Just like that, a new day had arrived. His brother had saved him and the others from certain death, and he had gained mana roots.
"I don't feel rested at all. I started training at six in the evening and woke up at six in the morning. What the hell is this?" Roland frowned, rubbing his temples. "At least my muscles aren't sore anymore."
It's my birthday. I should at least take a bath, freshen up a little.
Rolling out of bed, still in yesterday's clothes, he wore only a simple gray cloak and matching pants—light, breathable, and plain.
I still can't get over the fact that people here make better clothes than Earth ever could. I guess that's what blessings are for.
He caught his reflection in the mirror.
I may only be three right now, but once puberty hits? Imma be a stud for sure.
Then, out of nowhere, a sudden pressure built in his stomach. "I really gotta poop," he muttered before dashing toward the bathroom, funneling most of his mana to his legs to boost his speed.
His mad dash wasn't long, but for a toddler's stubby legs it was life or death. Tears welled up in his eyes, his thighs glowing faintly, muscles reinforced by his new technique. Doors blurred past until finally—the bathroom door. He staggered, legs trembling, knees locked together, butt clenched.
He barely made it inside, crawled up onto the toilet, and released the gates.
A soft knock broke the silence. "Young Master, I saw you run down the hall two minutes ago and enter this room. Are you alright?" came Camilla's voice.
"Yes, I'm fine, Camilla. Just… the runs," Roland answered, voice strained.
"Do you need anything, Young Master?"
"No, nothing."
"Okay then. Call for me if you need help."
"Thank you," he replied.
Exiting the bathroom, Roland marched back toward his room—this time slowly, chin high, trying to look more royal than ridiculous.
Hope no one else saw that mad dash… I need a change of clothes and a bath.
He entered his room, grabbed his bathrobe from the closet, and stepped back out. Noah, noticing the door creak again so soon, looked down and asked:
"Where are you heading, Young Sir?"
"Bath," Roland said flatly. Then, squinting, "When I dashed out like fifteen minutes ago, why weren't you here?"
"I apologize, Young Sir. I had gone to the bathroom myself and didn't assign someone to guard you. I thought I'd return quickly."
"Oh, that's fine. Are you coming with me to the bath?"
"Yes, sir. I'll be outside the door waiting. I won't leave this time, now that I know you like sneaking off," Noah chuckled.
He's gotten way too comfortable with me. I mean, I 'was' a social butterfly in my past life… guess some skills carry over lifetimes.
As they walked, the air grew warmer and damper. Soon they reached a green marble door, faint steam curling from its seams.
"Wellp, I'mma go in. See ya, Noah."
"See you later, Young Sir."
Inside, the bath was grand: marble walls rising four meters in the short places, eight in the tall. A domed ceiling arched overhead, and the round pool steamed, its left side deeper than the right.
Roland stripped, rinsed himself with warm water, and slid into the pool.
"God, that feels good," he sighed, sinking deeper. "These engineers are geniuses, using magic circles to heat the bath."
Minutes later, he stepped into the wooden changing room, grabbed a towel, and rubbed his golden hair vigorously. Leaving it damp, he carefully dried the rest of his body before pulling on his small bathrobe.
"Why'd my birthday have to be in August? Even a robe makes me sweat. And of course, I forgot to bring real clothes."
He walked back toward his room, Noah trailing in silence. After a quick goodbye, Roland slipped into his walk-in closet.
Where are the comfy clothes? No way I'm spending all day in a suit. The party will be bad enough.
Ten minutes later, he emerged in light gray pants, a sleeveless black hoodie, and—most importantly—a new hairstyle. His golden hair was slicked back, fully revealing his sharp eyes.
I've always wanted this look. But in my last life, with that massive forehead… no chance. This? This is perfect.
As he admired himself, the door opened and Arthur entered.
Roland jumped, not used to people barging in.
"Good. You're awake. In about four hours, present yourself in the party room. Comfortable attire is fine. What you're wearing now will do."
"I see… thank you for informing me, Father." Roland bowed slightly, heart racing. His usually cheerful father carried a stern, heavy presence.
After that encounter, time seemed to blur. A single thought gnawed at Roland's mind:
"WHAT THE HELLS GONNA HAPPEN TO ME?" he finally shouted, startling the guard outside.
Moments later, Camilla entered, wearing a strained smile. "Young Master, it's time for the ceremony to begin."
"Camilla… what ceremony? It's only eleven. I thought my birthday party was later."
"I'm sorry, but I don't have the right to say. The King will explain."
Roland's stomach sank. Anxiety twisted into fear.
After ten minutes of walking, they stopped before two massive doors Roland had only heard about—the Sacred Ballroom.
"Camilla? Is this the Sacred Ballroom? The one only used for coronations?"
"Well… that's the popular use, yes," she whispered, almost evasive.
"I-I see."
So that's it. Three years of royal life… guess I die today.
Two guards bowed low before the doors.
Catching on, Roland raised his voice: "Rise." It wasn't as commanding as he wanted—still the voice of a toddler—but with mana infused, it carried weight enough to make the guards' hair stand on end.
They stood, opened the gates, and Roland stepped inside.
The hall was grand but strangely empty. Tables lined the sides, two massive thrones sat at the far end, three smaller ones to their right, two to their left. Statues of monsters and heroes gleamed in the light.
But where was the crowd? Only six figures sat upon the thrones. One of the thrones empty clearly for him.
Before Roland could process it, the doors shut tight behind him. He had no choice but to walk forward.
"Hello, my son," the King began. "I'm sure you're confused. Today is a very special occasion. Everyone here—except my wife Charlotte—has gone through this. She grew up in the land of Phoenix, but that's beside the point. Today is what I call… the Royal Baptism." Arthur spoke letting silence linger for a moment.
"Father, if I may—"
"You were not given permission to speak, boy." Arthur's voice held no anger, only pure authority.
Roland gulped, lowering his head. He felt the weight of his own powerlessness.
"I'm sure you've noticed this is the first time you've seen your half-sister Natalie since your first birthday, yes?"
Roland didn't answer at first but after seeing his fathers brows furrow he realized it was his que to answer.
"Y-yes, sir. That's correct," Roland stammered.
"That's because she was busy surviving—undergoing her Royal Baptism. She only returned two days ago. Now, it is your turn. Charlotte will explain the rest."
Charlotte smiled sweetly, her voice honeyed. "Hello, sweetie. I'm so happy it's finally your turn. Essentially, you'll be teleported into the Grand Forest of Monsters. You've heard of it, right?"
"I have… but isn't it dangerous?" Roland asked, panic rising.
"Well, only if you're weak." Her smile never faltered.
That's quite the crazy statement to make woman, I'm a fucking toddler!
"Natalie, sweetie," Charlotte said, still cheerful. "Tell your brother about your experience."
Natalie her legs crossed left arm resting on the arm of the chair her right being used as a chin rest. "Nothing big. You fight monsters, nearly die a few times. You'll be fine with your powers." Jealousy seeped through her words. "Good luck, I guess."
She's gotten arrogant, to say the least.
"Does anyone else wish to give Roland their blessing before he leaves?" the King asked.
Only Loki spoke. "Have a safe trip, bro. Don't die, alright? And akngahw gahw—"
The last words warped, his voice glitching, echoing. The room blurred.
Then—white. Blinding. A ringing tore at Roland's ears.
When his senses returned, there was only one thing he saw.
Green.