Reincarnated as a Genius Mage-Chapter 41: Probability

You see, in life— there’s something called ’probability’.

It’s a simple concept, really. It’s like flipping a coin. There’s a chance it might land in heads, and there’s also a chance it might land in tails. And then there’s a tiny chance it might stand still— falling neither side.

And because of this concept called ’probability’, every single thing in life is a gamble.

Like back on earth, what’s the chance that if you step out of your house, you won’t get run over by a car? Or you won’t fall in a ditch on the road and die? Or worse, a meteor falls in your house from the sky and ends you? There’s a high chance of these things happening but you still go live on anyway.

So, the reason for all this is to ask you... How would you define a strong person?

A freakish, brutishly strong hulk? A person with superior intellect? Or maybe someone with a mixture of both? Well, it’s not wrong. They might be considered strong.

But to me, a strong person is one with the ability to bend probability to their will.

Take this situation for example.

My grip on his hand on my shoulder is coated with fire. And my free hand— my left hand, is forming a sigil— a fireball spell.

Although I’m angry... I still have everything under my control, and I’d say I’m bending probability to my will right now (master gambling).

My plan? It’s easy.

Cast fireball without chanting, and as everyone’s attention is on me— my reputation would massively skyrocket.

And as I cast without chanting, everyone— including the receptionist— will think of me as someone that’s at least a third circle.

And that’ll increase my chances of becoming a mercenary.

And in case the man attacks? I have a plan for that too.

Jennette’s two green rings revolving around her are visible from the distance. She’s hidden in the shadows at the corner— watching me.

And if this man attacks me right after I shoot the flameball at him, Jennette would be my fail-safe. After all, she is a second circle.

That’s how I’m bending probability to my will.

"Do you know the feeling of death?" I ask, my voice tinged with an eery chill, and my red eyes lit with madness.

The red sigil forming atop my right palm is complete, and from it— I immediately shoot a fireball at his face.

"Urgh!" He groans loudly— taking a step back as he cries in pain. His disorientation is visible as he keeps rubbing his face with his palm. It won’t do much to ease the burn though.

And his wrist— I charred it.

–Gasps!–

The loud, and audible gasps flood into my ear from around the lobby, but I don’t care— right now they’re all ambient, fading, as my entire focus and attention is locked on this man.

The man regains his composure, stops whining, and stands erect, his teeth still gnashed, and veins bulge on his forehead. "You! This kid... I gave you a choice." His voice drops low as he starts Shing–!unsheathing the heavy sword on his back.

I crouch low— immediately entering a battle stance.

When all of a sudden.

"Hey." Jennette calls as she appears at the back of the man swiftly like a mirage.

A tiny windblade swirling round her index finger, which she uses to press his throat— threatening to slice his neck. "Don’t even try it." She says, her voice low, tinged with volatile hostility.

And the man’s face— it flushes, becoming as pale as a ghost soon the moment he hears her voice.

–Clang!–

His sword clangs on the ground as he drops it— raising his two hands up, and accepting defeat. Then he turns his head slightly, eyes locating Jennette’s face, "I–I knew it... Th-that voice... The wind slicer?" His voice is low, and his eyes dart wildly like he just saw a ghost, his angered facial expression dropping into a pathetic showcase of fear.

And as soon as the various people in the guild see Jennette— they move on with their activities, acting like nothing ever happened.

"Oh? They recognize me?" Jennette says, her voice slightly high, and a menacing smirk plays on her lips.

What’s happening? Why’s she acting like some kind of big shot?

I turn back— facing the receptionist. I don’t care what happens next, I’m tired of all this drama.

"How can I get a mercenary license?" I ask the receptionist, my voice low, polite. I’m half tired of everything that’s happened to me so far, and I’m half satisfied that I burned that brute’s face.

I have to normalize flaming people’s faces.

"You... You’re a third circle?" The receptionist asks, her voice is high, accompanied by her slightly wide smile.

I shake my head, "no. I’m an Eight Circle..." My tone dripping with sarcasm, "didn’t you see my display just now? I’m pretty sure you know I’m a third circle, so why are you still asking?"

And as I ask that, she chuckles softly— amused by my brazenness.

Dunce.

"But you’re a k—?"

"I’m an adult." I lie, bluntly, and shamelessly.

Her eyes widen and her hands shuffle through the papers on the table— locating her glasses. And then she finds it, puts it on, and squints her eyes to get a better view of me. "What? Aren’t you a teenager?" She asks, the curiosity poignant in her speech.

I’m actually seven years old.

"It’s because of my genes. Ancient baby syndrome. It’s rare."

As she nods, her gaze softens, "oh, you poor thing." She says with a soft voice.

Would she tell me how to get the license already?!

"So... what’s your name, your age, capabilities, and yes. I know you’re a flame mage, but it’s standard procedure." She asks as her hands locate the quill in her drawer— peered with a clean sheet of paper.

"Name: Call me Blank. I am 25 years old. And my capabilities? Flame magic."

She nods as I speak, the rough sound of quill scratching on paper fills the air, "mm hm, mm hm. Okay, alright. Go sit down, and wait for me... I’ll send this to the review room, and they’ll set up a test for you, and determine your evaluator.

Oh. And just to be clear— your circle means nothing to us here in the mercenary guild. The highest rank you can attain after passing the test, no matter how well you passed, is C-rank. And the only way to advance through the ranks is by completing missions, which has nothing to do with your circle."

A low sigh leaves my mouth as I nod.

So the show I caused was for nothing. Why didn’t Jennette tell me any of this?

"So, even if a six-circle mage, or a swordmaster level swordsman applies, the highest rank he or she can attain in the beginning is just c-rank." She continues.

Swordsman? I see, so that’s part of the other ways in which one can master mana. Hmm, I’d ask Jennette about this later.

I nod, "I’ve heard you. But can you go drop the stuff or whatever so I can begin the test? You’re kind of wasting my time."

She scoffs, "Alright, Mr mysterious, masked, big-shot mage." She jeers as she walks off.

What a personality.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺