A couple of months went by, and finally I learned my name.
My new mother, but also actually a total stranger, called me by my name, which was similar to a word in my past life, and that was "Zaemon." I liked it as it reminded me of a character from my favorite show. I decided not to change the pronunciation of my name, even if my mother tried to correct it.
I decided to abandon my unhappy past and start over.
The way she stared at me was so pure that sometimes I felt strangled under it. I knew that look. It was an expectation. Of what, I wasn't really sure, but I was hoping it was limited to things expected from all babies like rolling, crawling, walking, and trying to speak.
Did babies speak when they were a couple of months old?
No, they don't.
But I figured there was no harm in trying.
So, I did that.
I tried to speak.
It wasn't particularly hard, but since I tried to imitate the words she used, they all came out in slurpy, slippery ways that didn't make much sense.
It did, however, put my mother in a good mood, which she forced me to join by swirling me in her arms and showering me with kisses.
Then she set me down and beamed at me, speaking in her beautiful voice yet again.
Okay.
There was a problem.
I couldn't understand her. I needed more time to adjust to this odd language. I knew her name sounded similar to the word "Zen," from my previous world, and my father's name was similar to something with "Sa."
I continued to do what babies do, like making cute noises and raising my arms towards her. I would reach for her face and play with her nose and cheeks while I checked out the surroundings.
Father came home every now and then, but only for a short while. He came once bathed in blood and with a strange creature corpse on his shoulder to see me; in those few seconds, I thought I was going to die again, but Mother came in fury and quickly sent him away to clean first.
This incident raised many questions. What did my father do? What was the reason for his bloodied appearance? What kind of strange creature was that? What about the outside world? Was there something wrong with my imagination about this world? Did I make a wrong assumption?
When I sat in my mother's lap on the wooden porch a few times, peering into the distance where wooden houses sprawled across what I presumed was a village. To the right, a vast forest stretched from beyond a gurgling river. And observing our house, I presumed it to be a world similar to Earth before the 19th century. But now I began to doubt that.
Fortunately, I didn't have to wait longer for my answer.
...
By the time Dad finished cleaning up, Mom had already changed me into my new outfit, and she had changed her clothes as well. They both headed out of the house and walked toward the storage area, but to my surprise, there was a horse in the area with curved horns on its head!
I took a sharp breath and let the weight of the truth settle in. It was as if someone had poured cold water over me.
When I looked again, I realized the area I thought was for storage was actually a horse stable. I made a mental note to examine things more closely.
We got close to the horse, and it was magnificent; its light black coat glowed in the sun, as did its white horns. It looked toward me, and I could clearly see its deep crimson eyes.
We sat on the horse, and I was squished tightly between Father and Mother. On command, the beast started to run, starting with a measured trot before rapidly increasing its speed.
There was no mechanical whine of an engine or the click of shifting gears; instead, there was only the powerful, rhythmic drumming of hooves against the dirt. I was certain our pace rivaled my motorbike from my previous world.
The wind whipped past my ears with a roar that reminded me of riding down a highway; the air was crisp and smelled of crushed grass and earth. It wasn't just a horse—it was a confirmation that this world operated on a logic far beyond anything I had believed before.
We soon reached the destination, which I presumed to be a village, but it was more than that; on closer observation, it appeared to be a combination of a civilian area and a military outpost.
All attention was on us. People similar to my father first came forward and then saluted him. Their eyes were clearly on me, which made me nervous. We got down from the horse, and before my father could say anything, my mother moved forward and introduced me in a way similar to The Lion King, and everybody cheered.
I really felt embarrassed by this dramatic introduction, but I was timely rescued by my father's loud cough. My mother sat with another woman who was younger than her and had eyes full of respect toward her.
Groups of people in twos and threes came and started talking to my mother while observing me. I couldn't understand the conversation between them.
Damn it, I really needed to learn the language! I believed they were asking about her health and about me. I slowly drifted to sleep, as the day had become quite overwhelming for me. When I woke up, I was in the house, and it appeared that Dad had left.
....
At five months old, I was learning the language with great difficulty; however, I could now understand basic conversations with relative ease.
I had also mastered crawling, which made exploring a breeze since there was no one around to stop me. Mother was clearly surprised and excited when I started crawling.
The backyard was a true game-changer. There was something innately refreshing about letting the sun bathe me in its golden light; it reminded me of my past childhood, before I became an "indoor person" later in that life.
Here, there was nothing to distract me but the walls of our house and a collection of wooden toys my mother carved by hand. She was a wonderful woman. She always pulled me into her arms with a wide smile, making me wonder if my biological mother would have been just like her, had she not passed away.
"Having fun in the sun, my Zae? I'll join you in a bit," she called out as I sat on the wooden porch.
I turned with a smile on my lips and gave my mother a look. She didn't know how relieved I was to regain some of my bodily functions. It made me feel independent. My scholarly understanding of anatomy helped me significantly in learning to crawl and had been a massive benefit to my language studies.
In my attempts to master the language, I started focusing more intently whenever I felt sleepy, as research from my previous world suggested it was a beneficial method for learning. To my surprise, it worked better than I expected.
I discovered that I could learn while I slept for short bursts without any issues; if I pushed it too long, however, it left me with a splitting headache and total exhaustion. I still remembered the concerned look on my mother's face the last time I overdid it.
I hoped to discover more of my hidden abilities as time went on.
True to her word, my mother soon joined me in the backyard. This time, my father joined us as well. He was clad in leather armor, carrying a massive greatsword in his hand.
After ensuring he was a safe distance away from me, he extended his arms, took a deep breath, and began swinging the blade rhythmically. I was shocked the first time I saw it, but I had grown used to the display. Those defined muscles of his clearly had a long history behind them.
Each swing of his sent a gush of wind to our wooden fences, making them groan. A sound like a whip crack followed each swing.
Suddenly, he walked towards the thickest tree; his muscle size increased, a red aura surrounded his body, and he cleaved it clean in two. My mind went blank at the sight.
I looked at my mother; she had a proud smile and lust in her eyes. It was the same face that my girlfriend made when one time I showed my martial arts in public. In reality my skills were limited. Well, good for them. I sincerely hoped for an ability that would let me sleep through any noise from the surroundings.
But having a swordsman for a father was incredibly cool.
....
The main reason for my linguistic improvement was my mother, who constantly talked to me and read various stories. These tales were mostly similar in nature to stories I knew from Earth: a hero or a group set out to rescue a lost princess or to find some legendary item.
They battled mythical beings and returned triumphant from their expeditions, followed by wild parties where alcohol was the star of the show. My "earth-side" felt a bit awkward hearing about booze in children's stories.
After considering my experience and observation (both my father and my father's horse), I knew these were based on some truth. The characters used magic; therefore, this world must have magic.
I was convinced there were two distinct power systems here: one for magicians or wizards and another for warriors or knights. I still needed more information, but my father clearly fell into the warrior category. It was a win-win for me; even if I lacked the talent to be a mage, I could become a warrior. With my father's help, I could build a solid foundation.
Now, the only thing left to ensure my incredible future was to give it my one hundred percent.
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