pocket dimension created by the academy's founders. It was a place where the laws of reality were thin, allowing for the summoning of beings from other planes of existence. The goal was for a student to summon a companion—a spirit, an elemental, a fey creature—and form a contract, binding it to their service. The strength of the summoned being was a direct reflection of the summoner's own magical power.Then he saw the warnings. The ritual was dangerous. Unstable. If a summoner's will was weak, or their mana insufficient, they could lose control. The summoned entity could turn on them, or worse, a rift could be torn to a truly hostile plane, pulling in something far more powerful and malevolent than intended. The book listed several instances throughout history where students had been killed, or had simply vanished from the realm, presumed devoured by their own failed summons.For a powerful mage, it was a test of control. For a weak mage, it was a risk.For Astraeus, who had no magic at all, it was a death sentence.
[Analysis: The Trial of Summoning.]
[Host has a 0% chance of successfully summoning a standard entity.]
[Host has a 98.7% probability of critical failure during the ritual, resulting in either death or expulsion to a hostile dimension.]
The system's prognosis was grim. He closed the book, a cloud of dust puffing into the air. The academy saw the trial as a rite of passage. The system saw it as a statistical certainty for his demise.Astraeus, however, saw it as something else entirely. An opportunity.
That night, back in the sterile confines of his dorm room, Astraeus didn't sleep. He initiated the Primordial Body Tempering exercise once more. The pain was just as excruciating, the strain just as immense, but this time, his resolve was forged in the fire of purpose.As his body was forced through the brutal, precise movements, his mind was racing, the strategist god fully awakened. The world was ruled by magic, a power he could never touch. His peers, his instructors, the entire system was built on a foundation that rejected him. The upcoming trial was designed to kill him.Good.Let them underestimate him. Let them see him as a failure, a waste of space. Let them send him into a trial he was supposed to fail. They were all playing a game of magic, following rules he was exempt from. He wasn't playing their game anymore.He was playing his own.He collapsed to the floor as the exercise finished, his body screaming, but his mind clear and cold as the void between stars.
[Side Quest Complete: Second Step to Power.]
[Reward: +1 Strength, +1 Agility, 10 EXP.]
[You have 5 Stat Points to allocate.]
He didn't hesitate. He opened the status screen, the glowing blue text a beacon in the dark room. He dumped all five points into Strength. It was a crude, brutish tactic. Mages focused on intelligence and wisdom. Warriors focused on strength. He was no longer a god who could be both. He was a mortal, and he had to choose his weapon. For now, his weapon would be this frail body, reforged through pain.He had six days until the trial. Six days to turn a vessel of failure into something that could survive. It was an impossible timeline.But in his long, forgotten life, Astraeus Ren had made a career of defying the impossible. This world of magic was about to learn what true power looked like. And it had nothing to do with waving wands and chanting words.