Chapter 2: The Mage Who Slept for twenty Years

There was no ground beneath me, no sky above me, and no sense of direction by which I could tell whether I was moving or simply suspended in an infinite void. The darkness stretched farther than my perception could reach, swallowing every attempt to determine its boundaries. I could neither see nor hear anything, yet somehow I remained aware of myself, floating through that immeasurable emptiness with no destination and no idea how long I had been there.

How long am I going to keep floating like this?

The thought surfaced lazily, followed by another that was considerably more troubling.

Am I even moving?

I tried to remember when the darkness had begun, but my thoughts felt heavy and sluggish, as though even the act of thinking required more effort than I was willing to spend. There was no pain, no fear, and strangely enough, no sense of urgency either. Only an overwhelming exhaustion that seemed to have settled into the deepest part of my consciousness.

I'm tired...

The thought was barely formed before the darkness began to dissolve.

I opened my eyes.

For several long seconds, I simply stared at the ceiling above me, unable to determine whether what I was seeing belonged to reality or was merely another fragment of the dream I had just escaped. The familiar stonework slowly came into focus, followed by the faint glow of the magical lamps embedded within the walls and the enormous crystal chandelier hanging several meters above my bed.

My room.

My castle.

I let out a quiet sigh as the last remnants of the dream faded from my mind.

Once again, I had dreamed of Earth.

It was strange how persistent those memories could be. I had been away from that world for so long that, by any reasonable measure, I should have forgotten most of it. Six thousand years was an absurd amount of time for a human being to remain attached to a place that no longer existed, and yet memories had never been particularly concerned with reason.

Still, I couldn't say that I missed it.

There was no longing in my heart when I remembered Earth, no desire to return to the life I had once lived. If anything, the memories left behind a faint sense of bitterness. I remembered the people, the cities, the laboratory, the research, and the countless decisions that had eventually led to humanity's destruction, but No matter how much time passed, regret had an annoying habit of lingering..

"...My Lord, what happened?"

A familiar voice gently broke the silence.

I slowly turned my head.

A woman was standing beside my bed, watching me with an expression of quiet concern. She wore a pristine white maid uniform that seemed almost painfully clean against the dark interior of the chamber. Her silver hair flowed down her back in a shimmering cascade, extending all the way to the floor, while her flawless pale skin reflected the soft light of the magical lamps.

Clear blue eyes watched me with quiet concern, while two elegant black horns curved gracefully from her head.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. No matter how many centuries passed, looking into those blue eyes always managed to refresh my soul.

Her name was Elizabeth, though I simply called her Liz.

"Good morning, Liz."

My voice sounded rougher than I expected. I rubbed my eyes and slowly pushed myself higher against the pillows before looking at her again and asked, "How long did I sleep?"

She answered without the slightest hesitation. "Exactly twenty years, three months, twenty-seven days, fifteen hours, thirty-one minutes, and thirteen seconds."

"Hmm..." I nodded thoughtfully. "No wonder I'm still tired. I didn't get enough sleep. Someone as ordinary as me needs more rest."

Liz's expression remained perfectly calm. "My Lord, ordinary humans do not sleep for twenty years."

I blinked at her.

"...Human."

The word echoed in my mind, making me wonder whether I was still human at all. Before I could dwell on it, I let out a long yawn and stretched my arms above my head.

Then my heart beat once.

once

BOOM.

The sound was not particularly loud, yet the entire castle seemed to react to it.

Ancient walls groaned beneath the invisible pressure radiating from my chest as I struggled to stand. The bed beneath me, crafted from one of the hardest materials known in this world, protested under my weight. Its thick legs bent with the screech of twisting metal before settling permanently into their new, distorted shape.

Apparently, even that preparation had its limits.

Warmth spread throughout my body, followed by a surge of power that rushed through every muscle like molten steel flowing through empty channels. I flexed my fingers, rolled my shoulders, and finally spread my arms wide as a genuine sense of relief settled over me. After twenty years of complete inactivity, my body was finally beginning to wake.

Mana surged through my veins.

My muscles responded.

My senses sharpened.

For a moment, I simply sat there and enjoyed the sensation.

There was something deeply satisfying about waking after a long hibernation and feeling all that accumulated power returning to its proper place. It was almost like discovering that someone had secretly upgraded every part of your body while you were asleep.

Then my heart beat again.

BOOOOM!

This time, the entire castle shook violently. Dust rained down from the towering ceiling, the crystal chandeliers swayed, and somewhere in the distance, stone cracked beneath the pressure.

I immediately focused on calming my breathing. Slowly and with control, I brought my heartbeat back under control until the trembling finally faded and silence returned to the castle.

I focused on my heartbeat and forced the immense energy accumulating within my chest back into a stable rhythm. The pressure gradually weakened. The trembling walls became still, the chandeliers stopped swaying, and the castle eventually returned to silence.

I opened my eyes.

"...That was dangerous."

A faint smile formed on my face as I looked at Liz. "Better than last time, isn't it?"

She gave a slight nod. "Much better."

I smiled in relief.

My heart had been one of the more troublesome consequences of my pursuit of power. At some point during my experiments, I had transformed the organ into something that behaved less like a biological heart and more like a miniature nuclear reactor. The amount of energy it could generate was extraordinary, but unfortunately, it had also developed a tendency to become unstable whenever I awakened from prolonged periods of hibernation.

The first time it happened, I had reduced the entire structure to rubble before I even realized what was happening. Poor Liz had then spent several months overseeing its reconstruction, and naturally, the replacement materials had to be significantly stronger than the originals. After all, rebuilding the same castle using the same materials would have been a rather obvious invitation to repeat the disaster.

Compared to that incident, today's awakening had been practically peaceful.

Of course, there was no reason to ruin a perfectly good morning by getting out of bed immediately.

So I didn't.

For another ten minutes, I remained beneath the blankets, shifting from one side to the other while convincing myself that I was still tired enough to justify staying there. Liz said nothing. She had known me for far too long to waste energy arguing with my laziness.

Eventually, hunger defeated my determination to remain in bed.

After breakfast, I settled into my usual seat at the long table within the castle's main chamber. The room was enormous, with towering windows overlooking the mountains surrounding my territory, but despite its size, it was remarkably quiet. There were no servants rushing around, no nobles waiting outside the door, and no politicians attempting to convince me that their particular kingdom deserved my attention.

One of the advantages of becoming overwhelmingly powerful was that people tended to respect your desire for privacy.

Or fear it.

I wasn't particularly concerned which.

After breakfast, I casually waved a hand through the air, causing a transparent blue screen to appear before me.

"My music."

With another flick of my finger, my favorite playlist appeared.

Well, perhaps calling it my favorite was a bit of an exaggeration. The band currently playing only ranked twelfth on my list, so I certainly wasn't their biggest fan. Still, I had been asleep for twenty years, and I was hardly in the mood to listen to something depressing.

A group of young women appeared on the screen, dancing in perfect synchronization beneath dazzling stage lights. Bright smiles adorned their faces as they waved to the audience and sang together.

"Raise your hands and wave..."

"Shake your waists and sing..."

"With me..."

"With me..."

"Happiness fills my heart..."

"No sorrow..."

"No regrets..."

"Wave..."

"You're with me..."

I unconsciously nodded along to the rhythm as I ate breakfast at the long table inside my castle room. It was a peaceful morning, and a good start to a new day.

A quiet morning after twenty years of unconsciousness.

Honestly, I could get used to this.

But perhaps I should properly introduce myself before continuing.

My name is Rowan.

I am a Great Mage living in a world of swords and magic, a place where the laws of nature are considerably more flexible than they were on Earth. Knights can cultivate their bodies until a single swing of their swords is capable of splitting mountains, martial artists temper their flesh until weapons become little more than toys in their hands, and mages can manipulate mana to produce phenomena that would have been considered impossible by the scientists of my previous world.

Every path is different, but they all ultimately lead toward the same destination.

Power.

And at the very peak of that pursuit lies a realm known as Origin.

Origin is not simply another stage of cultivation or another increase in magical power. It represents a fundamental transformation in the relationship between an individual and the world itself.

It is the supreme realm, a state in which one's will becomes inscribed upon the world itself. Its masters transcend the ordinary, becoming beings that can barely be described as human. They are legends made flesh, the culmination of centuries of relentless effort.

For almost everyone, Origin is the absolute limit—a wall that cannot be climbed, a boundary that cannot be surpassed, the limit of all living beings.

It is the highest realm recorded in history, the boundary beyond which every known path eventually ends. Countless geniuses have spent their entire lives attempting to reach it, and for the overwhelming majority, the journey ends long before they even come close.

But history has always had a few particularly unreasonable individuals who refuse to accept the existence of limits.

I happen to be one of them.

The problem was that there was no path beyond Origin.

So I decided to build one.

I called it the Ascension Ladder.

The principle behind it was surprisingly simple, at least when reduced to words.

The foundation of the project was the strange spiritual stone I had brought with me when I reincarnated into this world. Its properties had always been extraordinary, particularly its ability to absorb souls and convert their spiritual essence into a form of pure energy.

At first, I thought of it as a source of energy.

Later, I realized that I had been looking at it from entirely the wrong perspective.

Energy alone could not carry me beyond Origin.

What I needed was connection.

Every living soul possesses a unique imprint upon reality. Individually, those imprints are fragile, but when enough of them are connected together, they form something far more stable. A network of consciousness, and spiritual existence capable of providing support to something attempting to reach beyond the limits of a single existence.

That became the foundation of the Ascension Ladder.

Naturally, this required a certain number of test subjects.

Some people volunteered.

Others needed considerably more encouragement.

In the end, however, everyone who entered the Ascension Ladder was bound by a soul contract linking their existence to it.

The arrangement was remarkably simple.

They received access to a world where they could experiment, fight, train, and explore without the limitations imposed by ordinary reality. If they died within the Domain, they could return, learn from the experience, and try again. They could conduct experiments that would have been too dangerous to perform in the real world, fight opponents far beyond their normal abilities, and repeat the process as many times as necessary.

In exchange, their souls became part of the system that made all of it possible.

A fair deal, in my opinion.

And so, my experiment began.

Powered by the limitless energy of a nuclear fission core and supported by countless loyal slaves—I mean, loyal participants within my Domain—the Ascension Ladder continued to expand.

I was building a ladder out of souls and using it to climb beyond the sky.

The deeper I advanced into realms beyond Origin, the more dangerous the journey became. Reality was never designed for an individual consciousness to continue expanding indefinitely. At a certain point, the distinction between the soul and the surrounding world began to blur. Thoughts became indistinguishable from external phenomena. soul could dissolve into the surrounding void. Even one's sense of identity could begin to disappear beneath the pressure of something far greater.

The greatest danger was not death.

It was getting lost.

If my consciousness expanded too far without something anchoring it, I could lose the ability to distinguish between myself and everything else. My soul might continue to grow while the person called Rowan gradually disappeared within it.

The participants of the Ascension Ladder prevented that.

Their souls became my anchors.

As my soul continued to ascend higher and higher without being lost within the void, I reached toward a realm no one had ever reached before.

Unfortunately, reality is rarely kind to ambitious fools.

If half-success counts as failure, then yes, I failed.

The experiment collapsed before it could reach its goal, and the backlash was catastrophic. A form of cosmic corruption seeped into my soul and mind, corrupting them from within. The damage could not be completely removed; it could only be suppressed.

As a result, I developed an annoying condition. From time to time, my consciousness would shut down completely, forcing me to enter prolonged periods of hibernation that lasted for years.

Like the one I had just awakened from.