Rein lay sprawled across a wide wooden bed, wrapped in pristine white sheets. Most of his external wounds had already been sealed by Master Chloe's Divine Aegis, yet the pain buried deep in his nerves pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He lifted a bottle of mana restoration fluid and downed it in one go. The taste was bitter enough to sting his tongue, but he didn't hesitate. A moment of bitterness was preferable to the hollow, burning exhaustion gnawing inside him.
Ingrid sat nearby. Her glasses—cracked along one lens—rested crookedly on her nose. After finishing her second potion, she had slumped forward, resting her head on her arms atop the massive table. Her sleeves were stained with blood that no amount of scrubbing would remove soon. The usually lively apprentice healer now resembled a sapling crushed beneath a winter gale.
Rein exhaled, the sound barely louder than the room's silence.
"This world isn't nearly as safe as I thought it was."
He paused, letting the words settle before continuing softly.
"Magic isn't so different from science. In capable hands, it saves lives… and in the wrong ones, it ends them just as easily."
Ingrid stirred. Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes peeked over the edge of her arms, but she didn't interrupt.
"You ever heard of Murphy's Law?"
She frowned.
"Murphy? Was he… a famous mage? Why have I never heard of him?"
Rein let out a tired laugh—thin, weary, but still a laugh.
"Well… you could call him one. Edward Murphy Jr.—the man who said: anything that can go wrong… will go wrong."
"That sounds ridiculous," she muttered, tilting her head. "More like a curse than a principle of magic."
Rein closed his eyes, letting his breath fall into a steady rhythm.
"It's not a curse. It's more like accepting reality. When several outcomes are possible—and one leads to disaster—humans have an uncanny talent for stumbling into that one without realizing it."
Silence stretched.
Ingrid pressed her lips together, trembling.
"…But if I'd just done better," she whispered, "…maybe Ellie and the others wouldn't have died right in front of me."
Rein opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Ingrid… Murphy's Law doesn't mean we're doomed to fail. It's talking about probability. Even if you did everything right… when the odds of survival are that slim, the outcome rarely changes."
Her eyes quivered.
Rein stared back at the ceiling.
"Murphy was trying to say that the world always holds the highest hope… and the lowest fall. We don't get to choose which one arrives. And sometimes, all we can do is accept that what has already happened… belonged to one of those paths."
Ingrid slowly removed her cracked glasses and set them on the table. The delicate scrape of metal on wood.
"But it still feels like my fault," she said, voice raw. "If I'd cast a second faster—if I'd pushed a little harder—maybe they'd still be alive."
Rein pushed himself upright with a quiet wince. Pain flared through his ribs and shoulders, but his blue eyes were clear—steady.
"Listen. Murphy's Law isn't telling us we made mistakes. It's telling us that the world is too complex for us to control."
He raised a hand, tracing idle shapes in the air.
"When you cast a spell, think of how many things can go wrong. Your focus slipping for a heartbeat. Mana traveling through your Core Mana Circles a hair too slowly. Screams around you shaking your concentration. Even a speck of dust nudging your breath could warp a spell's trajectory."
He let the words sink in, then spoke gently.
"The law is just a reminder: we're not gods. We can't control every variable."
Ingrid shook her head, tears welling again.
"But they died right in front of me… And I lived. That feels like my failure alone."
"No. That's the trap of guilt talking. It wasn't you choosing who lived or died, Ingrid. It was the battlefield itself—every force, every spell, every chaotic possibility—colliding beyond anyone's control."
He leaned back against the headboard and drew a long, steady breath.
"It warns us—failure is always possible, so brace for it. No matter how skilled we are, the worst-case scenario can still arrive. Our job is to make sure that when it does, we're still standing—and still able to protect whoever remains."
An image surfaced—the explosion at the Nackerl laboratory—burned deep into nerves and memory alike. The worst-case scenario… or something far worse? The thought dragged him briefly into a trance.
Ingrid said nothing for a long while. Her eyes shimmered with tears she refused to let fall, lips pressed tight as if she were wrestling the storm inside her chest.
Rein glanced at her.
"You can't bring the dead back," he said. "But you can choose not to lose the living."
Ingrid lowered her gaze.
When she finally spoke, her voice trembled.
"But what about you, Rein? If your friends died… wouldn't you blame yourself?"
Rein fell silent. His blue eyes lifted toward the ceiling—toward the glowing mana-lines and arcane sigils etched across the Vault—as though he were looking past them, far beyond, into another world entirely.
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"...Of course I would," he said at last. "Anyone would."
He turned back to her, expression steady.
"But blaming myself won't bring anyone back. It only weakens me. And once I'm weak… the living might die next. And if that happened, the dead would probably scream at me from the afterlife."
Ingrid blinked—then let out a small, broken laugh through her tears.
Rein smiled faintly, though the pallor of exhaustion still clung to his face.
"Murphy's Law sounds cruel," he continued, "but honesty often is. It reminds us that everything can go wrong—and eventually, something will. But if we understand that… we can prepare just enough to survive it."
He lifted a hand and pressed his thumb and forefinger together, leaving only a small gap between them.
Ingrid wiped her eyes. Her voice was barely audible.
"…Then I have to keep going, don't I? At least so their deaths won't be meaningless."
Rein nodded slowly. "That's what truly matters."
A faint breeze slipped through the vents, making the shadows of the mana-lamps flicker across the walls.
After a long stretch of quiet, Ingrid finally spoke.
"Earlier… you promised that once things calmed down, you'd tell me everything."
Rein fell back onto the pillow, eyes closing in mock exhaustion. He stayed silent long enough for Ingrid to frown.
"Hey. Don't pretend to fall asleep."
She reached over and poked his arm.
"I'm not pretending." He opened his eyes, amusement flickering in the blue. "When I went looking for you, the lower floors were swarming with zombies. I had to deal with them first. But while I was clearing them out, I spotted a shadow moving through the building."
He lowered his voice.
"It wasn't a zombie. It was an assassin—stalking the survivors. And the moment he killed them, they rose again and turned on others. It didn't take long to figure out who was behind that trick… and that someone else was pulling the strings in the background."
Ingrid nodded slowly, adding in a softer tone: "Good thing it was after classes. Most students had already gone back to the dorms. Only a few were still in this building."
Rein inhaled and continued.
"After running all over the place, I managed to gather nearly ten students who were trapped. I took them to hide on the third-floor library. Earlier in the day—when I went there with you—I noticed there was a warding spell on the room. Not as strong as this Vault, but enough to stall the enemy."
The room grew heavier for a moment.
Then Ingrid asked softly, "…But how did you know Master Chloe would come back?"
Rein lifted Chloe's torn black cloak from the bedside, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He reached into the inner pocket—slow, casual—then pulled out a palm-sized transparent orb. Then, without the slightest hint of shame, he pressed it to his ear—like he was making a phone call.
"Hello~? Testing, testing."
Ingrid's jaw dropped so fast she almost swallowed her words.
"Master Chloe's Communication Orb!"
Rein chuckled softly and rolled the orb between his fingers. Mana-light shimmered inside its core like a trapped star.
"She'd been talking to me the entire time—guiding the evacuation herself. But on her way back here, she got stuck fighting through a ridiculous number of undead swarming around the Academy. So she arrived a little late."
He placed the orb down, his voice dropping to a gentler murmur.
"Honestly? We scraped by with seconds to spare."
If LIZ's timing had been off by even a heartbeat, he'd be dead.
"So she was right—the only escape route we had… was time."
Ingrid let out a long breath. Her shoulders finally slackened.
"Still… it's thanks to Master Chloe that tonight didn't end in total collapse."
She lifted her head and smiled weakly. "And your memories… did they return?"
Rein shook his head—flat, emotionless. "No. Not yet."
Ingrid froze. The smile she'd just managed to form collapsed instantly.
"The spells I cast… they surface on their own, like muscle memory I never earned." He raised a hand to scratch his head. "Half the time I don't know whether it's a blessing… or the start of a very bad joke from fate."
Ingrid stared straight at him. "That weird shield you used? Coincidence doesn't cover it—and you know it."
Rein laughed under his breath and rose from the bed, rolling his shoulders.
"That's enough for now. I'm exhausted. I'm going to wash up and rest. You should too. And… if anyone saw us like this, someone might misunderstand and start rumors. You know how students are."
Ingrid's face flushed bright red.
"Wh–why would you say something like that!?"
She stumbled to put her cracked glasses back on, hiding behind them like a shield.
The bathroom door shut. She puffed her cheeks as she sat alone in the Vault, still embarrassed—yet the air felt a little lighter now.
About thirty quiet minutes passed. Water dripped faintly as Rein stepped out of the bathroom, a clean herbal scent drifting with him.
The room was empty. Ingrid had already left.
Rein changed into fresh clothes, then collapsed onto the bed. Exhaustion swallowed him whole—deeper than the healing potions could reach. They could mend flesh and refill mana, but fatigue… fatigue lived in the bones.
His wounds were closed, but the damage beneath was stubborn—slow, aching, and far beyond what healing potions could touch. If this were Dr. Rhys Rattana's original body, he thought grimly, they'd probably be preparing a funeral right now.
Worst of all was the mana-overheat throbbing in his Core Mana Circles—like a forge fire hammering in his chest. Only a long soak in ice-cold water had calmed it.
A blue holographic window blinked into existence.
[LIZ: You're lucky. If the Core Mana Circles had taken any more damage, you'd be dead.]
"Yeah, yeah, I get it…" Rein muttered, waving it away.
[LIZ: The Dragon's Speech Curse increases your mana-overheat risk significantly. Fight at full output again without addressing it and you'll die.]
Rein exhaled sharply, turning away—but eventually nodded.
"…Fine. I'll be careful next time."
He sank back into the bed, eyelids growing heavy—
—until a knock startled him awake. The door burst open.
"Rein!" Ingrid stood in the doorway, breathless and terrified.
He bolted upright.
"W–wait, it's late. A girl barging into a guy's bedroom like this is a little—"
His voice died. Someone else stood behind her in the doorway.
A tall red-haired woman stepped into the room, her long hair spilling down her back beneath a sharp-cut fringe. Her long, sharply pointed ears marked her as unmistakably non-human. She moved with composed confidence, her features striking and severe, her frame wrapped in the full regalia of a senior healer. Her crimson eyes—matching her hair—cut through the room like a blade.
"I know you're exhausted—far from recovered, even. But there's something you need to come with me for. Right now." Her tone was level, calm.
She placed a hand lightly over her chest.
"Master Rachel. Deputy Head of the Healing Department. The Academy has assigned me to handle the aftermath of tonight's… disaster."
Rein blinked slowly.
Those ears aren't fake… Are you kidding me? That's a genuine elf. A real one. What subspecies? What lineage? Back on Earth she'd be filed under Homo elfas without hesitation.
He pushed himself upright, snagged his torn black cloak, and threw it over his shoulders.
"I understand. But before we go… I'd like to know what happened."
Master Rachel didn't answer directly. Instead, she asked:
"You're the one who escorted the trapped students to the third-floor library, correct?"
"Yes… eight of them." Rein nodded.
But Rachel shook her head.
"Not eight," Rachel said. "Seven."
Rein's brow furrowed.
"I'm certain I didn't count wrong. Unless—"
He fell silent as Ingrid spoke up, her voice trembling.
"...One of them is dead."
The room froze.
Rachel stepped closer, her gaze narrowing like a scalpel.
"There isn't just a corpse. A forbidden spellbook is missing as well. Everyone who survived that room is now a suspect."
Her gaze fixed on Rein.
"That includes you."
Rein glanced toward Ingrid beside him.
Both of them blurted out at once:
"Murphy's Law!?"
These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.
Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.
Key Characters
Master Rachel
Title: Deputy Head of the Healing Department, Arcadia Academy
Tier: Unknown
Race: Elf — exact subspecies unknown
Age: Unknown
Appearance
A tall, striking elven woman with long crimson-red hair and sharply pointed ears—hallmarks of her non-human heritage. Her crimson eyes gleam with a scalpel-like intensity, cutting through silence with the weight of unspoken authority. Clad in the immaculate ceremonial regalia of a senior healer, she moves with the calm precision of someone long accustomed to making life-and-death decisions.
Personality & Demeanor
Master Rachel is calm but unyielding—her words leave no room for debate. She speaks with the precision of a surgeon, each sentence sharp and deliberate. Emotion rarely enters her voice; facts, protocol, and results take precedence over sentiment.
Role & Authority
– She is the Deputy Head of the Healing Department—a position that implies extremely high credentials, political authority, and battle-healing mastery.
– She has been assigned by the Academy to manage the aftermath of the undead disaster.
Real-world Reference
Murphy’s Law
Definition:
A principle borrowed from Earth’s science and engineering, introduced by Rein to describe the chaotic unpredictability of real-world outcomes, especially in combat. It states:
“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”
Usage in Story:
Rein explains Murphy’s Law to Ingrid during a moment of grief, helping her understand that even flawless actions can fail due to uncontrollable variables. It serves as a metaphor for how spellcasting and battles function in their world: complex systems with high potential for collapse.
Relevance:
The concept becomes part of Rein’s philosophical outlook on magic and survival, providing a mental framework to deal with trauma, failure, and guilt in high-risk magical environments.
Core Concept
Core Mana Circle – Overheat Condition
Definition:
A severe condition where a mage’s Core Mana Circle becomes dangerously unstable due to excessive mana influx or high-intensity channeling.
Symptoms Noted in Rein:
– Intense internal pressure and burning
– Muscle spasms, nerve pain
– Headache resembling “glass splintering”
– Risk of permanent damage or death if pushed further
Trigger Event:
Using Full Power Mana Vision combined with external mana input from LIZ’s sub-realm during the Carbyne Magic Shield activation.
Magical Devices
Communication Orb (Master Chloe’s)
Artifact Type: Crystalized Communication Device
Function: Two-way real-time magical transmission across distances
Special Detail:
Rein uses this device to stay in contact with Master Chloe during the rescue mission, revealing that she was actively guiding events even while absent.
what rises isn’t always relief—
sometimes it’s the quiet ache of what couldn’t be saved.
And every rule reveals someone who must face it.
the damage outside,
or the crack it left within?
—Re:Naissance