The Regressed Illegitimate Child is a Genius Dark Magician

Chapter 2

Darkness descended, and Damian’s consciousness plummeted endlessly. His past life flashed before his eyes like a lantern passing in the night. Memories of walking through the imperial garden hand in hand with his mother, whose face he could barely recall. Anna and Felix shedding tears in his stead at his mother’s funeral. His childhood, scorned for his meager talents. The grotesquely disfigured corpses of Anna and Felix. The moment he first made a pact with a demon. The aimless wandering across the continent. The days spent crossing the line between life and death with his guerrilla comrades. And finally, his death.

They say that those who practice dark magic are erased entirely, with no chance of reincarnation like others. Even if that were true, he wasn’t afraid. He had come to terms with it long ago. Besides, he had no desire to be reborn. He was just tired. He only wished these thoughts would cease as soon as possible.

“Aaagh…”

At some point, a soft sensation enveloped his entire body. As surrounding sounds brushed against his ears, his eyelids slowly lifted once more.

“Felix, Felix! The young master has opened his eyes! Hurry, come quickly!”

A familiar woman’s voice made Damian instinctively turn his head to the right. The last time he had seen her, faint wrinkles had begun forming around her eyes and lips. But now, her skin was smooth, without a single line. It was as if he were looking at a vision from the past.

“Anna….”

When Damian called her name, Anna clutched one of his hands tightly and buried her face into the bed. The warmth of her touch seemed to melt both his body and soul. Tears spread onto the blanket as she sobbed.

“H-How worried I was… Why did you push yourself so hard…?”

Clatter.

The door burst open, and the butler, Felix, rushed in, gasping for breath.

“Young master, are you alright? Do you feel any discomfort?”

Felix, too, knelt beside the bed, concern evident in his expression.

“Thank goodness… truly, thank goodness.”

His voice caught as he turned his head away. Tears welled up in his sharp, chiseled face, making him look rather amusing.

“Ishtar… You just won’t give up until the very end, will you…?”

Sitting up, Damian let out a bitter chuckle.

“S-S-Sir! No way!?”

“So the duel really did affect his brain…”

As Damian continued to mutter incomprehensible words, Anna and Felix turned pale.

“Y-Young master! Please lie back down. You need to rest.”

“Anna is right. I should call a healer immediately.”

It felt like a dream. No, it was a dream. Ever since he had seen their corpses, he had longed for this moment countless times. Yet, when this life had been his reality, he had failed to truly cherish it.

“No, it’s fine.”

As he waved his hand dismissively, they exchanged puzzled glances.

“Come closer, both of you.”

As Anna and Felix hesitantly approached, Damian spread his arms and pulled them into an embrace.

“I missed you. So much.”

They stammered in shock, but their words didn’t reach his ears. For now, he just wanted to bask in this warmth.

“Thank you until the very end. And… I’m sorry.”

Anna and Felix had been by his side ever since his mother had entered the palace after winning the emperor’s favor. As a dancer, his mother had been loved by the emperor, but she was relentlessly persecuted by the empress’s faction. Through it all, Anna and Felix had protected her, sharing in her joys and sorrows. When his mother died in a mysterious accident when he was four, they had upheld her will and devoted themselves to raising him. Back then, he had never truly understood their sincerity. He had lashed out at them over trivial matters. It was only after they had died that he realized they had been his only true family.

“If you think you can sway me like this, you’re mistaken.”

What a cruel demon. To exploit his weakest point like this. And yet, he was also grateful. At the very last moment, even if it was just an illusion, he had been able to say what he had always wanted to. But he wouldn’t yield. If he wavered now, he would only be disgracing their memory. He would burn it all away. This illusion and even himself.

“…Why isn’t it working?”

Lowering his arms, Damian stared blankly at his hands. The first dark magic he learned was “Hellfire”. He had intended to reduce this entire space to ashes with it.

But no matter how hard he focused, the green flames would not ignite. Rubbing his hands together, exhaling deeply, nothing. Even if this was Isthar’s illusion, as long as his soul remained intact, he should have been able to use dark magic. Dark magic functioned through pacts with demons, and those pacts were etched into one’s soul. He attempted to use other dark spells, but the results were the same.

“This can’t be…”

He had assumed it was an illusion because Anna and Felix were here. But he had failed to look at the situation from a broader perspective. Springing out of bed, Damian ignored their frantic attempts to stop him and strode over to a large mirror.

Pale skin, a lower perspective. A youthful, unblemished face. There was no trace of the war-worn dark mage he had once been.

“What is this…?”

Even his voice and speech patterns were different. Gone was the hardened tone of a man weathered by war, what remained was the voice of an inexperienced boy. And most importantly—

“They’re gone, gone, gone!! My contracts, every single one of them is gone!”

Damian had made countless pacts with demons to gain power. Yet now, not a single one remained.

“As I feared, the head injury from that duel must have been serious! I told you we should have stopped him, Felix!”

“Calm down, Anna. What could we have done? The young master was the one who challenged the Fourth Prince.”

‘The duel with the Fourth Prince… I remember now.’

When he was sixteen. The time when his last magic tutor had abandoned him. Looking at that wretch, I bet that lowborn woman will never rest in peace. Damian, who had remained silent until then, finally exploded that day. He challenged a duel to pay the price for the insult, but was miserably defeated.

Afterward, he suffered from a fever and spent weeks confined to his bed.

It was a story of the past. But Anna and Felix spoke as if it had happened just a few weeks ago. That meant—

“Young Master! Where are you going, Young Master!”

“Don’t stop him, Miss Anna. The Young Master has fallen into an illness of the heart. At times like this, it’s best to just watch over him.”

“You’re telling me to just watch while he wanders around barefoot in his nightclothes!?”

Leaving their shouts behind, Damian walked out of the secluded palace. He needed to organize his thoughts. His regressed body. Anna and Felix’s reactions. The vanished contract. And the last words left by Ishtar.

— “So struggle all you want.”

Damian had returned to the past. Sixteen years old, powerless, merely surviving day by day in the secluded palace as an illegitimate child.

‘So this is where I’m supposed to start struggling.’

The Mistress of Hatred and Compassion, Ishtar. If she was one of the highest-ranking rulers of hell, she would certainly be capable of turning back time. The question was, why?

Every action of a demon originates from a contract. If the other party does not consent, they cannot exert their power. Damian had rejected Ishtar’s proposal. There was no way he had agreed to it, even unconsciously. And yet, Ishtar had persistently sought to possess Damian. That meant she hadn’t done this purely out of goodwill. There was certainly some scheme at play. And it was unlikely to be in Damian’s favor. But—

“…It stings.”

When he looked back, he saw bloodstains on his footprints. In the midst of organizing his thoughts, he had neglected to wear proper shoes. It hurt. It stung. It was painful. But because of that, he could sense that this was not a dream. Breaking free from his thoughts, Damian surveyed his surroundings. Before he knew it, he had passed through the imperial palace and stood in the center of the square. The very place where the bounties on Damian and his comrades had been declared, where Mikhail had proclaimed himself the new emperor of the empire. Then and now, the warm sunlight remained unchanged.

“……”

Lifting his gaze, he saw the throne where Mikhail had once sat. A sacred relic symbolizing the emperor’s authority for generations. With the current emperor in seclusion and the imperial council ruling by proxy, that seat had no rightful occupant. In other words, anyone with legitimate qualifications had a chance to claim that throne. This very fact had sparked the brutal civil war between the reformists and the traditionalists.

Anna, Felix, and countless others had perished in that war. Even more people had spent sleepless nights mourning their lost loved ones.

‘All over that stone chair.’

Damian returned to his initial thought. Though he didn’t know how, Ishtar had undoubtedly pulled some trick. It was certainly a scheme to make Damian hers. But was that what truly mattered now? He had returned to the past. To his weak and wretched self, before he had learned black magic. But he had also been given an opportunity.

‘Revenge.’

Before his death, Damian had wished for vengeance. Not vengeance entrusted to Ishtar, but vengeance carried out with his own two hands.

‘As long as I can take that seat, right?’

He reached toward the throne. A right he had never once considered. Though an illegitimate child, Damian still possessed an innate right to sit upon that throne. Of course, he was the lowest in the line of succession. But if he was the only surviving direct male descendant of the current emperor, no one could deny his claim. He would take the throne using the black magic forbidden by the empire. That was the greatest revenge he could exact upon Mikhail, Rubia, and those who had started the civil war. His goal was set. Now, what did he need to achieve it?

‘Overwhelming power.’

The traditionalists had gathered the nobles and amassed strength, yet they all perished on the battlefield. Mikhail and Rubia’s reformists had been overwhelmingly powerful. No scheme could stand against their might. To claim the throne, Damian had to surpass Mikhail and Rubia. The greatest swordmaster and the archmage. They stood at the pinnacle of aura and magic. To rise above them, Damian needed power several times greater than what he had wielded before his regression. Compared to them, his talent was like that of an insect against a human. Before his regression, Damian had never even considered the possibility of surpassing those two. Even with the power of black magic, he had felt utterly insignificant before the brilliance they radiated. Not anymore.

He wanted to surpass them. He had to surpass them. And he had the knowledge, the experience, and now the time to do it.

“Young Master! Your feet, what happened to your feet!?”

Unable to hold back any longer, Anna ran to him. Without hesitation, she tore her skirt and wrapped it around Damian’s feet.

“You keep talking to yourself… Your illness must be really serious… What should we do…”

Felix, standing behind her, pressed his temple, deep in thought. Should he call for a palace healer to examine Damian, or should he search for another doctor?

If Damian could attain power above all others, Anna and Felix wouldn’t have to die. His guerrilla comrades wouldn’t be humiliated. The people wouldn’t have to suffer through war. That was enough. This regression wasn’t his choice. He didn’t know what awaited him at the end of this path. But he had more than enough reason to accept it. After one last glance at the throne, Damian turned and made his way back to the secluded palace.