My father, General Friedrich Von Reichenbach, was a man made of steel and tradition. He was a hero of the Border War ten years ago, the type of man who would rather sleep on a pile of bullets than on a goose-feather mattress.
That afternoon, he summoned me to his study. The room smelled of expensive cigars, old leather, and gunpowder. A scent that always made my old soul feel "at home."
"Karl, sit," he commanded without turning. He was staring at a massive map on the wall, a map of the border regions where tensions were rising.
I sat with a straight back, hands on my knees. I did not lean back. An officer never looks relaxed in front of a superior, even if that superior is his own father.
"I received a report from your nanny," he turned, his sharp eyes piercing mine as if trying to drill through my small skull. "A statue in the garden destroyed. An oak tree behind the mansion toppled with a precision hole in its center. And you... you have been disappearing into my military library ever since you could walk."
I remained silent. In the military world, sometimes silence is the best defense.
"Tell me, Karl," he stepped closer, his large shadow looming over my tiny frame. "Who taught you destructive magic? I never hired a tutor for you. Your mother only taught you how to recite prayers."
I looked up, staring directly into his eyes. I knew this was a risk, but I needed access to military facilities. I needed him to see me not as a "sweet child," but as a "war investment."
"I don't need a tutor to understand how pressure works, Father," I replied, my voice as flat as possible. "The magic in those books is too long-winded. They worship the elements as if they were God. In reality, it's just a matter of condensing energy into a single point and releasing it with the correct vector."
Friedrich narrowed his eyes. "Vector? What is a vector?"
I realized I had just used a physics term from my old world. I had to improvise.
"I mean... a measured direction of the explosion," I said while standing up. I spotted a crystal glass on his desk. "May I show you?"
My father didn't answer, but he took a step back, giving me space. That was a green light.
I raised my right hand, not with the graceful movements of a storybook mage, but with a stiff, efficient motion, like aiming a pistol.
Focus the Mana. Flash-freeze the temperature around the glass, then heat its center point within a millisecond. Thermal expansion.
Prak!
The glass shattered into pieces, destroyed by internal pressure rather than physical impact.
Silence blanketed the room. I could hear my father's heartbeat slow down slightly, a sign he was either deeply shocked or extremely alert.
"You destroyed it without a verbal spell... without a magic circle..." he whispered. He walked toward the debris of the glass, picking up a blackened shard of crystal. "This is not a child's magic. This is magic for killing."
He turned to look at me, but this time his gaze was different. There was pride mixed with pure fear. He had just realized that his only son was an anomaly. A monster born in the form of an angel.
"Karl," his voice was heavy. "What do you want? Toys? A horse? A noble title?"
I gave a perfect Arcania military salute. Stiff, sharp, and full of authority.
"Give me permission to enter the Cadet Training Camp this summer, General," I said firmly. "I want to see how this country trains its soldiers. And I want to ensure that when war eventually breaks out, I am not led by fools."
Friedrich Von Reichenbach was stunned. He saw a five-year-old boy, but standing before him, he felt as if he saw the shadow of a great commander who had already won a thousand battles.
"You are just a child, Karl. They will eat you alive there."
I smirked, a cold smirk that had no business being on a child's face. "Don't worry, Father. I am the one who will decide who is fit to eat, and who will become a carcass on the battlefield."
My father fell silent for a long time, then he laughed—a dry, booming laugh. "Fine! If that is what you want. But remember, there you are not the General's son. You are mere filth to be forged into iron."
"That is more than enough," I replied.
I turned and walked out of the room. In the dim corridor, I clenched my small fist. Step one: complete. I had gained recognition from the person who held the keys to the nearest military power.
This world is still incredibly primitive in its strategy. They still use knights in heavy armor and mages who stand still like statues while chanting. They do not know rapid maneuvers. They do not know inter-unit coordination.
Wait a little longer, I thought, looking out the window toward the distant military barracks. I will teach you all how to truly wage war.