The Inept Mage's Infinite Regression - Chapter 1

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Translator: Ryuu

Editor: echo

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◈ The Inept Mage’s Infinite Regression

Chapter 1

“This will be the last opportunity you’re given, Ethan.”

At Professor Rivielton’s words, Ethan nodded silently and returned to his seat. Everyone knew the rule: fail to cast a spell in the Basic Magic Practice course exam, and you failed the class.

Students admitted to Yurmus Magic Academy typically arrived already trained in foundational magic by their family mages or tutors. Ethan alone remained unable to perform even the simplest incantation.

Whispers trailed him as he left the lecture hall.

“He failed again.”

“So he’ll flunk out?”

“Any day now.”

Ethan knew what had sparked their sly glances and snide comments: first-year students who failed a term faced expulsion. He walked past the snickers, head held high. Humiliation was an old friend.

Ethan Dora Charasen. The middle name “Dora” marked him as the child of a mistress—a branch of the family acknowledged but never honored. To endure scorn was his birthright.

A familiar shadow fell across his path.

“Another failure, Ethan?”

The voice belonged to a striking girl with fiery red hair and crimson eyes. A smile played about her lips, teetering between teasing and mocking. It was his elder half-sister, Arca Wiz Charasen. The given name “Wiz” denoted her legitimacy, a title that proclaimed her right to inherit the family’s legacy.

“What brings you here, Sister?”

“The urge to remind you my offer still stands.”

Ethan stifled a sigh as Arca continued.

“Enrolling in Yurmus was a mistake. Withdraw now and become my attendant, and I’ll ensure you’re cared for. Well?”

“I decline,” he said flatly.

“Even if you somehow pass, how will you afford the next term’s tuition? Father only paid your admission fee, and what savings you did have barely covered one semester.”

“I’ll manage.”

At his curt reply, Arca’s lips tightened at the corners. “Think carefully. A sensible servant is worth more than a disgraced dropout. As a Charasen, you should understand what it means to live up to the value of your name. Don’t you agree?”

Back in his room, Ethan stewed over her words.

She wasn’t wrong. Most bastards of noble families became clergymen, tradesmen, or political pawns in familial schemes. Serving kin was also a common profession. But laid before the illegitimate children born into mage families was another path: becoming a mage.

In nations like Yurmus and Charasen, mages held quasi-noble status. Unlike the landed gentry, their worth lay not in monetary investments but in the meritocratic pursuits of skill and knowledge. Talent, not blood, dictated their societal standing—a siren call for Ethan and countless others.

Except he had no talent.

Magic demanded three innate gifts.

‘First, magi sensitivity.’

Magi was the fundamental energy that formed the basis of magic. It permeated the atmosphere and even the human body, and anyone wishing to be a mage had to be able to sense it. However, Ethan was so talentless that he couldn’t even sense his own magi.

'Second, mana control.'

Even assuming one could sense magi, the energy couldn’t be used as magic without additional steps. One had to breathe in the magi, refine it within the body, condense it, and transform it into mana. This process was essential for mages, yet Ethan’s mana flow was completely and utterly blocked.

'Third, magical composition.'

Turning mana into magic required complex rituals, mystical principles, and esoteric knowledge, with a healthy dose of imagination to boot. Without the ability to visualize magic in its final, desired form, no amount of mana could become a spell. And unfortunately, Ethan lacked the imagination to create magic.

Lacking even one of these talents made one unfit to be a mage, and Ethan was zero for three. His family had known this, but Ethan had enrolled at Yurmus Magic School anyway, only to be summarily reminded of his inadequacy at every turn.

Still, he refused to yield. In Damarth Yumaha’s long, 10,000-year history, Ethan wasn’t the only one without magical talent. There was a historical precedent for this sort of thing. Others like him, devoid of innate power, who had sought alternatives—and some had even found them.

Oh, they’d certainly found them. If one couldn’t wield magic on their own, they could borrow power from another being.

Dark magic.

A forbidden art, yes, and yet…

And yet, outer gods had long sought influence over Damarath Yumaha. While they couldn’t breach the world’s causality, select inhabitants could commune with them… or contract with them.

In this, luck favored Ethan. The Charasens were famed for contract magic, and he’d used the resources their renown brought with it to secretly study the rites to summon outer gods.

‘There’s just one small problem.’

The only minor issue being, of course, that it was forbidden.

Dark magic corrupted. Outer gods lend power for the sole purpose of expanding their influence, seeking ultimate, absolute dominion. Many dark mages had risen to be global threats in the annals of time, and as a consequence, they had earned themselves and their peers the distinction of being declared enemies of the world by the Oath of the Empty Throne, a council attended by all the kings of Damarth.

‘But if an expelled student becomes a danger to the world, wouldn’t that be a sort of perverse success story?’

Throughout the semester, Ethan had scoured for materials and tools to perform the contract magic. When he ran out of money, he took on odd jobs, from running errands for street thugs to collecting debts for loan sharks—anything to fund his gamble. Fortunately, his efforts paid off, and by the eve of the next Basic Magic Practice course exam, he had managed to prepare everything he needed.

'The problem is, what will serve as the catalyst?'

In this type of contract magic, the catalyst was crucial, as it determined which entity would be summoned for the contract. It could be an artifact left behind by a summoned being, a statue used for worship, or even the blood of a dark mage or their descendants.

Naturally, such catalysts were strictly regulated. If a mere magic school student like Ethan were caught with one, it would mean more than confiscation—he would be punished, and punished severely.

'But that’s only if I’m caught.'

In Ethan’s hand lay a gray stone shard embedded with a metal rod. The design was utterly foreign to him—he had never seen anything like it. However, the appraisers he’d paid off discreetly confirmed its potency.

‘Now, if only I knew what exactly I can contract with.'

To find out, he would need a high-ranking mage to perform a secondary, more in-depth appraisal, which would cost Ethan money he didn’t have. Still, as long as he could contract with something, any otherworldly being would suffice.

After locking his door, Ethan began preparing his room for the ritual, still wondering which entity might appear to him.

'Could it be the Dark God Yor?'

Yor was the most infamous invader associated with dark magic and dark mages. Known as the Outer God of scheming, betrayal, and deceit, Yor was often synonymous with dark magic in many regions.

'Or perhaps the Tentacle God Musamusa?'

On the other hand, Musamusa had nearly brought the world to ruin 2,000 years ago. While there had been no records of its summoning since, the sheer impact of that one event made Musamusa one of the most feared Outer Gods.

'Maybe the Banished Dragon Loranchelio?'

Loranchelio was an ancient dragon who hailed from 5,000 years before Ethan’s time, before records were kept and preserved. Though originally from Damarth Yumaha, Loranchelio’s pursuit of destructive power led to its exile by kings, mages, and adventurers as one. However, some tribes across the distant waters still worshipped the dragon and sought to summon it once more.

By the dawn of the exam day, Ethan had finally finished his preparations. He placed the catalyst in the center of a magic circle drawn with chalk and began chanting in the ancient language. The incantation’s rhythm shifted with celestial alignments—the movements of the stars and the tremors of the earth—a challenge that required perfect rhythm and pitch.

Fortunately, in this area, talent did not evade Ethan.

White light erupted from the sigil.

‘It worked.’

It was a bittersweet triumph. Revealing this contract would prove he was capable of performing the contract magic that had earned his family their esteem, and yet it would brand him a dark mage, a criminal above all else.

If he wanted to be respected, he needed power—undeniable, fearsome power.

A monotone voice echoed in his skull.

Ethan hadn’t anticipated this particular entity, but the fact that it knew his name without introduction proved it was no ordinary being.

“Who are you?”

<Greetings, Ethan. I am Demi and I come from a place called Terra.>

"Demi of Terra?"

<Yes.>

Fortunately, it wasn’t some yet unknown invader. Ethan recognized the name.

About 20 years prior, a dimensional gate had opened in the far north of the Empire, unleashing a surge of mechanical beings clad in iron armor. The Empire suffered catastrophic losses before finally managing to close the gate. The gate was connected to a world called Terra, and the machines from within were said to be controlled by an entity called Demi.

“The Machine God? From the invasion twenty years ago?”

<Affirmative.>

Terra’s forces had once ravaged the northern regions of the Empire before being expelled.

Ethan, who had thought he would never set foot on imperial soil, nodded.

"What’s the price?"

<None.>

"That can’t be. What do you want from me?"

<Survival.>

To Ethan, it sounded too good to be true. If an outer god asked for an eye or an arm, he would have gladly given it.

'And the greater the price, the greater the reward.'

Ethan hesitated, then asked his next question.

"If I survive, what can you give me?"

Thus, Demi replied.

<Power.>

"Be specific."

Something sprang up from the magic circle.

Ethan jumped up and caught it with ease. It was a bent metal rod, small enough to hold in one hand.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” as Arthur Clarke once said.

Ethan stared at the object in his hand, captivated.

"What is this?"

Thus, Demi answered.

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