Overlord: Wrong World, Can I Change It?

Seven months. That's how long it's been since the Red Oak incident. The day my routine got smashed and I learned a few things. Like how much martial arts hurts, and how my life has become a bizarre blend of medieval fitness camp and magical mystery tour. Not that I'm complaining. Not exactly. Routine is a beast, but at least it's predictable. Sword drills at dawn, chores, time at the forge, more drills, sometimes a little meditation to see if I can Ki my way out of existential dread. I haven't died of boredom. Yet.

Of course, the universe couldn't let that slide. I think the gods here run on drama, and every time I feel a little safe, someone up there gets bored and spins the event wheel again. That's when they showed up. Two of them. The kind of people who appear right when the script needs new faces.

First, the warrior. A wall of muscle with blond hair cropped close, plate armor that's clearly survived too many bad decisions, and a polite smile that says, I could bench press you and your house, but I'll say good morning first. Next to him, the mage. Robes, staff, goatee trimmed so perfectly I'm sure he shaves with magic. Imagine a cosplayer who takes himself just seriously enough to look impressive, but not enough to notice his hat is a little crooked.

They strolled into the village at noon. That's a spectacle around here. The whole town watched. People here have the curiosity of cats and the subtlety of stampeding cows. Strangers get the full welcome: polite suspicion and open gawking.

Me? I tried to look busy at the forge, peeking over a pile of horseshoes like some kind of discount ninja. But the real target was Tina. She was under the ash tree, alone for once, which meant she was either drawing her next Legendary Stick portrait of me or plotting a coup.

The warrior spoke first, but the mage was the real talker. His voice had that noble, theatrical edge, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Excuse me. You must be Tina?"

She blinked, brushing dirt off her dress. "That's me. You look lost. Need directions?"

"Not exactly." He produced a letter from his robes, thick, sealed with red wax. "We were asked to deliver this to you. By hand."

Tina took the letter with that suspicious look you only get from kids who have survived angry goats, furious adults, and drunk villagers. She took it like it might explode. Honestly, in this world, it probably could.

I was halfway there before she even broke the seal. Not because I'm nosy; let's call it aggressively curious.

I cleared my throat, putting on my best mature and responsible villager voice. "What's that?"

She barely looked at me. "Nothing important," she said, slipping the letter into her pocket. "Just some boring news from home."

Which was a lie. Tina never flinches, but this time she looked away. Red flag.

The warrior nodded politely and started to leave, but the mage lingered. He studied me, then Tina.

I didn't plan to open my mouth, but curiosity won. "Are you really a mage? Could you show me some real magic? Just once?"

He looked at me, maybe amused, maybe surprised that I asked. Then he nodded. "Of course."

He gestured to a patch of dirt. "Would you like to see a spell?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Typical. With a practiced motion, he raised his staff. "Observe closely," he intoned, like he was auditioning for Guy Who Dies Next Arc.

He traced a sigil in the air, routine, pure muscle memory. The mana rippled, visible even to my eyes if you paid attention. I was definitely paying attention.

"Magic Arrow."

A bolt of translucent blue light shot from his fingertip, arcing into the earth. It hit with a sharp crack, leaving a shallow crater and a puff of smoke. Two seconds, tops.

He smiled at me. I smiled back, doing my best to look cool and collected, but inside I was absolutely exploding with joy. I swear, if anyone had looked close, they would have seen the corners of my mouth twitching from the effort not to burst out grinning like an idiot.

Then he turned to Tina.

"Miss, we were also tasked with waiting for your reply. Please, do not take too long. We will speak with the settlement's leader to obtain accommodation for the night."

He said it so formally it was almost comical, like a noble visiting a barn. With those words, they walked off toward Gilo's house.

But let's go back to the important part. Any normal kid would have jumped for joy at seeing real magic. I didn't. I was busy. I activated [Control] by instinct, pushing my senses out, absorbing the afterimage of the spell. It wasn't just light and noise. It was a system. Lines, loops, geometry woven out of mana, a living circuit diagram. At its core, a rotating triangle inside a circle, fed by a spiral of energy. The moment it fired, the pattern collapsed.

I replayed the moment in my mind, forcing myself to recall every detail. Then, with Ki to sharpen my senses, I bolted to the forge, grabbed some charcoal, and sketched it out. The skeleton of the spell: stabilizing circle, mana injection points, the arrow shaped from force, locked in by a twist at the end.

It felt like copying circuit diagrams back at university, except this time, getting it wrong didn't mean a bad grade. It meant failure.

Could I ask the mage for help? Maybe. But why show my hand if I don't need to? It's not paranoia if it's justified.

By now, the mage and warrior were gone. Tina trailed after them, clutching her letter like a lifeline, head down. For a second, I considered running after her. Marriage jokes aside, Tina has actually become a real friend. I owed her at least a conversation.

But right now? Science.

I sat cross-legged behind the forge, [Control] active, gathering mana in my palm and picturing the diagram. Circle. Spiral. Core. Focus.

In the past, I had tried to use mana externally, but I never succeeded. I was never able to force it out of my body, no matter what I tried. Nothing ever worked to move it outside myself.

Now, I started from the very center of my palm, condensing my mana into a single brilliant point, the seed of the spell. From there, I pictured a small circle blooming outward, the core of the magic, followed by a second, larger ring, then a third. Each ring felt different: the first, stabilizing, the second, connecting, the third, containing.

And then, suddenly, it all felt incredibly natural. Once I drew that very first point, the seed, right against my skin, something just clicked. The mana flowed out of my body with almost no resistance. It was as if that initial contact, that anchor, unlocked the way forward, and I didn't stop. I rode that momentum, letting the energy spill into the forming pattern.

I pushed further, visualizing geometric lines crossing the core, four axes like a compass rose, dividing the circle into quadrants. Between those lines, I traced smaller circles, each touching the center and weaving a pattern like interlocking petals or the spokes of an impossibly complex gear. Then came the swirling arcs, spiraling out from the center and tying everything together, intersecting at little "nodes" where energy gathered, pulsing with potential. Layer after layer, the design grew, each new line reinforcing the shape, making it more solid, more real.

The outermost part was by far the trickiest: a swirling band of intricate runes and looping symbols that encircled the entire design. To my eye, the final result looked like a glowing blue mandala, part circuit diagram, part arcane seal, layer upon layer of overlapping circles and impossible geometry, all locked together with that sense of deliberate, mysterious symmetry you only see in anime magic.

Nothing happened. No ding, no System pop-up, just a tingling in my hand. I pushed harder, not just seeing the finished product but building it step by step, feeling each piece slot into place. The core, the rings, the cross-lines, the petals, the spirals, the nodes, the script, every detail mattered. The whole process was equal parts art and engineering, and for once, I didn't try to rush. I just let the circle assemble itself in my palm, willing the mana to hold.

The quality wasn't perfect, some lines were a little shaky, a few areas where the mana didn't distribute evenly, and in some places, the concentration of magical energy was way too high. Still, for my first real try? Honestly, it was absurdly good. All that training wasn't for nothing after all.

I studied my handiwork, analyzing every detail, unable to look away for those first couple of seconds. In that brief window, I could feel the entire circle and the energy within it starting to deteriorate and destabilize. There was no time to waste.

I focused and activated the spell.

A spark shot from my palm, blue-white, so brief I almost doubted it happened. It fizzled out with a pathetic hiss.

But it was something. Magic.

I grinned. For the first time in ages, I saw real progress. The pattern was burned into my memory, every ring and spiral, every cross and rune. If I could do it once, I could do it again. Given time, maybe I could unlock "Mage" as a class. Would I accept it? Obviously not. I'm not here for common classes.

I spent the next while creating and collapsing the magic circle, a dozen times. Each time, it got better, more stable, closer to the ideal I'd seen in that flash of blue light. Each time, I used more mana. Eventually, my reserves ran low. That's when I realized what low mana feels like in this world. It's the dizziness you get when you stand up too fast, your brain foggy, the world spinning.

I stared at my sketch, already planning the next attempt, the next failure, the next breakthrough.

I let out a little madman's laugh. Ohohohoh. Poor clueless mage, you just handed me the keys to the candy store. Thank you, sensei. If only you knew.