I Was Mistaken as a Genius Mage in a Game

A foreboding mass of dark clouds loomed over the barren, desolate land.

These clouds neither drifted nor released rain; they simply watched in silence as the dying perished.

The stench of blood filled the city. Rotting flesh and chunks of meat—unidentifiable remnants of human bodies—were scattered across the streets.

"The end! The end is upon us! The gods have abandoned us! The servants of the devil hunger for our flesh and rush toward us! Cease your futile resistance and plunge your spears into your own throats!"

From atop a pile of corpses in the ruined plaza, the voices of the broken and deranged echoed.

"……."

Hans, the captain of the city's remaining guards, could only look at them with pity.

His short-cropped hair left his forehead fully exposed, revealing a multitude of scars. Most were jagged, as if torn open, while some bore the distinct mark of a blade’s edge.

Hans’ armor, battered and ruined, bore witness to the relentless battles he had fought over the past few weeks.

The plate on his left shoulder was completely torn away, exposing the leather lining beneath. The plating on his right arm clung to his body by mere scraps of the same material.

To make matters worse, his armor was smeared with a thick, greenish liquid. It resembled blood, but the color and viscosity made it clear—it was certainly not human.

Hans tossed aside a piece of cloth he had been using and picked up a tattered scrap of old clothing nearby, using it to wipe away the filth on his armor. The substance was disgustingly sticky and refused to come off easily, but he had no choice. It had to be done.

"…When are the reinforcements supposed to arrive?"

"In about three days… You asked me the same thing ten minutes ago."

"…Damn it."

As soon as he heard his lieutenant’s response, Hans threw down the bloodstained rag and sank to the ground.

His joints screamed in agony. It had been three days since he last slept.

"…How are the men holding up?"

"Not well. Our numbers have been halved, and among the survivors, eighty percent are wounded."

"Tell them to thoroughly clean off any traces of the mutants’ blood. If an epidemic breaks out now, we're finished."

With that final order, Hans leaned against the crumbling city wall and shut his eyes. If he didn’t seize these fleeting moments of rest, he feared he would lose his sanity—just like those wailing lunatics in the plaza.

"…Excuse me."

Just as he was beginning to drift off, a boy’s voice reached his ears.

Hans forced his heavy eyelids open, his battered armor groaning as he turned toward the sound.

A boy with striking silver hair and piercing blue eyes stood before him. His clothes were tattered, barely more than scraps of fabric clinging to his frame. His bare feet were covered in dirt and marred with wounds.

…Despite the mysterious depth in his eyes, he appeared to be nothing more than another stray urchin—one of the countless orphans scattered throughout the city.

"…The corpses of the mutants are everywhere. You might catch a plague if you stay here. Get to the inner city while you still can."

Hans sighed and gestured for the boy to leave.

"……."

The boy, however, did not move. Instead, he placed his delicate hand against the ruined city wall, then turned his gaze toward the putrid pile of corpses.

Even as he looked upon the mountain of bodies and the deranged fanatics screaming atop them, his expression remained utterly impassive.

Slowly, the boy approached Hans.

"There doesn’t seem to be a mage stationed in this city. It would be much safer to burn all the corpses."

"You think we'd waste a high-class mage on a place like this?"

"……."

The boy glanced back at the path he had taken to get here.

He saw sewer rats turning on one another in desperation, the bloodied corpses of prostitutes strewn carelessly on the streets, a burned-out bank long since abandoned, and a church reduced to rubble by the madness of its own congregation.

"Strathus is already finished."

"…Then why are you still defending this city? What’s left to protect in a place that’s already doomed?"

Hans let out a hollow laugh. What a ridiculous question.

"Do guards need a reason to defend their city?"

He answered without hesitation.

"…I don’t know much about war, but even I can see that the situation is beyond saving. It doesn’t look like you’ll last much longer. Aren’t you afraid of dying?"

"I am."

Once again, Hans answered immediately.

"Then why don’t you run?"

"Because I’m the captain of the city guard."

His response to the boy’s third question was just as swift.

"……."

The boy fell silent, seemingly lost in thought.

Meanwhile, Hans showed no interest in him. Street orphans like this were everywhere.

"Quit standing there and go. The blood around here is toxic."

Hans needed no further justification for his duty. He was the city’s last line of defense, and that was all that mattered.

Though their conversation had been brief, the boy had already grasped what kind of man Hans was.

After a moment of contemplation, the boy sat down beside him. Of all the places in this wretched city, this spot felt the safest.

"…What the hell are you doing? I told you to go to the inner city."

Hans scowled, annoyed by the boy’s presence.

His armor was still slick with mutant blood, and he was worried the boy might catch something from prolonged exposure.

"If you lose, people like me will die anyway, whether we’re in the inner city or the outskirts."

Hans had no idea what the boy was thinking.

It wasn’t despair—his expression was far too calm for that. Nor did he seem broken—his eyes still burned with a sharp clarity.

"…Well, you’re not wrong."

In the end, Hans gave up on driving him away.

After all, the boy was right. Whether here or deeper in the city, this place was hell all the same.

"…Damn this era."

Hans muttered, gazing up at the pitch-black clouds above.

When he was a child—no more than thirty years ago—the world had not been like this.

Sure, the orcs in the west and the elves in the east had always been troublesome, but at least there had been reason, order—some semblance of logic.

But then, everything changed with the arrival of a single mage.

The dark sorcerer, Tokker.

He had summoned an ancient demon, offering the world in exchange for transcendence. And the demon, fully manifesting in its true form, granted his wish.

From that day on—

The stench of rotting flesh filled every corner of the world, and there was never a single moment without the sound of screams.

Survival became an endless struggle. Hope and the future—mere words of a bygone era.

"Well… and this city is the worst of the worst."

"Yet, it must still be defended."

"Hah! That’s right."

Hans let out a hearty laugh at the boy’s response and reached out to pat his back—only to stop midway.

The boy’s body was alarmingly thin.

Street urchins were all malnourished to some degree, but even among them, this boy was particularly frail and withered.

With his gaunt frame, Hans feared that even a light tap from his gauntleted hand might snap his spine in half.

"There's a forward base behind the burned-out bank. They still have a bit of bread left… If you need it, take some."

"Isn’t that meant for the soldiers?"

"If you say you’re taking Hans’ share, they won’t question it."

"That would be a waste of rations. I’m nothing more than a vagrant. Even if I replenish my strength by eating, it won’t contribute in any way to defending this city."

Hans sighed at the boy’s coldly rational response.

"…That’s true."

He couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

Supplies were already critically low; even the few remaining soldiers barely had enough to sustain themselves. Giving food to someone who did nothing for the city would only weaken their overall fighting strength.

"Take it anyway."

Even so, Hans insisted.

The boy stubbornly refused, but eventually, Hans dragged his heavy, plated armor over to the forward base behind the bank and retrieved a piece of thick, rock-hard bread.

It wasn’t even enough to be considered a proper meal—just a meager scrap of stale bread.

Speckled with dust and mold, it was a far cry from anything fresh. Yet, in this city, even rotten bread was a luxury many would die for.

"The gods are watching. This is not a meaningless act."

Hans glanced between the boy and the collapsed cross atop the ruined church.

"If all the people we’re supposed to protect starve to death, then what’s the point of the city guard?"

"……."

In the end, the boy took the bread without a word.

It was the first meal he had ever tasted in his life.

It was disgustingly hard, emitting a musty, stale stench—clearly past its prime. Mold had begun creeping along its edges, but in this city, people were starving to death without even a chance to eat such rotten bread.

DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!

Just as the boy cautiously chewed on his first bite, the city’s massive war bell let out a piercing scream.

"Multiple mutants spotted four hundred meters ahead! Their numbers are beyond anything we've faced before!"

"A scout unit has also reported sighting demons! All units return to the front lines immediately! All forces regroup at the center of the city!"

From atop a makeshift wooden watchtower, a young soldier desperately shouted, his voice cracking with urgency.

The exhausted soldiers who had barely managed to close their eyes let out despairing sighs as they were once again called to battle.

Hans, meanwhile, simply stared up at the sky and cursed under his breath.

"…Damn it."

Desperation darkened his expression, but his eyes still burned with unwavering determination.

"Run."

"I already told you—it makes no difference whether I’m here or in the inner city."

"Run anyway. There’s a small gap in the northern city wall. Use it to escape. Keep the sunlight at your back and run as fast as you can. If you’re lucky, you might break through the demons’ encirclement and run into the reinforcements coming our way."

"Is there no chance the city guard could win?"

"Did you not hear? The demons have shown themselves."

"I heard."

"Do you know when demons choose to reveal themselves on the battlefield?"

"When they are one hundred percent certain of their victory."

Demons were cunning.

Ordinarily, they remained hidden—lurking deep underground or in dense forests—while their mutant armies, made from captured beasts and humans, slowly drained their enemies’ strength.

Only when their prey had been thoroughly weakened—when victory was beyond doubt—did demons finally step onto the battlefield.

Their arrival was nothing short of a death sentence for all who remained.

Those with sense would slit their own throats to avoid the horrors that awaited them.

The foolish ones would be captured alive—forced to watch as they were twisted and reshaped into grotesque mutants, their bodies warped beyond recognition.

"If you understand, then run. Survive, and let the world know that we fought bravely."

And as for Hans—the man who had shared his bread with the boy—he was one of the foolish ones.

He turned away from the boy and addressed his soldiers.

"Today! Death has come for us!"

"They will use our fallen brothers and sisters to create monsters that will tear us apart!"

"And once we are gone, they will slaughter every last one of our neighbors!"

Hans clanked forward in his heavy plated armor and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"The situation is dire! Our weapons are rusted, and their fangs and claws drip with venom!"

One by one, the despairing and terrified soldiers turned their gazes toward him.

"Our courage has withered, and only fear remains! They have pushed us to the brink, taken our arrows, and stripped us of our weapons!"

"……."

"……."

"But! There is one thing they have not taken from us—our fury!"

"……."

"……."

"Do not forget the sight of our children torn apart by their claws! Do not forget our comrades, our friends, twisted into grotesque abominations by the hands of those wretched demons!"

Slowly, the flames of determination reignited in the soldiers' eyes, burning away the despair that had suffocated them moments before.

"Those who wish to flee, run north now! But those who wish to die as humans—to preserve their pride and show their fighting spirit—gaze upon those wretched minions of the abyss with hatred in your eyes…!"

Their chests swelled with the fierce pride of humanity. The heat of it coursed through their veins, setting their hearts ablaze. Soon, wild battle cries erupted across their ranks.

"Follow me onto this accursed battlefield, and let us perish as warriors of honor! For Estella!"

"For Estella!"

"For Estella!"

Despair vanished in an instant. A renewed fervor swept through the remaining city guards.

They tore off the splints binding their broken limbs, strapped on their battered armor, and clenched the hilts of their shattered swords with white-knuckled grips.

The boy watched them, chewing the last of his bread.

'By all rights, I should be running while they die.'

The demon that was about to appear would be Level 15.

A standard Level 1 character had no chance of defeating it, no matter what they did.

That was why, in the game, a newly created human vagrant always began by fleeing the city—escaping from the demons and mutants that had overrun Strathus.

It was a well-crafted tutorial, offering players a brief glimpse of a world on the brink of ruin while helping them immerse themselves in the setting.

But the boy…

He had despised this tutorial for a long time.

'I always wanted to kill that bastard at least once.'

In the game, the player character had no choice but to run. The system forcibly blocked any attempt to fight.

No matter how creatively a player built their character, the fundamental rule remained unshakable:

"A human vagrant must abandon the collapsing city of Strathus and embark on a long journey toward the central city, where the true game begins."

No player had ever been able to change that premise.

But in reality… no such system restrictions existed.

The boy placed a hand on the crumbling wall and slowly rose to his feet.

His silvery hair shimmered as he stood, his movements careful yet unhesitating.

If he wanted to, he could run.

He knew the terrain outside Strathus better than anyone. Every rock, every landmark was etched into his mind.

Avoiding monster-infested areas, finding safe places to rest—he could probably do it with his eyes closed.

And yet, his steps carried him not northward, but toward the battlefield.

There was no grand reason for it.

The bread Hans had given him had been rock-hard and rough, but strangely… it had been warm.

It made no sense.

The bread had been locked away in a supply depot, left to rot who knew how long ago. It should have been nothing but stale rations on the verge of decay.

And yet, that disgusting, unappetizing, oddly warm piece of bread—

That alone was enough to risk his life.

…But there was one more reason.

'Wow, I’m actually getting excited.'

If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would surely call him insane.

It wasn’t the soldiers’ battle cries that thrilled him.

It wasn’t their noble resolve or the heat of war.

No, what sent chills down his spine—what filled him with exhilaration—was the realization that he finally had a chance to kill a monster that was supposed to be unkillable.

'This is an opportunity. A once-in-a-lifetime, unique, and unparalleled opportunity…!'

Simply being transported into this game world was already an experience beyond anything any other person on Earth could ever have.

And yet, for this lunatic of a boy…

That alone wasn’t enough.

Who knew how he had ended up like this?

Hipsters liked to claim they thrived on uniqueness, but even among them, this boy was an outlier—a twisted anomaly.

…Well, whatever.

For the sake of one disgusting, rock-hard piece of bread—

And for the sake of his own bizarre, warped desires—

"Bloom."

A colossal bolt of lightning descended upon the battlefield.