In Beatrix's dimly lit chamber, after she finished breastfeeding Ares, she gently placed him in his cradle. The soft silk sheets rustled as she tucked him in before quietly slipping from the room to carry out an urgent assignment.
But Ares was far from the peaceful infant he appeared to be. His consciousness had just awakened, and the torrent of information flooding his newborn mind threatened to overwhelm him completely.
"What... where am I? What is this?" His thoughts screamed in confusion as he tried to make sense of his heavy, unfamiliar body. "My limbs feel like lead, so much heavier than when I was bedridden and sick. I can remember dying so vividly—the pain, the darkness—so why have my eyes opened again?"
The young Ares, trapped in an infant's body, had countless questions burning through his mind, but the cruel silence of the empty room offered no answers. Then a memory surfaced—sharp and clear.
"That man... I heard the maid call him Alaric!" His tiny heart began to race, though his body remained still. A thought so impossible, so earth-shattering, began to take shape in his mind.
"Alaric Eisenklinge?" The name echoed in his consciousness like thunder. "But that's impossible! I merely prayed to be reborn as strong as an Eisenklinge, not to become the actual child of the most powerful family in existence!"
Then another realization struck him. "But wait—I should be one of the fifteen sons. Ares was never mentioned among the fifteen heirs in the chronicles."
His infant mind raced, frantically counting the names of Alaric's sons. "Did I somehow change the storyline itself?"
A bitter laugh echoed through his thoughts—a sound far too mature for any newborn. "Hahaha... I think I'm losing my sanity. But if I'm right, if this truly is the world where anything is possible, then perhaps..." His thoughts turned dangerous, ambitious. "Perhaps I can wield that power too."
His consciousness dove deep, searching desperately through fragmented memories. "Mana—the lifeblood of this world. In 'Chronicles of an Empire,' the great Mana Master Vaelthorne once wrote that every living being possesses a mana core, even infants. He claimed that babies are naturally sensitive to mana's flow, but they lack the strength to gather and channel it properly."
Ares paused, his thoughts crystallizing with deadly focus. "But he also said that feeling mana is far more difficult than gathering it. If I can just... sense it..."
The baby's consciousness sharpened to a razor's edge as he concentrated with an intensity that would have been impossible for any normal infant. He scanned his tiny body for any trace of the mystical energy, but felt nothing except the cold breeze against his skin.
"Was I just a fool, getting excited over nothing?" Despair began to creep into his thoughts like poison.
But then—there it was. A subtle, tickling sensation dancing across his skin like invisible feathers.
"Yes! There it is!" His consciousness blazed with triumph. "Mana feels like an itch that can never be scratched, just as the texts described. Now I need to feel this sensation throughout my entire body."
What should have taken a five-year-old months to achieve, this reborn soul accomplished in moments. The ethereal energy began to pulse around his small form like a living thing.
"Now comes the true test—drawing it inward, like breathing life itself."
Ares visualized the process with surgical precision, his mind becoming a conduit for the mystical force. He concentrated until his consciousness felt like it might shatter, and then—finally—a thin stream of mana seeped into his body.
Every nerve in his tiny form exploded with indescribable pleasure, as if every itch he'd ever felt was finally, perfectly scratched. "Ahhhh..." The sensation was beyond anything his previous sickly life had ever offered. "The texts weren't lying—the first absorption of mana is the purest form of ecstasy."
But he forced himself to focus beyond the pleasure. "Now for the real challenge—guiding this foreign energy to my core."
The mana felt like liquid starlight flowing through his veins as he directed it with painstaking care. It moved from his hands toward his chest, seeking the dormant core positioned near his heart. There, hidden in the darkness of his infant body, he found it—a small, dim sphere waiting to be awakened.
"In this world, there are eight sacred levels of mana mastery," he thought with growing excitement. "I'm about to enter the first. As the levels increase, the core's glow intensifies, making it impossible to hide one's true power. But when someone reaches the legendary Ascendant level..." His thoughts turned reverent. "Their entire body becomes the core, radiating such overwhelming energy that only fellow Ascendants can stand in their presence without cowering."
With methodical precision, Ares began pouring the captured mana into his core. The sphere pulsed like a beating heart, each throb sending refined energy throughout his tiny body. Twenty times he repeated the process, each cycle more intense than the last.
Finally, the core's erratic beating stabilized into a steady, faint glow—like a candle flame in the darkness.
"Yes!" His consciousness roared with victory. "I've done it! I'm now a Novice-rank mana user!"
But his ambitions were far from satisfied. "Next comes awakening my talent, but that will manifest naturally as I reach Novice peak. Each level has three stages—initial, middle, and peak. I'm at initial now, so my capacity is limited, but with dedicated practice..." His thoughts turned calculating. "I should reach middle stage within four months."
Then a crucial memory surfaced, chilling him to the bone. "Mother mentioned I'll stay with her for only one month. Typically, sons of concubines are taken at birth to the Young Masters' Nursery, where they remain until age eight. It's the Eisenklinge way—bloodline heirs cannot reach their true potential while coddled by their mothers."
The implications hit him like a physical blow. "At the nursery, they're trained rigorously until age three, then given comprehensive education and Novice-level combat training until eight. By the time they join the main family, they're already Intermediate-rank warriors—a massive advantage."
A smile that belonged on no infant's face spread through his consciousness. "But I'm already Novice-ranked, and I possess knowledge of this world's deepest secrets. I was bedridden and powerless in my previous life, but now..." His thoughts turned predatory. "Now I will claim every advantage my suffering has earned me. My epic doesn't just begin here—it begins with me already ahead of the game."
Triumphant laughter echoed through his mind, but the intense mental and physical exertion finally caught up with his infant body. A genuinely cute yawn escaped his tiny lips, drawing a warm smile from Matilda, who had been watching from the doorway.