Sitting by the window, the weight of these new clothes feels different—not just because of the fine fabric but because of the visual statement I am currently making to the world.
The golden color of my outfit is a clever, subtle play by my parents. To a casual observer, it looks like celebration and wealth. But to the political hawks downstairs, it's a trick. By wearing the color of the "fill" without actually filling a specific section of my pentacle, it means that House Hatar's "soul" is not for sale to anybody. I don't know if I am overthinking or underestimating the political situation.
The right side has our crest, which defines our history, and the left side, our colorless pentacle, shows our political stance. There is no need for us to display both, as our crest has a pentacle in it. This is only required according to the law if the pentacle is not present or displayed in the crest. My mother and father only have our crest. I looked at my two new rings, just like my parents', but small in size, as they were made for me. I always wanted these rings, as they intrigued me, but presently they feel very heavy to me.
The colorless pentacle clearly shows the influence of Dragons as well as Nagas. In the design, the circle represents dragons and 10 vertices of a pentagram, which can clearly be seen on close inspection of the ring representing the Nagas who created the Nag system.
It clearly shows the influence of the two species.
The past few days have been tough on me, both mentally and physically. In the presence of many people, I test my control over my body—the hardware of this world. As a witness to my own making, I become a scholar of my anatomy, which allows me to develop certain abilities that were impossible in my past world. The adult mind of mine is my greatest strength and weakness if someone finds out.
I can make out the carriage approaching our mansion from a distance a normal guard cannot, based on my experiments, though I cannot yet make out the fine details. I achieve this by consciously controlling the curvature of my eye's lens and the dilation of my pupils.
I can hear sounds and frequencies beyond the current normal range by concentrating on and partially controlling the tiny sensory hair cells in my cochlea, the blood supply, the thickness of my eardrum, and the ossicles of my middle ear. While many vibrations reach the ear, it is the brain that must interpret them. Making my brain work this hard is exhausting, but it has allowed me to overhear vital conversations between servants and guards, because of which I got to know about my family's history and basic ideas about our current situation.
My sense of smell is far stronger than that of most humans. If I remember a scent, I can use it to deduce where a person has been, what they have done, and whom they have encountered. Identifying specific interactions remains difficult, however. I clearly remember the scents of pastries, fruits, and the distinct sweat of a particular guard that I later detected on one of the maids. When I observed her, I found she also carried the heavy odor of sweat from hard labor. It takes time to distinguish a person's "true" scent, as there are hundreds of environmental smells that are difficult to separate. After all, I wasn't born a dog.
My sense of taste is also evolving; I am currently a "supertaster." Taste depends on a complex interplay of taste buds, nerves, and smell. I can clearly distinguish the basic tastes—sweet, salty, sour, bitter, and savory—as well as the more recently identified taste: fat (oleogustus). I hope to eventually experience pungency, numbness, starchiness, and astringency. Fortunately, this sense requires the least mental energy compared to the others.
Regarding touch, I try to perceive as much as possible, making sense of changes in air pressure, temperature, vibrations, and both fine and crude touch. So far, this has proven to be the most mentally taxing feat of all.
Mental exhaustion isn't the only challenge; after using these abilities, I suffer from sensory overload and cognitive burnout, requiring time to return my body to its normal state. Meditation is helping me recover from these depleted mental states.
Beyond meditation, I monitor myself for overload and attempt to identify my triggers. I am gradually increasing the duration and intensity of these exercises at a safe pace, ensuring I stay within my energy limits.
Another notable observation reflecting the extent of my bodily control is the quantity and quality of my waste. By faintly affecting my own peristalsis and enzymatic secretions, I can influence my digestion to break down complex beast proteins, vegetables, fats, and carbohydrates more effectively. I maximize nutrient absorption with an efficiency that is already visible in my growth. I try not to overexert this control, however, as one attempt led to diarrhea and another to severe constipation. I truly hated the taste of the medicine I had to take as a result.
All my other bodily functions—proprioception, kinesthesia, statesthesia, interoception, and exteroception—have already made great progress thanks to my training with my father.
Thus far, I have not reached a bottleneck. Although I feel the current "hardware" is insufficient for the "software," there is little I can do but wait, a hard lesson learned from past life. As the old proverb from my previous world says, "Slow and steady wins the race."
As the carriage finally pulls into the courtyard, I adjust my colorless pentacle and take a deep breath. My body is optimized; my senses are sharp. I look at the carriage—it has two separate compartments and is heavily guarded.
A messenger arrived just a few minutes ago from the group and passed a sealed envelope to the guard. The carriage bears an insignia showing a circle and a full-fledged tree with ten branches and roots brimming with life. I feel a slight wave of nervousness as his face comes to mind. He was one of the people I saw when I was born into this world, and I knew he would surely return. However, I am more interested in the second person who has come with him. The door to the room opens, but my gaze remains fixed on the carriage.
Mother enters the room with a look of worry on her face. She takes me in her arms and starts moving toward the front gate. Father is already there, an aura of authority exuding from his body, but I can see that he is also tense. This only increases my curiosity.
A figure steps out from one of the compartments. It is the "Old Man," Healer Kal, but he isn't alone. Beside him is a woman dressed in purple; she bears a triangle enclosed by a circle, but the circle is not continuous—it is made of ten distinct, equal-sized arcs. Healer Kal clears his throat, his eyes darting to my colorless pentacle. "Zeni, Sama... this is Lady Auri Cle. She is an adept in the training of the Goddess Ava, from the Celestica of the city."
"We met in Lance City; she wanted to meet one of the 'Iron Grunt's Witnesses' in person," Healer Kal explained, his voice straining under the tension. Beads of sweat broke on his forehead.
Lady Auri Cle stepped forward, the silk of her purple robes whispering against the stone of the courtyard. Every eye was on her, but her gaze was a physical weight, anchored solely on me. She did not offer a traditional greeting. Instead, she came to a halt exactly three paces from my mother, her posture as rigid and precise as the ten arcs on her crest. When she spoke, her voice wasn't the airy tone of a priestess; it was a clear, resonant frequency that seemed to vibrate in the fluid of my inner ear.
"That was the primary reason, until I learned about your son, Berserker Hunter—Sama Hatar," Lady Auri Cle said.
My father's mouth twitched slightly at the mention of the title. Mother's expression turned grave, while I maintained my best "baby face." Healer Kal looked puzzled for a split second before his expression became stoic, but I caught the slip.
"When Healer Kal mentioned to Sir Cane—who was traveling to check for mana aptitude—that he had missed the chance to observe a natural-born baby from a patient with mana-channel burns, I decided to come in his stead. You are a very cute little fella," Lady Auri added, her last line directed straight at me.
This information shifted the atmosphere instantly. Healer Kal looked stupefied; my father's rising anger was almost palpable, yet he maintained composure, and though I couldn't see my mother's face, I could feel her breathing quicken and heartbeat increase. Despite the pressure, I remained fixed on the lady in front of me, maintaining my poker-faced baby facade.
The tension in the courtyard was thick enough to choke on. My mind was running a rapid assessment: Lady Auri Cle wasn't just a guest.
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