As the name of the chapter subtly suggests, it has been three years.

  I am three years old now. Yeah! I just turned three today. Happy birthday to me, I guess.

  If you think the last three years of my life were filled with profound philosophical reflection, you’d be wrong. They were filled with breast milk, nap times, and the humiliation of learning to control a bladder that seemed to have a mind of its own. But, being the genius that I am (or was), I didn't waste my time just drooling. I tried to gather as much info as I could.

  And here you go with that.

  First off, this world is a world of magic. Really. I initially thought that goddess was joking—mostly because she herself was a joke—but it turns out she was telling the truth. This place runs on Magic and Cultivation.

  In other words, the people of this place study martial arts. Real martial arts? With magic? Basically, yes. Power here is measured by cultivation levels and techniques. The more powerful you are, the more valuable you are to your country. It’s a meritocracy of violence, which, honestly, fits my style perfectly.

  I got all this from books. And by luck—or perhaps divine laziness—the only language here was English. They call it "Xerian Lanctic," but let's call a spade a spade. It saved me the trouble of learning a new alphabet, thank god.

  However, acquiring this knowledge wasn't easy.

  Picture this: I’m fourteen months old. I’ve barely mastered the art of walking without looking like a drunk penguin. I sneak into the family library, dragging a book three times the size of my head off the bottom shelf. I’m engrossed in "The History of Qi," frowning deeply, trying to turn the heavy parchment page with my chubby, useless fingers.

  Suddenly, the door creaks open. It’s one of the maids, a young girl named Martha. She spots me.

  She gasps, dropping her feather duster. "Young Master Ragna? You... you are reading?"

  I froze. Shit. I’m supposed to be a dumb baby.

  I immediately shoved the book away, slammed my hands on the floor, and looked up at her with wide, vacant eyes. "Goo goo! Ga ga! Dada!"

  Martha blinked, her face pale. "But... I swear you were frowning at the text..."

  "Ppphhbbbbt," I blew a raspberry, drooling slightly for effect.

  She sighed, picking up the duster. "I must be working too hard. Babies can't read syntax."

  Close call.

  There were other incidents, too. Like the time I tried to practice a cultivation stance I saw in a diagram. I stood on one leg, channeling my inner grandmaster, closed my eyes, and—immediately face-planted into a vase of flowers. My mother found me crying, covered in potting soil and rose petals, and assumed I was trying to eat the dirt.

  Dignity is a luxury I cannot currently afford.

  Anyway, back to the lore. Here, every creature has a power source—a Qi Source, to be exact. These "Cores" come in different types and ranks. A person usually manifests their core at the age of six. You might get an inkling of what it is at age four, but it generally cannot help in using magic until you hit the big six.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  So, being the impatient overachiever I am, I tried to check my core early.

  You can check your core by entering your spiritual world—basically, deep meditation diving into your own consciousness. I sat on my bed, closed my eyes, and focused.

  What I saw was... insane.

  I didn't have a core. I had three spots empty. Just three gaping voids where a core should be.

  What the hell does that mean?

  Also, you apparently get a "familiar" according to your core. Since my core situation is currently "Error 404: Not Found," I have no idea what kind of beast I’m stuck with.

  So, that’s all I can tell you regarding the magic system for now. Now, about me.

  My name is Ragna Crimson of the Crimson family.

  (Yes, I know. It sounds like an edgy anime protagonist. I didn’t pick it, okay?)

  My family is a Noble family. My dad is the man responsible for the South Gate's security, protecting the realm from the monsters that come from the forest.

  Yes, monsters, and monsters too have these Qi cores, though in their case, they are called Monster Essence. Just like us, these beasts have levels. You can identify how screwed you are just by looking at the aura radiating off them.

  And here is a fun fact. No, scratch that. An amazing fact. My family? We aren’t just generic nobles. We are a Half-Demon family. The Crimsons are ranked among the top five half-demon lineages residing peacefully alongside humans.

  That makes me a half-demon, too. And trust me, even in this diaper-clad state, being a half-demon feels amazing. It feels strong. It feels like running a Ferrari engine in a go-kart.

  But let’s circle back to the most mind-blowing discovery I’ve made so far. Remember those three empty spots I saw in my spiritual world? The "Error 404" I mentioned?

  I was lying in my crib, staring at a mobile of spinning dragons, when the realization hit me like a brick to the face.

  Those aren't errors. They are slots.

  Empty spots mean vacancy. Vacancy means occupancy.

  "Holy shit," I whispered, my voice cracking into a squeak. "I can have three cores."

  My jaw literally dropped. Most people get one. One engine. One battery. I have the potential for three. I’m not just a Ferrari; I’m a goddamn space shuttle.

  But power requires fuel, and that brings me to the mechanics of this world. I’ve spent months decoding this from dusty books while pretending to look at the pictures, so listen closely. I’m going to dumb this down for you.

  Think of Qi like the mitochondria in a cell.

  (If you failed biology, that’s the powerhouse of the cell. You’re welcome.)

  Qi is the structure. It is the engine. It is the living machinery that keeps your spiritual body alive.

  Then you have Mana. Mana is like ATP. It is the raw energy—the fuel.

  Here is how the magic happens: Your Qi (the engine) burns Mana (the fuel) to create techniques and spells. Simple, right?

  Wrong.

  There is a catch. A deadly one. Using Mana is toxic if your Qi isn't strong enough to handle it. If you try to channel a nuclear reactor’s worth of Mana through a AA battery of a body, you don’t just get tired. You die. It acts like a poison, corroding you from the inside out.

  It’s a fair trade for phenomenal cosmic power, right?

  This is why Cultivating Qi is non-negotiable. You have to build up the engine. You have to strengthen the mitochondria. If the mitochondria die, the cell dies. If your Qi shatters, the organism—me—dies.

  But... if I can strengthen my Qi indefinitely? If I can keep the engine running perfectly forever?

  Does that mean I can become immortal?

  I don’t know yet. But if you want to find out, you better stay locked in with me. Oh, this looks like it’s going to be a hell of a journey...

  I felt a surge of pure, villainous delight bubbling up in my tiny chest. I threw my head back, imagining myself atop a throne of skulls.

  “Mwahahaha—ack! Gack! Hrk!”

  The evil laugh was cut short as I choked on my own saliva. My throat seized up, and I started coughing violently, flailing my limbs like a dying beetle.

  Suddenly, the nursery door slammed open.

  "Ragna! Oh my goodness!"

  It was my mother, the Lady of the House. She rushed over, scooping me up in a panic. I was red-faced, wheezing, and tears were streaming down my cheeks—not from sadness, but from the sheer indignity of almost dying by spit.

  "Oh, my poor baby!" she cooed, patting my back vigorously. "Were you crying? Did you have a bad dream?"

  I tried to push her away to regain my composure, to look like the half-demon warlord I was meant to be. instead, I let out a loud, wet burp right against her silk dress.

  "Oh!" She beamed, completely misinterpreting the situation. "He was just gassy! Who's a gassy little demon? You are! Yes, you are!"

  She tickled my stomach.

  I stared deadpan at the ceiling. I am going to rule the world, I told myself firmly. Just as soon as I stop burping.