Reborn with a Sword in My Heart
'What... is this?'
The last thing he remembered gripping was the hilt of his beloved sword, clutched for so long. But the sensation now wrapping around his palm felt utterly bizarre.
Soft. Squishy.
Yes, soft and squishy. How long had it been since he'd felt something like this in his hand?
"Lady Arian, is it true?!"
He tried to survey his surroundings to figure out what the hell was going on, but his vision was blurry. Not the total blackout of near-death, but something hazy with faint light flickering—nothing clear.
"Ahh..."
He opened his mouth to speak, but even that wouldn't obey. The most alien helplessness he'd ever felt in his life.
I'm not dead.
Amid the helplessness, that much he could sense.
Whatever had happened, he hadn't died. Why? The reason didn't matter. He'd been certain death had claimed him, yet here he was alive—shouldn't he let out a triumphant roar of joy?
"Wahhh! Wahhh!"
He'd meant to laugh loudly, but what burst from his wide-open mouth was no laugh—it was a cry. Wait, why? Confused, he tried to stop, but once it started, the wailing wouldn't obey him at all.
"Wahhh! Wahhh! Wahhh!"
Was he the sort of person who could wail like this? The hot tears he'd shed decades ago at his father's death were supposed to be the last of his life.
No, I came back from the brink, so maybe I'm crying from joy...
But he didn't want to bawl like a baby. That was his thought, yet his body still wouldn't listen.
"Oh my, listen to that cry...!"
His ears rang from his own uncontrollable sobbing. Then, another voice drifted close.
Weary yet gentle and warm. For reasons he couldn't pinpoint, just hearing it soothed his heart.
The endless wails that wouldn't stop no matter how desperately he willed them to ceased at that voice, fading softly.
Who the hell is that?
A voice that could shake his emotions like this? He strained to see her face, but even that failed. Tears poured from his unfocused eyes, blurring everything into a watery haze.
"Ahaha."
The pleasant voice laughed. Warmth enveloped his body. In that instant, the crying that had teetered on stopping—defying his every effort—halted completely.
"I'm your mommy."
The soft voice tickled his ear. Careful hands stroked him like fragile glass. Touch, voice—everything rattled his mind.
Mom...my?
A dream? A final life-flashing-before-his-eyes vision? He couldn't tell. Vision blurry, the voice too soft. His mind grew hazy, like drifting off to sleep.
Mommy?
Had that word ever sounded so warm?
Something lightly brushed his nose amid the confusion. He moved his unresponsive hand and grasped it.
"Whoa!"
A delighted gasp mixed with laughter.
"Seril, look at this! He grabbed my finger again!"
In the pure joy of her laugh, he worked the finger furiously. By feel alone, he wanted to confirm this was no dream or hallucination.
"Kyle."
As he fiddled with the finger, a voice brimming with love whispered in his ear.
"That's your name. Kyle Alastor."
What?
What did she just say?
"Wah..."
My name is what?
*
He was pretty sure he'd reincarnated.
The Sword Ghost Raikal.
No—Kyle Alastor didn't fully accept it until a few days after birth.
And even then, he pondered it long and hard.
How could this happen?
He'd never seriously considered what happened after death. But he knew enough: being reborn as someone entirely different, memories intact from a past life, wasn't exactly ordinary.
Good is good, right?
No point overthinking when no clear answer emerged. Kyle decided to roll with it, more or less.
Truth be told, a newborn's body was too damn inconvenient for deep reflection.
Vision blurry. Mouth opened wide, but no proper words came out. Limbs barely responsive.
Ponder too long, and drowsiness hit, eyes closing on their own. Hunger struck at random, opening his mouth to wail "feed me" instinctively.
The most humiliating part...
"..."
Water under the bridge. Why dwell on life's shames? Kyle twisted in his cradle.
Thoughts aplenty. Reality accepted. Sleep, eat, shit—time passed. Before long, Kyle turned one year old.
"How can you be this cute?"
Arian, leaning over the cradle, giggled as she poked his chubby cheek with her finger.
Arian Alastor.
Kyle's mother.
The existence hardest for the fully memory-endowed Kyle to accept. Vision had been poor at birth, but soon he saw her clearly.
Arian was a stunning woman. Lustrous red hair, jewel-like golden eyes sparkling. Porcelain skin, and every other descriptor of beauty fit her perfectly.
Kyle had no memory of his mother from his life as Sword Ghost Raikal. A camp follower prostitute. Thus, the mercenary corps had his "siblings" aplenty, and somewhere in the world, more half-brothers lurked.
No sense of brotherhood, though.
Father hadn't loved mother. Mother hadn't loved father or Raikal. In that sense, she was a professional.
Barely remember her anyway.
She'd died when he was three? Too young for clear memories. Father hadn't cried. Neither had Raikal.
Recalling that past made accepting Arian as "mother" all the harder for Raikal—Kyle.
"Peekaboo!"
But baby Kyle's reluctance mattered not to Arian. She was a doting mother, ever by his side, talking, playing with toys.
Even now. He laughed at her endless peekaboos. Body a baby's, but he wanted to meet her efforts.
He had to.
Just give up.
Recalling the thought he had every such time, Kyle let his mind drift.
A defense mechanism to preserve dignity.
"Ah-boo-boo!"
Sword Ghost ego sidelined, acting on a one-year-old's impulses.
*
First birth, first time raising a child, yet Arian had thought it early on.
My son is definitely a genius.
A thought every new mother had, but Arian harbored no doubts.
"Young Master Kyle is undoubtedly a genius."
Not just because the mansion's servants all said so.
From birth, his cute grip on her finger. Staring intently at mommy's face amid the wails. Kyle had never been ordinary.
"I... see... yooou."
His first "words" came at 100 days old. Servants with child-rearing experience insisted babies that age couldn't speak. Yet Kyle did.
Not the usual "mama." His voice tiny and slurred, but it was actual speech, not babble.
"Wh...o... are... yooou?"
When Kyle first spoke, Arian nearly fainted from shock. Several nursemaids actually did. His words were that stunning.
"Wh-who? Me? I'm...! Your, your mommy, Kyle!"
"Mom... my...?"
"Yes, mommy! Name's Arian Alastor, and... uh... I'm twenty-four. And..."
"Lady Arian, calm down!"
"Young Master Kyle! Mommy, mommy!"
The nursemaids shook rattles, covering for Arian's flustered rambling.
"Mom... my... mommy...?"
Could a 100-day-old infant speak like that, with such depth in his eyes?
"Bwa... foo... food... food..."
From that day, Kyle uttered various words.
No "mama" like ordinary babies, even when fed with that prompt. Straight-up "food."
"Bath... room... please..."
No grunts or whines. When needing the toilet, he said "bathroom" clearly.
"..."
Before turning one, he'd often grunt first, but then wear a heartbreaking expression no baby should muster, lips pressed tight.
"If that's not genius, what is?"
Arian giggled, stroking his cheek. In the cradle, Kyle didn't resist her loving touch. Eyes held resignation, but love-blinded Arian missed the emptiness.
"Kyle, you're my treasure. Heaven's gift."
Whispering words she'd said many times, she offered her finger to his tiny hand. Pacifier in mouth, Kyle gripped as expected.
"Ooboo..."
"Ahahaha. How can you be so strong?"
Arian beamed at his chubby fingers kneading hers.
"Kyle, you grabbed my finger at birth too. Remember?"
"Ooboo..."
Kyle suckled his pacifier and nodded.
"Whoa, did you just answer?"
Arian grinned, gently taking his hand. Naturally, she didn't think he actually remembered birth.
"From birth, maybe you were born to grip something."
She stroked his hair with her other hand. Red locks like the family crest already grew on his small head.
"You wouldn't know, but our family grips all sorts of weapons. Kyle, know what a weapon is?"
"Boo... booboo...!"
Resigned eyes lit up. Kyle spat out his pacifier.
"S... swo...rd..."
"Your name's Kyle, not sword!"
"Swooord..."
He fiddled her finger, refining pronunciation.
"Sword..."
Uttering what he'd loved and gripped lifelong in his past life.
"Sword? You said sword?"
Before Arian's stunned face, Kyle nodded vigorously.
"My god, Kyle! Did you just say sword?"
"Swooord..."
"Yes! Sword! You want to hold a sword?"
"Yeeesss..."
"Yes is fine!"
"Ooh... y-yes..."
"He answered!"
Arian laughed uproariously, tousling his hair wildly.
"Sorry, Kyle. You're too small, too young, too adorable for a sword now. Later, okay?"
Before those words, Kyle could only resign again.
She's right...
Couldn't even control his body yet—couldn't grip a sword if he wanted.
Gotta grow up fast...
Sadness welled; this damn baby body prepped to wail on its own.
"Wahhhboo..."
As lips parted for cries, the pacifier was popped back in.