In the moment before death, what I was thinking about wasn't the deadline or my debts. "In the end, I never even once..." That was all. At the northern edge of the Vasteria Continent, in the middle of a desolate wasteland, Kuro lay on his back atop withered grass, staring up at the gray sky. His entire body ached—or rather, he couldn't feel anything. Sensation was returning gradually, starting from his fingertips, as if his outline was being redrawn. When he lifted his right hand, delicate patterns glowed faintly across the unfamiliar back of his hand. Black short hair clung to his face. Some strands had a reddish tint—a color his previous self had never possessed. (…Am I alive?) He pushed himself up. A single linen robe, crude and woven from hemp, offered little protection against the biting wind that seeped through immediately. Nothing surrounded him. Withered grassland stretched endlessly, and to the north, a rocky plateau came into view. The southern sky was slightly brighter. The memories of his previous life were still vivid. A late-night office. Illuminated only by monitor light, Kuro—then known as "Kuroda Shota," age 35—clutched his chest and collapsed from his chair. The last thing he saw was an unsaved Excel spreadsheet. His overtime hours for the month alone exceeded 140 hours. Cause of death: overwork and heart failure, probably. Whether anyone cried for him, he honestly didn't know. He hadn't returned home in years. He'd never had a girlfriend. Not once in thirty-five years. (Reincarnation, huh.) Kuro looked at the sky again. He let out a long sigh. "…Thank you, God. But that's not what I wanted." His hollow words vanished into the empty wasteland. He stood up. His knees were a bit shaky, but his body moved well enough. Better than before, actually. His height was unchanged—around 175 centimeters. His frame was slender but oddly muscular. When he touched his left cheek with his fingers, he felt a thin scar. A scar he didn't remember. So. A fist-sized rock lay on the ground nearby. Without thinking much about it, he crouched down and touched it. The pattern on his right hand glowed faintly. He watched white light seep into the rock. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The rock exploded with a dull thud. "…" Kuro stared at the spot where the rock had been for a while. A few withered grass blades had been blown away. (Did I destroy it? Or did I overcharge it and cause it to self-destruct?) He picked up another small stone and tried again, this time weakening his output. The stone glowed dimly. It didn't crack. The light gradually intensified, and then—pop—it flew apart. He picked up a dried branch and touched it. The branch trembled violently and shattered a moment later. "Buff magic, then." In RPG terms, a support magic specialist. A mage who enhanced others' abilities. Unable to attack directly, but capable of flipping overwhelming odds by strengthening allies—that kind of character. A class that existed in the games he'd played to death in his previous life. (I'm finally getting the hang of it. I was unconsciously outputting too much power.) The sensation of magical power settled like sediment deep within his body. Not heavy—rather, it felt full. If he could master the sensation of channeling this power gradually into a target, he could control the boundary between "enhancement" and "destruction." It could be profitable, the calculator in Kuro's head concluded. On the battlefield, he could multiply a unit's combat strength several times over. Serving at court might earn him five times a knight's salary. But. (Will this make me popular with women?) He felt a bit pathetic that that came first. With a sigh, he began walking south. --- It took about half an hour to reach the main road. A cart loaded with hay was parked there, and an old man was leisurely picking his nose from the driver's seat. "Excuse me, is this the road heading south?" "I can take you as far as Blanche if you want a ride." "Thank you." The old man studied Kuro curiously. His appearance—a linen robe with no luggage—seemed odd. But he didn't press further. Kuro judged him to be the type who didn't pry into others' affairs. The cart began moving slowly. The wheels made a steady rhythm against the stone road. "Um… I'm not familiar with the geography around here. Could you tell me a bit about it?" "Well, I can try." The old man gave a short reply and spoke while keeping his eyes forward. There were currently six human kingdoms on the Vasteria Continent. For the past hundred twenty years, there had been no major wars. Before that, there was apparently a brutal conflict called the "Seven Flags War," but now it was officially at peace. "Officially?" "The north has been smelling bad lately." The old man gestured toward the north with his chin from the driver's seat. A desolate plateau was visible in the distance. The Volgarn Plateau—the land where the Orc tribes lived. "There's a rumor that a general named Groflik unified one of the northern tribes. Those folks living up there are big and strong. One of them can match three knights in a fight. There's supposed to be three hundred thousand of them, right?" (Three hundred thousand Orcs, huh.) Kuro quietly drew a map in his mind. It resembled a scene from an RPG he'd played in his previous life. A powerful military force in the north, fragmented human kingdoms in the south. If the military balance collapsed, the weaker southern nations would fall first. "Deluxia Kingdom is in the south, right?" "Yeah, agriculture and gem-cutting. Wealthy, but the military isn't that strong. Probably third from the bottom among the six kingdoms." A gust of wind rocked the cart. The old man pulled the reins slightly. "…One more thing, if I may. What happens to a country that loses a war?" "Ah, there's the Ritual of Surrender Offering." The old man began explaining, and Kuro listened absently. Apparently, it was established as wartime customary law after the Seven Flags War. The defeated nation's royal family—usually an unmarried princess—would be surrendered to the victor, exempting civilians from plunder and massacre. The surrendered royal was required to be treated with respect; killing them meant facing the entire continent as enemies. "It's an old custom, and these days it's mostly ceremonial. There haven't been wars recently anyway." Kuro nodded along. (I'll look into it later,) he thought, filing it away in a corner of his mind. For now, survival came first. The cart stopped in front of a small settlement. It was where the old man was getting off. "Thank you very much." "You're welcome. …Let me say one thing though." The old man turned around as he descended from the cart. His eyes gleamed within deeply etched wrinkles. "Everything in this world is decided by power and status. That's all there is to it." With that, he turned his back. Kuro remained in the cart bed, watching the old man's retreating figure. --- The walls of Blanche came into view as the sun began to set. White stone walls floated against the southern sky. They were more than ten meters high. A tributary of the Ruel River flowed beside the walls, reflecting light in glittering ripples. (The capital of Deluxia Kingdom, then.) Kuro walked along the street leading to the city gates. Several carts and merchants passed by. A family of farmers walked as well. It was peaceful—somewhat like a provincial city from his previous world. When he reached the plaza before the gates, a commotion erupted. Screams. A crowd of people came fleeing from across the plaza. Five, six farmers—desperately running from something. Behind them, gray and black shadows moved. Garmwolves. Demonic wolves. Each was two meters long. Seven of them spread in a fan formation, trying to encircle the fleeing farmers. Their coordination was perfect. Intelligent beasts that hunted in packs. Three guards at the gates drew their swords and stepped forward. But it was clear—seven against three wasn't enough. And the wolves' movements were too fast. One guard tried to step forward aggressively but was feinted by another wolf and faltered. (This is bad.) His body moved before his mind could catch up. Kuro ran in and placed both hands on the guards' backs. All three of them. The pattern on his right hand blazed white. He poured magical power into them all at once. The response was immediate. Something changed in the three guards' bodies. Their muscles tightened. Their reflexes sharpened, their vision became acute—Kuro instinctively understood that the correct use of buff magic wasn't "overcharge and destroy" but "temporarily raise the target's limits." Three seconds later. The guards' movements transformed completely. The leftmost guard met a wolf's charge head-on and sent it flying with a single slash. The center guard faced two wolves simultaneously while circling to cut down a third. The right guard cornered the remaining ones. Two minutes. Seven wolves, all dead. Silence fell over the plaza. The farmers stood stunned. The three guards stared at their own hands. Kuro knelt, breathing heavily. Large-scale activation drained stamina. His head felt heavy and dull. "…Did you strengthen them?" He turned to see a man in a crisp military uniform descending from the walls. Early thirties, sharp eyes, intelligent features. An administrative officer type, Kuro's instinct said. Lucian Dumont, as he introduced himself later, observed Kuro intently. "A buff mage, aren't you?" "…Probably." "Not probably. Certainly." Lucian's tone shifted. Restrained excitement, perhaps. "There are only about two hundred buff mages on this entire continent. That's roughly one in twenty thousand people. Without innate talent, training alone cannot achieve it. If you serve at court, you're guaranteed five times a knight's annual salary. Your skill is a national treasure-class talent that could change the kingdom's fate." "…I see." "However, the technique consumes enormous amounts of the caster's stamina. After large-scale activation, you may be unable to move for an entire day. Overuse is forbidden." Kuro stood up. His entire body felt like lead. Certainly, if asked to do it again right now, he couldn't. National treasure. Needed. Something warm stirred deep in his chest. A sensation he'd never experienced in his previous life. At the company or at home, he'd never felt truly needed. But— (Even with one cheat skill, my fundamental problem doesn't get solved.) That warmth faded quickly. Lucian mentioned an invitation to court. Kuro nodded. He had no reason to refuse. --- The Château Blanche was white. Completely white. Built of white stone, seven towers jutted into the sky, each with a differently shaped spire. Against the twilight sky, it looked like a painting or an illusion. Inside the walls, the great hall doors came into view. The capacity was clearly hundreds. The ceiling was high. Dozens of candelabras burned. (Like being in a five-star hotel lobby in my previous world.) Kuro walked carefully, trying not to make noise with his footsteps. The banquet had already begun. King Philibert was away on official business, but the upper nobility sat along a long table. Beautiful young ladies sat beside them as attendants or wives. The sound of cutlery, laughter, the scent of perfume. Kuro was shown to a seat at the far end. An elderly baron sitting beside him immediately started talking. "A reincarnate and a buff mage, no less. How reassuring. If we could assign you to my household's militia…" "Ah, yes, that sounds good." Another noble called from a different direction. "If we could deploy you with the Vilan Knights, our combat strength would…" "Ha, indeed." Calculating gazes came from all directions. One of the young ladies smiled and looked his way. Kuro tried to return the smile pleasantly— And froze. What should he say? W