"While that's logical, how will you ensure my survival?" I asked. "I'm not a fighter."
"You'll reincarnate as an aristocrat with resources. You'll have mana to learn magic and tutors to teach you everything you need to know," Aphrodite explained. "Most importantly, I'll give you the power to separate molecules, synthesize them, and endow them with magic at different stages of your journey. Just as an incentive to keep you working towards saving humanity."
My eyes widened in awe. "That's possible?"
"Yeeeeeeeee~p," she smacked her lips. "So, are you ready to call me amazing yet?"
"Not until I know the catch," I replied.
"There's no catch," Aphrodite asserted with a smile, blinking twice innocently. "Why would you think that? Aren't legendary magic, wealth, and reincarnation enough?"
"Not when the goddess who's reincarnating me is known for sex and lust, not reincarnation," I retorted. "I know there's something you're not telling me."
The goddess narrowed her eyes in amusement. "I see, I see. So you're not a fool," she smirked. "I wanted to spare your fragile ego, but I can't take your memory away just yet, or you won't succeed in time given that terrible personality of yours."
I took a deep breath. "Is this a carrot and stick approach?" I asked. "Because I don't appreciate being toyed with."
"No~pe," she replied. "I'll gradually alleviate your memory and slowly cure your poisoned emotions. That will give you time to learn as much about this world as possible. After all, books are exceedingly rare. So you'll only get so many chances to read them."
My eyes widened in surprise as I processed her logical and almost agreeable reasoning. "Still, that will taint my relationships forever," I reasoned. "I'll remember everything they say and do until I die."
"I'm implementing a mandatory, one-time forgiveness and unnecessary trauma spell once you cross the 80% memory reduction and 20% 'unlock' of your emotions," Aphrodite replied. "At that point, you'll magically forgive others for petty things. Naturally, you'll never forgive betrayal, abuse, an enemy's actions, or people hurting those you love. However, you'll forgive people for minor squabbles and trivial matters like regular people. It won't make you less rational, but it will make you more human."
"I see," I smiled. "So why don't you cure my emotions first?"
"This world… is violent," Aphrodite replied. "It's best not to let emotions get in the way of dealing with that."
Again, her point seemed reasonable.
"One last question before I decide," I declared. "What happens if I don't comply?"
"You'll either die of old age or in the war," Aphrodite shrugged. "As long as you make progress, I will grant you greater mana and healing abilities, and you can slay beasts to obtain near-immortality. However, no magic will save you from an axe to the skull, or the demon war that will annihilate humanity, so your peaceful immortality will be plunged into darkness. You need to overcome it to survive."
"That's logical," I replied.
"That's multiple 'that's logical' approvals, so it seems like you're good to go, so shoo," she grinned, flicking her wrist and sending me hurdling through space and time abruptly. A split second later, I blacked out and finally got a full night's rest. How ironic.
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Aphrodite stared at the portal with a sigh. "I apologize for not explaining earlier why we specifically sought out someone pure," she said. "However, after failing with 999 candidates, you could be our last hope."
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"Reincarnation blows." That was my first thought as I woke up in a sea of blood and amniotic fluid, only to be hoisted out of the gruesome chaos by two hands belonging to a semi-nude giantess with red hair and vibrant green eyes.
As it happened, I was born underwater—a phenomenon that's possible because babies receive oxygen via the umbilical cord. Submerging their faces in water triggers what's known as the "mammalian dive reflex," causing their airways to close. Technically, I could've been left to marinate in that liquid for as long as they wanted to torture me for.
Fortunately, I have a mother who loves me, so she wanted me in her bosom, something I've never experienced.
"How depressing."
That was my thought as I found myself nestled between her breasts. I'd never enjoyed such a sensation in my twenty-eight years on Earth. Despite being reincarnated, it seemed I was in the same predicament and getting a pity squeeze because I was a baby. Classic.
However, no one could hear my internal gripes because instead of articulating, "How depressing," I simply bawled out, "Ack! Waaaaaaaaaah!"
The next thing I knew, a large nipple was thrust into my face, and I had no opportunity to object.
I have very, very, very complex feelings about what's happening.
***
The first year of my life was unbelievably boring. Aside from learning that my name was Ryker Alexander Everwood and that I was the son of Margrave Leonard Everwood, a margrave with a large estate, and his wife, Margravine Scarlet Everwood, I didn't know much else.
Normal babies cannot crawl until they are at least five months old. I tried to crawl on my first day, but my bones were like jello, and my neck seemed perpetually on the verge of snapping as my parents' servants manhandled me, all while dressed in traditional French maid outfits. I've never felt so uncomfortable.
Speaking of discomfort, have your parents ever performed seances and magic on you, hoping you would start crying? Mine did.
I suppose it's not normal for babies not to cry, but I didn't know how. So instead of crying, I'd just scream, making my parents and maids believe I was possessed. A holy priest even suggested my execution before my father cut him down with an arming sword.
Needless to say, I like my dad.
After all, he was rational. Any priest whose first impression of a baby is to suggest burning them at the stake deserves what he gets. That man would have probably fetched his cult out of fear that I was the reincarnation of the demon lord or some other nonsense. My father knew that outright, so he preemptively summoned the man at night—spur of the moment—and ended his life before fertilizing the crop fields with him.
Talk about efficiency. I'm truly impressed.
I really tried learning how to cry after that. As Aphrodite claimed, these people were violent. So, I was careful not to give them a reason to execute me.
Thankfully, babies learn to use words at around nine months, and I started with the "mama" and "dada" approach at six months to establish myself as a genius without getting executed. And well, I'm still alive, so things worked out.
That was also a good time to start walking, so I did that, building my muscles in secret.
Now, after nine months, it's finally time. Today, I'm pulling off a bookshelf heist.
Despite living in a lavish setting adorned with art, royal furniture, and candle chandeliers, my room only contained a window, my crib, and a bookshelf. That's it. An empty room with a bookshelf.
I can't even think of anything more offensive. I've been staring down my destiny for a year—a goddamn year—and I can't get near the third shelf. It's the worst.
Therefore, I've meticulously planned to get myself a book. I started by stealing and hiding things in a crawl space. Vegetable boxes. Pillows. Toys. Basically, anything that could be used to build a staircase.
Then, I dragged small boxes with both hands into the room, one after the other. It was back-breaking labor, but it was honest work.
Now, this isn't your everyday task for a baby. At two and a half feet tall, weighing a hefty twenty pounds, I was the size of a small watermelon and half as juicy. There was nothing safe about attempting to construct a staircase.
That's why I never planned to risk my life climbing the death trap I was making!
I had another plan:
"One, two, three!" I yelled in Skylandish—the common tongue—hoisting myself onto the first step. Once standing on it, I reached for the shelf, two levels above me, acting like I was trying to get to it. And, on schedule:
"I really heard it, Leon!" my mom exclaimed from the second floor. "I heard Ryker talk!"
My little lips curved into an evil baby grin as she opened the door. 'That's right, Scarlet,' I thought. 'Please rush in here right now.'
The moment my mom burst into the room, she panicked, seeing me on a remarkably stable—yet precarious looking—farmer's box, reaching toward the bookshelf. I was conveying danger, holding the second shelf and purposely swaying.
"RYKER!" Scarlet cried out, swiftly scooping me into her arms.
-
-
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" I screamed with pleading puppy dog eyes, feigning panic and seeking sympathy as I stretched for the third shelf in her arms like I was a mother being separated from her children.
"H-He's crying!" Scarlet shrieked, her vibrant green eyes trembling. "Real crying!"
'Am I that unbelievable?' I silently lamented.
"What?" my dad bellowed, rushing into the room. The athletic man had long brown hair tied in a ponytail. "He's normal after all?"
-
-
My tiny baby arm became limp and motionless, and my mischievous baby grin faded into a dejected expression, leading me to abandon my quest for the bookshelf with a sullen face.
"Well, not exactly, Leon," Scarlet replied, glancing at the staircase. "He really wants the books."
"Gimme," I requested as cutely as I could, pouting with my cheeks puffed out, pointing at the bookshelf indignantly.
My mother's eyes sparkled like stars. "See!" she shouted. "He's talking! That's my genius!"
'Yes, praise me more,' I thought. 'But whatever you do, hand me that book!'
"He's been talking for a while now, hasn't he?" Leon scratched his head. "He's been saying mama and dada for months. It's strange he hasn't said more."
My eyes deadened.
"Most babies say 'mama' and 'dada' at nine months," Scarlet retorted. "This is monumental!"
'Yes, she gets it!' I silently celebrated.