The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

The capital city of Rikxia spread before Klaus like a constellation brought to earth. Even past midnight, the streets hummed with life that spoke to prosperity and security his family had helped cultivate over generations. Warm light spilled from tavern windows, street vendors sold late-night delicacies to revelers, and couples strolled hand-in-hand through cobblestone paths that gleamed like polished jewels under enchanted lampposts.

Klaus walked with measured steps that betrayed none of the cosmic power contained within his transformed frame. To casual observation, he appeared merely as young nobleman returning from eventful evening—though the subtle damage to his ceremonial attire suggested adventures beyond typical social gathering.

The city's beauty struck him with unexpected force. Flower boxes adorned every window, their blooms maintained through subtle magical enhancement that kept petals fresh despite seasonal variations. Architecture blended classical imperial design with practical modern additions, creating aesthetic harmony that pleased both eye and spirit. Clean streets, well-maintained buildings, and the general atmosphere of contentment spoke to governmental competence that transcended mere administrative efficiency.

When did I last simply walk through the capital? The question surprised him with its emotional weight. Since his transformation, existence had become series of crises requiring immediate response. Yet here, surrounded by normal human activity, he could almost pretend to be ordinary youth enjoying peaceful evening stroll.

Passersby noticed him, though their attention carried curiosity rather than recognition. His noble bearing remained unmistakable despite damaged clothing—something in his posture, his unhurried confidence, marked him as member of elevated social class. Yet the torn fabric and scorch marks on his ceremonial outfit generated whispered speculation about what adventures might have befallen young aristocrat.

"Looks like someone had quite the evening," murmured a baker closing his shop for the night.

"Probably gambling debts," his neighbor replied with knowing nod. "These young nobles always think they're cleverer than they are."

Klaus suppressed smile at their assumption. If only they knew how far their speculation fell short of reality. Yet their casual dismissal of his appearance as merely youthful indiscretion carried strange comfort—proof that normal world continued functioning despite cosmic forces that threatened dimensional stability.

The streets all led toward Lionhart estate at the city's heart, radiating outward like spokes from wheel's center. This design wasn't mere civic planning but statement of political reality—House Lionhart served as axis around which imperial authority rotated. Yet tonight, Klaus felt no urgency to return home. The missing hours of memory had left him emotionally drained despite physical restoration, creating desire for simple human interaction that might ground him in present moment.

Music drifted from nearby tavern, accompanied by laughter that spoke to genuine enjoyment rather than forced celebration. Klaus found himself drawn toward sounds of normalcy like moth to flame, seeking reminder of world beyond cosmic conflicts and transcendent power struggles.

As he approached establishment called "The Silver Crown," young woman emerged from alley beside building. She moved with practical efficiency rather than studied grace, carrying empty bottles toward what appeared to be storage area behind tavern. Her appearance was striking without being overwhelming—pretty rather than beautiful, with features that suggested intelligence and humor rather than classical perfection.

Her figure showed results of physical work rather than noble leisure—well-shaped through activity rather than artificial enhancement, carrying herself with confidence that came from competence rather than inherited privilege. Dark hair framed face that held warmth missing from many court beauties Klaus had encountered, while simple clothing spoke to working-class origins worn with dignity rather than shame.

She glanced up as Klaus passed, taking in his appearance with assessment that combined amusement and concern. Where others had shown curiosity or speculation, she displayed straightforward human sympathy for someone who appeared to have experienced difficult evening.

"You look like you need a beer," she said with opening directness that cut through social protocols he'd grown accustomed to navigating.

Klaus paused, crystalline eyes studying her with interest that transcended mere physical attraction. Her statement carried no attempt at flattery or social positioning—simply honest observation delivered with kindness that seemed genuine rather than calculated.

"I'm not certain alcohol would prove beneficial in my current state," he replied with careful honesty, though smile that accompanied words softened potential rejection.

"Fair enough," she said with easy acceptance that suggested no offense taken. "Though you look like someone who's been through something that needs talking about rather than drinking through."

Her perceptiveness surprised him. Most people saw surface damage to his clothing and assumed simple explanations. She somehow detected deeper disturbance that went beyond physical appearance, recognizing signs of emotional or psychological strain that ran deeper than mere adventure gone wrong.

"I'm Samantha," she continued, extending hand with straightforward friendliness that bypassed formal introductions. "And before you ask, yes, I work here. No, I'm not trying to drum up business. You just look like you could use someone to talk to who isn't going to ask a lot of complicated questions."

Klaus accepted her offered handshake, noting calluses that spoke to honest work and strength that came from daily labor rather than training exercises. Her grip was firm without being challenging, warm without being intimate—simple human contact that somehow anchored him more effectively than cosmic power ever could.

"Arkadius," he replied, choosing name that felt more appropriate than his noble designation. Something about her honest directness made elaborate titles seem unnecessarily pretentious.

"Well, Arkadius," Samantha said with grin that suggested she'd heard stranger names, "want to come inside? My family owns this place, so drinks are on the house. And if you're worried about alcohol affecting whatever's going on with you, we serve excellent non-alcoholic options that'll warm you up just as well."

Klaus considered her offer with internal debate that surprised him with its intensity. Every rational consideration suggested returning immediately to Lionhart estate, where family doubtless worried about his extended absence. Yet something about Samantha's uncomplicated kindness appealed to part of him that felt starved for normal human interaction.

"That's generous," he said finally. "Though I should warn you—I'm not particularly good company tonight."

"Lucky for you, I'm good enough company for both of us," Samantha replied with confidence that carried no arrogance. "Besides, you'd be surprised how many people show up here after rough evenings. We specialize in no-questions-asked hospitality."

She gestured toward tavern entrance with invitation that managed to be welcoming without being pushy. "Come on. Worst that happens is you drink something warm, sit somewhere comfortable, and realize you feel slightly better than when you started. Best that happens is you remember that the world contains good things that don't require fighting for."

Klaus found himself nodding before conscious decision had been made. Something about her perspective—treating his obvious distress as problem requiring practical solution rather than cosmic significance—appealed to part of him that longed for simplicity.

"Lead the way," he said, allowing himself to be guided toward warmth and music that promised respite from memories he couldn't access and responsibilities he couldn't escape.

As they approached tavern entrance, Samantha glanced sideways at his damaged clothing with observation that held no judgment. "You know, we might have some spare clothes that would fit you better than what you're wearing. Nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable. Sometimes starting fresh on the outside helps with whatever's going on inside."

The offer struck Klaus as unexpectedly thoughtful—recognition that his appearance might be causing discomfort beyond mere social awkwardness. That she would extend such consideration to stranger spoke to character that transcended mere hospitality, suggesting genuine concern for others' wellbeing.

"That would be appreciated," he admitted, realizing how much he wanted to shed visible reminders of evening's chaos. "Though I should mention that I can compensate you for the inconvenience."

"Don't worry about payment," Samantha said with dismissive wave. "Consider it investment in making sure you stick around long enough to prove you're more interesting than you look."

Her teasing carried warmth that took sting from words, while confidence in her own charm suggested experience dealing with complicated people who needed time to reveal their better qualities.

Klaus followed her through tavern entrance, stepping into atmosphere that promised warmth, comfort, and blessed normalcy that his transformed existence had made precious beyond measure.

The simple human kindness of stranger offered him something cosmic power never could—chance to remember what he was fighting to protect, and perhaps discover aspects of himself that transcendence hadn't entirely erased.