◆ The Source of My Struggles
I threw myself into my studies with renewed determination, discussing my progress with the academy’s instructors and refining my focus.
If there was anything within my power to master, it was the control of my magic and the art of warfare.
I studied logistics, learned the intricacies of military equipment, and familiarized myself with combat formations.
I absorbed tactics that were primitive compared to my past life’s memories—
Yet, in this world, they were practical and effective.
I analyzed military structures, dissected the distribution of arms, and examined how soldiers relied on their own skills to contribute to victory.
In doing so, I began to see a path forward—
A purpose.
A reason for my existence.
This was my answer.
What can the third son of a frontier knight achieve?
It was this question that I now sought to answer.
This world was plagued by monstrosities—beasts twisted by magic, their very existence a threat to humanity.
Some were mindless creatures, driven only by instinct.
Others—if the rumors were to be believed—were something more.
They spoke.
They commanded lesser creatures.
They organized.
The scholars of the capital called such beings “demonkind.”
But their very existence remained unconfirmed.
The distinction between monster, magical beast, and demon was blurred at best.
What was certain was this—
Their threat was real.
Those who lacked magic could do little to resist them.
The only defense lay in the hands of those gifted with magic.
This was the law of nature in this world.
Even within the frontier, where the reach of nobility was weak, those without magic had little choice but to live under their protection.
Or else perish.
The very notion of demonkind was one of fear and speculation.
The deep forests and wastelands that formed the borders of human civilization were treacherous enough.
The idea that exiled humans, having taken refuge in such places, could have evolved into something else…
It was absurd.
Yet nobles in the capital theorized otherwise.
If abandoned humans could adapt—
If they could survive in the wilderness and learn to wield magic—
Would they not one day return as something more than human?
To me, this was nothing but idle speculation.
A scholar’s delusion, born of ignorance.
I lived in the borderlands.
I had seen firsthand the true horrors of the wilderness.
No man could survive long enough to become anything but prey.
Those lands belonged to monsters alone.
Reality was far harsher than theory.
This was my world.
And my duty.
Our house, the house of a frontier knight, existed precisely because of the threats beyond the borders.
The Marquis who ruled over these lands was tasked with defending the kingdom’s edges.
Beneath him, the Counts who oversaw the outlying territories formed the first line of defense.
And at the very bottom—we stood.
The knights of the frontier, sworn to protect the kingdom’s edge with our own blood and steel.
It was our duty to be the first to face the onslaught.
Our burden to delay the enemy’s advance until the true nobility arrived with their overwhelming magic.
We were the damn holding back the flood.
And we paid for it in blood.
My father.
My brothers.
They accepted this burden without hesitation.
This was our role.
To be the first to bleed.
The kingdom had no choice but to rely on us.
There were never enough mages to defend the kingdom’s vast lands.
Even the royal court struggled to maintain a sufficient number of battle-ready magic knights.
It was a numbers game—
And we were the ones who filled the gaps.
For this reason, the frontier needed warriors.
And warriors needed weapons.
This was where I found my purpose.
Unlike my father or brothers, I lacked the raw martial prowess expected of a knight.
But my magic, though unconventional, held potential.
Through my studies, I discovered that I could manipulate metal—
Shape it.
Mold it.
Imbue it with magic.
The instructors at the academy took great interest in this.
Unlike nobility, who relied on personal magic, I could craft magic into objects—
Magic-infused tools.
The common people already relied on magical implements to compensate for their lack of innate ability.
If artisans could create simple tools, then surely—
I could create weapons.
Weapons that could allow the common soldier to fight monsters—
Even without magic.
This was the answer I sought.
I searched my memories, hoping to find something useful from my past life.
Swords? Shields?
No.
They were meaningless against creatures far beyond human strength.
But…
There was something else.
A weapon that did not rely on a warrior’s strength.
A weapon that did not require the wielder to be gifted with magic.
Firearms.
Guns.
If such a thing could be created—
If it were possible to craft a weapon that allowed the weak to fight the strong—
It could change everything.
But there was one problem.
The key to firearms—gunpowder—did not exist in this world.
Even if I understood theory, I lacked the means to reproduce it.
Without gunpowder, the entire concept was worthless.
Moreover, this world relied on magic.
Science had never developed.
Why build machines when magic did everything?
This world had never needed science.
Thus, it had never progressed.
I could not help but feel frustration at the truth of it.
If this world had just a fraction of the knowledge from my past life…
How much could I have achieved?
How much could I have changed?
Instead, I found myself grappling with the limits of this world.
This was my struggle.
This was my curse.
Even with the knowledge of another world, I was powerless to change what could not be changed.
But still…
Still, I searched.
For another way.
For another path forward.
For a way to carve my own existence into this world.
For the right to exist.