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The Language Mage

I'm Richard, a well-known linguist, and my life was all about decoding ancient and dead languages. I've spent years immersed in the intricate tapestry of countless dialects and scripts. My most ambitious project, the culmination of my life's work, was finally complete. I'd uncovered something that could rewrite the history books and shock the entire world. But fate can be merciless. On my way to celebrate this breakthrough at a restaurant, everything changed in an instant. A car crash, and I was gone. At least, that's what I thought. The next thing I knew, I was waking up, but it wasn't in the cold sterility of a hospital room. No, it was in a young man's body, and the world around me was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Magic was real here, and it flowed through the very air. My name was still Richard, but this was a world far removed from my own. What could I, a linguist, possibly do in a world of magic? My body was physically weak, and I was a stranger in a realm where words held the power to shape reality. As I navigated this bewildering new world, I faced not only the challenges of adapting to my new life but also the potential to use my unique skills to unlock the secrets of this magical realm. The journey that lay ahead was an enigma, but one thing was certain – my life had taken a turn into uncharted territories, and there was no turning back.

RiverGoat · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
48 Chs

Richard's battle

— Seems like I got a second chance of beating you up. — Richard's words, as he addressed Isabela, carried a multitude of complex emotions. His smile, though genuine in its joy, was tinged with bitterness and simmering anger. The prospect of another encounter with Isabela stirred a bittersweet excitement within him. The desire to make her feel the sting of humiliation was a driving force behind his willingness to engage in the upcoming duel. The memory of her previous condescension and disdain fueled his determination.

Holding the wooden sword provided by his professor, Richard felt a stark contrast to the familiar weight of his own blade. The unfamiliar grip didn't quite align with the contours of his hand, yet he clutched it with all his strength and resolve. The sword was light, almost too much.