The next morning,
sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows of the Blackwood manor, painting the stone chamber in hues of gold and amber. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the sachets tucked into the linens, mingling with the crisp breeze that slipped through a half-open pane. Ronan stirred in his swaddled cocoon, his tiny eyelids fluttering open to the sight of his new mother, Lady Seraphina Blackwood, gazing down at him with a warmth that felt both foreign and achingly familiar.
"Oh, my baby, you woke up so early," Seraphina said, her voice a sweet melody that danced in Ronan's ears. Her auburn hair framed her face like a halo, catching the morning light as she leaned closer, her emerald eyes sparkling with affection.
She held a milk bottle in her delicate hand, its contents steaming faintly in the cool air, and brought it gently to his lips. "Are you hungry, my little Ronan?"
Ronan's infant body reacted before his mind could protest, his stomach rumbling with a primal need he hadn't felt since his earliest days on Earth. "I never expected to drink milk again after my childhood."
he thought, a wry mix of amusement and resignation flickering through him. "Here I am, a grown man's soul, chugging from a bottle like it's my first campaign all over again." Reluctantly, he latched onto the bottle, the warm milk flooding his senses. He drank quickly, almost greedily, driven by hunger he couldn't ignore.
Seraphina laughed softly, her voice like the chime of crystal bells. "Look at you, my sweet boy, drinking so fast! So eager already!" She caressed his cheek with a soft, warm hand, her touch grounding him in this strange new reality. Her laughter was infectious, and for a moment, Ronan forgot his embarrassment, caught up in the simple joy of her presence.
But beneath the warmth, a thread of unease coiled in his chest. The Sword Grave Manor. That test. His father's cold, commanding words from the night before echoed in his mind, sharp as a blade. What kind of lunatic tests a newborn?
He tried to focus, his tiny brow furrowing as he drank, but the absurdity of his situation kept intruding. " I've fought slavers, fought to protect weak, slain infinite amount of thugs and gangs, stared death in the face, and now I'm worried about a diaper change and some cryptic trial. This world's already got me on edge."
From the corner of his vision, he noticed a maid standing beside the ornate canopy bed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her crisp apron. Her face, lined with worry, betrayed an anxiety that seemed out of place in the serene morning light. "Madam, may I speak?" she asked, her voice polite but trembling, as if she feared overstepping her bounds.
Ronan's thoughts sharpened. Hierarchy's everything here, he mused, recalling the rigid structure he'd glimpsed in the chamber last night. Back on Earth, they dressed it up with talk of democracy, but it was all a mask—power always ruled. Here, at least, they're honest about it. No pretense, just lords and servants, strength and submission. The realization settled over him like a heavy cloak, both comforting in its clarity and daunting in its implications.
"Yes, Mina, speak," Seraphina replied, her tone gentle but distracted, her eyes never leaving Ronan's face as she adjusted the bottle with care.
Mina hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously in her apron. "Madam, the young master… he's only a newborn. Don't you think it's too soon for the test at the Sword Grave Manor? It's… it's not right, is it?" Her voice wavered, fear of angering her lady warring with her concern.
Seraphina's expression softened further, a serene smile curving her lips. "Mina, nothing will go wrong," she said, her voice carrying the weight of a vow, unshakable and certain.
"I will keep my child safe, no matter what. The Sword Grave may test him, but I'll ensure he comes through." There was a quiet power in her words, a mother's promise laced with something deeper—something Ronan couldn't yet name but felt in the air like a gathering storm.
In an instant, her seriousness melted back into her usual warmth. She tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looked down at Ronan. "Now, shall we change our little Ronan's diaper?" she teased, her fingers brushing lightly against his tiny nose.
"What?!"
Ronan's mind recoiled, his thoughts a chaotic jumble.
"No, no, no! My body might be a baby's, but my mind's not! A diaper change? This is where I draw the line!" .
His infant face must have betrayed his horror, because Mina, catching his wide-eyed expression, let out a soft giggle. "Oh, look at that face, Madam! He's so serious, like he understands every word!"
Seraphina chuckled, lifting Ronan gently from the cradle and laying him on a soft cloth spread across the bed. "My clever boy," she murmured, her hands deft and practiced as she began the task. "Already plotting grand adventures, aren't you?"
Ronan squirmed, his tiny limbs flailing in futile protest. "This is humiliating. I've faced blades and blood, and now I'm at the mercy of a diaper?" But as Seraphina's gentle touch and Mina's quiet humming filled the space, he felt a strange calm settle over him.
"Fine. If I'm stuck like this, I might as well use it to figure things out." He focused inward, summoning the system with a thought.
"0001, you there?"
"Let's talk about this world some more. What's the deal with this Sword Grave test? And what's an 'awakened' bloodline? You said mine's latent—how do I unlock it?"
The familiar chime sounded in his mind, and the blue screen materialized at the edge of his vision, its glow subtle so as not to startle him in front of others.
[The Sword Grave Manor is a sacred site of the Blackwood lineage, Ronan. Its test is a tradition to gauge the potential of heirs, often involving rituals tied to the family's bloodline. Specifics are beyond my current data—your access level restricts detailed information. An awakened bloodline signifies active access to its inherent powers, which vary by lineage. Your Blackwood bloodline is latent, requiring a catalyst—possibly the test itself—to unlock. Triggers can include rituals, trials, or significant experiences.]
Ronan's thoughts raced as Seraphina finished changing him, her hands deftly securing a fresh cloth.
"A ritual?"
So, this test isn't just some noble posturing—it's tied to this bloodline nonsense. He recalled his mother's restricted stats, her awakened status.
"If she's got powers, what am I in for? And why test a baby? "
He glanced at Seraphina, her serene smile masking the fierce promise she'd made to Mina. She knows more than she's letting on. Does she expect me to awaken something today?
His gaze darted to Mina, who was now tidying the bedside table, her movements brisk but her face still etched with worry. Status: Mina, he commanded silently.
[Status: Mina Greystone]
Age: 29
Bloodline: Common (No Notable Traits)
Strength: 3.5
Agility: 4.0
Vitality: 4.8
Mana: 0
Skills: Housekeeping (Intermediate), Childcare (Basic)
Condition: Healthy, Anxious
No mana, just like Marta, Ronan noted. Common bloodline, basic skills. She's worried about me, though. That's… nice, I guess. The thought stirred a flicker of warmth, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the looming test. 0001, what kind of powers could the Blackwood bloodline have? Give me a hint.
[Speculation based on available data: Blackwood bloodlines are historically tied to martial prowess and elemental affinities, potentially storms or shadows, given the manor's iconography. Exact powers remain locked until your bloodline awakens.]
"Storms or shadows?"
Ronan's infant eyes widened slightly, his mind conjuring images of lightning-wreathed warriors or specters wielding blades of darkness. That's either badass or terrifying. Probably both. He squirmed again, less from discomfort now and more from restless energy.
"Whatever this test is, I need to be ready. Even if I'm just a baby, I've got a soul that's been through hell. I won't fail."
Seraphina lifted him back into her arms, cradling him against her chest. "Time to go, my brave one," she whispered, her voice a soft promise. "The Sword Grave awaits, but you're a Blackwood. You'll shine, I know it." Her eyes held a glint of something unreadable—pride, perhaps, or a deeper knowledge she wasn't sharing.
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Author's Note:
This… this is my fourth novel.
A new beginning — yet another chapter in the long, imperfect tale of my journey as a writer.
When I first set foot on this path, I knew nothing but the hunger to create. My words were clumsy, my vision clouded — yet I wrote, again and again, as if the stories inside me refused to let me rest. And somewhere along the way, I changed. I grew. Every failure carved me deeper, every story taught me something I didn't know about myself.
Some of you have been here since the beginning — walking beside me through the storms and the silence. To you, I owe more than words can express. And to those who simply read and moved on — I thank you too. Because even a fleeting glance at my work means I managed to reach your world, even for a heartbeat.
But if you can, leave behind your thoughts — your praise, your anger, your disappointment, your joy. Every emotion you feel while reading is a mirror I look into to become better, sharper, truer.
This story isn't just mine anymore. It's ours — forged from every heartbeat that reads these lines.
So once again… thank you.
For reading.
For feeling.
For believing — even if only for a moment.