How to Survive as a Mage Inside a Game

An endless field of grass stretched out in every direction.

And right at the center of it, a flash of light sparked—and a man suddenly appeared.

It was Karl.

"...Khhhak!!"

Clutching his chest, he dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth in wet, choking coughs.

That had been too close.

A moment later and the teleport would’ve been too late—his heart would’ve been completely pierced.

['Unscheduled Quest: Survival' has been completed.]

[You have received 80,000 SP as a quest reward.]

[As a quest reward, you have received a magical item...]

Karl ignored the messages flashing in his head and hurriedly pulled two healing potions from his inventory.

He poured one over his wounds and chugged the other down.

"Goddamn it... the bleeding won’t even stop..."

Was it because the wounds were too severe? Or was it the Sanma Toxin that messed with his mana?

Either way, the potions barely helped.

He felt only a marginal improvement as he staggered to his feet.

'Where the hell is this...'

He finally turned his head and looked around.

At least he was out of the forest, but he had no idea where he was.

He’d teleported randomly to somewhere within a 100-kilometer radius—of course he was lost.

He didn’t know which direction would lead to anything.

His life had been saved, but now he was completely lost. And he’d lost his horse too.

Worst of all, his body was wrecked. He was seriously injured.

"...Hah..."

There was no solution in sight.

With a heavy heart, Karl slumped back to the ground.

As searing pain blurred his thoughts, memories began to surface.

'That was too emotional. Killing that heir bastard was a stupid move.'

Maybe it was because of the elves. The ones who’d been brutally massacred.

He’d been a little too emotional back there.

If he’d just let the kid live and bolted...

Maybe he wouldn’t have taken such a lethal hit from the old man’s final attack.

'Still felt damn good though. Heh...'

He could still see the old man’s face, twisted in rage after Karl killed the kid.

Not only had he survived an encounter with a senior member of Aranhel, he’d also gotten a solid hit in.

But the satisfaction didn’t last long—his mood plummeted again.

'...The remaining slaves are probably all dead.'

He didn’t care about the slave traders, but there had been young boys and girls among the slaves—not even old enough to be called adults.

They were probably all killed by now.

They were doomed anyway, but the old man might’ve slaughtered them in brutal, torturous rage—just to vent.

Lives ended in despair, without freedom, without dignity.

Guilt crept into Karl’s chest.

And with it, came disgust with himself.

'I forgot.'

Just how many monsters like that old man filled this world.

And how weak he really was in comparison.

It had been a while since he’d faced a real crisis. He’d grown complacent.

Even if he wanted to reflect now, what was the point?

Karl looked around with unfocused eyes.

The final blow had spread the poison even further. His mana was fully depleted.

If a hungry beast or bandit showed up now, he was as good as dead.

Death was close.

The healing potions were useless, and even when he tried to get up again, his body wouldn’t move.

Karl simply collapsed onto the grass.

Breathing faintly, barely holding on, he stared up at the endless blue sky.

"...Damn. I really might die this time..."

He’d survived so far.

But this ending felt... anticlimactic.

His memories flickered like a dying light. His denial at being trapped in the game, his first encounter with bandits, the trauma of his first kill, the monster hunts, his connections, allies, betrayals, danger, revenge, the wandering in pursuit of the Main Quest...

And in the end, all that remained was the same thing that had always surfaced:

A boundless yearning for the world he came from.

Karl slowly closed his eyes.

He wished—desperately—that when he opened them again, he’d see the stained ceiling of his dingy one-room apartment.

As if it had all been a dream.

* * *

"Lady, shall we stop and rest for a bit?"

The knight Yurie looked at her seated master across from her with concern.

The young woman silently shook her head.

"But your face looks quite pale..."

"Yurie."

"Yes, my lady."

"I said I’m fine. Be quiet."

"...Yes, understood."

Yurie shut her mouth.

She knew full well her lady’s mind was likely burdened in many ways right now.

Her name was Lette Rubedom.

The only daughter of House Rubedom, the Margraves of the southern frontier.

She was returning home after concluding negotiations with nearby merchant guilds, as ordered by her father, the head of the house.

The negotiations had gone smoothly, but the real issue was the growing urgency that had forced them to rely on those merchant forces in the first place.

'This is already the third provocation from the orcs... Is war really about to break out?'

The Forest of Gwangrim covered the entire southwest.

And from there came waves of monsters and other races—especially the orcs, rulers of the western woods.

The Rubedom family had protected the Empire’s southwestern border from such invaders for generations.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

But with ranger squads going missing during recon missions and multiple orc clans forming alliances and provoking them—the situation was getting worse.

They’d signed urgent supply contracts with merchant guilds to secure stable deliveries of weapons and gear.

Everything was a preparation for war, and as a member of her house, Lette could hardly be at ease.

"Yurie."

"Yes, my lady."

"If war breaks out, you’ll be fighting on the front lines too. Same goes for my father and brother."

"......"

"How many people will die this time?"

Yurie said nothing.

She wanted to tell her it wasn’t certain yet.

But remembering the report from the last ranger who returned from Gwangrim—it would’ve been an empty reassurance.

War was already half certain.

The only unknowns were the timing—and how large the orc invasion force would be.

"The Imperial army should be sending reinforcements soon. Count Gerod, the House of Duke Phullip... they're dispatching high-ranking knights..."

"I know."

Lette rested her chin on her hand and gazed out the carriage window.

"I just have a bad feeling. I hope they don’t take too long."

As she stared blankly across the endless plains—

"...?"

Her violet eyes blinked, puzzled.

Something had entered her field of vision.

"Yurie, what’s that?"

Yurie looked too.

With her trained eyes, far sharper than Lette’s thanks to her aura training, she immediately picked up on it.

And unlike Lette, her face shifted from confusion to alertness.

"It looks like... a person."

"A person?"

"Yes. Someone’s collapsed out there. They look dead..."

Lette nodded and said,

"Have the coachman turn the carriage toward them."

"...It might be dangerous, my lady. We should be cautious—"

"They might still be alive. We have to check. How could we ignore someone in need, especially on our family’s land?"

Yurie knew her lady’s personality well. She sighed silently and told the coachman to turn the carriage.

There were knights on the coachman’s seat as well, so it wasn’t a major risk—but Yurie heightened her ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) vigilance just in case.

"I’ll go check first."

She dismounted and approached the fallen man with the other knights.

A young man.

Stab wounds along his side and chest. The wound near his heart was especially severe.

She placed a hand to his neck—faint, but there was still a pulse.

"How is he? Is he alive?"

Lette asked from behind.

Yurie nodded.

"He won’t survive if left like this."

"Can he be treated?"

"That... we’ll have to try."

"Then bring him inside the carriage."

Yurie looked displeased.

The wounds were too clean. Suspiciously precise.

Whoever this man was, it didn’t look like he’d been attacked by mere bandits.

But she couldn’t let someone die in front of her either.

Without argument, Yurie picked him up and brought him into the carriage.

"I’ll use healing magic—"

"My lady, basic treatment first. That’ll stop the bleeding better."

Knights were used to battle wounds. Yurie pulled out emergency herbs and medicine from beneath the seat and began dressing his injuries.

Once done, she said to Lette,

"The heart wound is the worst. Please start with that."

"Alright."

She had trained in magic since childhood under a mage of the Marche School—now she was a proper 2-circle mage.

White light shimmered from her hand and covered the man’s wound.

After a while, Lette frowned.

"Yurie."

"Yes, my lady."

"It’s hard to lean over like this. Move him over here."

"......"

Yurie hesitated, then said,

"My lady, treating him while he’s lying down keeps the bleeding down. Moving him like that..."

"It’s fine. I’ll just hold him on my lap."

...That was exactly the problem.

Lette pulled over a blanket and, without care for the blood, cradled the man’s head in her lap, pouring healing magic into him.

Yurie watched the unconscious man with visible disapproval.

'How dare he make my lady go this far...'

If he so much as tried anything when he woke, she swore she’d cut him down on the spot.

"Keep the perimeter tight. There might still be attackers nearby."

She leaned out the window and spoke to the knights riding up front.

And just like that, with a gravely wounded man onboard, the carriage continued across the plains.