The sky was overcast, heavy with clouds that looked ready to burst into rain at any moment.
Beneath the surface of a raging river, a tiny life struggled desperately against fate.
A baby's small body was submerged in the churning water. Yet what was astonishing was that this infant was waving his arms and legs with all his strength, as if resisting the injustice of destiny itself—fighting desperately to reach the surface.
It was a scene almost impossible to comprehend. The maturity and despair reflected in the baby's eyes were emotions no one would ever expect to see in someone so young.
But no matter how fiercely he struggled, a baby was still just a baby.
River water poured mercilessly into his mouth and nose. His tiny hands and feet flailed in vain, unable to change the unavoidable truth—he was drowning.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Every second felt both unbearably long and terrifyingly short. His consciousness wavered, drifting between clarity and darkness. He could feel his life slipping away, along with a suffocating sense of fear and helplessness.
And yet—even in despair—his eyes still burned with a fierce desire to live.
As if screaming silently:
I want to survive.
The light above the water grew dim and distorted. His movements weakened. With his last remaining strength, the baby made one final attempt to fight against death.
That was the thought of a child.
As long as I keep going…
Maybe a miracle will happen.
Just as his strength was about to give out, a villager returning home happened to pass by the riverbank. Hearing a strange sound, the man turned and instantly noticed the baby about to sink beneath the surface.
Without hesitation, he jumped into the river and swam with all his might toward the child.
Thanks to the villager's strong swimming skills, the baby was pulled from the water just in time. His face was pale, his eyes tightly shut—but he was still alive.
After patting the baby's back and forcing out some of the river water, the infant slowly regained consciousness. Strangely, he did not cry or fuss.
Instead, he stared at the man with a calm, almost curious gaze.
As if realizing something, the villager immediately began running toward a nearby building that resembled a church, holding the baby tightly in his arms.
Before long, the child fell unconscious once more.
When the baby woke again, warmth surrounded him.
A fireplace crackled nearby, flames licking at stacked firewood. He lay inside a wooden crib, wrapped in rough fabric.
A man dressed like a priest from head to toe leaned over him, smiling gently as he met the baby's bright black eyes.
"No matter where you came from," the priest said kindly, "as long as you stay here, I'll make sure you never go hungry."
He gently stroked the baby's body with his rough palm, checking whether there was any lingering dampness. After confirming everything was fine, he placed a small piece of clothing on the child.
The fabric was coarse.
But right now—
It felt incredibly warm.
After settling the baby, the priest returned to his work and left the room.
Only then did the baby begin to observe his surroundings.
Through the wooden bars of the crib, he could see two other cribs nearby, each holding another infant.
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Why are there so many parents in this world who abandon their children?
What kind of world is this…?
Still, he couldn't judge them.
After all, he himself was one of the abandoned.
Heh.
Later, the priest returned and began speaking to the babies. One of them suddenly kicked him in his sleep.
Instead of getting angry, the priest burst into laughter.
He lifted the blankets and examined the babies' chests, where faint markings seemed to be inscribed.
"Yuno," he murmured. "You're a quiet one."
"And you—Asta. Far too lively."
Then his gaze fell on the newest child.
"And this little one… quiet as well. No name yet."
"All good children."
He rubbed his chin.
"So what should I call you?"
"What a headache…"
"I'll think about it tomorrow."
The next morning, after the rain had passed, sunlight broke through the clouds and bathed the land in warm, gentle light. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of wet grass and soil. Dewdrops sparkled on the blades of grass like crystals.
The priest leaned over the crib once more.
"How about the name Dick?" he asked cheerfully.
The baby instantly burst into loud, furious crying.
Though he didn't know what the name meant, his instincts screamed rejection—and crying was the only way he could express it.
The priest froze.
"…You don't like it?"
He scratched his head.
"What a troublesome little guy."
"So what should I name you, then?"
As he pondered, the baby suddenly lifted his tiny hand and pointed toward the window.
Outside, a bird with black, red, and white feathers perched quietly.
"Oh," the priest said, smiling. "That's a Crowcrest bird."
Suddenly, realization struck him.
He clapped his fist into his palm.
"I've got it!"
"Your name will be Sylvar Crowe."
The baby stopped crying.
As long as the name wasn't strange, everything else was negotiable.
Seven years passed in the blink of an eye.
During those years, Asta ran around like a wild monkey. His physical strength was terrifying—far beyond what any normal child should possess.
Yuno, on the other hand, preferred reading quietly. Though gentle in tone, he never bullied others—and as one of the oldest orphans, no one dared bully him either.
Sylvar Crowe stood between them.
He lacked Asta's monstrous physique and did not possess Yuno's overwhelming magical talent.
So instead, he trained.
From the moment he could sense magic, Sylvar began refining his control over it. His method was inspired by techniques from his previous world—concepts of control and refinement similar to entanglement, suppression, refinement, and release.
Through these methods, he tempered his magic day after day.
The result was precise, extraordinary control.
His magic manifested as a sphere of white light—harmless for now, capable only of changing shape.
But control was power.
Sylvar also discovered why the church could sustain so many orphans.
In this world, even farmers could use magic.
Food shortages were rare.
That was why orphanages like this could exist.
One afternoon, Sister Lily took the children to a meadow and told them the story of the Clover Kingdom.
"Long ago," she said softly, "when the Demon God sought to destroy the world, a brave wizard rose to challenge him. After a fierce battle, the wizard defeated the Demon God and brought light back to the world."
"That wizard became known as the Magic Emperor."
Asta jumped to his feet, eyes shining. "That's so cool!"
When the Demon God was mentioned, Yuno's eyes filled with tears.
Only Sylvar listened in silence.
After all, as a reincarnator, he already knew this story.
Suddenly, Asta turned to Sister Lily and shouted, "Sister, let's get married!"
Without hesitation, she struck him with a water-infused blow, slamming him into the ground.
"Nuns don't get married," Yuno said seriously.
"I don't care!" Asta yelled. "Sister is mine!"
Sister Lily's magic book floated ominously.
Asta immediately shut up.
Even Sylvar and Yuno looked away instinctively.
Later, as Asta did pull-ups on the fence, he shouted, "There's a Magic Emperor right now, right?"
"Yes," Sister Lily replied gently. "The title is passed down."
"I'm gonna become the Magic Emperor!" Asta declared. "Then I'll make everyone happy!"
"…No," Sister Lily said flatly.
"I'll never give up!"
"No."
Sylvar laughed.
So did Yuno.
Another peaceful day passed.
That morning, Sylvar and Yuno practiced magic control.
Yuno commanded wind effortlessly.
Sylvar shaped his white light carefully.
Asta stood by the stove, desperately waving his hands at firewood.
"Why are you trying to boil water?" Sylvar sighed. "Your magic might not even be fire."
Asta collapsed dramatically. "Why don't I have magic?!"
Sylvar shrugged. "Maybe you just haven't found it yet."
Moments later, Asta was proposing again.
And moments after that—
Splash.
Sylvar turned away.
Some things never changed.
Later, the priest returned on a flying broom.
"This winter will be harsh," he said. "I'm going to borrow potatoes from the next village. But this letter must reach Hage Village."
He looked at the three boys.
"Yuno. Sylvar. You'll go together."
Asta raised his hand eagerly.
Ignored.
After handing the letter to Sylvar, the priest flew off.
With enough control, even a broom could fly.
But for now—
They were still too young.
And the journey had just begun.
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Author's Notes:
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