Ruthless Genius in a Fantasy World

Chapter 2: No Time for a Tutorial

In the end, fighting with a stab wound through your chest was precisely as much no fun as it sounded. Still, at least Young had the element of surprise on his side – nothing quite like an attacked "corpse" suddenly grabbing your ankle to make someone lose their shit.

The scavenger went down screaming-most corpses didn't usually do that. Young's purloined sword slashed up in an arc that would've been way more impressive if his new body's muscles hadn't been screaming in protest. Still, the blade caught the scavenger's own armament, sending it clattering away.

"Wait, wait!" the scavenger yelped, scrambling backward. "Muriel? Holy shit, you're alive?"

Young blinked. Right, Muriel, that was his name now, if he was going off the broken bits of memory swimming in his head, the weak war child who had survived everything the slums threw at him right up until he didn't.

Well, until about ten minutes ago.

"Surprise," Young/Muriel drawled, then immediately regretted trying to sound cool because talking made everything hurt worse. He pushed himself to his feet anyway, using the sword as a crutch. His new body's muscle memory took over, automatically settling into a stance that was. actually pretty decent. Old Muriel might have been considered weak, but he'd clearly put in the work.

The scavenger was still backing away, hands raised. "Look, I thought you were dead! Everyone thought you were dead! The whole unit got wiped out!"

Young took a moment actually to look at the alley-dozens of bodies, most younger-too young-some clad in the same leather armor that he wore and others bearing a different insignia. A clash among rival merc groups, if the memories of Muriel were anything to judge by. Just another typical day in the slums of. how was it known? Crimson Gate?

"Clearly," Young said, his free hand gesturing at the carnage. "Your intel needs work."

He took a step forward and almost face-planted as pain shot through his chest. Right. Stab wound. Kind of a pressing issue.

The scrounger must have marked his weakness because their expression changed from fear to calculation. "You're hurt bad, Muriel. Let me help—"

"Nope," Young cut them off, because he might be new here but he wasn't born yesterday. Metaphorically speaking. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to fuck off before I decide to test how many sword styles I can remember while bleeding out."

"Sword styles? Since when do you know—"

The others didn't get to finish. Young focused all his concentration on performing a simple move from the Wind Shadow Sword School. It was just a simple lunge forward, but he had done it several thousand times in his apartment. His body groaned in protest, yet old and new muscle memory kicked in.

And then something else kicked in. Something that felt like lightning under his skin, power humming through his veins and into the blade.

The sword thrust didn't just extend forward – it fucking moved, leaving a trail of pale blue light in its wake. The scavenger yelped and dove aside as the blade passed through where they'd been standing, scoring a glowing line in the wall behind them.

Holy crap, was that mana? That definitely felt like mana.

"What the fuck?" the scavenger breathed, scrambling to his feet. "Since when can you—

"Ten seconds," Young cut him off, hiding how much the move had just taken out of him. "That's how long you have to be somewhere else before I decide to figure out what else I can do with this."

They didn't need to be told twice; the scavenger bolted, leaving Young alone in the alley with a bunch of corpses and the dawning realization that he might've just played his hand a bit early.

"Alright," he growled, easing back against the wall as the high began to wear off. "Status check. Body? Teenager and stabbed. Location? Shitty. Setting? Fantasy world with magic, but worst possible starting zone. Protagonist luck? Absolute trash.

A wet cough off to one side froze him in his tracks. One body wasn't as dead as it should have been.

Young turned to find a girl about his new age watching him with eyes that were fading to black. The insignia on her armor was the same as his-same unit. Blood trickled from her mouth as she smiled.

"Muriel?" she whispered. "You. finally did it. Used. mana."

Well, shit. Guess he wasn't the only one with expositional timing.

"Hey," he said, dropping to one knee beside her. "Don't suppose you want to explain what the hell is going on here before you do the dramatic death scene thing?"

She actually laughed, but it turned into more coughing. "Still. no tact. Good to see. some things don't change." Her eyes suddenly focused on him with surprising clarity. "Listen. The commander. he sold us out. He took gold from the Moon Shadows. He set up the whole unit.

"That's. actually really useful information," Young said. "Thanks."

"Serra," she said.

"What?"

"My name. You. never remembered it. Always bad. with names." Her smile turned sad.

"Guess you. never will now."

Oh, come on, universe. That was just playing dirty. "Serra," Young said firmly.

"I won't forget this time. Promise." She seemed to accept that, her expression peaceful as her eyes began to close.

"Good luck. Muriel. Show them. what the weakest. war child. can do." Just like that, Young had found his first ally and then lost her within some thirty seconds or so. Still, she'd given him a great amount of information-about the betrayal, about Muriel's reputation, and most importantly, about his impossible use of mana.

"Right," he muttered, forcing himself back to his feet. "First step, don't bleed out. Second step, figure out how I just did that glowy sword thing. Third step." He looked around the alley, at the bodies of kids who'd been sold out by their own commander. "Third step, make some people regret their career choices."

Reputation management could wait, first was a stab wound to attend to, plus a whole new lot of marital arts knowledge in need of experimenting. Well, at least no one could say that his isekai adventure was boring.