Are these… my mother and father?
Morgan struggled to accept the sight before him.
He had lived thirty seven years as an adult. Accepting two people who appeared to be in their early twenties as his parents was no easy task.
Still
The warmth they showed him wasn't unpleasant.
In his previous life, Morgan had been born into wealth. His parents had provided everything except affection. They had raised him out of obligation, not love. He couldn't remember a single moment when he had sat down with his father and spoken openly about his worries.
Yet now, these strangers held him gently, spoke softly to him, and treated him as something precious.
As he focused on their words, Morgan realized he couldn't fully understand the language yet. It sounded like a strange hybrid Latin and Greek blended together. Still, he managed to catch one word repeatedly.
"Ryan."
That's English…
He frowned internally.
Are names here in English?
The familiarity of the name, combined with the completely foreign language around him, strengthened his suspicion:
this really is another world.
Before he could think further, the man he assumed to be his father lifted him carefully and placed him into a crib.
His body felt frustratingly limited.
He couldn't turn his head properly.
He couldn't stand.
He couldn't walk.
He was trapped in the body of a baby.
Seven Months Later...
Ryan had learned how to crawl.
The crib no longer contained him.
Whenever his parents weren't paying
attention, he explored the house with quiet determination. Whether it was instinct or the habits of a former scientist, one belief guided him:
Knowledge is power.
If he wanted to survive in this world, he needed information about the place, the people, and the language.
There weren't many books in the house.
Only three.
And he intended to read all of them.
The first was a thick, brown, leather-bound book placed high on a shelf. After dragging a stool across the room and struggling for several minutes, Ryan managed to climb up.
The moment he pulled the book free, its weight dragged him down with it.
He hit the floor but wasn't hurt.
Opening the book, Ryan froze.
It was a massive world atlas, easily two thousand pages thick.
The language was complex, but not impossible.
At the top of the map, written in bold letters, was a name:
ALTER-MUNDUS
So this is the name of the world…
At that moment, all doubt vanished.
He had been reincarnated.
"So this is where you were."
Ryan flinched.
Before he could react, he was lifted into his mother's arms.
Olivia stared at the open atlas in shock. A baby looking at a world map?
As she carried him back to the crib, unease settled in her chest.
Why would a child be drawn to a book like this?
Genius or not, this wasn't normal.
Cold sweat formed on her back.
What if his soul is possessed…?
Her thoughts darkened.
I need to speak with Michael. Maybe… the church…
Ryan sensed the tension immediately.
I messed up.
From that moment on, he decided to study only at night when his parents slept.
Nine Hours Later
The house was silent.
Ryan waited patiently until he heard the soft rhythm of his parents' breathing.
Then, he acted.
He tossed a pillow from the crib to the floor, cushioning his fall, and climbed down carefully.
The problem was location.
The books were in his parents' bedroom.
He pushed the door open slowly
Creeeak.
Ryan froze.
Michael shifted in his sleep… then turned over.
Ryan exhaled.
He dragged the stool under the shelves, climbed up, and grabbed a random book.
Blue cover.
Inside were strange symbols, circles, and diagrams.
He didn't understand them but he knew one thing:
I must learn this language.
Dragging the heavy book back, he hid it under his pillow.
One and a Half Years Later
Ryan was over two years old.
He could walk.
He could run.
He could speak the language fluently.
When it wasn't snowing, his father, Michael, trained both Olivia and Ryan in swordsmanship. Olivia wasn't fond of the idea but Ryan loved it.
Swords were cool.
Still, his true fascination lay elsewhere.
Magic.
Olivia was a White Mage a practitioner of healing and support magic. Ryan dreamed of something far greater.
A Magic Swordsman.
A path reserved only for the elite.
One afternoon, after training, Ryan approached his mother.
Sitting on a stool, he looked up at her and asked:
"Mom… will you teach me how to read and write?"
Olivia blinked.
"But you're still so small," she said gently.
"Why do you want to learn?"
Ryan knew her doubts.
So he smiled using the mask of a child.
"The more I know," he said innocently,
"the stronger I'll become. Right, Mommy?"
Her heart trembled.
A two year old saying this wasn't normal.
Fear crept in again.
Please… let him just be a genius, she prayed.
For if he wasn't
The church offered only one solution.
With a forced smile, she nodded.
"Alright. We'll start after dinner."
A knock echoed.
Michael entered, ruffling Ryan's hair.
"This little rascal gets better with the sword every day."
Immediately, Olivia grabbed Michael's arm and pulled him toward the kitchen.
"Honey… we need to talk."
Ryan remained silent.
With the mind of a thirty-seven-year-old man
He waited.