Three months.
It had been three months now since I reincarnated into this strange world.
Arthur Berher. That was my name now. A name that sounded oddly noble, even aristocratic. But beyond that simple fact, I knew almost nothing about this world I'd landed in.
What I did know, though, was that it was completely different from my old world.
Everything here seemed to be a weird mix between medieval Europe and… something else. Something fantastical, unreal. The clothes people wore around me were like those from aristocratic medieval courts, with their fancy embroidery and luxurious fabrics. The mansion's architecture, with its vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers, reminded me of the castles I'd seen in history books.
But that wasn't what shocked me the most.
No.
The real shock came the day I first saw those particles.
Purple and blue particles floating in the air, glowing softly like tiny stars. They danced around me, drifting lazily in a silent ballet that nobody else seemed to notice. At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe aftereffects of my reincarnation? A malfunction in my baby brain?
But as the days went by, I realized it wasn't an illusion.
These particles were real.
And the weirdest part was that I saw them on my mother too. Different particles this time, crystalline blue mixed with silver tones, swirling around her like an invisible aura. They were more concentrated, denser, as if they came directly from her body.
What is this? Magic? Energy? Some kind of power?
Every day brought more questions with no answers. But one thing was certain: this was a fundamental feature of this world. A rule of the game I had to understand if I wanted to survive.
"Sweetheart, what are you thinking about, just lying there staring at the ceiling?"
A soft voice pulled me from my thoughts. I turned my baby head as best I could toward the familiar voice.
My mother had just walked into the room, her long black hair flowing freely over her shoulders. Her deep blue eyes, almost supernatural, shone with infinite tenderness as she approached my crib. She wore a tea-colored dress, elegant but simple, that showed off her graceful figure.
My mother…
It was strange to think of her that way. In my previous life, I'd never known a mother's love. The orphanage, the foster families that tossed me around like an unwanted package… None of that had prepared me for this. For this warmth, this constant attention, this unconditional love.
But there was a problem.
I don't even know her name.
As absurd as it sounds, three months after my rebirth, I still didn't know what my own mother was called. Everyone in the mansion simply called her "the Lady." The servants, the butlers, even the rare visitors I'd glimpsed—everyone used this respectful, almost reverent title.
How am I supposed to know her name under these circumstances?
It's not like I could just ask. My baby body prevented me from speaking, and even if I could, how would I explain why a three-month-old baby was suddenly interested in his mother's identity?
"You've got that thoughtful look again," she murmured, gently lifting me from the crib to hold me close. "Sometimes I feel like you understand way more than you should at your age, my little Arthur."
If only you knew…
And then there was him.
My father.
I'd only run into him once or twice since my reincarnation. A tall, imposing man with pure white hair that contrasted sharply with his scarlet red eyes. The first time I saw him, an icy shiver ran down my spine despite my baby body.
His gaze…
I hate his gaze.
It wasn't cruelty or pure indifference. No, it was something more subtle, more disturbing. A constant, cold, clinical evaluation. Like he was measuring my worth, my potential, my future usefulness.
It reminds me of my old coaches.
Those men and women who didn't see me as Danni Mercier, the orphan who'd fought for his place in the world. No, to them I was "The Green Shadow," a performing athlete, a medal-making machine, an investment that had to pay off.
My father looked at me exactly the same way.
Like I was a tool.
Tch. Reincarnated or not, some things never change, huh?
"Come on, my angel," my mother sang softly, rocking me gently, completely unaware of the turmoil in my mind. "It's time for your nap. You're growing so fast… soon you'll be a big boy."
Despite myself, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. A baby's body had its limits, and even an adult consciousness couldn't fight forever against a newborn's biological needs.
But before drifting off to sleep, one thought crossed my mind:
Mysterious particles, unknown nobility, creepy father… What kind of story have I gotten myself into?
And more importantly…
How am I going to survive in this world whose rules I still don't understand?
Six months.
It had been six months now since I reincarnated into this world.
Six long, endless months.
Time had dragged on unbearably slowly, each day stretching out in deadly boredom. Baby life, you know. In this medieval-fantasy world, there was no internet, no TV, none of the modern distractions I'd been used to in my previous life. I couldn't do anything on my own. Every movement, every action had to be accompanied by either my mother or her servants.
Ah, the boredom…
But today, everything had changed.
At six months, I'd managed to walk. An achievement my mother and the servants found absolutely extraordinary. As soon as I'd taken my first wobbly steps, my mother had rushed to call my father, insisting I walk in front of him.
You should have seen the way he looked at me.
Those scarlet red eyes, cold and calculating, had examined me like a jeweler evaluating a rough diamond. If my mother hadn't been there, I probably would have refused to cooperate. But I didn't want to humiliate her, not after all the love she'd given me. So I forced myself, mobilizing all my adult willpower in this baby body to take a few clumsy steps.
My father's gaze had intensified.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm "exceptional." Now leave me alone.
Since then, I'd been running all over this huge mansion, exploring every hallway, every room, looking for a library. I had to learn more about these mysterious particles floating around me. Their density had kept increasing these past months, and I'd noticed they sometimes reacted to my emotions.
It's definitely connected to something. Magic? Power? I have to understand.
"Arthur! Where are you going?" my mother shouted behind me, her voice tinged with worry and exasperation.
I didn't slow down, my little legs propelling me as fast as possible down the long corridor.
"Come back here! It's dangerous! Stop running everywhere!"
Since I'd learned to walk, she'd been following me everywhere, panicked that I might get hurt. It was touching, really, but also terribly inconvenient for my exploration plans.
During these six months, I'd also managed to discover her name: Anastasia. Anastasia Berher.
Or rather… no.
From what I'd understood by secretly listening to the servants' conversations—one of the few advantages of being a baby, nobody suspects you—my mother wasn't a full Berher.
She was just a concubine.
This revelation had hit me like a punch. Me, Arthur, I was the seventh son of this house. The seventh son of a concubine, which put me at the very bottom of the family hierarchy. I apparently had several half-brothers I'd never met, probably from the legitimate wife or other higher-ranking concubines.
Everything made sense now.
The barely veiled contempt the servants showed toward my mother. The condescending looks. The obvious lack of respect in their voices when they addressed her. The fact that we only had a handful of servants assigned to us, unlike the other family branches who must have had dozens.
Concubine… in a medieval-fantasy world. Great. Really great.
This discovery had crystallized a resolution in me: I had to become stronger. Strong enough to protect myself and my mother. This world wasn't so different from where I came from, after all. Everything was based on strength, power, influence. To live normally—to live with dignity—you needed the means to protect yourself.
I'll do everything I can to become stronger. I have to.
That's why I'd decided to find the library. Knowledge was the first step toward power.
"Arthur! Come back here right now!"
I glanced over my shoulder. My mother was running after me, her long robes slightly hindering her movements. Her face showed a mix of exasperation and amusement despite herself.
"Li…brary!" I shouted in my still-clumsy baby voice.
Yes, I'd also started talking. Not perfectly—my vocal apparatus wasn't fully developed yet—but enough to make myself understood. And that had caused another wave of amazement in the household.
"A genius! A prodigy! Never seen a child walk and talk at six months!"
The whispers were spreading. Some servants looked at me with wonder, others with a kind of superstitious fear. Even my father had shown increased interest, which I didn't particularly like.
Too much attention is never good. But I have no choice.
If I wanted to understand this world, if I wanted to master these mysterious particles, if I wanted to protect my mother from the humiliation she endured daily, I had to speed up my development. Even if it meant being seen as a prodigy.
"No! Not the library!" my mother protested, speeding up. "You're too young to—"
I suddenly turned into a side corridor, using my small size to my advantage to slip between two dressers my mother had to go around.
Sorry, Mom. But I need to know.
At the end of the corridor, I finally spotted an imposing double door in dark wood, decorated with intricate carvings. Purple and golden particles escaped from under the door, more concentrated than anywhere else in the mansion.
That's it. That has to be it.
"ARTHUR BERHER!"
My mother's authoritative voice echoed in the corridor, with a firmness I didn't know she had.
I stopped in front of the door, my little hands trying to reach the bronze handle.
Almost… Just a bit more…
Soft but firm arms grabbed me by the waist, lifting me off the ground.
"Gotcha, little runaway," my mother said, out of breath but smiling despite herself. She turned me around to face her, her blue eyes looking into mine. "Sweetheart, why are you so obsessed with this library?"
I pointed at the door.
"Learn…" I said simply, with all the seriousness my baby face could manage. "Want… to learn."
My mother's expression softened. She sighed, holding me close.
"You really are… extraordinary, my Arthur. Too extraordinary for your age. Sometimes I feel like you're not really a child."
If only you knew how right you are…
"Mom… please," I insisted, consciously using that word for the first time.
Her eyes widened. Tears suddenly sparkled in their corners.
"You… You just called me 'mom'?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Ah. I hit a sensitive spot.
She held me tighter, her embrace both protective and desperate.
"Okay," she finally whispered. "Okay, my treasure. I'll let you into the library. But only if I'm with you. And you have to promise me you'll be careful."
A smile spread across my baby face.
Victory.