That escalated quickly, Tyr thought the next morning as he laid in bed.

  Indeed, he had allowed himself to get caught up in the hype of last night’s events. The others had the excuse of alcohol, at least, but Tyr had no defense for his actions.

  He splayed his body out across the Cloud Mattress he had slept on, groaning. From embarrassment, and also the migraine pounding between his temples, and the fact his body felt wrung out like a sponge. He forced himself to rub the fingers of his right hand together, confirming his spatial storage ring was still in place.

  [Dancing] in his little body really took a lot out of him, even after the physical boosts from his meal.

  At least he had his own personal room in whatever inn they had settled on. He didn’t know if he could stomach facing his family and their small retinue at the moment.

  They were no longer in the same district as The Honeyed Tongue, as that entire area had been cordoned off and the rambunctious crowd dispersed for the rest of the night. But the Hollans must not have gone too far from the scene of the crime. The interior of his room was quite fancy, indicating that they were still in one of the upscale regions of the Undercity.

  We should’ve fled Valorwood completely. Maybe people will forget everything in time.

  Once his initial shyness had been overcome, the karaoke night had quickly spiraled out of control. Things had gone supernova after the expanded guest list of his birthday party had taken to the streets. They’d completely unloaded The Honeyed Inn’s wine cellars by then.

  Unbidden, a memory returned to Tyr: stomping down the road while belting Earth pop songs into the mobile crystal microphone. A teenage girl and her father had accompanied him with their lutes, trying their best to match the energy and tone of his half-remembered, poorly-translated renditions of party hits.

  I need to trauma block all of this. By the time the guards had to step in, we would have definitely been heavily fined if Mother and Father didn’t rule Valorwood.

  Still, he had to admit, it had been an excellent night of gains.

  A large part of his migraine stemmed from the increase to his mental attributes from powerleveling [Singing] and [Dancing]. He had been hesitant to use them to fill two of his General Skill slots, but he had to admit his Mother knew what she was doing. [Dancing] in particular worked overtime as a Social, Athletic, and Movement Skill all in one, allowing some freedom in his other selections if he wanted to follow the general layout Father had informed him about.

  A knock on the door. Tyr groaned loudly in response. Taking his cue, a male servant in a prim and proper uniform stepped into his room, bearing a silver platter.

  Tyr managed to roll off the bed and hobble over to the man; his legs felt like balloons pumped full of acid. “Hello.”

  After enhancing his attributes and the wild concert that he had thrown, Tyr could sense a certain musical quality to his words. A slight, appealing timber that hummed beneath his hoarse voice.

  The servant offered him an appraising glance and set the platter on a low table near the door. “Young Lord Hollan, is it? I see. How…interesting.”

  Tyr forced himself to incline his head a few degrees in acknowledgement.

  “Well, your ordered room service has arrived. A simple blackberry porridge and a Tonic of Mild Rejuvenation.” The servant looked like he wanted to say something else before thinking better of it. Suppressing the hints of a smile, he bowed and departed.

  Just for a bit of extra training, Tyr used [Identify] on the delivered goods.

  Blackberry Porridge. It’s blackberry porridge. Smells good.

  Tonic of Mild Rejuvenation. An alchemical concoction meant to heal minor physical annoyances, such as muscle soreness and small grazes.

  I don’t know what I expected. If he had lied, would it have even revealed what they actually are?

  Tyr shrugged and downed the meal with record speed. He was utterly famished. The porridge was one of the best things he had ever tasted, and it had some stiff competition after last night’s feast.

  He washed it down with the Tonic. Refreshing notes of citrus and mint helped mask the concoction’s bitterness. Each gulp brought him a little closer to normalcy. Even his migraine finally calmed down as all the tension in his neck muscles smoothed away.

  He swished the last little bit of Tonic around to absorb the medicinal dregs at the bottom before finishing it off. Feeling mostly restored, he pulled up the evidence from last night.

  [ Status ]

  Name: Tyrus Hollan

  Age: 3 years

  Race: Human (D)

  Bloodline: Vision of the Omniscient (D)

  Attributes:

  Strength: 7

  Dexterity: 10 > 11

  Constitution: 2 > 3

  Will: 9 > 11

  Perception: 6 (12)

  Charisma: 5 (10) > 8 (16)

  Skills:

  [ Gaze of the Dominator ] - 4 (Sealed)

  [ Singing (Uncommon) ] - 1 > 23

  [ Dancing (Common) ] - 1 > 17

  [ Focused Mind (Common) ] - 7 > 11

  [ Identify (Common) ] - 8 > 10

  The extra point in Constitution was a welcome surprise. Most likely he had been on the cusp of reaching the second Point naturally before last night’s meal, and the following festivities had physically strained him enough to nudge him up to 3. [Dancing] once more demonstrated its worth.

  His Dexterity being tied for his highest stat struck him as a bit strange, but the mental attributes were obnoxious to train. Especially without the benefit of being able to grind General Skills until now. It was also, arguably, the most useful of the physical attributes outside of direct combat. Superior fine motor control and hand-eye coordination benefited a wide range of activities.

  Should I learn an instrument? I don’t have to have a General Skill for it. Maybe [Singing] will evolve into some combination once it reaches level 50 if I do.

  He stored that thought for later and moved on to the next boon he’d received. On top of the attribute boosts, he’d earned a new Achievement.

  Rabble Rouser (Rare) - Your actions have inspired an unruly mob of over a hundred people to take to the streets, disrupting a high-class neighborhood and requiring intervention from the local guard to calm affairs. +5% boost to Social Skills and Effects.

  While the phrasing was accurate in a technical sense, he couldn’t help but consider this an insult. The Hollans and their citizens were not rabble. Plus, that mob were the workers and owners of the area. It wasn’t like he had led some revolution to topple the local nobility. He was the local nobility.

  Still, it wasn’t like he was going to ask the System to take it back. A 5% Social boost was a 5% Social boost.

  What if I incite a thousand people…?

  Before he could explore this train of thought further, there was more knocking on the door. Hesitant this time.

  Tyr rubbed the last bit of sleep out of his eyes and—forced to go tippy-toe—managed to open the door.

  Waiting for him was the last person he expected. Eyes focused on the ground, kicking the floor with the front of his boot, was Cousin Caeden. He looked the same as yesterday, except the sword at his hip had been replaced with two wooden swords in his hands.

  Caeden bit his lip. “I was wondering—”

  Tyr held up a hand, eyeing the wooden practice swords. “Say no more.”

  ***

  Caeden led the way to a nearby park, a bit of a pep in his step now that Tyr was trailing behind him like an eager puppy.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  It was still early morning according to the pale dawn light in the distance, beyond the shade of Valorwood’s grand canopy. Most passersby ignored the two children, though a few half-familiar faces did amused double takes at the sight of Tyr. He refused to look ashamed of himself, even if he truly felt it deep down.

  He wasn’t worried about running off on his parents. The Grey Maids had been eating breakfast in the common room as he walked out. They hadn’t acknowledged him, but it was hard to imagine they hadn’t noticed his presence.

  Though he assumed his attributes were atypical for an average toddler, he was beginning to come to terms with the fact that most of the people around him were disgustingly powerful compared to a human back on Earth. With Titles, Classes, and Professions available to them, any random adult could probably track his scent halfway across the Undercity.

  As they walked to the park, Caeden made some idle small talk. He was, of course, on the path of the blademaster and couldn’t stop talking about how cool it was. Since that was an extremely valid point, Tyr was content to listen to his elder cousin discuss the details of his own training regimen.

  Free intel on the enemy.

  Though he did have to disagree with one point.

  “No offense,” said Caeden, looking back at Tyr, “but my Pa says that the Path of Pacifism is stupid. People waste all their time under a stupid restriction for a temporary benefit when they could be getting useful, permanent boons. The Title is nice, but so are a lot of others. Have you heard of the Giantsbane Lord? Gives your Strength +5 attribute points and +10% efficiency. That alone is like, years of Pacifism, from a Title.”

  You fool! You absolute fool! What kind of comparison is that? Tyr bit his tongue, keeping his eyes on the prize: the wooden practice swords.

  Within a few minutes they made it to the park—a few acres of lush grass, a fountain that thankfully did not depict Tyr’s parents, and a looping path that a few elderly folk hobbled down for exercise. The only other occupants were a middle-aged couple in the midst of a picnic.

  “Alright.” Clutching both wooden swords in one oversized hand, Caeden made an awkward thrusting motion with his chest and shoulders, perhaps meant to be manly or imposing. “Ever wielded a blade?”

  “No,” Tyr admitted.

  “Okay, I’ll teach you the basics.” Caeden pointed at himself with his thumb. “That’s what cool older cousins do.”

  “You’re so right.” Tyr batted his long, golden eyelashes. Show your worth, boosted Charisma.

  Caeden swallowed and a huge, genuine smile lit up across his face. It actually made the boy look far more dashing than any of his intentional attempts at seeming impressive. It dimmed slightly as Caeden looked Tyr up and down.

  “You know, I heard about last night.”

  Oh, here we go.

  “Don’t get me wrong! It sounded like a blast. But be careful. Pa this morning was saying that you were getting dangerously close to Charming territory. Don’t worry though! Since everyone were consensual participants with a much higher Will than your Charisma, and it started from an approved musical performance, there won’t be any legal trouble. Especially, I mean, with your parents and all.”

  Tyr found himself frowning. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Caeden shuffled his feet. “I thought your parents would have taught you this already. Uh, Charisma-types and Social Skills usually have so many legal restrictions. Lots of historical reasons. The Dread Tyrant of Kazurul, the Child Crusades, the Enslavement of the Indigo Archipelago. More laws about it than there is about fighting, if you can believe it. Guess people hate the thought of being mind controlled more than getting stabbed. I dunno.”

  “I’m not trying to mind control anyone, Caeden.”

  Right? I mean, is it that bad to blow kisses at old grannies and start up a karaoke party? Tyr sniffed. Though...

  Despite his objection, this actually was a serious matter, and one that he was glad his cousin brought up. His parents may not think it was worth mentioning yet, but he was toeing the line of violating a massive social taboo.

  It was also useful to know that Will was essentially the counter to Charisma. It made sense, and he doubted his mere presence was going to mind control adults, but as he advanced it would become a real problem. Though, he had batted his eyelashes at Caeden, who very likely had lower Will than Tyr's Charisma.

  Caeden took a step forward. “I’m not trying to accuse you! I think you’re kinda funny.”

  “Thanks,” Tyr grumbled. “But...I'm sorry. I thought I was just playing around, but I can see how it could be a serious attempt at manipulation. Now, the swords?”

  After that, Caeden was happy to demonstrate the basic kata forms he had been taught with the wooden practice sword. It was a demanding series of steps and strikes, one flowing into another. Even when Tyr thought he had mimicked Caeden perfectly, his cousin would point out some small misalignment of his hips or suboptimal arc of his blade.

  After thirty minutes of this, Tyr had worked up a serious sweat. Though it wasn't a real metal weapon, the sword was almost as big as Tyr was, and attempting to control it perfectly strained his fledgling muscles. [Dancing] had even gained a level, once more proving its utility. Under Caeden’s exacting tutelage, he hadn’t made it more than five steps into the first sword kata, but it was a start.

  It was frustrating to discover he wasn't some prodigy when it came to swordsmanship, effortlessly breezing through the basic forms. Though, perhaps he needed to temper his expectations. He doubted a normal toddler back on Earth could have managed to even wield the wooden sword without fumbling it. The average F-Grade Savran was hardly any better, though living within a high-Mana world elevated their base physiques beyond the normal back on Earth. Compared to that, he was a prodigy.

  Though he often took it for granted, Tyr had been born with a tremendous head start, along with adult memories that had compelled him to push the limits of his Strength and Dexterity since birth.

  And I have an entire lifetime to become stronger.

  During a short break, Tyr sat down on the ground and eyed the wooden sword in his hands. His palms stung. Maybe I’ll get my first callouses?

  “I’m surprised I didn’t get any General Skills related to the sword,” he muttered absently.

  Caeden laughed. “Oh, wait, you’re serious? Most General Skills take a ton of practice before you get them offered. Any General Skill directly related to Swordsmanship is especially hard, because they’re usually more Class or Profession skills. It took me two months of practice before I could learn [ Footwork ].”

  Tyr chose to remain silent. It certainly hadn’t taken him very long to pick up a slew of General Skills. Some of them were available because he already was proficient in the relevant ability, but he never really practiced [Dancing] or [Singing] before. Not even in his past life, outside of a bit of clubbing before the allure of drinking wore off.

  Is it because of my Mind Affinity? I’m not sure what Mind Magic even does, specifically. Or are my mental attributes a lot higher than his? Does that matter, or is it something else? Maybe my Reincarnator Achievement?

  "This is a lot of fun." Caeden wore a bashful smile. "I hope you can come hang out at my place one day..."

  Tyr nodded. "I'd like that."

  They sat together for a few companionable minutes as they recovered their stamina, both of their thoughts wandering to childish, naive fancies.

  Before they could resume their session, a snobbish voice called out to them. “What do we have here?”

  Already dreading the inevitable, Tyr turned to face the newcomer. Or, rather, newcomers. Three boys, at least ten years old.

  Two of them were burly, hulking figures in sleeveless vests, revealing the pale scars and inflamed, puckered burn marks across their arms. Apprentices to blacksmiths, perhaps, on an early path to taking up the profession.

  They flanked a handsome youth in silver robes. His long brown hair was gathered in a man-bun that looked incredibly weird on a kid. The sleeves of his robes had been rolled back to reveal thick gold bangles on his forearms, with a matching pair of tear-drop earrings dangling from either lobe.

  “You’re in our territory,” the boy said, beckoning with one hand. “Pay up.”

  Tyr scoffed.

  Before he spoke up, Caeden stood, drawing himself up to his full height. He was big for his age, but nothing compared to the lame pair of bodyguards accompanying the spoiled brat. “All of Valorwood is Hollan territory, Soren. I’m tired of this game. You’re just a Merchant’s son, anyways.”

  Soren’s face darkened. “You nobles really think you’re something special, despite earning nothing on your own merit. Merchants build their empires with the sweat of their brow. They don’t inherit them from daddy.”

  “What?” Caeden frowned in genuine confusion. “Your pa inherited his business from his pa.”

  Tyr snickered.

  “Pipe down if you know what’s good for you, brat,” said one of the scarred bullies. “None of us want to beat up a little baby.”

  Tyr’s snickering died off. “You’re not going to beat up either of us.”

  Soren tilted his head to the side. “Oh, how’s that? You’re going to call Lord Hollan to protect you from a simple conversation with some kids? No one takes Emory seriously anyways. He’s at best a stand-in for the real Lord of this city. Though both of them are completely useless in reality. The Merchants and the workers are the true lifeblood of Valorwood. No one listens to or likes stupid figureheads.”

  During this spiel, one of the bullies started looking at Tyr funny. “Hey, didn’t you hear about last night? Ma was laughing about it this morning. Tyrus—”

  He wasn’t able to finish that thought. Red-faced and growling, Caeden had surged forward, wooden sword in hand. His boots blurred across the ground, perfect, precise steps flinging him forward at a remarkable speed. Within a couple seconds he closed the fifteen paces between him and the trio of trashtalkers.

  The air cracked as his sword whipped right at Soren’s face.

  Looking rather pleased with himself, Soren stepped backward, almost seeming to glide. A pale Mana barrier flickered into existence in front of his head to meet the attack.

  Before it even became relevant, the bodyguard on the right casually reached out and snatched the sword by the wooden blade. A tug forward ruined Caeden’s footwork, pulling him into a devastating uppercut that lifted him off his feet. Gasping for air, the disarmed boy collapsed to his knees.

  Soren drew back his hand and slapped Caeden across the face. A signet ring on his hand cut a crimson wedge out of Caeden’s cheek.

  “Everyone here saw you attack us first.” Soren sneered. “With a weapon, no less! I don’t think this is enough to make us equal. What do you think?”

  The bodyguard on the left, the one who had spoken up about his Ma, continued frowning at Tyr. “Guys—”

  The other bodyguard laughed and kicked Caeden in the chest. Not full strength, which would have broken bones, but hard enough to fling the boy back into the ground. Grass stained his family uniform, and an angry welt of a handprint stood out against his pale face. Still, Caeden struggled in an attempt to get back to his feet.

  Hands tucked in his pockets, Soren spun about and roundhouse kicked Caeden in the temple. The boy collapsed, unmoving.

  Tyr had remained frozen in place during the encounter, unable to believe they dared strike one of his family members. He knew he was arrogant, but these three actually assaulted a Hollan? In Valorwood?

  He knew that his parents wanted him to pursue the Path of Pacifism. Regardless of what Emory thought about the decision, it would be optimal for Tyr’s current Status. Yet, he looked down at the wooden sword in his grasp. His hands were trembling with fury. His eyes burned as if they were on fire.

  Fuck it.

  Half of him wanted to call upon the traces of ambient mana within the park, but he was unsure what would happen if his first attempt at freeform magic was an attack on another child. Even a small amount of mana may be a killing blow.

  Instead, Tyr leapt to his feet and charged at the trio of bullies. Not that he thought he had much of a chance, but perhaps it would distract them from pummeling on his cousin. He could see them waiting for him, Soren and the right bodyguard grinning expectantly. Maybe—

  Before Tyr made it more than a few steps, a crystalline blur tore across the park, leaving a swath of destruction in its wake. Air rippled and boomed as it broke the sound barrier. A moment later, one of the Grey Maids stood in front of Tyr, grasping the blade of the wooden sword in her hand. With a casual flick of her wrist, she snapped it and picked Tyr up by the collar.

  “I thought you were smarter than this,” she said, the disappointment in her tone helping bring Tyr back to reality. Slowly, menacingly, she pivoted to face the three bullies. “Leave. Now. Mention this to anyone, and your families will be exiled. And, yes, I know who your parents are, Soren Goldtouch.”

  Without bothering to glance over at Caeden, the Grey Maid stalked away, holding Tyr like a kitten being dangled by the scruff of its neck.

  Mind blank, face red with shame, Tyr let the handle of the broken sword slip from his grasp. It clattered to the ground behind them, abandoned.