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[The Warlord System Has Finally Found a Worthy Candidate...]
[Preparing for System Initialization... %5...%20...%50...%78...%99...%100]
[System Successfully Integrated with the Host...]
[The User's Soul Is Being Transferred to a Suitable Environment %1...%30...%40...%68...%89...%100]
[Warlord System Activated...]
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"He's not moving... What happened? Why isn't he responding!"
In a room filled with a man's frantic, incoherent shouting, a weary and broken woman held a newborn with trembling hands, her eyes welling up as she gazed anxiously at the baby cradled in her arms.
The baby had just been born, barely minutes ago, yet it was completely still. It was obvious that the woman lying in the bed holding the infant was the one who had just given birth, and the man beside her, raging and screaming at the servants, was almost certainly the father.
The midwife at the woman's side immediately took the baby from the new mother. Before the mother could even react, she instinctively reached out her exhausted arms, but then pulled them back, thinking she would only be hindering the most knowledgeable person in the room when it came to newborns.
By then, her eyes had already filled with tears, and she covered her face with her hands. A small girl rushed to her side and wrapped her arms around her. The closeness between them made it clear that the little girl was her other child. The young girl tried to wipe her mother's tears, but her mother wept without stop.
Meanwhile, the father watched the midwife with intense, anxious focus.
The midwife gently turned the baby upside down. The baby's arms fell toward the ground under gravity's pull, like the limbs of a lifeless body. The servants watching gasped and covered their mouths, frozen in shock.
But the experienced midwife immediately began stroking the tiny baby's back, tapping it gently several times. After the last soft pat the midwife delivered to the baby's back, a brief, suffocating silence fell over the room. It was as if everyone had held their breath at the same moment.
The worry on the man's face was slowly giving way to anger. He clenched his jaw, his fists trembling. He stepped forward.
"What are you doing?! What is the need to hit the baby?!"
His voice struck the walls and came back. The servants flinched. The little girl pressed herself more tightly against her mother. The woman still had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs.
The midwife did not hesitate for even a moment. Her brow furrowed, her eyes sharpened. It was as if she was carrying the faith of everyone in the room on her shoulders alone. She lifted the baby a little higher and this time struck its back with greater resolve.
One second passed.
Then another.
Nothing happened.
The man lunged forward in fury. "Give it to me!" he shouted.
At that very instant...
The baby's tiny body suddenly convulsed. A weak, broken sound rose from its throat. A cough. Thin, faint, but without question alive.
Everyone froze.
The midwife's eyes widened for just a moment, but her hands remained steady. She held the baby carefully and tilted its head slightly to one side.
And then...
The sound came.
At first it was a small, cracked whimper.
Then it suddenly grew, deepened. And it transformed into a baby's cry that tore through the entire room, ringing in everyone's ears.
It was crying.
With every ounce of its strength.
So powerful that it made everyone in the room tremble inside.
The woman's hands fell from her face. Her eyes flew wide open. For a moment, she could not believe it. Then her lips quivered, and the tears streaming from her eyes now carried an entirely different meaning.
"...It's alive..."
Even her whisper was enough to be heard, so utterly silent had the room become.
The little girl raised her head and stared at the midwife and the baby with wide, astonished eyes. Then a huge smile slowly spread across her face.
"Mother! It's crying! It's crying!"
The man stood rooted in place. Anger, bewilderment, and disbelief were all tangled together on his face. For several seconds, he did nothing but listen to that sound.
Then, as if the strength had drained from his knees, he took a step back.
The midwife slowly turned the baby and revealed its face. With its small, flushed face and its mouth crying without pause, it looked like a miracle clinging to life.
She handed the baby over to its mother, who was shedding tears mixed with shock and joy.
When the woman took the baby into her arms, all the other sounds in the room seemed to fade away at once. All that remained was that tiny body's trembling yet determined breath and its unbroken crying.
Its fingers were still weak, but by reflex it was trying to grasp its mother's clothing; that moment was the simplest and most powerful proof of the fight it had waged to live.
The woman pressed the baby to her chest. The tears rolling down her cheeks this time carried not the marks of pain, but of a relief that could almost be called sacred. Her lips trembled, and she rested her forehead against the baby's head.
"Thank you, my Goddess..." she whispered in a broken voice. "For giving my baby back to me... For blessing me with my little baby..."
The man was still standing in the same spot. His eyes were on the baby, but for the first time his gaze had softened. Not a trace remained of his earlier fury; in its place settled a heavy, crushing guilt. He took a few steps, hesitated, and finally came to the woman's side. He reached out his hand but could not bring himself to touch the baby.
"I thought we had lost it," he said, his voice coming out quieter than he had expected.
"So did I," the woman replied. And those two words were enough to melt all the tension between them.
The little girl had already climbed up to the edge of the bed. She peered at the baby with curiosity, occasionally taking small breaths mixed with laughter. "So loud," she said with admiration. "But beautiful."
The midwife stood a few steps back, silently watching this moment. There was a tired yet deeply satisfied expression on her face.
The baby's crying slowed after a while. It gave way to uneven breaths and small whimpers in between. But it was still warm, still alive.
"It is time to give a name, my lady. This child of yours, who survived even in the hardest moment, deserves a glorious name."
At the midwife's words, the woman slowly raised her head. Her eyes were still moist, but there was no longer helplessness in that gaze. In its place had come a deep, unshakeable resolve. She looked at the baby in her lap; its little face was still flushed, its breathing still uneven, but it was alive. And for her, that was enough.
She stroked the baby's cheek with her fingertips. Then she closed her eyes, as if trying to choose the right name from among the dozens passing through her mind.
The room fell silent.
The servants held their breath. The little girl watched her mother with curiosity. The man stood perfectly upright, as if truly feeling the weight of this moment for the first time.
The woman opened her eyes.
"The name..." she said, her voice still soft but no longer trembling. "Will be Magnus... Magnus Invictor Sellendor."
The man's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Magnus Invictor..." he repeated, as if tasting it. Then he gave a small nod. "A strong name."
The little girl smiled. "Magnus!" she said cheerfully.
The woman answered neither of them. She was looking only at her son.
"Magnus..." she whispered this time in a tone only he could hear. "My miracle."
She pressed him more tightly to her chest. That small body rose and fell gently in rhythm with his mother's heartbeat. It was as if he was only now learning to hold on to the world.
And at that very moment, the midwife's gaze sharpened.
She had noticed something.
She stepped forward. Her brow furrowed. "My lady... would you allow me for just a moment?"
The woman looked up in surprise, but without objecting she held the baby slightly forward. The midwife carefully took the tiny hands.
And froze.
The baby's right hand was slightly closed. Between those tiny fingers... there was a deep, fresh redness.
Black blood!
"What is this..." the man murmured, stepping closer.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "This... isn't possible. He was just born, how could he..."
The midwife slowly parted the baby's fingers. The blood was truly there. It did not seem to have come from either the mother's or the midwife's touch. It was as if... it had always been there.
The midwife's expression turned grave. For the first time, that calm look born of years of experience gave way to genuine unease.
"This..." she said slowly. "This is no ordinary sign."
Everyone in the room turned to her.
The midwife raised her head, her eyes locking directly onto the woman's.
"According to ancient beliefs... seeing blood on the hands of a newborn baby..." She paused for a moment, as if weighing each word. "Indicates that in the future, he will shed much blood with his own hands."
The little girl's smile disappeared. The man's face tensed again. The servants began exchanging glances.
And the woman said nothing.
She slowly took the baby back. She settled Magnus in her arms once more. She took his small hand into her own palm; she wrapped those bloodied fingers without a moment's hesitation and wiped away the blood.
Then she raised her head.
"Is that so?" she said in a calm voice.
The midwife looked as though she wanted to say something, but the woman continued.
"So his fate may be written in blood..." Her eyes slowly softened as she turned to her son. "So perhaps one day... his hands will shake the very world."
Everyone in the room had frozen, waiting to hear what she would say next.
The woman pressed Magnus even more tightly to her chest.
"But none of that changes anything."
Her voice was clear now. Sharp.
"Whether he destroys worlds... Whether his hands are stained with blood..."
She bowed her head, her lips touching the baby's forehead.
"I will love him all the same..."
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[Host Identity Confirmed: Magnus Invictor Sellendor]
[Blood Affinity Detected…]
[Warlord Path Unlocked…]
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