Nascent Soul Rebirth: Starting as a Wizard

(Brain Storage: This story is a ensemble narrative depicting the clash of diverse civilizations. The setting is inevitably complex at times. Readers can temporarily store their thoughts here and focus on immersing themselves in the story. PS: Uncle Ying is still here, so there are no taboos.)

(This book integrates three main systems: technology, cultivation, and wizardry. Each system has its own intricate branches and unique logic. The protagonist, Solo, travels through three lifetimes and cultivates all three systems simultaneously.)

He also created a system similar to Kamen Rider, Giant of Light, and even Pacific Rim Jaeger, with the protagonist referencing the abilities of many characters from anime.

I kindly request all readers to read this carefully and leave comments to encourage interaction with the author!

The autumn winds of the harvest season, as soon as they arrive, seem to carry the chill of the long, frozen season.

Like a dull knife, it scraped over and over again the wide square in front of Viscount François's mansion, paved with gray-white fjord rock.

The Emerald Sea is divided into four seasons a year: a two-month sowing season, a two-month summer season, a two-month harvest season, and a six-month ice-covered season.

The wind carried the salty smell unique to the distant sea, mixed with the harvest scent of rice and wheat, and the rough chants of serfs driving pack animals.

Yet, it could not dispel the invisible heat and unease that permeated the hearts of the nearly one hundred young men and women of the Fran family in the square.

Twenty years.

Perhaps not a long time for a wizard's long life.

But for secular noble families, especially those eager to send their bloodline into the halls of transcendence, this is a wait of almost a generation.

The Emerald Academy’s once-every-twenty-year enrollment period is like a rainbow bridge that stretches across the fjord islands, appearing and disappearing intermittently.

Towards a mysterious, powerful, and completely different world.

It is not only a turning point in an individual's fate, but also concerns the rise and fall of a family for decades to come.

In the noble code of the wizarding world, the continuation and growth of bloodlines is the primary obligation, even above land and wealth.

The Fran family, as the hereditary rulers of the fjord islands, has always regarded this as their guiding principle.

Just last month, the 45-year-old Viscount André Franz, the current head of the family, was in his prime.

He had just married his nineteenth wife in a grand ceremony—a young lady from a baron's family on a neighboring island.

This marriage was like a boulder thrown into an already turbulent family pond, stirring up even more waves.

Especially Elina, the legitimate wife who was of the highest birth and had been with the Viscount the longest, had already brought her eldest son and eldest daughter several months ago.

Under the pretext of visiting her elderly father, she returned in a large group to her parents' home, which was located on another medium-sized island.

At this moment, the Viscount's mansion, with its tightly closed gates bearing the family crest, stands a grey rock castle with intersecting sea anchors.

Before the heavy oak and gilded gate, the crowd, without needing any direction, automatically formed two distinct circles based on blood ties and social status.

In the center of the square, there were about thirty people, all of whom were Viscount Andre's own flesh and blood, the undisputed core of the Fran family.

Both men and women were dressed in gorgeous clothes made of the finest materials.

The boys were dressed in well-tailored hunting outfits or formal attire, with ceremonial short swords at their waists, their postures as upright as young pine trees.

The girls wore layered skirts and exquisite hair ornaments, their demeanor exuding an elegance honed through strict upbringing.

They formed a small group and talked in hushed tones.

The topics might involve the upcoming viscountship, some rumors about Emerald City, or some family secrets that are not for outsiders to know.

Their eyes were clear, yet also held the unique look of aristocratic children of this age.

An almost instinctive scrutiny and restraint; as their gaze sweeps across the periphery, the sense of superiority is beyond words.

Outside the square, the number of people was about twice that of the central area, totaling more than seventy.

They are descendants of the Viscount's brothers and sisters, belonging to a collateral branch of the Fran family.

Their clothing was equally splendid, with fine linen, velvet, and even a little silk not uncommon.

But in terms of the novelty of the design, the preciousness of the accessories, and that deep-seated composure, it is all about the style.

There is still a subtle and insurmountable gap between them and the core circle of direct descendants.

They either gathered in small groups, exchanging information and guesses in hushed tones, or stood alone in solemn silence.

His gaze kept shifting between the central inner circle, the tightly closed gates, and the road leading to the port in the distance.

Those eyes held a mixture of a deep longing for opportunity, a complex envy of the inner circle, and a constant need for careful calculation.

For them, each college admission is a golden opportunity that could change their own fate and that of their families, and they cannot afford to make any mistakes.

And between the two circles lies a blurred buffer zone, seemingly separated by an invisible force.

Solo Fran stood still, slightly closer to the center circle, yet firmly blocked by an invisible barrier.

He was like a rough piece of limestone that had accidentally fallen into a delicate pond, unable to stir up even the slightest ripple.

On the contrary, its abrupt presence makes the pool water appear even more "clear" and itself even more "turbid".

His location precisely marks his embarrassing and indelible background.

Mother?

It was merely a chance encounter during the Viscount's autumn hunt in a remote village, a moment of fleeting interest at dusk after the rain.

A farmer's daughter whose name was never properly recorded in the Viscount's archives.

Even the nineteenth wife of a viscount was never exempted from formal courtesies.

They had exchanged marriage certificates and dowries, and behind them stood at least one noble lady from a family with knighthood, baronship, or even higher titles.

A peasant girl with no background needed extra "favor" to even become a concubine, let alone have a formal title.

Solo's childhood memories are of the low, damp tenant farmer's hut on the edge of the plantation and his mother's rough but warm hands.

Running through the fields and fishing in the streams are completely out of place in this magnificent, cold, and strictly disciplined viscount's mansion.

Until a few years ago, during that terrifying winter that still terrifies the residents of the fjord island, a monster horde swept through the forests and villages.

Solo's mother died in that disaster, and he was brought into this place that should have been his "home" like an old object that had been forgotten and was barely remembered.

A hasty and almost perfunctory qualification test nearly sealed his fate in this mansion.

"Fourteen years old, above-average first-class aptitude." The old steward in charge of the inspection announced in a calm and even voice, as if he were stating the weather today.

In the value system of wizarding nobles, this means without miraculous encounters or the accumulation of rare resources.

By the time he reaches the age of sixteen and his aptitude stabilizes, he will most likely remain a "second-class aptitude" for the rest of his life.

In the eyes of those shrewd wives, such potential offered a pitifully low return on investment.

Even the value of adopting him as an adopted son and raising him slightly to show "benevolence" is lacking.

He became a troublesome "defective product," passed around between different departments.

Ultimately, just as Mrs. Alina stormed out of the house, it was hastily transferred to her name.

He became a "son" in name only, with almost no one paying attention to him.

Growing up in the countryside left him completely ignorant of the intricate, almost secret, etiquette and rules among the nobility. His early experiences with life, death, separation, and the harsh realities of life also made him accustomed to using silence to shield himself.

This silence was interpreted by others as dullness, stupidity, or even resentment.

"Mudblood"—an insulting term used in the context of wizarding nobility to denigrate those without wizarding blood who are considered "impurities" that taint the pure bloodline.

When these words were spoken with contempt by some self-important direct descendants or arrogant collateral relatives eager to prove their loyalty, Solo would usually just lower his head even further.

Let thick bangs cover your eyes that might reveal your emotions, and suppress all the turmoil in your soul.

Patience was the first lesson he learned while struggling to survive in this fortress devoid of warmth, filled only with interests and hierarchy, and it is also the only skill he can currently use proficiently.

At this moment, he was leaning against the cold stone wall at the edge of the square, next to the main entrance pillars.

The early spring sunlight was thin and pale, barely dispelling the chill, but unable to warm the boulder in the slightest.

He held in his hands a book as thick as a city brick, with a cover wrapped in hard leather and edges inlaid with brass plates for reinforcement and decoration.