I woke up in the middle of the night with a mild headache. Standing up, I opened the window, letting the cold breeze wash over me.

"It's cold... That's strange," I murmured. "[Ice Shard]." A block of ice materialized in my hand.

I pressed it against my throbbing forehead, sighing as the chill eased the discomfort.

"I need to be careful with higher-level spells, or I'll wake up in worse situations."

The cold seeped into my thoughts, stirring memories of my past life—the last time I had a headache like this. It had been after long, sleepless nights, working on a project that was way behind schedule.

"I followed a friend into a black company," I muttered, "and died a few days before my resignation."

A headache, blurry vision, and drops of blood were the final impressions of my previous life. But when I regained consciousness, it wasn’t in a hospital. Instead, I woke up cradled in the arms of a blonde woman—my mother in this new life.

"Is this some twisted manifestation of that joke I made? Saying I wanted a beautiful woman to hold me... I didn’t mean it *this* way," I chuckled, shaking my head. "Still, I guess it isn’t so bad."

It took five years for my mind to fully acclimate, and only a few days after that to realize my predicament. I had reincarnated into my childhood game, *Chaotic Times.* My parents weren’t named characters nor part of any quest I remembered, but I recognized the location of our town. It was one of the many ruined settlements in the domain of the Goblin King.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"The event that starts the coming of the end," I whispered.

In the game, the Goblin King’s invasion was supposed to begin in Year 490 of the Kingdom Alliance Calendar. I was born in Year 480, giving me roughly five years to prepare. Five years to either stop the calamity or at least save my family.

I was desperate to know if I was part of the 40% of the population capable of using magic and, if so, what type of magic I could wield. Testing with basic default spells brought me immense relief when they worked.

"Living would be a nightmare without magic," I muttered, "especially knowing what’s coming."

To find out my class, I cast the litmus spell for classification: [Magic Knight]. In this world, characters were divided into three main classes:

- **Warrior**: Focused on body enhancement, allowing superhuman strength and stamina but lacking ranged attacks.

- **Mage**: Masters of destructive spells, capable of reshaping battlefields but fragile as glass.

- **Support**: Versatile users of all elemental spells but with lower offensive output and proficiency compared to specialists.

Each class had its strengths and weaknesses, but the right party composition usually made up for individual shortcomings.

"The party system compensates for the flaws anyway," I muttered.

The litmus spell was straightforward. If the summoned sword glowed, it meant I was a Mage. If the armor glowed, I was Support. And if the body glowed, I was a Warrior. When the spell activated, the armor lit up—and then everything went black.

I woke up sometime later, groaning.

"Support, huh?" I sighed. "Well, it’s fine. I know most of the spell combos and Words of Power. Five years should be enough to prepare."

Support wasn’t the most glamorous class. Warriors were the most popular by far, with Mages trailing behind if they could cast terrain-altering spells. Supports, on the other hand, were often dismissed as defective Mages by the untrained masses.

"It’s mostly an inferiority complex, though," I muttered.

A sudden cry broke through my thoughts. It came from the room next to mine. Curious, I left my room and headed toward the sound. Inside, I found my nanny cradling a small infant.

"I’m sorry, young master," she said apologetically. "Did the baby’s crying wake you?"

"It’s fine. I was already awake," I replied.

She smiled warmly. "Oh, did you hear that? You’re such a lucky girl to have such a kind big brother!"

Big brother? That stopped me cold.

The last time I checked, I was an only child.

I glanced at the baby, noting her hair. It was the same shade as the nanny’s—a deep red, unlike my parents’ golden blonde.

Something wasn’t adding up. My parents were both blonde.

"What... is happening?" I whispered, my mind racing.