Brotherly Love (1)
Bit by bit, I pieced together information about my brothers from the maids' chatter. I couldn't understand everything they said, but reading between the lines, the picture went something like this.
To begin with, I had two older brothers.
My eldest was named Mavel Esterzy.
The maids' assessment of Mavel ran along the lines of: handsome, high-bridged nose, gorgeous voice, and "that short-cropped orange hair is just sexy."
The reason their "character evaluation" dwelt entirely on his looks was that my source of intelligence was, frankly, compromised.
Mavel was seven years my senior and, by all accounts, currently undergoing the training required to become a knight.
My second brother was named Chris Esterzy.
When the talk turned to Chris, the maids' voices climbed a full octave higher. According to their rapt testimonies, he was quite literally not of this world.
"His Awoken Ability is named Veritas — isn't that just the coolest?"
"They say he's the greatest genius in the whole history of House Esterzy."
"And his personality! You wouldn't believe how sweet he is. Gentle, kind, and that soft voice of his..."
"He's breathtakingly handsome, too. The first time our eyes met, I swear I nearly stopped breathing."
Looks, talent, personality. A walking holy trinity of a young man — and this paragon was, at present, the frontrunner to inherit the dukedom. Despite being only the second-born, mind you.
I had no particular appetite for the dukedom myself. So if my second brother was truly as remarkable as all that, I was more than happy to cheer him on.
My goal, after all, was simply to survive past the age of twenty — not to seize power. Power was the sort of luxury reserved for people who hadn't been born with severed meridians.
That said, I wouldn't mind enjoying the benefits of a family this time around. Roaming the world with the old man had been fun, but even back then I'd privately thought it absurd — tramping across half of creation on the off chance of digging up a spirit creature buried somewhere in this vast land.
"And what about the third young master?"
The discourse on the young masters flowed naturally into talk of me.
"He's adorable, isn't he?"
"Absolutely adorable."
"He's so pale he looks like a little puff of fur."
Right. What serious evaluation could a baby possibly deserve?
I withdrew the Earth-Listening Technique I had spread out to eavesdrop on their conversation. There was no need to think about anything else for now. I was nothing but a wriggling grub swaddled in blankets. No one expected anything great of me, so all I had to do was diligently pile up Daoist cultivation.
Eat, sleep, poop, cultivate.
Those days repeated themselves for about two months. Then one day, a small boy barged into my room without so much as a knock. He was as darling as a fairy — a child whose beauty would turn heads anywhere.
As it happened, the maids had stepped out. The boy walked up to the cradle where I lay, planted himself at my head, and asked, his eyes shining:
"So you're Iden?"
……
I didn't answer. I had long since resolved that keeping my mouth shut beat fumbling through a half-baked baby act.
"I'm Chris Esterzy. Your second brother."
Ah, so this was the one — the greatest genius in Esterzy family history.
Seen up close, he was undeniably something special. His looks went without saying, and the aura he radiated was impeccably clear and bright.
Was this what my master had called an immortal talent?
"Mother was against my coming to see you, but I simply couldn't help myself. I wanted to meet my little brother so badly that I snuck out of the castle like this."
He went on with an innocent smile. Each time he smiled, his orange hair swayed prettily.
"You can't talk yet, can you? Right?"
……
"Oh, right — I brought you a present."
He slipped a hand into his pocket, fished something out, and shyly held it forward. Resting on that adorable little palm was a small, round cookie.
"Here, try it, Iden."
You want me to eat this?
"Go on."
For a moment I couldn't decide how to react. If it had been anything else I'd have simply accepted it, but of all things, the gift had to be food. I hadn't even been weaned off baby food yet.
"Go on, Iden."
He urged me on.
"I said eat it, damn it!"
He seized my jaw and tried to force the cookie into my mouth. And through it all, he never lost his smile. It was around this point that I realized this was not a normal situation.
"Ow!"
I twisted his finger — hard, but stopping just short of breaking it. Clutching the finger, he stumbled backward and fixed me with a glare of pure, murderous venom.
"You dare lay a hand on me, you worthless little vermin!"
It was as if a different person had appeared. No — as if a demon had possessed him.
"You'll regret this, Iden. You'll come to think that dying from the poison would have been a mercy. Got it? Everything that happens from now on is your own doing!"
His eyes glittering, he rattled off threat after threat.
Just then, the maids' voices came chattering from beyond the door. As if he had planned it all along, the boy slipped swiftly out of the room through the balcony.
I stared blankly after that orange-tinted back of his head.
I'd assumed I had somehow managed to avoid tumbling down into the beast realm. But perhaps I hadn't escaped anything — perhaps I had simply been born a beast that happened to look exactly like a human.
How else could it be? There was no way such a wretched animal could be my brother.
Then again — "everything that happens is your own doing"? If anything, that's my line.
I would never again doubt that Chris was a genius. Putting an actual plan to assassinate his own baby brother into motion at the tender age of five — talent like that doesn't grow on trees.
But when it came to genius, I was no pushover either. I had reached the Incarnation Realm in a mere ten years, and I'd even beaten that self-proclaimed Best Under Heaven, the Flower Thief.
The real question was whether that man had truly been the best under heaven, or just a big mouth.
With so little experience of trading blows with other people, I had no idea exactly where I stood.
"Oh dear!"
Lily cried out as she peeked into my diaper.
"Aigoo, look at our little master! Looks like another diaper change. It's all right, these things happen. It's a perfectly natural part of growing up, you know. There now, let's hold still, shall we?"
...My spirit snaps.
Lying there producing soiled diapers, I caught myself thinking I'd honestly rather fight the Flower Thief again.
Oh well. Nothing for it but to set my human dignity aside for the moment and focus on what I could actually do.
The most pressing matter was devising a countermeasure against Chris.
As things stood, I was at a disadvantage. True, I had the knowledge of my past life, but knowledge meant nothing in a body too immature to control its own bladder.
My tongue was too short for proper conversation, I had to eat whatever I was given, and my range of activity was confined to one narrow room...
He, meanwhile, was the family's cherished prodigy — and having been burned once, he would likely be far more careful the next time.
Still, I wasn't without options.
"Lily."
She was too absorbed in dealing with the diaper to hear me.
"Lily!"
"Oh my goodness! You already know my name! What a clever little one you are."
"Lily, that—!"
"Yes? 'That' what?"
She looked in the direction I was pointing. There hung a portrait of my father, Drek Esterzy.
"Do you want to see His Grace the Duke?"
"No, that! That!"
I flailed my arms with all my might and threw a fit.
"Hm? You want to look at the picture up close?"
"No!"
"Master, are you all right? Your cheeks are awfully red right now."
What I wanted was paper to draw on and writing implements. But damn it all, I hadn't learned those words yet. Paper and writing implements!!
And so I had to express "I want to draw" by stringing together the twenty-odd words I'd picked up so far. Why, oh why, had I chosen to inflict this torture on myself by being reborn?
After roughly two hours of tantrums — of lying on the floor thrashing all four limbs, of stooping to every indignity imaginable — I finally succeeded in securing paper and drawing tools.
I took no joy in it. I had gotten what I wanted, yet it felt as though I'd lost something far more important.
"How strange. He was never like this before..."
"Could something he ate have disagreed with him? He seems much fussier than usual today."
Amid the maids' murmuring, I took up the pen. This writing implement, the first I had ever held, was far smaller and more delicate than a brush.
Consequently, mishaps came thick and fast — overflowing ink, crushing pressure. My first attempt was a complete ruin, but Lily, quick on the uptake, brought me a fresh sheet of paper, sparing me the need for another tantrum.
This time I worked with greater care, tracing out the shape I wanted with reasonable precision.
"What on earth is that supposed to be?"
"Did someone show him a picture book with drawings like that?"
"No, never."
With concentration unbefitting an infant, I spent a solid hour bringing a single sheet to completion. The finished drawing was a diagram packed with pictographic script, dense with layered symbolism.
In the language of that other world, it was called a talisman. I had no idea what it would be called here.
This particular talisman was a Protective Talisman — ordinarily used to ward off misfortune, but crafted by a Daoist of deep cultivation, it became the medium for an art that repels intruders.
"This... over there."
"Yes?"
"Over there!"
"You want me to put the drawing up on the wall there?"
"Yeah!"
Lily was quick on the uptake this time as well. She took my talisman and carefully pasted it beside my father's portrait.
Since I had not yet fully recovered the power of my past life, a single Protective Talisman wouldn't accomplish much. If I wanted to show that insolent little brat what true hell looked like, I needed as many talismans as I could manage.
Shifting my position, I set about churning out talismans one after another. The maids tried everything — toys, feeding bottles, what have you — to divert my attention, but I didn't spare them so much as a glance.
You have no idea how vicious that "sweet, kind-hearted young master" of yours really is. If I end up dead, the blame will land squarely on your heads — and I doubt that's what any of you want.
An infant's arms have no muscle to speak of, but supplemented with Daoist cultivation, they held up fine through hours of work. And with each talisman, my technique sharpened and my speed grew.
"All done!"
In the end, my room wasn't enough — I papered the corridor with talismans as well.
"Master, how on earth do you draw so beautifully? At this rate you really might become a painter. If you're all finished now, we'll clean it all up nicely for you — all right?"
"Nuh-uh!"
I declared it with the utmost firmness my short tongue could muster.
"I said nuh-uh!"
"We'll let you draw more tomorrow, okay?"
"Nuh-uh! Nuh-uh!"
I abandoned my dignity as a Daoist and flopped down flat.
They had not been slapped up at random. I had placed each one with the precision of a blade, direction by calculated direction. Each Protective Talisman guided the flow of qi from its own bearing, and those channeled currents, converging, wove themselves into a single formation that embraced the entire building.
The Gate of Life — the sole exit — and the Gate of Death, which led only to a dead end, were set at the two far ends of the corridor.
Which meant, in plain terms, that anyone who came and went through this building without my permission would wander its halls until the day they died.