SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar

The halls of the imperial palace gleamed with opulence.

Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gathering of nobles, generals, and dignitaries who filled the grand ballroom. Their voices rose in excitement, the air alive with admiration and gratitude.

At the center of it all stood Neron, clad in the finest ceremonial robes, a medal of honor freshly pinned to his chest.

Cheers erupted as the Emperor himself stepped forward, raising a goblet in celebration.

"To Neron, the Hero of the Eastern Empire! The man who ended the war and secured peace for generations to come!"

The crowd erupted in applause. Neron stood motionless, his face an unreadable mask. He glanced at the sea of faces around him—smiling, laughing, full of hope.

This was what they had fought for.

This was what so many had died for.

Yet, as the cheers washed over him, he felt none of the pride or satisfaction they expected.

*********

Hours later, Neron stood alone in his new quarters, far removed from the bustling celebration.

The chamber was enormous, adorned with the most expensive designs—most of which he found to be excessive.

A fireplace crackled softly, its warmth doing little to comfort him.

On the table before him lay a document bearing the Emperor's seal: his official appointment as one of the three Grand Mages of the Empire.

'I've reached the same level of influence as the Court Mage and the Head of Ainzlark Academy… probably even higher.' He thought to himself with a wry smile.

Alongside the official document was a pouch overflowing with gold, jewels, and the deeds to several estates gifted to him in gratitude.

He hadn't even glanced at them.

He sank into a chair, rubbing his temples. The echoes of the applause from earlier still rang in his ears, mingling with the cries of the fallen that haunted his memories.

"Grand Mage," he muttered bitterly, staring at the title on the parchment. "What an honor."

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His gaze shifted to the window, where the moon hung low in the night sky.

The world outside seemed peaceful, oblivious to the horrors that had brought it to this moment.

But for Neron, peace was a distant dream.

His nights were plagued with nightmares, his days consumed by a gnawing emptiness he couldn't shake.

*********

Weeks passed, and Neron's fame grew.

Songs were written about his heroics; statues were erected in his honor. Yet, he remained confined to his abode, avoiding the world and its praises.

Servants came and went, delivering meals he barely touched.

Letters and invitations piled up on his desk, unopened. The bustling city beyond his walls felt like a foreign land, its joy and vibrancy a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to him.

He spent his days in silence, staring at the flames in the hearth or wandering aimlessly through the corridors of his grand home.

The weight of his new title, of his actions during the war, pressed down on him like an iron shroud.

It wasn't just the demons he had killed. It was their families, their culture, their very existence.

He had snuffed it out, erased an entire race from the world in the name of peace.

And while the world celebrated him as a savior, he felt like a monster.

Besides… what was he to do now?

The war was over, so there was no use for him at this point. He felt the crushing feeling of uselessness.

Even with his strength, he was powerless.

*********

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of orange and purple, there came a knock at his door.

Neron ignored it at first, assuming it was another messenger or servant.

But the knock came again, firmer this time.

"Neron," a familiar voice called. "It's me, Serah. And Legris is here too. Let us in."

He hesitated, his hand pausing mid-reach for his glass of wine.

Serah and Legris.

The two people who were his closest friends in the entire Empire.

Serah was his childhood friend, and someone he held more than mere feelings of friendship for.

As for Legris, he had known him since they were both Adventurers, and upon reuniting in the war, they became much closer than ever before.

It wasn't long until the three of them became incredibly good friends.

Inseparable too.

'I haven't spoken them in months…' Neron thought to himself. 'Not since the war's aftermath.'

Part of him wanted to ignore them, to stay hidden in his solitude. But another part—a smaller, quieter part—longed for their presence.

"Neron," Legris added, his deep voice carrying a note of concern.

"We're not leaving until you open this door."

With a resigned sigh, Neron rose from his chair and walked to the door. He hesitated for a moment before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Serah and Legris stood there, their expressions a mix of relief and worry.

Serah was the first to speak, her tone light but laced with concern. "You look terrible. When was the last time you slept?"

Legris gave a small, humorless chuckle.

"Or ate, for that matter. You've been avoiding everyone, haven't you?"

Neron stepped aside, letting them in without a word. They entered, their presence filling the room with an air of familiarity he hadn't realized he missed.

Serah plopped onto the couch, crossing her arms.

"All right, spill. What's going on with you? And don't give us that 'I'm fine' nonsense. We've known you too long for that."

Legris nodded, leaning against the wall. "We're worried about you, Neron. You've been through hell, and now you're shutting everyone out. That's not like you."

Neron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I… don't even know where to begin."

"Start from the beginning," Serah said gently, her eyes meeting his. "We're here for you. No matter what."

Neron opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. He sank back into his chair, the weight of his thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.

"The beginning, huh?" he murmured, staring at the floor.

He wasn't sure about opening old wounds, but for the sake of closure… perhaps this was what he needed.

"Okay… I'll tell you."

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