Chapter 01

Derek (1)

---

Derek (1)

 Derek's first teacher was a shabby old man who begged in the slums.

Even in Ebelstein, a renowned metropolis on the continent, there were slums where the destitute gathered. At the entrance to a dark alley frequented by thugs and prostitutes, the old man would loudly proclaim to the empty air that he was a great wizard, as if he had lost his mind.

"In my prime, I was a grand wizard who soared through the skies in the Great Northern War!"

"The famous Grand Duke Veltus even personally sought me out to deal with the monsters in the frontier! Haha!"

The few remaining strands of hair on his wrinkled head were filthy, and his worn-out leather shirt and pants were stained with dirt and leftover food. To anyone who saw him, he was nothing more than a mad beggar, so naturally, no one believed his words.

"Ah, these fools... Tsk!"

Hurt by their disbelief, the old man would occasionally shoot fire into the air or summon a gust of wind.

In an era where magic was rare, even the most basic magic was an invaluable skill in these slums. Passersby would applaud or exclaim in awe at his magic, but those with a bit of knowledge would critically remark:

"I understand you can use magic, but your scale is too small to call yourself a grand wizard, don't you think?"

"Hey, you little brat! Who are you to criticize me?"

"Well, it's just that you seem capable of only basic first-level magic, which noble children often master before their coming-of-age ceremony."

The old man swallowed dryly at the criticism from a man in the crowd. He hadn't expected anyone in this filthy slum to recognize the levels of magic.

"Of course, it's impressive to use magic at all in this wasteland, but claiming to be a grand wizard from your past seems a bit much. Let's be honest."

The man, who looked neat and well-dressed, made it clear that between him and the beggar, there was no need to debate who was more credible. The gathered crowd laughed and mocked the old man, throwing trash and dirt at him.

"See? I knew it! That annoying old man always boasts about himself when he walks by!"

"He thinks he's special, but he's just a worthless bum who rationalizes why he doesn't belong in this back alley!"

Even the ability to use basic magic was admirable to the poor in the slums. However, the old man's arrogant behavior and constant belittling of others had made him a target of ridicule. As a result, he was spat on and mocked whenever he lay on the street.

"Fools. They don't recognize true talent..."

The old man would mutter to himself, trying to justify his situation as the only way to defend his pride.

One day, while sitting on the ground, angrily biting into a piece of oat bread he found in the trash, a small boy with a dirty appearance approached him.

"Please teach me magic."

The boy, who looked no older than ten, with white hair covered in dirt and a malnourished face, was a typical orphan from the slums.

It was clear that the boy was not in his right mind to ask a beggar known for his tall tales to teach him magic. Despite his serious eyes, it was a common look in this harsh slum where survival was a daily struggle.

"My name is Derek."

"...Very well."

The old man looked at the boy and then grinned, baring his teeth.

The old man was a braggart. He was not a successful grand wizard from his youth, but a mediocrity who wandered the magical world with unremarkable talent and grew old without accomplishing anything.

He had no real ability or intention to teach magic properly. Sometimes, people who have accomplished nothing in life need someone to take their boasts seriously and admire them. The arrival of a naive boy was a great stimulus to his otherwise empty life.

"Haha, Derek, consider yourself honored to have me as your teacher. Though I may be sitting here in the dirt now, in my prime..."

The old man filled his ego by giving lengthy speeches to the small boy. Passersby would click their tongues or look sympathetically at Derek, but he listened quietly to the old man’s stories.

Occasionally, the old man would reluctantly share basic magical knowledge, though it was elementary and exaggerated to seem profound. Derek, whether aware of the old man's nature or not, absorbed the magical knowledge silently.

Time passed, and the seasons changed like a flowing river. The colorful autumn leaves disappeared, the weather turned cold, and soon it was spring again.

The boy and the old man sometimes slept by the river, stole bread from bakeries, and endured the cold in makeshift shelters. Despite the difficulty of understanding people's true nature, the old man gradually realized Derek's exceptional talent.

"Are you a bastard child from a noble family?"

"Not at all."

In magic, bloodline was paramount. Even the old man could see Derek's extraordinary talent. He grasped concepts quickly and applied them skillfully. In terms of theoretical knowledge, Derek soon matched first-level wizards, a feat rare even for noble children with the best resources.

"I wish that were the case."

Derek answered indifferently, the steam from fresh bread wafting in front of him. It was a lucky day, having successfully stolen a lot of warm bread. The old man greedily stuffed some into his leather pouch and began to eat, pushing the rest toward Derek.

"Why you're so eager to learn magic, I don't know, but you understand that as a commoner, there's a limit to how far you can go."

"Yes."

"Noble children beyond Ebelstein's northern walls often reach the third level before adulthood. For someone of low birth, it takes decades of training to reach that level. Does that motivate you?"

The old man couldn't help but offer some life advice to the boy who seemed prematurely world-weary. Despite needing a follower, Derek's old-man-like demeanor made him difficult to like.

Still, time spent together breeds attachment. The old man felt compelled to share his grim outlook.

"Even if you feel exceptional now, you’ll eventually hit an insurmountable wall."

This wasn't just a story. The old man recalled his younger days, when his hard-earned magical skills were effortlessly matched by a duke's son in a week. The chasm between noble and commoner was vast.

"Live selfishly and tenaciously, like me."

"I'm not harboring grand ambitions. I just need a way to survive."

"Ah, speaking like you know everything at your age... this butter bread is delicious. Seems we got lucky."

"My bread only smells of grains."

"Haha..."

Derek chewed his bland bread, watching the old man laugh with his yellowed teeth on display.

"I've already taken the good butter bread. A disciple shouldn't eat better than his master."

"..."

"I told you, life is about being tenacious. If you’re upset, you should've kept the good bread for yourself. It’s all in my pouch now."

The old man’s behavior of hoarding the good bread was typical of a beggar. Derek, unable to muster even a bitter laugh, quietly ate his dry bread, vowing to secure the good butter bread first next time.

The next day at dusk, Derek returned from practicing pickpocketing to find his teacher lying by the river, covered in blood.

The old man had tried to steal from the northern wall guards and was beaten nearly to death. It seemed he attempted to steal a second-level magic book. No one understood why a man with no ambitions would do such a thing.

Touching Ebelstein’s guards was suicidal, especially for a despised beggar. No one would defend him.

"Master."

"Gah... ha..."

With broken ribs, the old man could barely breathe, trembling in a pool of blood, trying to speak. But no words came, only the struggle to breathe. His life ended with a trembling hand, true to his beggar’s life.

Derek silently observed the cold body, then used a broken shovel to dig a grave by the trash-filled riverbank. After placing the old man’s body in a modest grave, Derek nodded a few times and returned to their usual shelter.

There, he found the old man’s smelly leather sheets, a small wooden drawer, and some cloth used as pillows. Searching through, he found nothing of value except a leather pouch with leftover bread.

Derek took the pouch, wrapped a leather sheet around his shoulders for warmth, and headed towards the main street of Ebelstein.

The old man had said that as a commoner, Derek’s magic training would have limited success. It wasn’t wrong; most would agree in this world where magic was a privilege.

However, the old man never realized that Derek wasn’t originally from this world.

Derek only needed a teacher to learn the basics. For advanced magic, one would need a great master, but for the basics, anyone could be a mentor. In these slums, even such teachers were rare. The old man, with his exaggerated stories, was perfect for Derek's needs.

That was all there was to it.

Despite his pitiful life, the old man had tried to teach Derek something. He wanted to impart his desperate tenacity to survive from the bottom.

As Derek walked towards Ebelstein's main street, he wore his usual old-man-like expression and bit into a piece of bread from the old man’s pouch. It contained no butter.