CHAPTER 1: THE EXILED DROPOUT WHO CAN ONLY USE MAGIC ARROW
“Magic Arrow.”
The moment I spoke, a white arrow shot forth from my hand, pointed diagonally upwards.
Gliding through the sky in a straight line, it struck a bird flying from a distance.
After letting out what looked like a scream, the bird lost its balance and fell straight down.
Seems like that settles tonight’s dinner.
I began to walk over to where the bird fell.
Magic Arrow is a spell that shoots an arrow of mana from your held-out hand.
It’s a staple spell that even an infant would know—the basics of the basics.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that every single apprentice magician learns this spell first.
Of course, I was no exception.
It was the very first spell I learned, as well as the very last.
Those words are what I have to show for the 26 years I’ve lived so far—a mere two lines.
The entirety of my life adds up to just two lines of text.
I was born into a marquis-ranked noble household as the eldest son, but I wasn’t the most capable person.
I was frequently compared to my brilliant younger brother and took the full brunt of everyone’s complaints.
“What a shame Sir Albert is—he’s the very picture of stupidity.
Compared to his younger brother, he’s truly pathetic! I feel terrible when I think of how his parents must feel.
To think that if only he wasn’t the first-born, there would be no need to worry so!”
It was frustrating, but I couldn’t say anything back.
It was true, after all.
The look in my parents’ eyes told me everything I needed to know.
However, even I had a single talent—or rather, something believed to be a talent.
That talent was magic.
Without having done any particular training, I was able to use Magic Arrow.
I was only ten years old at the time.
This was all a huge surprise to everyone.
“That moronic older brother has talent in magic!”
That fleeting moment was the first time my parents had a look of pride and joy when they looked at me.
After that, I fully devoted myself to studying magic.
In the end, I was unable to use anything besides Magic Arrow, but my parents reassured me.
“Albert, only those who have received harsh training from a very young age can call themselves magicians.
There’s still no need to rush.”
I still had faith in my own talent.
I believed I could make it—that I could become someone.
That precisely because I had this talent, I wasn’t blessed with anything else.
To prove it, I enrolled in the Magic Academy in the royal capital when I turned 15.
And then-
I failed.
It wasn’t because of the overwhelming skill-disparity that surrounded me.
It went further back than that—it was because I couldn’t conquer my own weakness.
I was unable to learn anything other than Magic Arrow.
As one would expect from a Magic Academy, there were already students who could use more than ten spells all over the place.
I believed that one day, I would catch up to them.
However, I was unable to learn a single new spell.
The gap between me and everyone else would only continue to grow, no matter where I looked.
Far from catching up to the best, I even started losing to students at the same level as me.
While I was at a stand-still with Magic Arrow, the other students continued to learn new spells rapidly.
Only I was left behind.
A magician’s status is decided by the number of spells they can use.
In the blink of an eye, I went from “Child Prodigy” to “Failure”.
I ultimately ran from the Magic Academy before a single year passed.
I didn’t drop out—I literally ran away. Without telling a single soul, I took my belongings from the dormitory and fled.
The fact that there wasn’t anyone who believed in me and didn’t doubt me—the reality that I was nothing more than a fool, crushed me.
It drove me to a wall, to the point where I could do nothing but run.
I had the money my parents gave me to use as living expenses, so I used that to wander around for a while.
I didn’t want to go home—I was scared of seeing my parents’ cold-hearted stare.
However, I ran out of money.
At the time, I was just a noble kid who di
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