Void space

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Father led me into the field, the morning dew still clinging to the grass beneath our feet. He handed me a polished wooden stick, its surface smooth from years of training hands. "Swing straight," he instructed, demonstrating the basic movement.

I gripped the stick, its weight familiar despite my toddler's hands. The movement came naturally—a perfect swing, then another, and another. Muscle memory from my past life guided each motion with the precision that no child should possess. Father's reaction was priceless—his black eyebrows shot up, eyes widening until I could see white all around his blue irises, jaw-dropping in astonishment.

"How did you do that without any mistakes? You really are a genius, like your mother says." His voice held equal parts pride and confusion.

'If only you knew,' I thought. 'This was basic training in my previous life. I spent years perfecting these movements before moving on to real weapons.'

While my mind remembered every technique and movement from my past—every sword strike, every killing blow—this infant body couldn't handle most of them yet. The disconnect was frustrating. So much to try in this new world, especially with mana and aura. Aura seemed similar enough to ki that I could adapt, but mana was entirely new territory. Having to wait until age seven to access it felt like an eternity.

"Papa, can you show me aura? Please?" I asked, adding a childish giggle to mask my genuine interest.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know about aura?"

"From the books in the storage room," I replied with practiced innocence. It wasn't entirely a lie—I had read about it there, even if my real knowledge came from another life entirely.

He hesitated, glancing toward the house where Mother worked in the kitchen. "Just once," he finally said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Father took his stance, feet shoulder-width apart, and I felt it—the familiar energy gathering around him, just like ki but with its own unique signature. He swung his sword in a precise cross pattern, left then right, the blade trailing blue energy through the air.

THUD

The tree before us—a massive oak marked for winter cutting—fell as if its trunk were made of butter. The cut was so clean it gleamed in the morning light.

'So it's just a different name for the same power,' I thought, excitement building. 'Perfect. I can adapt my ki techniques once this body is ready.'

Mother's footsteps pounded across the yard as she ran toward us, her face a mixture of worry and anger. "What happened?" Her eyes took in the fallen tree, the sword in Father's hand, and my presence at the scene.

Father froze, and I finally understood why he'd said "just once." When Mother dragged him inside by his ear, I followed at a safe distance, thoroughly enjoying their heated argument about exposing me to combat training at such a young age.

"He's barely two!" Mother's voice carried through the house. "What were you thinking, showing him combat techniques?"

"But you should have seen him, dear! His form was perfect, like he'd been training for years!"

Eventually, Father admitted his mistake, and by dinner, they acted as if nothing had happened. Their ability to move past conflict amazed me—in my previous life, such disputes often ended in blood and death. This simple domestic harmony felt alien but wonderful.

The next morning fell into our usual routine—Mother preparing breakfast, the smell of fresh bread filling the house, Father doing his workout in the yard, and me sneaking to the storage room with another book. This one detailed aura theory, and I settled into my favorite corner to study.

As I'd suspected, the principles matched ki exactly, just with different terminology. The ranking system fascinated me: low-rank users could barely enhance their weapons, mid-rank users could maintain constant aura flow, high-rank users could project aura short distances. Above them stood the swordmasters, who could shape aura into complex forms, and the grandmasters, who could maintain multiple aura constructs simultaneously. At the peak were the Transcendents—warriors so powerful they could alter the very nature of aura itself.

But magic—that's what truly excited me. Something completely new, a power I'd never wielded before. I skipped ahead to the fundamentals section, drinking in every word about mana and mana cores like a man dying of thirst.

'Mana is the fuel for magic,' the text explained, 'stored in a core that forms below the heart. All races—humans, elves, dwarves, and beastmen—can become mages with proper training. The mana rehabilitation method allows faster core recovery, crucial during extended combat.'

The book detailed the process with scientific precision: feeling the ambient mana like air, drawing it through the skin's pores, and guiding it through body channels similar to blood vessels. With practice, the process would become automatic, allowing mages to recover even in the heat of battle.

Two distinct types of mages existed: Conjurers, who projected mana outward to manipulate their surroundings and cast spells, and Augmentors, who enhanced their physical abilities with internal mana flow. Advanced Augmentors could eventually weaponize elemental shields and project concentrated mana bursts.

The mana core stages formed a clear progression: dark red marked beginners, light red showed growing power, dark orange indicated intermediate skill, light orange meant advanced control. Solid yellow cores belonged to expert mages, light yellow to masters. Silver cores were rare, white cores rarer still, and translucent cores were the stuff of legends—each level increasing both power capacity and fine control.

"Come eat your lunch!" Mother's voice interrupted my studies just as I was getting to the most interesting part.

After wolfing down the meal, I returned to practice what I'd learned. Cross-legged on the floor, hands on knees, I focused on the spot below my heart as instructed. The book had warned that most couldn't sense their core until age seven, but I had to try. As I concentrated, something unexpected happened—a familiar voice echoed in my mind, the same voice that had granted me this second life:

"Now you'll learn the mana breathing technique—a method unknown to humans, used only by supreme creatures like dragons. This is part of my gift to you, young one."

My heart raced with anticipation. Finally, something beyond even my previous life's knowledge was about to be revealed. Perhaps this was why I'd been given this second chance—to master powers beyond mortal understanding.

The voice began its instruction, and I listened with every fiber of my being, determined not to waste this opportunity. This time, I would become more than just the Death Reaper—I would transcend the very limits of human potential.