The Regressed SSS-Rank Water Mage Wants To Live a Calm Life-Chapter 6: The Return

Maxwell closed his eyes, embracing the free fall.

Suddenly, Maxwell’s soul rumbled. And it felt as if it suddenly hit a wall. Or as if it entered a container. But Maxwell didn’t care; he still kept his eyes closed, enjoying the fall.

Immediately, Maxwell felt a soothing breeze blow against his face and against his skin.

This fact felt off and strange to him because in the stream of time, there was no air, nor was there wind.

Absorbed and immersed in his fall, the young man didn’t mind this one minor fact.

But as he fell, the wind that blew against his skin felt more refreshing, softly whipping against his face.

In the next moment, he felt a slight movement on his forehead. Like strands of hair brushed against his face.

Brows furrowed.

’Hair?’

For the first time, the falling young man, Maxwell, opened his eyes, and the harsh rays of an afternoon sun kissed his eyes, causing him to squint.

The man looked around him. His surroundings had completely changed from the dull cerulean stream he’d almost become accustomed to, replaced by a moving world that felt... alive!

Maxwell widened his eyes as he moved his neck to survey his surroundings.

Trees, mundane tenements of medieval-looking buildings in far distances, and the loud neighs of horses nearby.

Yup. He was definitely back in his home world. Cryst.

Screech––!

A loud screeching sound echoed from above Maxwell.

Currently, the man was falling from the sky. Diving, in fact. And the ground, filled with lush, surplus greenery — a field — was getting closer by the second.

Maxwell’s lips stretched wide. He finally took it in. He finally understood.

"I’m back!!"

He immediately moved his body mid-air, assuming a better landing position.

Maxwell outstretched both of his hands, aiming to turn the ground where he would land into liquid.

Until a loud, annoyed male voice rang out, distracting Maxwell.

"Maxwell, you dumb fuck!!!!!! What the hell is wrong with you??!!!"

’Who?’

Maxwell looked upward.

A dark, massive creature soared through the skies above the fields. A beast with two flapping wings, the size of a man, made for its arms, and its legs were long claws specifically evolved to hunt down prey.

It was a wyvern.

This wing-flapping beast moved in circles above the field.

A man, dressed in a greyish brown medieval leather armor like a mercenary of sorts, was on top of the wyvern, desperately fighting the stubborn thing.

Both the wyvern and the man were in a life-or-death scuffle in the air.

Maxwell’s eyes glistened with excitement.

’I jumped down from that beast?’ He thought, smiling as the wind drifted his bangs.. ’This is exactly like the memories I remember.’

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU JUMP DOWN!!!"

’That voice...’

While his mind tried to remember the owner of the voice, Maxwell failed to realize that he was already crashing.

In fact, he only realized when the already well-positioned soles of his feet collided with the grass-filled ground as he buckled on his knees, rolling on the ground and destroying the plants.

Maxwell gripped his shoulder and his ribs tightly. A sharp pain coursed through them; it’d been a while since he felt something quite like this.

Well, excluding the spear to his heart, a few... What time again was that?

The blue-haired young man stood up from the ground, clenching his fists.

"It hurts."

Screech––!!

Hearing the cries of the wyvern, Maxwell looked upward with keen eyes.

The beast kept struggling, trying hard to shake off the man standing on its back, who, apparently, had his long sword stuck in the beast’s neck.

The wyvern hunter, with gritted teeth, bulged his biceps, forcing the sword with all his strength to pierce the beast’s neck.

"Nng!! Die, you damned beast!"

Maxwell blinked, confused.

"Why expend so much strength trying to deal with something so weak?"

In the next moment, Maxwell, ignoring the aching pain in his body, outstretched a palm.

Water floated on his palm, like a ball. He moved his thumb a little, and the water took on the shape of an arrow.

Maxwell crouched low, pivoting his waist as he aimed at the wyvern flying in circles.

Just when it was right, Maxwell released his water arrow.

Fwoosh––!

It flew like a precise projectile, aiming at the beast’s head.

The water arrow collided and eventually pierced the head of the beast, bringing its unfortunate end immediately as the beast, along with the man on it, fell from the sky.

Maxwell stood, observing his young body while staring at his arms.

He was dressed in the same brown medieval outfit as the wyvern hunter. With leather, makeshift armor pads beneath his shirt, giving him a rough, mercenary-like look.

"That was really weak," he whispered, clenching and unclenching his fists, "It should’ve had more power. Although I did predict this weakness somewhat."

Boom–!

The dead wyvern and the man collapsed in the fields, and the grasses rippled.

The wyvern hunter groggily crawled out of the collapsed wyvern corpse.

"Ugh! What the hell was that, Maxwell?!"

Maxwell, ignoring the complaining man, hummed.

’What exact year is this?’ Maxwell thought, holding his chin. ’Considering how young and healthy my body currently is, and how I was free-falling from that wyvern, I think I’m in my early twenties. Which means–’

"Hey!" The wyvern hunter, finally out of the mess of dark wyvern blood and ruined armor, walked toward Maxwell, grimacing and wiping off the remaining blood from his body. "I was speaking to you! Since when were you able to–"

"What era is this?"

The wyvern hunter paused, blinking.

"Pardon?"

’What was this guy’s name again? I’ve forgotten. It’s been eons,’ Max thought, sighing as he cleared his throat.

"What era is this? What year?"

The wyvern hunter turned his neck, squinting his wind-slapped eyes as he gazed into the distance, spotting the city beyond the fields with a contemplative expression on his face.

"It’s..." His voice dropped low, almost rhythmic, "The era of falan. The year of goodwill."

Maxwell’s eyes widened.

’About five years before the catastrophe that separated me from–’

Maxwell’s breath caught in his throat as he remembered the name.

The wyvern hunter’s gaze shifted from the city in the distance, and he cast a suspicious gaze at the handsome, blue-haired young man.

Suddenly, Maxwell whispered:

"Rita."