The past Reivan of a few months ago wouldn't have appreciated just how interesting babies could be.

  A baby didn't even have to do anything amazing for him to watch them for hours. He wouldn't feel bored at all, even if they slept the whole time.

  Of course, this was only for his family's babies.

  "Oh, he moved! Arthur moved, Bubby! Lisa saw it because she was watching like a hook!"

  "He did, didn't he? Also, hooks don't have eyes. I think you meant hawk." Reivan excitedly nodded his head at his niece's words. He was not alone in Arthur-watching, since his eldest niece was there beside him.

  Actually, little Lisa had been joining him quite frequently this past week. What a promising young lady she was. Three years old, yet she was already clever enough to understand his son's boundless charm.

  Zouros was there too, coiled around the crib while invisible to everyone except him, but he didn’t need to mention that to anyone. His serpentine friend had taken one look at Arthur and instantly approved of his son. Reivan wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but it seemed to be a good thing, so he chose to just accept it for now.

  Anyway, Zouros had decided that Arthur had to be protected at all costs—which was something Reivan personally agreed with, so he felt at ease leaving his son alone when he needed to answer the call of nature.

  For now, Zouros was doing it in secret. Nobody would know until Reivan told them.

  ‘Except Arthur, I guess.’

  Against all odds, Arthur had somehow opened his eyes to reveal that they were of a deep royal blue color like all the other Aizenwalds.

  It was strange, because babies weren’t supposed to open their eyes this early in their infancy. Reivan wasn’t educated on the timeline, but babies definitely didn’t develop their eyes a week after popping out of their mother's womb. Who knows, maybe it was the trace amount of warbeast blood flowing in Arthur’s veins?

  Honestly, Reivan was pretty certain that it had something to do with Arthur’s possession of [Supreme Insight] too.

  Whatever the cause, Arthur was fully capable of sight in the first week of his birth. Crazy, but hey. He wasn’t going to complain. This also allayed his gnawing worry that his son would be born blind.

  In any case, because of [Supreme Insight], Arthur could see things normal people shouldn't be able to see too. Thankfully, he didn’t seem afraid, though he was a little too grabby. Zouros didn’t like its wings getting squeezed. And the boy’s thumbs had a tendency of shoving themselves into the snake’s eye sockets.

  Newborn infants would find it a bit hard to hurt a world-devouring serpent, even one on Zouros’ caliber, but it disturbed the serpent enough not to stay too close to Arthur when the baby was awake.

  All in all, Arthur’s first week outside of Helen's belly was progressing smoothly.

  "He's so cute, isn't he?" He gave his equally cute niece a pat on the head. “I can’t stop looking at him no matter how much time passes."

  "Uh-huh! Me too!" Lisanna Aizenwald bobbed her head repeatedly, poking young Arthur's cheek through the crib. "It was the same with Anna and Alvie too."

  "That's true," Reivan agreed easily. "I wasn't there for Alvie very much, though. But I'm sure he was adorable too."

  "But you were there for Lisa, right?"

  "Yes. I watched over you a lot whenever I was free."

  Lisa giggled happily, looking up at him with a beaming smile. "Was Lisa this cute too?"

  "Of course you were" Reivan grinned and picked her up from the ground, tickling her with kisses to the cheek, to which she laughed joyfully in response.

  The noise would have disturbed his son, but over the past few days, they discovered that Arthur actually liked the sound of laughter. It got him all excited, though the emotion was only shown by a flailing of arms because a days-old baby couldn't move around at all.

  Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Helen and Stella—who was holding a one-year-old boy with pure white hair and red eyes. There was also another little girl trailing behind them who looked very similar to Lisa, which only made sense because they were sisters.

  "I told you he'd be here," Stella snickered as she gestured at Reivan. Then her gaze fell on her oldest daughter. "And Lisanna, what did I tell you about spending too much time hanging around your cousin? You have lessons to attend!"

  Lisa pouted and buried her face in Reivan's chest. "But lessons are boring... Lisa wants to keep watching Arthur like a hook—I mean, like a hawk!"

  Reivan chuckled sheepishly. Education started early for those on the road to the crown. As the eldest child of the reigning king, Lisa was the most likely to inherit the throne if Roland ever abdicated.

  Though it could also go to Anna or Alvie, truth be told. If one examined the kingdom's history, the crown was sometimes passed down to a child other than the eldest. It was unorthodox and rarely happened though, since the first child was primarily the one who received the necessary education to be the next king. Besides, Aizenian rulers never failed to raise a decently capable successor, so the chances of the throne going to someone other than the first child were very low.

  As the the king's first child, the responsibility of studying to be the next ruler naturally fell on Lisa.

  Of course, even if it made sense, a child like Lisa would just see it as a pain in her tushy. Even Reivan didn't have lessons at three years old, so he pitied her. Then again, he had quickly proven that he was “smart” because he figured out how to read essentially on his own. That had gone a long way in his father’s relatively lenient hand, for Reivan sought out knowledge without being told to.

  “Lisa, those lessons make you smarter," he said, whispering in a futile attempt to keep it from being heard by the other half-ascendants in the room. "Didn’t you say you wanted to know a lot of things so you can answer all of Anna and Alvie's questions?”

  It was quiet, but she spoke even as her face remained smushed against his chest. "Lisa’s lessons are hard. Lisa doesn’t like them. And Lisa’s the only one who has to do them too…”

  Ah, and there it was. It seemed she was lonely, attending lessons without anyone to accompany her. With a smile, he rubbed her head and tried to comfort her. “Bubby had to attend lots of lessons too, y'know?”

  “Really?” Lisa unburied her face from his chest and stared at him with wonder. Her striking blue eyes were like priceless sapphires on her cherubic face.

  Her innocent adorableness made him feel guilty about being a tiny bit dishonest. He laughed awkwardly as he nodded. "When I was small, yes. I even tried to read books on my own. All the time."

  "Bubby already knew how to read when Bubby was as small as Lisa?"

  Reivan nodded, since this one wasn’t a lie at all. "Yes."

  "Wow! Bubby's really smart!"

  "Ahaha... Well, I’m not all that great…"

  'I'm sorry. It's actually because this is my second life. And I was lucky enough to be born in an English-speaking nation too.'

  Reivan put his niece down on the floor, but she promptly hid behind his legs, peering out to look at her mother anxiously.

  Stella merely sighed at the sight, Alvenos Aizenwald sleeping in her arms. "How's this? Lisa, if you finish your lessons without trouble, I'll take you flying again."

  Lisa's eyes widened. "Really...?"

  "Really." Stella nodded.

  "What about Anna? Can she go too?"

  All three adults' gazes fell on the other little girl, who visibly looked like she wanted to come along to the mentioned get-together, hugging a stuffed bear tightly to her chest in anticipation.

  Stella did not disappoint. With a smile, she agreed. "Yes. Anna doesn't have lessons yet, but she can come too."

  "...Then I'll go to lessons." Lisa walked out from behind Reivan and dejectedly trod toward her mother.

  Anna quietly walked forward and grabbed her older sister's hand, which seemed to cheer up the latter. Afterward, Stella and her children left to escort Lisa to whatever part of the palace she studied in.

  That left Reivan alone with his wife and child—if one ignored the maids quietly standing in the corner and pretending they weren't there.

  After the residual warmth from spectating a heart-warming scene, Helen turned to Reivan with blatant exasperation painted all over her face. “You spend too much time here, too. One can even say that you’re worse than Lisa.”

  Reivan averted his eyes from her judging gaze. “Can you blame me when my wife literally just gave birth to our son…?”

  “You’ve been away from Samsara for a week. Aren’t you scared that something’s happened by now?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re fine…”

  “How sure are you, pray tell?”

  “J-Jiji and Gwen are there, and they haven’t contacted me about anything yet. So they should be doing okay.”

  Helen scoffed. “And you’re just going to foist all the work on them when you weren’t doing much of it from the start? You’re a horrible boss.”

  Reivan’s shoulders slumped because he couldn’t disagree with that.

  Though he wasn’t exactly proud of it, he had been depending on their help for everything that didn’t involve military matters—which he was fairly decent at because he managed Aizen’s military for a short time before the infiltration of the Spirit Tower. There hadn’t been much work involved in that because knights were good at handling themselves, but experience was experience.

  Sure, he had the excuse that giving tasks to the people who could do them best was the most efficient way to solve a problem, but still.

  Perhaps realizing that she’d been a tad too harsh, Helen gently pinched his nose. “Don't take it too hard. I was just bantering.”

  Reivan tenderly pulled her hand away and kissed her palm. “Well, it’s true, so...”

  “You’re so sensitive these days,” she remarked with thinly veiled amusement before walking over to the crib and taking Arthur into her arms.

  Watching her walk over to an armchair with his precious son in tow, Reivan knew exactly what she was about to do. A gentle wave had all the maids filing out of the room in a mere few moments, and once the door closed behind them, Reivan cleared his throat.

  “May I also…?” he gestured at her.

  “No.” Helen frowned before exposing her left breast and gently guiding Arthur to it. “We agreed that once Arthur was born, you wouldn’t steal milk from him. Didn’t we?”

  Reivan sighed. “Yes, we did.”

  “I indulged you as much as I could before that because I knew you’d want to.”

  “Yes, you did. I remember. Thank you for that, by the way.”

  “You’re welco—” Helen barely stopped herself before amending her words. “No, you’re not welcome anymore, I suppose. I am glad it seemed to make you so happy, though.”

  With her firm refusal, Reivan could do nothing but sit down and observe the process.

  Arthur hadn’t needed food for the first week of his arrival into the world, according to the Saintess, but when food was presented before him, he still ate. That said, he didn’t cry out for food at any point in the day. The only time he did throw a tantrum was when his diaper—which, in this world, was basically a clean white cloth secured in the baby’s lower body like a modern diaper would, except it also had golden fasteners to hold it in place.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Thankfully, it didn’t happen much. The lack of a need to eat meant that Arthur also didn’t need to shit.

  Helen couldn’t resist feeding him anyway, when it struck her fancy. But from now on, she wouldn’t really have a choice. The Saintess’ blessing would end today or tomorrow, and Arthur was going to be a very normal baby—one that ate and shat in good order.

  Of course, Helen didn’t see any problems with that arrangement either. She had insisted on personally feeding Arthur throughout his infancy, completely refusing the aid of wet nurses. The most she would compromise on, apparently, was the emergency assistance of Mimi—who was also lactating because of young Sienna.

  It wasn’t a well-known fact, but warbeast women apparently kept on lactating for much longer than human women. A fact Reivan could confirm, when he really thought about it, because he’d fed on Vianna’s milk for quite a long time. That tiny little fact meant that Mimi would keep on lactating until Arthur could eat other food as well, even if she’d given birth months earlier than Helen.

  The two had talked about it among themselves so Reivan didn’t really have any right to butt into that. As for the refusal to hire a dedicated wet nurse, well, he would wait and see if Helen could handle it.

  If she couldn’t, then he would hire one whether she liked it or not.

  As for everything else regarding Arthur’s care, Helen didn’t mind accepting aid. Which meant bathing, dressing, and general babysitting would be left to others. She did not have any official duties, though, and didn’t plan to return to active duty any time soon. With all the free time on her hands, she was likely going to handle these anyway.

  ‘If I didn’t have the means to hire so many helpers, I wonder how hard I would have it, raising Arthur and all that.’

  Recalling what he’d watched on television and anime, parents usually complained about crying in the middle of the night, causing them to lose sleep. There were also instances of difficulties when their child got sick. And there was also the glaring problem of general exhaustion that taking care of a child for a long time induced in a normal person.

  Thankfully, Reivan and Helen wouldn’t have to worry about those problems.

  Both of them were half-ascendants, meaning no complications would arise just from missing a few days of sleep, much less a few hours. As for diseases, a quick visit to a chapel or church could have a priest of Sormon cure it in a jiffy, not to mention how Reivan could literally produce medicine with his spit. Exhaustion was also unlikely to overtake them, given how deep their vitality and vigor were.

  All in all, maybe it wouldn’t be all that hard to raise Arthur just by themselves.

  Still, a few helping hands waiting around never hurt anyone.

  While Reivan was mesmerized by the magnificent scene of a mother breastfeeding her child, Arthur seemed to have gotten his fill. As most babies did in such situations, he started getting sleepy, so Helen fixed her clothing before her perverted husband could do anything and then returned Arthur to the crib.

  “Van.”

  Reivan looked up to meet his wife’s gaze. “What is it?”

  “Stella told me to tell you that His Majesty wants you down in the Outlands by three in the afternoon. Something about a technological demonstration? Said that since you’re here, you may as well come and watch.”

  “Oh?” Reivan hummed to himself and dug through his mind, immediately finding a likely culprit. “I think I know what’s going to be demonstrated.”

  “Mhm.” Helen nodded with a triumphant grin. “I could have told you earlier, but you seemed… preoccupied. And I wanted to know how long you intended to watch.”

  That answer was evident. He had watched the whole thing from start to end.

  Embarrassment almost crept up his face as a crimson wave if he didn’t remember that this was his wife. Why should he feel shy about watching her breastfeed their precious boy? This was his privilege, he felt. Men of the past had fought for this right.

  “Oh, I’ll do more than just watch next time.” Reivan smirked evilly. Or about as nefariously as he could, at least. He then walked over to her and hugged her close. “Better watch out.”

  “How scary,” she said, even as she looked up at him and made sure he could see her roll her eyes. Her arrogance evaporated when he started trying to undress her though. “Hey. Arthur’s right there…”

  “What’s the harm? Let’s show him how we make his little sister.”

  “Van…”

  His fondling of her must have really hit the spot because her knees were buckling and her breathing was rough. Honestly, he’d slept with her more times than he cared to count, but he’d never gotten such a great response from just his hand’s work like this.

  It didn’t feel bad. Perhaps it even felt better than sex—okay, maybe that was too far. Yeah, there was no way simply using his hands would feel better.

  For all his bluster though, Reivan didn’t have it in him to bend her over in front of their newborn child. Especially when he’d already confirmed that said child could see. So just when he felt like she was going to climax, he stopped and said that he would go meet with his brother.

  Obviously, Helen wasn’t very happy about him leaving her hanging.

  But only time would tell if Reivan would get to enjoy a steamier night than usual later or have to sleep alone outside of his own bedroom.

  The Outlands was as unpleasant as ever and he could quite literally go on for hours about how it smelled like the worst thing he’d ever smelled—if the source of that smell showered in shit every morning, draped themselves with a shawl of maggot-ridden rotten rat corpses, and then sprinkled sludge over themselves just to add that extra flavor of nastiness.

  Basically, it smelled atrocious everywhere and his nose would cry if it had tear glands.

  When he came out of the portal, there were, surprisingly, quite a lot of people. His brother was easy to pick out, wearing a majestically white full-plate armor with stylish decorations of gold and blue here and there. Also, the man was surrounded by knights. Even above them, there were about a dozen Ascendants.

  ‘Wow, I’ve been spending so long in Samsara that Ascendants are amazing again…’

  Of course, they were always worthy of awe and respect as beings that could crush Reivan like an ant with barely any effort at all. But once upon a time, he’d seen them so often that the wonder of seeing one had faded at some point. The time he spent in Samsara was like a detoxification of such notions. And now he couldn’t help but gawk at the knights who stood in the air as if doing that was normal.

  To him, they were also his next step in the path to power.

  ‘Of course, that’s for after I have enough kids…’

  Truly, having Arthur made Reivan feel endless relief that he hadn’t ascended just yet. And so did Helen, who, according to her, could become an Ascendant whenever she wanted. He was glad that they both held off on it. Now he wouldn't even feel bad about staying mortal for a few more years.

  “Ah, it seems my brother has arrived, so we can proceed.” King Roland beckoned Reivan to stand by his side before nodding toward some scholarly-looking men with very sizable spatial storage artifacts behind them. They were nowhere near the size of the ones the Golden Gear used, but they were still as large as a toolshed.

  The scholarly men started bustling about as Reivan reached Roland’s side, and they both started talking in whispers.

  “Is this what I think it’ll be?” Reivan nudged his older brother’s elbow. “The golems made with artificing?”

  Roland nodded subtly. “Yes, but don’t call it that. Apparently, they want to distinguish it from the Arkhanian golems.”

  “What’ll these ones be called?”

  “Marionettes.”

  “How creative,” Reivan drawled. “At that point, I would prefer Puppets. Or Dolls. It’s fewer syllables.”

  Roland nodded. “All of them are out because they reveal too much of how they work. Dolls are definitely out because my children might ask for one if they find out about it.”

  ‘That… seems like a possibility, yeah.’

  “Good thinking,” Reivan commended with crossed arms. “This is why you’re the king.”

  “Of course.”

  “What did you have in mind, then?”

  Roland shrugged. “Pawns.”

  Roland’s brows rose as he thought about it.

  The name implied that the golems were expendable, but it also hid the nature of how they moved. Which made it a pretty good name, by his books.

  “Let me guess.” Reivan chuckled. “If they make ones the size of a War Golem, they’re named Rooks?”

  Roland smiled. “We’ll have all the pieces to play chess. A King, a Queen, Knights, Rooks, and Pawns. As for Bishops, the church has them, I guess.”

  “Oh, hey. You’re right. What about the mages though?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have an equivalent for them in my analogy. Same with warbeasts and the darkin.”

  Reivan hummed in agreement. “Shame. Hey, here's an idea. Maybe we should make a parody version of chess so we can expand the board and add more piece variations.”

  Both of them knew that they didn’t quite have the time to throw into that, but they were just making conversation.

  Humoring their whispered make-believe session, Roland suggested, “One piece that moves like a king. But it can capture pieces as long as it’s within the same row and it doesn’t move for that turn. That’ll be the mage.”

  “Then we can make a piece that moves like a bishop but can fly over their allied pieces like a knight can. That’ll be the darkin.”

  “That sounds unfair. I like it.”

  “And then a piece that moves like a rook. But the twist is that they can capture whatever melee piece tries to capture it, as long as they roll a dice and it lands on six. Then if they roll another six, they get to move again that turn.”

  Roland snorted. “You’re going to add dice to chess?”

  “Why not?” Reivan shrugged. “Actually, let’s give all pieces a chance to take out their attacker if they roll a five or a six. It doesn’t make sense that an attacking piece has a guaranteed kill as long as it’s the attacker. It’s not realistic.”

  “Chess isn’t supposed to be realistic… But that does sound like an interesting idea.”

  It took a while before the scholarly men finished setting up, but Reivan and Roland weren’t bored at all. They spent the time quietly talking about silly things that had nothing to do with the fate of nations and the innumerable people living in them.

  Somehow or another though, the chess parody they’d jokingly made was starting to become more and more solid. They even thought of introducing an event called Unleashed Outland, where if any player rolls a one in any situation, the game would end in a draw because the world would be flooded with nightmare spawns and there was no winning from that.

  Everybody just lost.

  That was why a player who doubted their luck could simply refuse to roll dice, even when prompted. This meant no counterstrikes and no warbeast second-strike.

  “I can have a few of the modified boards and pieces made and we can distribute them among friends and family for fun,” Roland said after all was said and done. “The darkin and warbeasts might appreciate it. Maybe it'll make them want to play games that require intellect instead of brawn.”

  Reivan couldn’t help but snicker. “I can’t believe our idle bull crap turned into an actual game.”

  “That’s what happens when you obtain authority, I suppose. Even passing words become law.”

  “True enough.”

  Finally, a thin and very unhealthy-looking middle-aged man walked up to them with dark circles around his eyes but a wide smile on his face. “I’m sorry for the delay, Your Majesty King Roland and Your Highness Prince Reivan.”

  “I hope the wait was worth it, Sir Haval.” Roland smiled kindly.

  “I’m sure it will, Your Majesty. I’m sure it will.”

  Haval, a retired knight turned scholar, answered excitedly before gesturing toward the distance, where a horde of nightmare spawns were kicking up black dust as they charged at Reivan and the others’ position.

  “To exhibit the Marionettes' capabilities, I have opted to grant them live opponents.”

  “Pawn.” Roland cut in.

  Sir Haval’s forehead creased in confusion. “I'm sorry? What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

  “The anti-personnel ones will be named Pawns. The giant ones will be named Rooks. We cannot use any names that reveal too much.”

  Sir Haval’s brows shot up for a moment before he realized that he’d been a bit too on-the-nose. “That does sound better, Your Majesty. Pawns and Rooks it is!"

  With that quick name change, Reivan was quickly presented with the aforementioned pawn.

  ‘This is a statue of a knight…’

  It was an incredibly made statue of a knight, he corrected in his mind. So very life-like, except for the fact that it was ten feet tall and proportionally thick. The clincher, however, was how it was still moving despite being made of what appeared to be marble.

  Statues were supposed to be solid stone carved into the shape, but this one was moving around as if it was made of soft stone or molten steel. Instinctively, however, he could tell just how hard that rock was despite its mobility. It was the type of instinct that told a child that running into a wall would hurt.

  Looking at the moving ten-foot statue, Reivan couldn't help but think it was an actual living creature that was simply covered in white powder. That would certainly explain how the joints moved so human-like, with none of the stiffness that golems usually had. If it was made of stone, then it was unnaturally malleable.

  “The nature of how Arkhanian golems are remotely puppeteered hasn’t changed,” Haval shook his head in regret. “Not for lack of trying on our part, but artificing simply cannot replicate what the responsible sorcery could do."

  Roland nodded with a restrained frown, clearly disappointed but not voicing it aloud. “Interesting. Continue.”

  “That also means that a sorcerer skilled enough to cast the spell is required when making Pawns or Rooks,” the artificer regretfully informed.

  “I will keep that in mind for the future.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Reivan cleared his throat, reminding the two that he was still there. “Your… creation no longer looks like a golem, with all its parts stuck together. Yours is like a statue, carved from one giant stone… With that in mind, its ability to move so smoothly is mind-boggling.”

  “I have an explanation for that!” Haval chuckled. “This is also a result of sorcery. Except it came from the salvaged research notes of a battlemage that some knight slew in the past. It’s called an Animation Spell.”

  “Forgive me if I’m misunderstanding…” Roland crossed his arms, an unsatisfied grimace on his face. “But I ordered you to make golem variants that use artificing instead of Arkhanian sorcery. While I understand that the puppetry function is unfortunately unavoidable, I did not sink so much money into this just so you could present something that still primarily uses sorcery to make.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Worry not, Your Majesty. The marble is enchanted with all sorts of durability augments that are required for the Animation Spell to be plausible.”

  Reivan almost wanted to laugh at the explanation. What his brother wanted was for Aizen to have their own variant of golem. One that didn't need the cooperation of Arkhanian Sorcerers to create. While that was no longer possible because the "puppetry spell" couldn't be imitated by artificing, it would have been the next best thing to simply minimize the involvement of sorcery afterward.

  This knight didn’t seem to quite understand what the king was frustrated about, however.