Time passed, and the hour grew late.
I didn’t know the exact time, but judging by the heavy silence, it must have been around the dead of night. Maybe even later.
Lying in the crib, I glanced around cautiously. Fortunately, both my mother and father were deeply asleep.
I could have been a little bolder if I’d had my own room, but for now, I had to settle for less. Lying on my back, I stretched a hand toward the ceiling and focused on my objective…
It worked.
Right now, I was using magic.
This particular form of magic was universally known as Life Magic. As long as you understood the basic concept and got the knack of it, even a baby could use it with ease.
Of course, for a normal infant, grasping the concept itself would be impossible. Only a prodigy born with an inherent, high-level proficiency in magical control could conceivably accomplish such a feat. One had to be the kind of genius who could do everything by pure instinct.
In my particular circumstance, however, my consciousness was that of an adult confined within an infant’s form, not unlike some pint-sized detective. So, I cleared that hurdle without trouble.
As a result of my magic, a faint breeze stirred through the room. It was so imperceptible, it lacked even the force of a draft from an open window. A baby’s magical capacity was inherently limited. At this level, there was no risk of waking my parents or attracting any unwanted attention.
Still, staying awake at such a late hour and invoking Life Magic merely to generate a minuscule breeze—what precisely is the objective?
The answer was simple: the breeze itself meant nothing.
I had chosen wind magic because it was the least noticeable. I could have just as easily created a spark no bigger than a match flame or conjured a spoonful of water. It didn’t matter what the effect was.
My real objective was something else entirely; using magic would consume my magic power—my MP.
Once again, I stretched my palm toward the ceiling. Another faint breeze whispered through the room.
One cast. Two casts. Three. Four… With the final attempt, nothing happened.
It seemed my MP reserves had at last run dry.
Why had I gone out of my way to deplete my MP like this?
The answer was obvious: to get stronger.
Now, it was time to address the core issue. How could an individual of my Villager class attain greater power? This was only the first step.
Before that, there was something I had to explain—a skill known as Sage’s Wisdom on my status window.
Skill
【Sage’s Wisdom】
In this world, all written works were assigned a rank from S to E.
The skill Sage’s Wisdom allowed me to search and read any book ranked B or below, entirely within my mind. It had been one of my cheat skills during my second life, though I didn’t possess it in this one—until now.
The ranking system operated on two main criteria. One was the secrecy of the information itself—how deeply it was hidden or protected. The other was the danger inherent in the knowledge.
The part about secrecy was probably self-explanatory. But when it came to “danger,” that was a bit more complicated. It wasn’t like in a spy movie, where illicit knowledge made you the target of an assassin. With this skill, the act of knowing was itself physically hazardous.
For example, certain grimoires were imbued with spells that could mentally corrupt the reader. That was the kind of risk we were talking about.
The skill Sage’s Wisdom allowed me to browse B-rank books safely, bypassing any such hazards entirely.
During the “tutorial” phase of my previous life, I had spent my early childhood years doing little else but reading, assimilating countless volumes, and meticulously absorbing every scrap of knowledge I could.
This time, the reference text I intended to use was classified as a banned book, forbidden on moral grounds, and ranked B.
Its contents were highly controversial, and its origins even more so. One wouldn’t find it on the shelves of an ordinary magical academy’s library—not without special authorization and access to the most heavily restricted sections.
Before diving into the content itself, it was important to understand the background. To put it bluntly, the book was a detailed record of human experimentation conducted by a certain organization of mages. This group, from what little was known, had strong ties to a cult and seemed to have been made up of some truly “lovely” individuals.
As for the contents… Well, even the most polished and dignified PTA president would likely grimace and toss it aside after a few lines.
It chronicled, without restraint, the experiments carried out by deranged mages who operated devoid of any ethical constraints. Setting aside its obvious moral depravity, the sheer academic value of the information contained within was undeniable.
The reason that the organization had conducted human experimentation in the first place was, apparently, their earnest pursuit of world domination.
World domination. It was almost laughable.
To create the ultimate soldiers for their cause, they experimented relentlessly with diverse methods of human modification. And the book I was consulting represented the culmination of their efforts.
That said, the methodologies documented inside were almost entirely disheartening: human-monster fusions, doping that came with crippling side effects, and other grotesque procedures. While one might indeed attain greater power using those methods, the inherent cost would scarcely justify the gain.
Temporary enhancements resulting in shredded organs? No thanks. I had other, far more effective and sustainable plans for boosting my strength later on, so there was no need to resort to the reckless methods described in that book.
Most of it was the kind of material you could skip without missing much… but one particular entry caught my eye.
Magic Power Growth in Early Childhood.
Explaining this topic properly would require diving into the intricate concepts of the soul, the cosmic will, and primordial life energy… In essence, a substantial amount of material would need to be covered.
Giving a full, detailed explanation would take forever, so to put it as briefly as possible: babies had incredible potential.
Truly phenomenal potential.
That was the gist of it.
Of course, if I were to conclude my explanation there, it would probably spark a riot, so let me dig a little deeper.
Even back on modern Earth, people often said that children had strong spiritual sensitivity, or an innate capacity to perceive phenomena imperceptible to adults. That provides a good image to work with.
Children also absorb information at an astonishing rate when you teach them something new.
In this world, where magic constitutes a genuine, tangible force, these very characteristics were amplified to an even greater degree.
Now, what happened when a baby used up all their magic power until they were completely drained?
Let me put it in simple, native-sounding words:
Baby… Magic Power… Growth Rate… Crazy Awesome.
That was the fundamental summation of the matter.
In that regard, I had one overwhelming advantage. After all, ordinary babies didn’t even know how to use magic in the first place.
Sure, there were cases where a baby might be born with a genius-tier aptitude, enabling instinctive magic manipulation. Yet, even in such cases, no infant would ever intentionally cast spells until their MP was completely drained.
Forcing one’s MP to absolute zero was, frankly, extremely dangerous.
On Earth, should one put their body through extreme exercise without proper nutrition, they might experience a phenomenon called “hitting the wall,” where their body ceases to function due to lack of energy. MP depletion was a similarly dangerous critical condition.
The human body was remarkably well-designed. Even adults who rarely used certain muscles would experience soreness after exertion. But the repercussions of complete mana depletion transcended mere muscular discomfort; it caused a brutal headache of unimaginable intensity.
At this very moment, I was enduring that agony firsthand.
Imagine receiving a full-force blow across the skull with a metal bat every few seconds. That might offer a faint approximation of my suffering.
The only reason I could even bear it was because the skill Indomitable Will had automatically activated. Without its intervention, this agony would have been completely unbearable.
That’s why, during my “tutorial” life, even though I had known about this method, I hadn’t been able to use it. Well, technically, I had tried it on a few occasions, but without the protection of a skill, it was simply impossible to endure.
No matter how much it promised future strength, what kind of masochist would voluntarily submit to what amounted to a daily ritual of self-annihilation?
In short, this training method was absolute madness.
But… I chuckled to myself. That’s exactly why only I could use it.
Not a single soul across this wide world would prove capable of enduring this.
An infant, regardless of its innate talent, would find itself utterly incapable of gritting its teeth through such searing, corporeal agony and silently persisting in its regimen. It simply wasn’t possible.
Even as my vision blurred, overwhelmed by the ceaseless, throbbing headache, my smile remained. The agony pervading my cranium served as undeniable evidence of my limitless magical growth.
Sure, I might have been born a mere Villager. But that didn’t mean I’d stay one.
When it came to the growth rate of MP during early childhood, I had already reached a realm hundreds of times beyond that of an ordinary person. Heroes, Sages, Saints, Demon Lords—none of them could match the growth rate of my MP right now. I was, unequivocally, in a league of my own.
Beyond a doubt, I was on the cusp of becoming a two-year-old possessing the most formidable magical capacity in the world.
Still… Against a whole bunch of classes like Heroes, Sages, Sword Saints, Master Thieves, and Holy Knights… As decreed by the laws of this world, those blessed with innate genius will soon catch up.
No matter how much effort I poured in, there was still that despairing, insurmountable gap granted by birth. No amount of hard work could change that reality. It was often dismissed with phrases like “limits of talent” or simply called what it was: unfair.
No matter how much blood, sweat, and tears I shed, certain pinnacles remained eternally beyond the grasp of a mere mortal. I understood that all too well.
Even so, I’ll just have to widen the gap before they can catch up. If a Villager like me can’t reach those peaks through conventional means… then I’ll climb them by extraordinary ones. I will reach them—no matter what.