Seagulls skimmed across the sky above the port city of E-Naeul at dawn. Morning light fell like powdered gold into the thin mist, tinting the streets and rooftops with a gentle, warm glow. Trees along the roadside swayed in the breeze, dew rolling down their leaves in bright beads.
At the city gate, the mythril-ranked party Four Weapons stood ready with their horses, eyes closed in light meditation as they waited for their client.
Before long, eight carefully selected white stallions appeared, pulling a wide, luxurious carriage into view.
The carriage was built from fine wood, carved with impeccable craftsmanship—no flaw in sight. Metal inlays gleamed at the corners, and both the mage and cleric, Lilinette Biane, could sense a faint current of magic woven through its frame.
As the carriage drew closer, its massive wheels—reinforced with iron—were nearly as tall as their waists. The aura of wealth hit all four adventurers like a wave.
They couldn't help but think the same thing:
Once we're rich, we're getting one of those.
The carriage stopped neatly beside them. The man holding the reins glanced back at the cabin.
"My lord, we've arrived."
His tone was respectful, his posture disciplined.
Then he turned toward Four Weapons.
His eyes were calm, but the pressure behind them made everyone's hearts skip.
(This coachman is… at least Hero-tier?)
(Are we sure we took the right job?)
But his next words eased the tension slightly.
"Handling the carriage will be your responsibility from here on. Do your job well."
He bowed toward the interior, then walked away and vanished into the city.
Four Weapons looked at each other.
…Must be some noble quirk.
Finally, Captain Sukarma Opero took the driver's seat.
She called toward the cabin, got the order to depart, and the strangely top-heavy formation—more horses than people—rolled out of E-Naeul.
They followed the well-worn dirt road toward the capital, Re-Estize.
After some time traveling in silence, Lilinette, riding her horse, stared at the carriage's drawn curtains, curiosity gnawing at her.
The carriage, its enchantments, and those horses alone were far beyond what a minor noble could afford.
(So the passenger probably isn't the count's third son, then… Could it be the count himself?)
Just then, the wheels hit a rut. The curtain fluttered for a heartbeat, revealing a narrow gap of light.
Lilinette's sharp eyes—trained in countless dangerous quests—caught a fleeting glimpse of the inside.
A young man sat there, eyes closed, handsome as a sculpture… and utterly still.
(Not alive.)
As a devout earth cleric blessed by the gentle, all-embracing Earth God, she would stake her beloved shota fantasies on this—no heartbeat, no breath, no "living presence."
Yet earlier, when Sukarma had asked for instructions, there had clearly been a voice from inside the carriage.
Her brow furrowed.
Lilinette's hand tightened around the earth-god symbol half-hidden in her cleavage. She kissed it lightly, breathing in its faint incense scent, praying for a safe journey.
And, of course…
Praying that she'd soon become a noble and lawfully proclaim:
"First-night rights on all the cutest boys in my town are hereby claimed."
She chuckled to herself.
It was nearly noon before the young man in the carriage opened his eyes.
They were empty at first—then, in the next instant, light flashed through them. The puppet-like stiffness faded, replaced by the energy of a living person.
"The Academy's cloning tech still has a lot of rough edges."
It had taken most of the morning for Soren Uchiha's spiritual power to completely inhabit this body—a body grown by the Konoha Academy in a single day, with no chakra at all.
He rose and stretched.
"Still… this carriage is great."
"Trust the local nobles to enjoy themselves. We never had this kind of thing back in the shinobi world. Daimyō carriages? Those were just fancy coffins on wheels."
He looked around the interior.
Velvet cushions, soft and springy. A small polished wooden table with a lace cloth, silver utensils, fine porcelain. Beneath the table, a magic array kept the temperature inside pleasantly warm.
At the back, a beautiful bed big enough for two, piled high with down quilts, faintly scented with lavender. A curtain at the foot of the bed could be drawn to create a private, cozy space.
Soren clenched and unclenched his fists.
The unfamiliar stiffness of a body without chakra made him frown. It felt… fragile.
"First, I'll use this body to learn their fighting techniques and magic—then dissect the principles and fold them into my own power system."
"And because I only left a fragment of my spiritual power in here, it won't matter if some world-class item tries something on this body."
His thinking echoed a certain platinum dragon's tactics from Overlord—using proxies and shells to test unknown threats.
With Momiji's prophecy hanging over him, Soren had no intention of charging in blind.
"Let's see if this mythril-ranked party, Four Weapons, can surprise me."
He glanced at the little bed.
A very male smile briefly tugged at his lips—followed closely by a faint headache.
Time management… was an area he still hadn't mastered.
I really need to study time-element magic soon…
Just then, a clear female voice came from outside the carriage.
"My lord, it's midday. Shall we stop for a rest? There's a scenic spot ahead."
After he agreed, the carriage pulled to a halt by a gently flowing river. Sunlight shimmered over the water, the breeze teased the wildflowers and grass, and the air felt soft and perfectly warm.
The carriage door opened from the inside.
Soren stepped out.
He wore a perfectly tailored noble's tunic and trousers that flattered his tall, well-balanced build. His face was striking, his dark eyes deep and alert. Black hair was tied back in a neat ponytail.
He descended lightly, the image of a refined young noble.
"My lord."
Sukarma's tastes were normal—unlike Lilinette, whose preferences were… specialized.
As Sukarma laid out a picnic blanket, she walked over to greet him. Her eyes flicked briefly over his features, and a thought crossed her mind unbidden:
…This man did not exist in the count's manor before.
She had long ago memorized the faces and positions of everyone in Count Nair's estate. This one was new.
Another thought followed it, slightly embarrassing:
If this noble tried something "out of line"… well… he doesn't exactly look hard to accept.
"How should we address you, my lord?" she asked.
Soren watched the fully armored female warrior in front of him, noting her sharp gaze, discipline, and the faint blush on her cheeks.
He smiled.
"Just call me Soren."
"Understood, Young Master Soren."
Soon, Soren, Sukarma, and Lilinette were seated together, sharing simple but flavorful food. The mage and thief sat a bit away, quietly pleased they didn't have to play noble-handler.
If female teammates could dazzle the client and keep him too distracted to cause trouble, so much the better.
If this job worked out, they'd be landlords by the time it ended.
Still, hearing the laughter between the women and the noble stung a little.
Neither of those two women had ever let any man get truly close.
One was obsessed with leading her party to the highest ranks, dreaming of enough money to last several lifetimes.
The other… had very specific preferences that did not currently include them.
"Young Master Soren wants to know about adventurers?"
Sukarma dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief, gathered her thoughts, then nodded.
"Very well."
"No matter how strong you are, everyone starts at the bottom. You take jobs, build achievements, pass tests, and climb to higher ranks for better pay and privileges."
"There are eight levels."
"The four lowest—iron, copper, silver, and gold—contain most of the numbers."
"Above them is platinum, the mid-tier. Across the kingdom, there are about three thousand adventurers. Roughly twenty percent can use third-tier magic or equivalent martial techniques."
"Above that is mythril, where we are."
"Higher still is orichalcum—top-level adventurers. Above even them is adamantite. The entire kingdom only has two adamantite-ranked teams."
Her eyes shone with unconcealed envy as she said the last word.
Adamantite adventurers were legends.
Even kings treated them as honored guests. If they wanted titles or fiefs, most rulers would gladly grant them.
"As an example," Sukarma added, "the kingdom's strongest warrior and commander, Gazef Stronoff, was once a mercenary. He impressed an adamantite veteran in a royal tournament, became his disciple, and rose quickly."
"Now he's the king's right hand and a hero sung by bards across the land."
Soren nodded.
"There's no need to envy him too much." he said gently. "For a woman to reach mythril in a line of work like this… that's already far beyond most men."
"The effort you've put in, Captain Sukarma, likely surpasses even some who've reached adamantite. With that drive, it's only a matter of time."
Her heart warmed at the conviction in his tone.
Meeting his gaze, she quickly looked away, pulse quickening.
Lilinette watched this with clear interest, a slow grin forming.
"Hard to say whether we'll hit adamantite before we hit old age," she sighed dramatically. "We've already been together as Four Weapons for eight years."
"If we only reach adamantite when we're all wrinkled grandmas… that's hardly the dream, is it?"
Her voice dripped theatrical melancholy.
Her hands pressed together under her chest, and as she did, the cleric's robe strained to contain the two full curves it hid. The fishnet stockings clinging to her thighs made the combination of "holy woman" and "dangerously suggestive" even more volatile.
To Soren, she looked like the epitome of a blasphemous priestess—perfectly suited to be thrown into a pleasure district and dressed as a succubus mascot.
"Young Master Soren," Lilinette said, biting her lip just a little, her eyes smoky. "Should I be pursuing burning romance right now… or keep chasing a future adamantite rank that might never come?"
Her gaze teased him, the question layered with obvious subtext.
"You perverted shota addict, stop saying nonsense in front of Young Master Soren and acting like that!"
Sukarma's eye twitched.
She grabbed Lilinette and pulled her to her side. Lilinette wanted to retort—but one cold look from the warrior captain shut her down.
"I might like boys," Lilinette muttered under her breath, "but romance and having children are separate things. For continuing the bloodline, you still need a real man."
"Shut it. The more you talk, the worse it gets."
Sukarma shot another glare her way.
If it came to looks, their styles were different, but equal. When it came to sheer physical "presence," though… Lilinette had a very unfair advantage.
Sukarma turned back to Soren, forcing a polite smile.
"Apologies for the unsightly behavior, Young Master Soren."
"Not unsightly at all."
Soren waved a hand.
He let his eyes wander—just once more—over Lilinette's curves, then withdrew them and purposely added a hint of loneliness to his tone.
"On the contrary, I like Lady Lilinette's honesty. I'm surrounded by flatterers and hypocrites all day—it's refreshing to see someone speak their mind."
Sukarma hesitated.
Then:
"If there's anything troubling you, Young Master Soren… you can talk to me."
"I'm very good at keeping secrets."
Before Soren could answer, Lilinette, freshly freed from her captain's grip, blurted out:
"Her mouth might be debatable, but the rest of her is definitely tightly sealed."
A beat of silence.
Then Sukarma grabbed both of the bouncing "culprits" on Lilinette's chest with both hands.
"You… you indecent cleric! Don't drag the god's name through the mud with that mouth!"
"Ow—Sukarma! Not there—!"
Suppressing a smile, Soren shifted slightly to block the view from the mage and thief, letting the scene play out unobserved.
Realizing what she was doing—and who was watching—Sukarma froze, then abruptly let go and straightened her posture like a soldier before a commander.
Lilinette's hair and robe were mussed, her eyes shimmering and a faint blush on her face.
Soren spoke in a mild tone.
"If you don't mind, Lady Lilinette, you may use the carriage to tidy up."
"…Thank you, Young Master Soren."
Even someone as shameless as Lilinette couldn't help feeling shy now.
She hurried into the carriage.
Inside, the moment she sat on the velvet cushions, she sighed contentedly.
(Riding a horse for a month would ruin my legs and my backside…)
(And the captain… she's started to look at Young Master Soren differently. Should I help push that along?)
Her eyes wandered to the bed at the back of the carriage.
Dangerous ideas began to spark.
Outside, Sukarma opened her mouth several times, wanting to explain her earlier loss of composure—but no words came.
She lowered her head, looking for all the world like a scolded child.
"Captain Sukarma and Lady Lilinette get along quite well," Soren said. "Most parties would've fallen apart already. You should treasure that."
"…Mm."
Her shoulders relaxed.
The awkward air slowly cleared.
Soon, rest time was over.
"I'll go get Lilinette."
Sukarma started to move, but Soren raised a hand.
"Let her rest. It's a long journey. I also have a few questions about magic to ask Lady Lilinette."
A twinge of envy pricked Sukarma's chest—but she swallowed it.
She also worried that a soft-handed noble like Soren might be… eaten alive by a woman like Lilinette.
"Then I'll take the driver's seat," she said quietly. "If anything happens, just call. I'll hear you."
"Of course."
She could only grit her teeth and climb back up front.
"Hyah!"
The whip cracked lightly. The eight horses started up again, hooves pounding the road.
Sukarma's ears strained, listening for trouble behind her.
Inside the carriage, Soren sat sideways, tea cup in hand, watching Lilinette half-sprawled against the cushions, robe a little too loose, posture half-accidentally seductive.
He nodded toward the set of cups.
"Help yourself if you'd like some."
"Thank you, Young Master Soren."
She poured herself a cup.
Watching her drink the pale, creamy tea, Soren suddenly felt his own cup… a little inadequate.
(No point thinking about that right now. Focus.)
He set the cup down.
"I'd like to understand more about magic."
Lilinette blinked, surprised.
Then, seeing he really meant it, her expression steadied.
She sat properly now, hands resting over the symbol of her faith. Somehow, her seriousness made the contrast even more alluring.
"Magic is a broad concept," she began. "But we generally divide mages into four main categories, according to the 'resource' they invoke."
"Those who cast with a power called mana are mana-type casters."
"Those who cast through faith and divine connection are faith-type casters."
"Those who cast with mental energy are psionic-type casters."
"And finally, those who rely on entirely different principles fall under other-types."
Soren nodded.
"So you're a faith-type?"
"Correct." She smiled faintly.
"Aside from the spells they use, there isn't much difference in how we function or live."
Soren's next question was one countless people of this world had probably asked:
"Can someone study more than one type?"
"In theory, yes."
Lilinette considered her words.
"Think of it like planting a seed in soil. Everyone has a seed—but whether it grows into a tree, flowers, or withers depends on the path they pursue and the achievements they accumulate."
"Sometimes, gaining a new 'class' doesn't mesh well with your existing ones. You might learn something, but your overall strength only rises a little."
She sighed.
"If I ever hit a dead end as a cleric, I've thought about trying the mana path."
(So unlike the player system from Overlord, locals don't freely choose classes—they accumulate them semi-randomly through life events and effort.)
(With low natural talent compared to demi-humans, humans surviving in this world at all is impressive.)
Soren couldn't help feeling that his arrival was, in a sense, an act of mercy.
He'd drag this world out of its rigged game and into something fairer—by force, if necessary.
"Faith magic, then," he asked, "is your god real? Or just a convenient framework?"
Lilinette frowned slightly.
"We definitely borrow power from something." she said. "That much is certain."
"But whether that something is truly a 'god'… I don't know. My experience is too shallow."
"When I cast, I sense a vast presence. It has no emotions, no personal will—just… enormity. Like looking at the sea or the sky. There's no sense of a person behind it."
"Maybe the Empire's greatest mage, Fluder Paradyne, could answer that better. They call him the Empire's Guardian Deity, after all."
Soren's eyes narrowed faintly.
(Personality-less, vast, power source-like…)
(If it's something like a world-core, a "magic fruit" of this world, then whether people call it a god or not is irrelevant.)
(If it truly has no will… that's even better.)
"So how," he asked, "does one become a magic caster at all?"
Lilinette was slightly surprised that a "noble" didn't already know.
But since she'd mentally written herself off as a possible "sacrifice" under the contract's "obey all non-lethal orders" clause, she no longer cared much about such details.
"For any series of magic, the first step is the same."
"You must grasp a feeling—a sense of resonance with the world."
"If you never find that feeling, you'll never cast a single spell."
"Most who dream of magic fail right here."
"And that feeling is something that can't be properly described. No teacher can truly 'teach' it. That's an iron rule of the magic world—everyone knows it."
She saw Soren fall silent.
"If you don't manage, Young Master Soren, don't be discouraged," she added. "You're already suited to be a noble warrior, a knight of the Empire or kingdom. That path is more than enough."
(Is this resonance with the world's "system"… or just learning to feel the ambient mana in the air?)
With no direct experience, he couldn't be sure.
But Soren had no intention of giving up mage potential just to settle for "warrior."
"Very well." he said. "Please guide me through the first steps."
Lilinette nodded.
"Then, Young Master Soren, please sit cross-legged here. Relax as much as you can."
She placed a hand gently on his forehead.
"Now, we begin—step one of magic training."
Outside the carriage, horses thundered along the road.
Inside, the Head of the Shinobi World closed his eyes and reached toward a new kind of power.
Read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon -> patreon.com/lucarioTL