It had been two years in this bizarre new world, two years since he woke up in a baby's body with memories intact. At first, he'd clung to hope—waiting for the cheat system every reincarnator deserved. But days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and still nothing. Not a screen. Not a stat. Just endless baby talk, training, and sleepless nights.
"Two years, huh?" he sighed, dragging his tiny fingers across the bed sheet. "Other protagonists got dragon blood, divine inheritance, or at least a starter pack. Me? Not even a damn tutorial."
His face twisted into a pout. "Guess I'm the unlucky bastard of the multiverse. A reincarnator without a system. Might as well stamp that on my forehead."
But beneath the sarcasm was something real—something raw. He hated it. The waiting. The silence. The gnawing uncertainty. He wasn't afraid of death; he'd already died once. What unsettled him was the pointlessness. If fate had dragged him here just to mock him, then fine—but he'd go down spitting curses.
Still, for all his grumbling, Rick wasn't just any child. He was the youngest beast tamer in the world. His mana capacity was a well with no bottom. His mind… sharper than any two-year-old should ever possess. That mix of innocence and eerie maturity unsettled even those closest to him.
A servant rushed over, robes flapping, and bowed deeply.
"Young Master, the beast you requested has arrived."
Rick stopped, his small face serene. He tilted his head and replied in a bell-like voice, "Okay. You are free to leave." Though childish in pitch, his tone carried a weight that unsettled anyone unaccustomed to him.
"I'll be heading to my room now, Madam Evane," he added with a glance back.
Evane—Grand Magus, guardian, mentor, almost-mother—knew it best. She watched him now, her chest heavy with both pride and fear. Evane only nodded.
She watched his little figure stroll away, hands clasped behind his back like a scholar twice reborn. When he rounded the corner and disappeared, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Even now… I still can't believe it.
She had seen miracles before—wars, monstrosities, divine calamities. None compared to Rick. From the moment of his birth, he had upended everything she thought she knew about bloodlines, magic, and fate itself.
To tame a beast at two years old—even a lowly E-rank—was not rare. It was impossible.
He was the world's youngest beast tamer. Officially.
And unofficially? The world had no idea what he truly was.
She had been teaching him body tempering, mana control, and spellcraft since his parents left for the frontlines. His progress frightened her. She, a Grand Magus once hailed as the Echo of the First Flame, struggled to stay ahead of a toddler.
He absorbed everything—spell theory, martial arts, enchantment, alchemy, even tactics. Everything… except common sense.
A small smile crept across her lips.
"Madam Evane, is there a spell that lets you spy on your own brain?" he had once asked, head tilted with perfect seriousness.
She had blinked at him, unsure if he was joking.
"…Why would you want such a thing?"
Rick had sighed wistfully. "Because I want to know if my brain is controlling me… or if I'm controlling it."
Evane had, on more than one occasion, been tempted to apply the old northern method: the cane is the teacher.
---
In his chamber, Rick sat cross-legged on a thick carpet embroidered with runes of silence and warmth. He studied the cage before him, contemplating whether to contract the magical beast or not—simply because he could.
The creature inside was ugly.
Small, squat, vaguely feline, with patchy fur and bulging yellow eyes. Its restless tail occasionally sparked faint blue arcs of unstable mana.
It blinked at him. Then sneezed.
"Great… what a pain," Rick muttered.
He leaned back, exhaling.
"Man, being a baby was humiliation at its finest. Crying for attention, wetting myself, stomach aches, hunger fits… And Evane keeps reminding me she's not my mother, just my caretaker. And all that 'can you please stop calling me Madam Evane' nonsense. If Grandma from my past life saw me acting spoiled just because I was born with a golden spoon in my mouth, she'd reincarnate just to smack me with her slipper."
He shuddered slightly. "Hah… goosebumps just thinking about those "Slippers… those damn slippers. Goosebumps just thinking about them." Rick muttered, burying his face into the blanket.
His gaze sharpened. "And why does no one tell me where my parents really are? This isn't some tragic backstory side plot. I'm me. I deserve answers."
The beast's tail suddenly caught fire. It didn't notice.
"...And where's my system? My ancient inheritance? My old man voice in the soul? A talking sword with an attitude problem?"
Silence.
"Exactly. Nowhere."
He sighed, palming his face. "Two years, and all I've got is an overflowing mana pool with no safety lock. I feel like a nuke without a manual."
---
Moments later…
"Madam Evane," he called softly.
She appeared in the doorway, graceful as ever. "Yes, Young Master?"
"I think it's time I learned more about the outside world," Rick said. His words were too old for his age, though his voice remained childlike.
Evane arched a brow. "Books on geography? Politics? History?"
"All of it. I want to know how the world really works."
She gave a single nod and turned. "This way."
As they walked toward the vast library, Rick tugged lightly at her sleeve.
"And one more thing… Can you stop calling me 'Young Master'? Just call me Rick."
Evane blinked, caught off guard. Then, for the first time in years, a soft chuckle slipped past her lips.
"Then you'll have to stop calling me Madam Evane. Just Evane."
Rick smiled. " well it was worth a try."
---
Meanwhile …
In the eastern borderlands, beneath a fractured moon, Francisca and Anthony stood before what was said to be a covert enemy hideout. The sight turned Francisca's stomach.
The structure was a shrine to madness—rotting walls daubed in old blood, bone totems swaying in the cursed air.
"This is it?" her voice was tight.
Anthony's eyes narrowed as he scanned. "That's what the tip said."
Francisca's hand hovered on her blade. "This looks like a slaughterhouse."
He didn't disagree.
"This stinks of a trap."
"I know. But the source is reliable. If it's real, we strike gold. If not—we leave. Fast."
She gave a stiff nod, though her pulse thundered.
Something here is deeply wrong.
---
Far away.... in dim lighted Grand hall,
The Red spiky hair dude hunched in a shadowed chamber, fists bloodied. His red hair clung to sweat, his shoulders trembled.
"I did what you asked," he growled at the glowing crystal orb. "Now let my wife and son go."
The voice that answered was smooth, detached, playful even.
"Now, now. Don't be dramatic," the figure said. "With him gone, you'll take command. And your son? We saved him… though he's ours now. Gifted, frighteningly so. You'll meet him again—someday."
The Red Demon's fists shook. "You—! You turned him—"
"As for your wife…" the figure leaned closer, voice a hiss, "come to us if you want her back."
The Red Demon's cry tore through the hall, but no one answered.
Far away, the orchestrator—Sentinel—smiled in the dark.
"Operation Take Out the Alpha—complete," he murmured. "Begin Plan B."
---
Back at the manor, those polished yet intricate carpets and architecture perfection of walls, down the hall way, Rick and Evan were walking when...
Evane froze mid-step.
Something was wrong.
Her body stiffened. Her instincts screamed.
Rick turned. "Madam Evane?"
She didn't answer. Her face had gone pale.
Someone was coming. Someone stronger than anyone she'd ever faced. Equal… no, greater.
She dropped to one knee. Whispered, "Forgive me."
Two fingers touched Rick's forehead and he collapsed.
Blood dripped from her palm as she chanted words not spoken in fifty thousand years.
Ancient runes burned across Rick's small body. Magic roared. The room shook.
Then—
Flames.
His body ignited in brilliant golden fire.
And he was gone.
Only ash remained of the two-year-old boy.
Evane slumped to the floor, mana drained to the dregs. Her soaked clothes clung to her body like glue.
A heartbeat later, he appeared.
A gentle old man with a cane. White beard, plain robes. Harmless in appearance, with a serene, almost kindly smile.
But his aura told the truth. It shattered space, cracking the marble beneath his feet.
"Well now…" his voice was smooth, almost nostalgic. "Aren't you that disciple girl they adopted five thousand years ago? And to think—you've already become a Grand Magus. I remember you."
Evane forced her head up, barely breathing.
"You're… a demigod. No. An enhanced fragment. Artificial… Divine Magus."
The old man nodded, still smiling. "Clever girl. But cleverness won't save you".
Behind his gaze lurked extinction.