Magic Swordsman and a Certain Shut-In Who Kicked the Bucket~

Chapter 1: The Magic Swordsman and the Deceased Otaku

Fiore Kingdom, the Grand Magic Academy, a study institution established by the Magic Council!

On the vast testing grounds, a black-haired boy stood alone, while various students gathered sparsely below to watch the spectacle.

"Requip!!" The black-haired boy roared, extending his arms straight and mustering all the meager magic power he could muster within his body. Regrettably, no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not summon the weapon stored in his different dimension!

Moreover, this summoning process had already been going on for a full half hour!

"Hahahaha! I told you so! How could an idiot like Achill ever succeed?!"

"Exactly! To think he is even the headmaster's disciple! He still cannot finish a single Requip Magic even now?! He is really bringing shame to the old man..."

"In my opinion, trash like this should be directly expelled from the academy! Staying here is simply smearing our academy's reputation!"

Seeing that the boy still could not summon his magic weapon, the students watching from below burst into loud laughter, and a chorus of sarcastic and contemptuous remarks rose endlessly for a time.

... The boy bit his lips hard, staring blankly at his own hands as if feeling the pain and grief of his own incompetence. Finally, the boy raised his head once more, and all the remaining magic power in his entire body poured into his hands in one go. He roared with a hoarse voice, "Requip!!!!"

Just as the boy's words fell, a slight ripple suddenly spread through the air, and with a flash of faint light, a slender magic sword appeared in his hands.

"Hah..." Seeing this, the boy finally let out a heavy breath, thinking happily that he had finally succeeded this time!

"Tch~ So what if he barely succeeded by luck? If such a Requip speed is used in a life-or-death battle, I'm afraid he would be killed by someone before he even has time to pull out his weapon?!" After a brief moment of surprise, the students watching from below immediately continued to mock him.

"Haha, exactly! It takes over half an hour just to change equipment, so how can he even fight?! Could it be that he plans to wear his weapons on his body all the time?" One student sneered with a look of disdain.

"That's right! Everyone mustn't forget that his success rate for Requip Magic isn't even twenty percent!!" A sharp-mouthed student mocked harshly.

"Hahahaha—" Hearing this, everyone could not help but burst into laughter.

The boy, who had felt a slight excitement in his heart from successfully requipping, felt as if a basin of cold water had been poured directly over his head. His heart turned bitter once more. That's right, the success rate of my Requip Magic really is less than twenty percent...

The black-haired boy's full name was Achill Ogutins. He was twelve years old and an ordinary student among ordinary students at the Grand Magic Academy. If there was anything the least bit different about him, it was his magical attainment—it was simply too terrible!

The profession Achill studied was a magic swordsman among mages, which was a mage who used Requip Magic! It was just that his talent was far too poor! As everyone knew, Requip Magic was not some overly profound magic, and learning it did not require any extraordinary talent. Generally, as long as one studied diligently, one could basically practice and succeed! Although people with higher talent had faster Requip speeds after learning Requip Magic, and their speed at proficiency could be astonishingly fast, even those with low talent and unfamiliarity would have a slower Requip speed, but that was relative to those super-fast individuals! If one really calculated it, it actually wouldn't be all that slow.

However, a situation like Achill's, where changing equipment took over half an hour, had simply never happened before! Strictly speaking, this could no longer be described with the word "slow"! This thing was practically turtle speed!! No! A turtle should be faster than him! After all, half an hour was enough time for a turtle to run quite a distance~

And that was not all. The most soul-crushing part of Achill's Requip Magic was that his Requip Magic actually had a success rate of less than twenty percent?! I must say, this was truly a bit infuriating...

Putting the magic sword back into his different-dimensional space, Achill walked down from the testing platform with a disappointed expression, his legs wobbling as he walked. After all, the just-completed Requip had exhausted all of his already meager magic power. He walked with his head lowered and without saying a word, listening to the various mocking jeers coming from the crowd behind him. His hands could not help but clench tightly, his nails digging deeply into his flesh.

"Don't get discouraged, Achill!" A figure flashed beside him, and a black-haired boy with a crew cut and several scars on his left cheek appeared at Achill's side. He patted his shoulder and comforted him in a low voice, "As long as you work harder, you will become strong in the future!!"

"You don't need to comfort me anymore, Doranbalt..." Hearing this, Achill gave a bitter smile and sighed, "I know my own aptitude in my heart..." Between his words lay an indescribable bitterness.

"Perhaps..." Looking up at the slightly gloomy sky, Achill seemed to mutter to himself, "I was never meant to become a mage in the first place..."

After speaking, he ignored Doranbalt and turned to walk toward his residence.

"Achill..." Doranbalt opened his mouth as if he still wanted to say something, but a pair of hands from behind interrupted him.

Turning his head, he saw a white-clothed, bespectacled boy of similar age with long side hair and a ponytail pressing down on his shoulder. Seeing Doranbalt look over, the boy shook his head slightly at him and explained softly, "It's better to let him have some peace and quiet by himself..."

"Sigh—" Hearing this, Doranbalt had no choice but to abandon his plan of following along.

The name of this white-clothed, bespectacled boy was Lahar. Just like Doranbalt, he was one of the few friends Achill could actually talk to in this Grand Magic Academy. There was no help for it; because Achill's magic talent was far too poor, the students in the academy basically looked down on him and were thus unwilling to be friends with him. Meanwhile, Doranbalt and Lahar had both grown up with Achill since they were little, so the usual relationship among the three of them was naturally extremely good! It could even be said that Doranbalt and Lahar were Achill's only two good friends...

Walking back to his residence in silence all the way, Achill looked at the wooden door before him and for a moment did not dare to go in. However, after hesitating for a short while, he still pushed open the wooden door in front of him gently.

"Creak—" With a soft sound, the wooden door was slowly pushed open, and Achill walked into the room on tiptoe.

"You're back..." As soon as he stepped into the room, a gentle yet slightly hoarse voice reached his ears. Raising his head to look, he saw an old man with a full head of long snow-white hair half-leaning against the head of the bed by the window. The elderly face was looking at him with utter affection, and his face held a sickly pallor.

"Grandpa..." Looking at the old man's affectionate face, Achill could not help but lower his head in a flush of guilt, not daring to meet the old man's eyes.

"Come here..." Seeing Achill looking like this, how could the old man not know why? However, he did not reveal a single trace of blame in his gaze. Instead, he waved his hand to have Achill come to the front of his bed. Gently stroking Achill's head, the old man smiled lovingly, "As long as you just put in a bit more effort in the future, there's no need to be so depressed. Grandpa believes that you will definitely become a great mage one day!"

Hearing this, Achill lowered his head once more in even deeper guilt. He knew that his grandfather was merely comforting him, because his grandfather had already said these exact words to him many times.

"Sigh..." As if knowing that his comfort had not achieved the slightest bit of effect, the old man let out a slight sigh and said nothing more. After all, in matters like this, he was unable to help either.

The old man's full name was Albert Ogutins, and he was the current headmaster of this Grand Magic Academy! The old man had no children throughout his life, and Achill naturally was not his biological grandson. Rather, he was the sole survivor that Albert had saved from a group of bandits slaughtering a village during a journey out ten years ago!

Seeing that there were no other survivors left in the village where Achill had originally lived, and after making several inquiries to learn that Achill no longer had any relatives left in this world, Albert thought of his own lonely status as a solitary man and thus formed the desire to adopt him. He took in the young Achill to become his grandson and disciple, giving him the name Achill Ogutins...

In truth, regarding the magic talent of Achill, who was both his grandson and disciple, Albert felt a deep sense of helplessness alongside his regret. There was no help for it; this could no longer be described with the word poor! To put it a bit more harshly, Achill simply had no talent for becoming a mage at all!!

Although Achill could manage to use Requip-class magic, what difference was there between that Requip Magic of his and not knowing magic at all?!

Whenever he thought of these things, Albert could not help but feel a wave of deep sighs rise within his heart.

Days continued to pass in this manner. Aside from desperately practicing his Requip Magic every day, Achill listened to the teachings of his grandfather, and his days were exceptionally monotonous! Fortunately, Doranbalt and Lahar frequently came to visit him, and from time to time they would forcibly drag him out to play! In their words, practicing magic also required paying attention to a proper balance of work and rest; shutting oneself away to practice blindly alone would not yield much effect.

However, the heavens were always so fickle and—merciless. Scarcely had this kind of lifestyle continued for over a month when sudden bad news arrived! Headmaster Albert of the Grand Magic Academy, who had been bedridden for a long time, passed away...

The blow this event dealt to Achill was undoubtedly immense. When he saw the grandfather who had cherished him so dearly lying quietly on the white funeral bed, never to open his eyes again, Achill ran out as if he had gone mad!

"Achill—" Seeing this, Doranbalt and Lahar naturally hurried to follow him. They were terrified that Achill, who had suffered an excessive blow, might do something foolish while his mind was temporarily deranged! You couldn't even blame the two of them for thinking this way; it was simply because they knew all too well the vital position Headmaster Albert occupied in Achill's heart!!

Yet the two of them still underestimated the extent of Achill's madness. Under the influence of extreme grief, Achill actually burst forth with speed and strength far exceeding ordinary people! Even with the help of Doranbalt's teleportation magic, they still quickly lost his trail amidst Achill's completely irrational and reckless charging about.

There was no help for it: first, because Doranbalt's teleportation magic was still not very proficient; second, because he was carrying a person; and third, because Achill's running route followed absolutely no predictable pattern at all! Under the disadvantage of these three factors, losing him could be considered an inevitability...

Even though they lost his trail, the two of them still searched earnestly, relying on meager, scattered responses from passersby, attempting to track down Achill's traces once again!

While the two of them were searching blindly with their heads down, the skies untimely began to pour with heavy rain. The so-called lack of cooperation from the heavens was probably describing this exact situation right now.

Nevertheless, Doranbalt and Lahar did not give up their search because of this. After all, regardless of everything else, Achill was still their best friend. Now that their good friend had suffered a severe psychological blow and lost his mental stability, purely out of worry for their friend's condition, the two of them would never easily give up the search!!

On the other side, an extremely heartbroken Achill was running like mad along the bank of some nameless river. The torrential rain had already soaked all of his clothes through, yet he seemed completely unaware of it as he kept running recklessly on and on!

It's a lie! It's a lie! Grand... Grandfather— Unable to tell whether it was rain or tears, clear liquid kept flying backward from the corners of his eyes as he ran. Achill roared in agony, He couldn't possibly just leave me like this!

Ah— Suddenly slipping, Achill let out an instinctive cry of alarm, and then his body tumbled uncontrollably to the side.

Splash— Achill plunged straight into the rushing river current. The freezing water instantly swallowed his form, and the chill of it jolted him into regaining a sliver of consciousness. Yet he did not struggle; instead, he simply let the turbulent river submerge him. With nothing left to live for now that his grandfather was dead, he thought with bitter self-mockery, A good-for-nothing like me probably ought to just die like this...

I'm sorry, Doranbalt, Lahar. In our next lives, let's keep being friends...

Achill's consciousness grew hazier and hazier until it finally faded into complete darkness.

Meanwhile, inside an apartment somewhere on Earth, a certain otaku sat squarely before his computer, staring intently at the Zanpakutō compendium on the screen. Looking at those various styles of Zanpakutō, a few drops of saliva couldn't help but leak from the corner of his mouth.

Sigh, if only I could transmigrate... Gazing at a few popular fanfics introduced in the corner of a Chinese website, the otaku couldn't help laughing lewdly. Yeah! If I could transmigrate to the world of Bleach, that would be the absolute best—he-he-he! Then I'd definitely, decisively, and without a single hesitation knock down Yoruichi, Momo Hinamori, Rangiku Matsumoto, Orihime Inoue, Nelliel, and Tier Harribel, and all those other beauties! Then we'd all sleep in one big bed together—ga-ga-ga-ga-ga... As he thought about it, a scene reminiscent of a porno seemed to appear before his eyes, and drool spilled out once more, even wetting his keyboard.

His name was Chen Wuming. He was twenty years old, a standard otaku, and a hardcore Bleach fan! His deep love for Bleach had reached an utterly inescapable degree! Aside from Bleach, he never looked at any other manga whatsoever! As for other matters like national affairs, he didn't care about a single one of them either! Of course, even if he wanted to care, he didn't have the qualification...

In Bleach, apart from those eye-catching busty beauties, what captured his mind and soul the most were naturally those Zanpakutō! Especially those captain-class Zanpakutō; every single one of them was devastatingly handsome. I wish I had one, too! How cool would it be to pull it out?! Naturally, besides daydreaming, this could only be thought about in his heart... Although there were many toy Zanpakutō on the market forged according to their designs, he wasn't brain-damaged enough to buy one just to play with!

If time could be turned back another dozen years or so, it might have been possible—not that he held any lingering resentment, but it was simply because those models were made—too damn terribly! They were totally damn toys for kids to play house with!

At this thought, a wave of resentment welled up inside Chen Wuming's heart. You heartless manufacturers, would it kill you to make the swords look a little more like the real thing?! Your assholes aren't going to get plowed—was there any need to make them look like infant educational toys? Spending just a bit more cost wouldn't make you impotent, damn it... You really are heartless!

Sigh, people of my generation, when can we truly transmigrate... Letting out a sigh, he picked up a bottle of Erguotou resting on his desk and started gulping it down fiercely. In the past, he had even emulated scenes described in webnovels and performed some transmigrate experiments, such as getting struck by lightning, getting into car accidents, and jerking off to death.

As it turned out—transmigration matters like this were truly bullshit! Especially those transmigrate methods described in novels; they were even more bullshit than bullshit! Up until now, he had not had a single successful instance, and instead had almost played away his own life several times...

If transmigration really exists in this world, if transmigration is truly everywhere, then I might as well just choke to death on alcohol and transmigrate like this! Recalling those laughable transmigration "feats" of his from the past, Chen Wuming couldn't help mocking himself, Facts have proven that this is simply impossible! So a thing like transmigration doesn't exist at all! With that, he continued to raise the bottle and guzzle Erguotou down into his stomach.

Gulp, gulp—hmm? Just as he was wildly chugging his drink, the cell phone on his desk suddenly buzzed and vibrated. Chen Wuming slanted his eyes, and while continuing to chug his drink, he reached out a hand to grab the phone on the table. The tragedy struck then and there—the chair beneath his buttocks suddenly lost its center of gravity, and Chen Wuming pitched forward headfirst onto the floor! And this wasn't even the most serious part! The most serious part was—he had choked on his alcohol!

Cough, cough, cough— Fallen on the floor, Chen Wuming grabbed his throat and coughed desperately. Liquor was a potent thing to begin with! Even if your alcohol tolerance was very high and you could hold your liquor, you must always remember never to ingest too much alcohol all at once! Otherwise, you would end up just like Chen Wuming, easily getting choked...

Yet Chen Wuming was obviously choked pretty badly this time; his face swelled up as red as a pig's liver! The deadliest part of all was—he now seemed to have his trachea blocked by the liquor and couldn't breathe?!

Before losing consciousness, Chen Wuming's sole thought was: Holy crap! I really did choke to death on booze?!

By the time someone discovered the situation here, Chen Wuming had long since returned his soul to the netherworld. And so, Chen Wuming became famous! He successfully provided the broad masses of people with a negative textbook case! He was even specifically included in textbooks by educational departments all over the world to constantly warn people who loved to drink—this guy is a complete idiot; don't you guys ever learn from him!

Tell me, if Chen Wuming had a spirit left, would he proudly think, I'm a huge celebrity now, too? After all, though his life sounded a bit wretched, in a certain sense he truly could be considered a figure who made it into the history books! Furthermore, it was universal world history—even if it was just as a negative teaching material.

However, was everything really over just like that? Did Chen Wuming really kick the bucket in such a tragic fashion?! The answer—who knows...