What went wrong…?
I can't seem to wrap my head around it.
Was I killed…? No, it could not be…
Yet the memory lingered—vivid, painful, and too sharp to be dismissed as an illusion. The last sensation I could recall was the sickening feeling of my neck being torn through by a dull blade, ripping agonizingly through flesh. That grotesque pain was the final thing I felt before my entire world turned upside down and drifted into a terrifying stillness.
Could it have all been real?
Zhang Feng saw nothing—only endless darkness stretching in every direction. It felt like an empty void without boundaries. He couldn't move, couldn't hear a single sound, and the crushing silence made him question whether he was trapped in some bizarre dream or suspended in a state beyond comprehension.
But as time dragged on—time that felt like an eternity trapped in the suffocating abyss—his body suddenly began to tighten on itself. It was as if invisible strings had finally snapped into place. Sensation returned in fragments, and when he twitched his face, the slight ache oddly brought him a satisfying sense of reality.
[Welcome Zhang Feng]
[You have successfully met the requirements]
[Killed by a novel character ✓]
[Welcome to the Author's POV of a Novel world]
Zhang's mind fell into utter confusion. 'The Author's POV? What in the world does that even mean?'
But his question was answered—far too abruptly—when the darkness surrounding him burst into a blinding brightness. He felt weight, warmth, and the unmistakable heaviness of an actual body.
His vision was blurry at first, washed with colors and shapes he struggled to make sense of. Yet after blinking repeatedly, the hazy world before him transformed into the interior of a small room. He realized, with growing embarrassment and alarm, that he was crying loudly.
Not metaphorically… but literally crying like a newborn baby.
Zhang Feng froze internally. He was absolutely certain now—he had been reborn. 'Could it be I really died? Killed by MY own novel character…?'
As the thought lingered bitterly, the ceiling above him suddenly shifted. Except, it wasn't the ceiling that moved—it was him. He was being lifted by a pair of gentle but firm hands belonging to a midwife.
Dressed in the traditional black garments midwives wore, the elderly woman—likely in her early fifties—walked carefully toward the exhausted woman on the bed. This woman, pale and drained from childbirth, was presumably the mother of this new infant… of him.
The midwife bowed respectfully and placed tiny Zhang into the woman's arms. Then she spoke in a soft yet firm ancient tongue, words flowing smoothly but entirely alien. It was clearly not English—nor any modern language Zhang had ever encountered.
This unfamiliarity made Zhang even more anxious. The fact that he was reborn didn't intimidate him much—after all, he spent years writing such scenarios in his novels. But the obscure, ancient language raised a far deeper question: 'Just where exactly have I been reincarnated?'
His mother, a striking woman with vivid red hair and stunning facial features, despite a long scar running beneath her left eye, brushed some of his matching red strands away from his face. Her touch was gentle, warm, and oddly reassuring.
She spoke again in the same unfamiliar dialect as the midwife. Zhang tried desperately to associate her tone and expression with individual meanings, hoping some form of instinctual understanding would help him. But it didn't. Everything still sounded like gibberish. 'Learning this language might take way longer than I expected…' he thought helplessly.
Then his mother adjusted her posture, shifting him slightly. Only then did Zhang notice something that shocked him—a second baby had been placed beside his mother, one that looked almost identical to him. A twin.
He didn't know how to react. He simply stared at the other infant, praying silently. 'Please let it be a girl… please…'
But then another horrifying possibility struck him. 'Wait, I didn't even think about this! Am I still a boy?! Or am I a girl now?!'
Before he could spiral further, the person who had placed the other baby down picked Zhang up into their own hands. It was a man this time—well-dressed, with a demeanor that suggested authority and excitement. This must have been their father.
The man beamed down at him, raising him slightly and speaking rapidly in the same ancient language, his tone filled with joy and pride. He exchanged words with both the midwife and the mother, seeming almost overwhelmed by the double blessing.
Then a faint green notification appeared before Zhang's eyes—this time written in English.
[You have successfully received a name]
[Name: Arthur Castagir]
[You have received your first skill]
[Race: Dwarf]
Zhang managed to read only his name before the strain hit him. The realization dawned—it was incredibly difficult for a newborn baby to process visual information, let alone read full sentences. His mind felt too soft, too fragile, and the effort drained him rapidly.
"You gave birth to two babies. This is very good news, Lady Castagir..."
The midwife's voice suddenly became more understandable, more coherent. Zhang's newborn ears were beginning to adjust.
He tried to stay awake, tried to catch more words, but his vision dimmed again. Exhaustion hit him with brutal force. That was the curse of being a baby—his stamina and endurance were laughably low.
His consciousness slipped, drifting into unavoidable sleep.
His final thought echoed softly within him:
'So… I really have been reincarnated into a new world…'