The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

The border camp roared with life and urgency, the once‑quiet rows of tents now a whirlwind of motion. Shouts carried through the air, mingled with the muffled groans of soldiers as the aftermath of battle pressed down on every corner of the field hospital. I darted from cot to cot, my white healer’s coat fluttering behind me like a small banner in the chaos.

"Al! Over here!" a voice called from the far side of the tent.

"Coming!" I answered, my voice steady and sure, without the waver it might have had years ago.

I knelt by a soldier whose arm was split open from shoulder to elbow. My hands moved with practiced precision, one hand pressing gently against the wound, green healing light spilling from my palm, while the other reached into my storage ring and drew forth a small vial of deep green potion.

With a flick of my thumb, the cork popped, and I guided the liquid carefully to his lips. He drank, the faint spark of vitality returning to his eyes as the magic and the salve worked together to close his wounds.

Another healer rushed by, her white coat stained with blood. "Al! I need you for the chest injury in row three!" she called, voice tight with strain.

"On my way!" I said, rising smoothly, already moving before the words were finished.

Two years had changed everything.

The camp was no longer a strange, suffocating place. The smell of blood, herbs, and medicine no longer foreign. Two years of training, practice, and life among these soldiers and healers had wrapped the world in a strange, comfortable familiarity. Every nickname, every call for help, now felt like part of a rhythm I belonged to.

"Al!" another voice called, Izabella this time, her black eyes sharp under the lamplight. "I need a stabilizing draught!"

I reached into my storage ring without hesitation, withdrawing a small vial of pale blue liquid and tossing it toward her. She caught it with a grin, already turning back to her patient.

My next patient was pale, his breathing shallow. I pressed one hand to his chest, green mana pouring from my palm in a steady stream, while with my other hand I unpacked a tiny jar of silverleaf salve and spread it along the smaller cuts on his arms. As the mana flowed, I felt the man’s heartbeat steady beneath my touch, and a quiet satisfaction bloomed in my chest.

Everywhere I turned, voices called for me.

"Al, we need you here!"

"Al, another potion!"

"Al, can you help close this wound?"

And I answered them all, moving with a calm efficiency that would have been unthinkable just two years ago.

I smiled at familiar faces, traded quiet jokes with the soldiers I passed, and worked side by side with the healers who had once seen me as just an out‑of‑place boy. Now, I belonged here.

The chaos of battle’s aftermath no longer felt foreign. I had grown into it, carrying my pillow in my storage ring, my potions in order, and my magic steady at my fingertips.

***

Back inside my tent in the quiet evening, I sank onto my bed and hugged my pillow close, the familiar softness pressing against my face.

The day’s exhaustion seeped into my bones, but a deep, quiet satisfaction bloomed in my chest.

Two years... I whispered the thought to myself, letting it roll across my mind like a slow river.

Two years since I first arrived at the border, a lazy heir clinging to comfort and naps, and yet somehow, everything had changed.

First, I no longer lived under Master Valerian’s constant shadow.

I now had my own tent, my own space that smelled faintly of herbs and parchment, where the soft lamplight could wrap me in its warm embrace after long days of healing and apothecary work.

Yet, even with this newfound independence, the midnight training never ended. Every night he appeared, calm and uncompromising, pulling me from dreams into the cold air of discipline.

I tried, oh, how I tried, to skip it, to cling to the sanctuary of my pillow and the warmth of my bed. But without fail, I was always caught, always dragged back under the weight of expectation.

My eyes drifted to the metal bracelets circling my wrists and ankles, their dull sheen glinting in the lamplight.

I couldn’t say I had grown used to them. They were constant reminders of the path I walked now, of the strength slowly carved into my small frame.

Every time my body adapted to their weight, they grew heavier, as if determined to crush the last fragments of my laziness. My limbs ached, my muscles trembled, and yet... I endured.

I sighed softly, burying my face deeper into the pillow. My life had become an endless rhythm of work and growth, of healing by day and training by night.

And though I longed for the idle days of endless naps, a part of me, deep and quiet, felt proud. Proud of the small, steady steps I had taken, of the power and knowledge I now carried in my hands.

Two years had changed me. And yet, here in my tent, hugging my pillow in the soft glow of evening, I still felt like the same boy who had once whispered promises to sleep forever.

"Status" I muttered and a silver panel appeared before me.

—————————————————————————————

Name: Alash Vortex

Age: 12 years old

Potential: SSS

Title: Aegis Healer

Special constitution: Stamina, Intelligence, Willpower

Core: E - White

Stats:

Strength: 31

Agility: 42

Stamina: 127

Perception: 27

Magic: 21

Intelligence: 139

Willpower: 113

Attributes :

Healing : Lv 7

Barrier : Lv 1

Apothecary : Lv 6

Water : Lv 2

Earth : Lv 1

...

Special : Main part of Akashic key [1/5]

Countdown: 7 years 8 Months

———————————————————————————

Looking at my stats, I couldn’t feel prouder.

My core reached rank E a few months ago, a milestone that felt like the first real step toward my future strength.

I had asked Master Valerian how to increase it faster, but he told me only the academy could properly teach me about it.

I studied my stats closely. As expected, the attributes that had grown the most were those enhanced by my special constitution.

Stamina, Intelligence, and Willpower rose naturally, building the foundation that defined my role as a healer and protector.

The stats that lagged behind were Perception and Magic, but I wasn’t bothered.

My system could detect the world far better than my own sense could, and as a support mage, my magic stat, focused on raw attack power, was less critical for healing or maintaining barriers.

My focus now was on Strength and Agility. After two years, they had risen by 16 and 19 points respectively.

I still had three more years to bring them to 50, and confidence thrummed quietly in my chest, I could reach it. Each push‑up, each midnight run with weighted bracelets, brought me closer to the standard I had once thought impossible.

As for attributes, I had learned the basics of several, water, earth, fire, gravity, and a few more, but they were tools for support, not destruction.

My heart still lay with healing, barriers, and the apothecary.

Apothecary had already reached Lv 6; mastering it had been a journey of patience, trial, and quiet triumph.

I discovered that its progression was tied to perfecting new potions, each level demanding more successful creations than the last. I didn’t know exactly how many, but each success carried a satisfaction that study alone could never give.