I NEVER BELIEVED in the whole "light at the end of the tunnel" folly where

people, after having a near-death experience, would startle awake in a cold

sweat exclaiming, "I saw the light!"

But there I was, in this so-called "tunnel" facing a glaring light, when the last

thing I remembered was sleeping in my room—the royal bedchamber, as

others called it.

Had I died? If so, how? Was I assassinated?

I didn't remember wronging anyone, but then again, being a powerful public

figure meant others had all sorts of reasons to want me dead.

The pressure forcing me toward this mysterious light made me forgo the hope

that this was all a dream. Instead, I relaxed—that seemed to make things

more comfortable—and went along for the ride.

The journey seemed to take an eternity. I half-expected to hear, at any

moment, a choir of children singing an angelic hymn, beckoning me toward

what I hoped would be heaven. Instead, as if I were looking through a foggy

window, everything around me turned into a bright blur, forcing me to shut

my eyes. Indiscernible sounds assaulted my ears, making me dizzy. When I

tried to speak, the words came out as a cry.

The cacophony of indistinguishable sounds slowly mellowed, and I heard a

muffled voice saying, "Congratulations, sir and madam, he's a healthy boy."

…Wait.

I suppose I should have been coming to the conclusion that I had just

experienced the miracle of birth firsthand, but I was momentarily overcome

by the thought of my own demise. I couldn't be dead, though, if I was just

being born, could I?

Assessing my situation in the rational manner befitting a king, I made note,

first of all, that wherever this was, I understood the language. That was a

good sign.

I slowly and painfully opened my eyes once more, and they were bombarded

with different colors and figures. It took a bit of time for my infant eyes to get

used to the light. A not-so-appealing face moved into my line of sight—a

man with long, greying hair on both his head and chin, wearing a pair of thick

glasses. He seemed to be the doctor, but he wasn't wearing a doctor's gown,

nor were we in anything remotely close to a hospital room. I seemed to have

been born from some satanic summoning ritual, because we were on a bed of

straw, on the floor of a small room dimly lit by a few candles.

I looked around and saw the woman who had clearly just given birth to me.

It

seemed reasonable to call her 'Mother.' Taking a few more seconds to see

what she looked like, I had to admit she was a beauty, though that might have

been due to my still-bleary eyes. Rather than glamorous, I would better

describe her as lovely, in a very kind and gentle sense. She had striking

auburn hair and brown eyes, long eyelashes, and a perky nose, and I felt an

urge to just cling to her. She exuded an irresistible maternal warmth, and I

wondered if all babies felt this instinctive bond with their mothers.

I peeled my eyes away and looked at the person standing to my right. By the

idiotic grin and teary eyes he gazed at me with, I assumed he was my father.

Immediately he said, "Hi, little Art, I'm your daddy. Can you say dada?" I

glanced around to see both my mother and the doctor roll their eyes as my

mother managed to scoff, "Honey, he was just born."

Taking a closer look at my father, I could see why my lovely mother was

attracted to him. Aside from the few loose screws he seemed to have,expecting a newborn to articulate a two-syllable word—I decided to give him

the benefit of the doubt and believe he had been overcome with the joy of

becoming a father—he was a very charismatic-looking man with a cleanly-

shaven, square jawline that complemented his features. His hair, ashy brown

in color, was kept trim, while his eyebrows were strong and fierce, extending

sharply like two swords. Yet his eyes held a gentle quality, perhaps imparted

by the way they drooped a bit at the outside corners, or the deep blue, almost

sapphire, hue of his irises.

I heard my mother's voice ask, "Doctor, why isn't he crying? I thought

newborns were supposed to cry."

While I finished studying my presumptive parents, the bespectacled

gentleman who called himself a doctor dismissed my mother's worry, saying,

"There are cases where the infant does not cry. Please continue resting for a

couple of days, Mrs. Leywin. Mr. Leywin, I'll be available in case you need

me for anything." And that marked the first day of a new life.

The weeks following my journey out of the tunnel were a new kind of torture

for me. I had little to no motor control, other than being able to wave my

limbs around, and even that got tiring quickly. I soon realized that babies

don't really have much control over their fingers. When you place your finger

on a baby's palm, they don't grab it because they like you; they grab it

because it's like getting hit in the funny bone. It's a reflex. Forget motor

control; I couldn't even excrete my wastes at my discretion. I was not yet the

master of my own bladder.

The satanic demon-summoning place seemed to be my parents' room. As

best I could tell, I seemed to have traveled back in time to be born into my

own world, in the days before electricity had been invented. At least, that was

what I hoped—but my mother quickly proved me wrong.

My idiotic father had been swinging me around one day and bumped me

against a drawer, scratching my leg. And my mother healed it.

No, not like 'a bandage and a kiss' healing—this was a full-blown,shining light with a faint hum from her freaking hands type of healing.

Where the hell am I?

My mother and father—Alice and Reynolds Leywin—seemed to be good

people. Hell, possibly even the best. I suspected my mother was an angel; I'd

never met such a kindhearted, warm person. She frequently took me with her

to what she called a town, carrying me on her back in a baby cradle-strap of

some sort.

This town, called Ashber, was more like a glorified outpost in my

opinion, seeing as there were no real roads or buildings. We walked along the

main dirt trail, which featured tents on both sides with various merchants and

salesmen selling all sorts of things—from common, everyday necessities to

things I couldn't help but raise a brow at, like weapons, armor, and rocks…

shining rocks!

Probably in an attempt to help me learn the language faster, my mother talked

to me while shopping for the day's groceries and exchanging pleasantries

with various people passing by or working in the booths. But it was never

long before my body turned against me once again and I fell asleep…

Damn

this useless infantile form of mine.

I woke in my mother's lap. She was caressing me absently, intently focused

on my father. He was reciting a chant, and continued for well over a minute, something that sounded like a prayer to the earth.

I leaned in closer and

closer, almost falling off my living seat, expecting some magical

phenomenon like an earthquake splitting the ground or a giant stone golem

emerging. After what seemed like an eternity—and for an infant with the

attention span of a goldfish, it was—three boulders, each the size of an adult human, emerged from the ground and slammed against a nearby tree.

What in the name of… That was it?

I flailed my arms in anger, but my idiot father interpreted that as excitement.

With a big grin on his face, he said, "Your daddy is awesome, huh?"

Whatever magic he had accomplished with the boulders, he was undoubtedly

much better at fighting. When he put on his iron gauntlets, even I was impressed, despite my experience fighting top-notch experts in my past. With

quick, firm movements that were surprising for his bulky build, his fists

carried enough force to shatter boulders and topple down trees, but were fluid

enough to not leave any openings for an opponent. In my former world, he

would have been classed as a high-tier fighter, leading a squad of soldiers,

but to me, he was just my father.

The days passed quickly, and I drank in as much information as I could,

listening intently to my parents and observing everything I could see. Every

day I devoted myself to honing my new body, mastering the motor functions

residing deep within me.

That comfortable regimen soon changed.

I WAS A KING. In my former life I could have had my country's army

assembled and kneeling at my feet with the snap of a finger. I'd out dueled

competitors from other countries as well as my own people to settle disputes

and maintain my position. In terms of swordsmanship and controlling ki, I

was second to none, for in my previous world, personal strength was essential

to being a ruler. Yet I couldn't think of a moment in my two lives when I'd

been prouder than I was now.

I can crawl!

Until now, although I was thirsty for knowledge about this new world, I'd

had to make do with the stories Mother would tell me while trying to make

me fall asleep, and I often grumbled in complaint when she stopped too early.

My father would sometimes sit me on his lap while idly talking to me about

his past exploits, which gave me some hints as to what kind of world this was

and what it was filled with.

From what I had learned so far, this world seemed to be a fairly

straightforward one filled with magic and warriors, where power and wealth

decided one's rank in society. In that sense, it wasn't too different from my

old world, except for the lack of technology and the slight difference between

this world's magic and the ki, or life force, of my previous world.

My father, Reynolds Leywin, was a former adventurer—which was

apparently a viable occupation in this world—and had quite a lot of experience in his field. He had taken part in several expeditions to search for

treasure and fulfill missions he and his team acquired from the Adventurers

Guild. He'd eventually settled down when he met my mother at the

kingdom's border in a city called Valden. He proudly told me how my

mother, Alice, had fallen head over heels for him at first sight when he had

visited the town's Adventurers Guild Hall, where she had been working, but I

suspected it was the exact opposite considering how my mother slapped him

across the back of the head and told him to stop telling me lies.

I'd learned my full name by now: Arthur Leywin—Arthur after my great-

grandfather, from the days when the Leywin house was far more powerful.

My parents called me Art for short; as a former king I thought that sounded a

little too cute, but after getting a glimpse of myself one day in the metal sheet

they used as a mirror, I had to admit my physical features would make

anyone think of me as 'cute.' I had my mother's glowing auburn hair, while

my eyes were a bright azure color, inherited from my father. I couldn't know

how my facial features would turn out as I grew older, but as long as I kept

myself in good fighting shape, it should be okay.

I'd spent weeks attempting to crawl but had achieved only an uncoordinated

scuffle in place. When I finally succeeded, I managed to sneak into the

family's library while my mother was hanging the laundry out to dry.

Once

she noticed I was gone, it took her only a few minutes to find me. It wouldn't

have mattered even if I'd had hours inside the room, though, because once I

opened up a book I realized that, while I understood the spoken language, I

couldn't read.

I felt as frustrated as my out-of-breath mother sounded when she scolded me

with a sigh, saying, "I swear, you're going to be as much of a handful as your

father."

By the end of the week, I had picked up enough words from my mother's

nightly story-reading to do some studying of my own in the library. Within a few weeks, Mother had grown used to finding me holed up in the corner of

the library with books around me. Whether she was suspicious, I didn't

know, but she did let me stay there as long as she was close by and the door

was open.

I'd spent the afternoon finishing up the fifth volume of an encyclopedia of

Dicathen, my new world. I closed the encyclopedia and situated myself more comfortably on the ground. Basically I just lay on my belly, because crawling

and sitting upright were so damn tiring.

Pondering over what I had just read, I realized this world was rather

underdeveloped. From what I could infer, there wasn't much in the way of

technological advancement. The only sources of transportation appeared to

be horse-driven carriages, which varied in size for local and overland use,

and ships with sails, for navigating rivers.

Weapons were freely allowed, and not regulated unless you were visiting the

royal family or some other high-ranking authority. It continued to baffle me

to see people carrying weapons while shopping for groceries, like they were

luxury designer bags. In town with my mother, I had witnessed a man

carrying a gigantic war axe so tall its handle dragged on the ground behind

him as he walked.

In my previous life, on Earth, there were soldiers and guards who carried

weapons openly; however, they weren't for the purpose of killing, but rather

to deter people from committing crimes. Here, though, I had recently

witnessed a thief stealing a few items from the armory store, then being

slashed in the back by a large, bald mercenary carrying a polearm. Moreover,

the bystanders even went as far as to applaud the oversized skinhead while

the thief lay there dying.

One similarity between this world and my previous world was the system of

monarchy. The continent of Dicathen had several kingdoms, each ruled by a

king and his royal family. Unlike Earth of my time, though, the kings here

were chosen based on lineage; the title passed down from the king to his son and so on.

Crowns had once been inherited on Earth, too, but centuries ago the

hierarchical systems had adopted a new approach to leadership. Earth rulers

were still kings; however, they weren't born or elected, but trained. Wars had

become an almost obsolete form of settling disputes between countries. Of

course, there were still smaller-scale battles, and armies were still needed for

the safety of the citizens, but disputes concerning the wellbeing of a country

were based on either a duel between the rulers of the countries—limited to

making use of ki and close-combat weapons—or, for smaller disputes, a

mock battle between platoons, where limited firearms were allowed.

Therefore, a king on Earth was no longer the stereotypical fat man sitting on

the throne ignorantly commanding others; to protect his country's safety and

honor, he had to be an unparalleled fighter.

Scanning through the encyclopedia, there didn't seem to be much information

on continents other than the one we were currently on. I found this a bit odd,

since there were ships that carried goods and passengers across the continent

by river, but I assumed that the maritime technology wasn't yet developed

enough to sail across oceans.

One thing that was hard to get used to was the existence of magic in this

world. If we were talking about superhuman powers, sure, the countries on Earth relied on such people, but the capabilities of magic in this world

seemed to be on another level.

On Earth, practitioners learned how to condense and utilize the ki that existed

innately in their bodies. Like building muscle through exercise, repeatedly

breaking the ki center down through the depletion of the ki inside, followed

by rest, would cause the ki center to grow stronger, allowing access to a

bigger pool of ki, which could then be channeled throughout the body via

special veins known as meridians, and utilized to strengthen the body.

Instead of ki, this world's life force was called mana; the more surprising

thing was that it existed in the atmosphere. Practitioners, also known as mages, would draw the surrounding mana into their bodies to use, ultimately

condensing it in their mana core. In my old world, ki only existed and formed

inside the body.

Whether ki had never existed in Earth's atmosphere in the

first place, or had ceased to exist for some reason, I would never know.

On Earth, practice was incredibly important, but the innate size of a user's ki

center was even more important, because the limited amount of ki you had in

your body was all you could work with. This made me wonder if the size of a

person's mana core wouldn't matter as much here because of the available

mana in the atmosphere. The 'cup' might not hold as much, but it could be

constantly replenished.

In my old world, even though my ki center wasn't large, I had been

considered a prodigy at channeling and utilizing my ki effectively to make up

for my shortcomings. By utilizing every bit of my ki, I had become the

strongest of the elite division of duelists, earning the right to become king.

If I could apply a ki practitioner's techniques to the mana that was present

both inside the mana core and in the surrounding atmosphere, couldn't I

essentially double or even triple the strength I'd had before?

I managed to pull another book from the bottom shelf—The Beginner's

Guide for the Privileged Mage—which answered a couple of questions for

me:

…While the power to control mana is largely genetic, there are many cases

where children of mages are unable to sense the mana around them. A recent

census showed that roughly one in one hundred children is able to sense

mana, but the extent of this ability can only be tested after the mana core has

completely developed, which occurs in early adolescence to the late teen

years. A mage's first awakening will be apparent by the initial repellence of

the surrounding mana when the mana core manifests. This results in a

translucent barrier forming for several minutes around the awakened...

Flipping through the pages, I found something that caught my attention.

…Mana can be used in various ways. The two most common methods of utilizing mana are augmenting (enhancement of the body with mana), and

conjuring (emission of mana to the outside world)…

…Augmenting is most commonly seen amongst warriors who utilize mana,

channeling it through their body to strengthen themselves and their attacks...

…Conjuring is practiced by mages, who, after channeling their mana, can

cast spells to have a certain effect on the surrounding area or directly at a

target...

I flipped a few pages to the chapter titled 'Weaknesses and Limitations' and

continued reading.

While augmenters can possess incredible strength, defense, and agility, their

weakness lies in their limited range…

…Conjurers possess unfathomable powers, being able to bend their

surroundings to their will. However, such powers come with limits. Unlike

augmenters, who utilize mostly the mana in their own mana cores, conjurers

must supplement their own mana core with mana from the outside world in

order to influence their surroundings in the form of a spell...

…While both types of mages—mana manipulators, to use the more

scientifically accurate term—are ranked by the strength of their mana cores,

augmenters and conjurers have different ways of measuring their aptitude...

*flip*

…An augmenter's prowess or talent is measured by the strength of the mana

channels in their body, which measures the speed and efficiency of relocation

of mana from their mana core into various parts of their bodies…

…A conjurer's power and talent, by contrast, is measured by the power of

their mana veins, which indicates their speed and effectiveness in

absorbing mana from the outside world to cast a spell...

*flip*

…Mages (mana manipulators) are typically divided into one of these two

categories, since attempting to be proficient in both from an early stage is time-consuming and often unsuccessful.

Categorization is based on the relative strength of the individual's mana channels and mana veins, and the

differences are generally present at birth…

… Augmenters do not need very strong mana veins, as they predominantly

utilize mana from their cores, while conjurers do not need powerful mana

channels, because they do not release their mana into their own bodies.

As proficiency rises to an advanced level, the distinctions between

`augmenters and conjurers' abilities lessen naturally…

I took a minute to digest this new information. It seemed my idiot father was

a decently competent augmenter and a less-than-average conjurer.

That healing light, though… What was my mother?

*flip, flip, flip*

Aha!

…There are rare deviants, the two best-known types of which are elemental

deviants and emitters. The most highly sought-after are emitters, more

commonly known as healers. Healers possess the rare ability to cast their

unique restorative mana onto others directly, expediting recovery from

injuries and impairments...

While I knew her powers were different, I'd had no idea they were so rare.

After resting my weary eyes for a few minutes, I skipped a few pages to go to

the next chapter, titled 'Fundamentals of Conjuring.'

The proper steps of utilizing mana for conjurers are: gathering mana;

drawing it into one's body; circulating it into one's mana core to stabilize

and purify the diluted mana from the atmosphere; then channeling it into an

appropriate conductor (a staff, wand, ring, etc.) using incantations as a

mental control for shaping the mana into the desired spell…

*flip*

…The more powerful the spell, the longer it will take to draw in surrounding

mana, condense and purify it in the mana core, and finally channel and release…

*flip*

…Because conjuring involves exerting focused mana into a particular spell,

conjurers will notice that they have a special aptitude for certain elements

(air, water, fire, earth), but with proper training, can become adequate in the

basics of all elements...

*flip, flip*

𝑭𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒖𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

Compared to conjuring, much less time can be spent gathering the

surrounding mana for augmenting. Efficiency in augmenting requires speed

and precision in the use of core mana, and less use of mana from the

atmosphere...

This was where it clicked: Augmenting was very similar to using ki, except

you could also draw mana in from your surroundings. The reason there

weren't any conjurers on my old world, Earth, was because there was no

mana in the atmosphere to draw from to create a phenomenon.

My gaze sharpened as I read on.

…augmenting requires precise distribution of mana into different parts of the

body, as the user requires. Although it may seem simple at a glance,

augmenting requires significant insight into one's own body. Being able to

utilize the mana channels efficiently requires years of both mental and

physical practice...

*flip*

…Because augmenting involves extracting mana in its purest form from the

user's mana core, there are no significant distinctions in an elemental sense

at an early stage. However, augmenters are able to use their mana in more

diverse ways, resulting in vastly different forms of fighting through

augmentation...

*flip*

…The phenomenon called 'backlash' is known to both types of practitioners.

For augmenters, it occurs from depletion of the mana core and can cause

extreme bodily pain, depending on how severe the damage to the mana core is. For conjurers, backlash occurs from overfilling of the mana core. This is

caused by overuse of spells beyond the practitioner's capacity, or by using a

spell too powerful for his or her mana core to handle.

Closing the book, I propped myself up on my butt, processing the overload of

information I had just read.

Because of the uncanny similarities between the ki center in my old world

and the mana core in this world, I found it hard to believe that mana

manipulation could not begin until adolescence. On Earth, children could

meditate and sense the ki scattered inside their bodies. Once the ki migrated

to a single place, the ki center would form.

Testing my hypothesis, I began meditating, trying to sense the mana in my

seven-month-old body. Then—

"There you are! Art, honey, are you having trouble taking a poopy?"

Mother! I'm about to begin my journey to become the greatest mage in the

world! Do not make me out to be a constipated infant!

Lifting me gently into her arms, she took me away to change my diaper—

which, surprisingly, was full by the time I noticed.

ALICE LEYWIN

Arthur was the most adorable baby. Some mothers are besotted with their

babies even if they’re homely, but that wasn’t the case with me.

No.

Arthur had a scruffy little patch of glowing auburn hair, playful eyes that

seemed to radiate blue light, and his gaze at times was almost… intelligent.

But I wasn’t besotted. I planned to be a strict and just mother. I knew I

couldn’t rely on my husband to teach little Art any common sense. For God’s

sake, he’d tried to teach my baby how to fight when he could barely crawl.

I knew the little rascal would turn out just like his father if I let him. When he

started crawling, I was so proud I was on the verge of tears, but I didn’t know

how much of a handful he’d be as he became more mobile.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him for a single moment before he’d crawl into

the study room. It was very strange. We made sure to buy him lots of stuffed

animals and wooden toys to play with, but he always ended up going to the

study room. In that, at least, he was the direct opposite of his father—

Reynolds shied away from texts longer than the weekly newspaper.

My son seemed interested in a lot of things. I couldn’t get enough of seeing

his head, so disproportionate to his little body, turning left and right while

trying to take in everything around him. Seeing how excited Art got when we

went out to town, I began doing the shopping every other day instead of twice a week.

No, I was not besotted with him. It was just for his education regarding the

outside world and for fresh food in the house. Nothing more than that.

He was particularly intrigued by his father’s practicing. Reynolds had been a

competent adventurer back in the day—he was a B-class adventurer by the

age of twenty-eight, which was a pretty fast climb. To keep from sending

eager but ignorant adolescents to their deaths, the Adventurers Guild, where I

worked as a medic-in-training, required applicants to pass a test before

acquiring their E-class rank—the lowest. As for the higher ranks, I’d only

seen a couple of A-class adventurers in my years of working there, and I had

never seen an S-class adventurer, though I assumed they did exist.

Working at the Adventurers Guild—or what we just called the Guild Hall—

back then in Valden, I got to see too many eager teens. Once I was assigned

to proctor a basic practical exam, where the examinee had to simply

demonstrate fundamental competency in mana manipulation, but before the

test even began, the kid fell straight onto his back because the sword he was

carrying was too heavy for him! At least they were ambitious, but I was

always surprised they didn’t float away from having their overly-inflated

egos get to their heads.

Reynolds seemed like just another airhead back then. The moment he saw me

in the Guild Hall, his jaw literally dropped. He just stood there until the guy

in line behind him elbowed him to hurry up, then he managed to mumble,

“H-hi… can I trade in th-the stuff for the mission?” I just giggled as he turned

beet red from embarrassment.

He finally managed to gather up the courage to ask me out for dinner, and we

hit it off from there. Even after five years of being together, I still smiled

when I saw his droopy, blue, puppy-eyes looking at me.

Art somehow wound up with the best traits from each of us, making him that much more adorable. You should have seen him when I changed his diapers.

For some reason, he’d start turning red in his cheeks every time and cover his face with his tiny little fingers. I didn’t think babies that age could get

embarrassed, but that was what it seemed like.

But one of the best moments of all had to be when he said his first word:

‘mama.’

He said ‘mama’ first!

I told him to say it again and again, just to make sure I didn’t hear wrong, and

Reynolds sulked for the entire day because Art said ‘mama’ before ‘dada.’

I put on a stern face and reprimanded Reynolds for being so childish, but I

secretly relished the fact that I had won.

I was so content in those months, with my son close by me wherever I went.

Together, we would frequently watch through the window as his father

practiced after dinner. I was glad Reynolds had given up being an adventurer

and taken the post as a town guard instead. Being an adventurer might have

brought in more money, but not knowing when or if my husband would come

home was not worth any amount of extra money. Especially after what had

happened on our last quest together.

Little Art never got sick, but I often found him sitting motionless with his

eyes closed. At first, I thought he might be having trouble relieving himself,

but that didn’t seem to be the case. It was strange, and I didn’t know what to

make of it. I’d thought babies that age were supposed to be energetic and

flighty, but he seemed to expend most of his energy escaping to the study

room, only to sit there, perfectly still—almost as if he was meditating.

I worried at first, but although it happened a couple of times a day, it only

lasted for a few minutes, and Art always seemed strangely happy afterward.

The way he held his arms up and looked up at me made me just want to

gobble him up

Ahem. But I was not besotted.

ARTHUR

Two years had passed since I’d made my first difficult journey to the study

room.

Since then, I had been constantly gathering the little bits of mana spread out

in my body and focusing it, attempting to form a mana core. It was a slow

and arduous task. I would have had an easier time learning to walk on my

hands and eat with my feet in this damnable body than trying to will my

mana core to condense.

It had become clear why the book said it took until adolescence for a person

to ‘awaken.’ If I had let the mana particles in my body move by themselves,

it would have taken at least a decade for them to gravitate toward each other

enough to form anything remotely close to a mana core.

Instead, having the mental capacity of an adult meant I had the cognitive

ability to consciously will my mana particles together. This was something I

had done in school in my past life, where they taught you from childhood

how to control ki. The key lay in being able to sense the ki—or mana, now—

in your own body and force the particles together toward the solar plexus. If

left alone, they would eventually slowly float toward each other, like goose-

down drifting toward the bottom of an open sack, but I had decided to grab

the feathers and shove them into the twill sack, figuratively speaking, instead

of waiting for them to float down by themselves.

My daily rituals consisted of trying to spend as much of my limited energy as

possible on gathering my mana, while not arousing suspicion in my mother

and father. My father seemed to think that being thrown into the air would be

quite enjoyable for a child. While I understand that the adrenaline effect

might excite some people, when he used mana to reinforce his arms and

throw me into the air like a high-speed projectile, the only feelings I had were

nausea and a traumatic fear of heights.

Fortunately, my mother had a firm handle on my father, but she scared me

sometimes too. I often caught her staring at me, practically drooling, looking

at me like I was some kind of premium meat.

I tried to match my behavior to my body by only speaking in very simple

sentences, talking just enough to get the point across, no grammar necessary.

The first time I said “mama,” to let her know I wanted more food, she almost

burst into tears of joy. It had been a long time since I’d received that sort of motherly affection.

The pace of my training was strenuous and slow, but I was getting a head

start compared to everyone else so I wasn’t complaining. The past two years

had not gone to waste, for I had finally gathered all my mana into my solar

plexus and was in the process of condensing a mana core when...

*BOOM*