Chapter 2: A Genius Baby on Making

The first thing Vincent — or rather, Steven, the man he used to be — became aware of was that he was tiny. Unreasonably tiny. His limbs were short, his fingers wiggled like worms, and his head felt like an oversized fruit that needed constant support. Worst of all, he had no teeth. No teeth! How was he supposed to chew his way through this new life if he couldn't even bite back at fate?

And then there was the drooling.

So much drooling.

As he lay there, wrapped like a burrito in a crib that might as well have been a wooden prison, he did his best to remain calm.

'Alright, Vincent. Assess the situation.'

His memories of his past life as Steven were intact, which was a plus. However, he was now a baby, which was a significant downgrade. He had no independence, no strength, and, most horrifyingly, no way to communicate beyond gurgles and giggles. His mother seemed to find this adorable, which only made it worse.

But there was hope.

From the conversations he had overheard, it was clear that this world ran on something called essence energy. And if Vincent wanted to reclaim any sense of control over his life, he needed to start cultivating it.

But there was just this one tiny, insignificant problem.

He was a baby. A tiny, useless, stubby-limbed baby.

'Alright. Focus. You've read enough cultivation novels. Step one: sense the energy around you.'

He closed his eyes, trying to visualize the air shimmering with unseen power. He took a deep breath, willing himself to absorb the essence into his tiny, fragile body.

And then—

'Oh wow. My fingers move!'

Vincent's eyes snapped open as he became mesmerized by the sight of his own hands. His fingers wiggled uncontrollably, refusing to obey his commands, but that wasn't the point. The point was—they moved. He had never truly appreciated how interesting fingers were before this moment.

'No! Stop! Focus, Vincent! You're supposed to be cultivating, not admiring your hands!'

He squeezed his fists, determined to regain control, but his underdeveloped motor skills turned the motion into an embarrassing flail.

His mother peeked into the crib, watching him with adoring eyes. "Oh, look at you! So serious! What a precious little one you are!"

Vincent wanted to scream, 'No, Mother! I am cultivating the essence of the universe! This is an important moment!' But all that came out was a pitiful coo.

Undeterred, he tried again. He shut his eyes, breathed in deeply through his tiny nose, and focused. This time, he felt something—a faint, warm tingle, like static electricity buzzing just under his skin.

Encouraged, he pulled harder.

And then, disaster struck.

A strange, ominous gurgle sounded from deep within his stomach. The warmth he had felt moments ago suddenly swirled in his belly in a way that was deeply, horrifyingly familiar.

'Oh no.'

His mother must have sensed it too because she swiftly scooped him up, her instincts honed by past experience.

It was too late.

A loud, unmistakable sound echoed through the room, and warmth spread through his swaddle.

Vincent had never felt such shame in both of his lives.

His mother merely laughed. "Aw, my little star! You must feel so much better now!"

'NO! I WAS CULTIVATING! This was supposed to be my grand awakening, not a bodily function failure!'

As he was cleaned up and reswaddled like a sage trapped in an infant's body, Vincent sighed internally. This was going to be a long journey.

Over the next few months, Vincent refined his approach. He experimented whenever he was alone, drawing this energy gently instead of greedily. Progress was slow, but soon he managed to warm his fingers at will. Then he enhanced his grip strength—his caretaker learned this the hard way when he latched onto her hair with an iron grasp, refusing to let go.

The biggest success (or failure, depending on perspective) happened during feeding time. He attempted to channel a small burst of essence into his hand—only for his mother's spoon to explode mid-air, sending mashed vegetables flying across the room.

Vincent, now covered in green mush, could only blink.

'Oops.'

Of course, all that came out was a delighted baby giggle.

By the time he reached a year old, Vincent had cultivated enough essence to subtly reinforce his tiny body. He could stand. The adults assumed he was just a fast learner, unaware of the intense focus he had spent strengthening his muscles.

But then came the ultimate test.

The moment every baby dreads.

His mother set him down on the floor. The gathered relatives clapped and cheered. It was time for his first official steps.

He can only stand for a few seconds but he can't walk yet. Vincent scowled internally. Walking was inefficient. Crawling was easier. Why did they care so much about this? Though I can even barely crawl.

Still, appearances had to be maintained. He mustered a little energy into his legs, tensed his tiny muscles, and took his first step — in crawling.

And promptly launched himself forward like a tiny, drunken catapult.

The resulting faceplant was spectacular.

As he lay there, staring at the ceiling while his relatives was in awe of his cuteness, Vincent sighed deeply within his soul.

Cultivating essence was really hard.

The days passed, each one filled with the quiet routine of infancy—eating, sleeping, and enduring the endless cooing of doting parents. But Vincent had little interest in playing the part of an ordinary baby.

His mind was starved for information.

At first, he simply listened. His parents spoke often, their words filled with mentions of Essence Scholars, the Four Great Houses, and the Imperial Academy. He committed every term to memory, building a mental framework of this world's hierarchy.

Then, he started observing. His father, a towering man with an air of discipline, often practiced energy circulation techniques embedded on his swordmanship in the courtyard. His mother, though softer in demeanor, frequently read through thick tomes of runes and diagrams.

Magical Science. Swordmanship. Martial Arts.

This world was a fusion of everything he had ever dreamed of studying.

But Vincent knew he couldn't ask questions, not yet. He needed an opportunity.

That opportunity came sooner than expected.

One evening, as his mother hummed a lullaby and rocked him in her arms, he noticed a book lying open nearby. The pages glowed faintly, filled with strange, swirling symbols.

Runes.

A script he had never seen before.

His mind tingled as he stared at them, the characters shifting in his vision as if responding to his curiosity. It was as if a system of logic was embedded within the language itself, a structure that resonated with his analytical mind.

His mother noticed his gaze. She chuckled, lifting the book. "Oh? Interested in this already?"

Vincent quickly turned his eyes away, trying to look like a normal baby.

But deep inside, he knew — this was his way forward.

Even though he struggled in his cultivation he was persistent. He practiced moving his limbs as if training sword techniques. If his father, Lord Aldric Vel Sera, was a Master Swordsman, then he would not bring shame to the family by being defeated by his own body. Each day was a battle to gain more control, and after weeks of effort, he finally managed a semi-decent crawl.

Of course, he celebrated this victory like any proper warrior—by promptly losing balance and rolling over onto his back.

"Gaaaa!" he groaned in frustration, a sound that was, unfortunately, indistinguishable from any other baby's babbling.

His mother, Lady Clara Vel Sera, daughter of the esteemed Marquis Marcello Vel Magnifici, found his antics endlessly amusing. "Oh my, my little boy is already training to be a knight!" she cooed as she picked him up.

Vincent sighed internally. He had no way to tell them he was training his motor skills, not knighthood.

His family the Vel Sera was well-respected, ruling the land of Sera, a fertile and prosperous territory within the Kingdom of Mhiliad. His father's rank, a Count, gave him considerable influence.

While they did not reside in the grand capital of Granville, Sera was far from insignificant. It was a land known for its disciplined warriors and skilled craftsmen, its people loyal to the noble family that ruled them fairly.

Yet, not everyone viewed the Vel Sera family favorably. There was one man, a rotund and ill-mannered noble named Count Bonfelli de Leux, who harbored a grudge against them. Vincent had caught snippets of conversation from the servants—hushed whispers about that Count's secret dealings, corrupt business ventures, and his long-standing envy of Lord Aldric's honorable reputation.

Even at this young age, Vincent knew trouble would come from that man. He stored the information away for the future.

His most profound discovery came not from his noble heritage but from within himself. One day, as he lay in his crib, he felt it again—a pulse of energy unlike anything in his previous life. He can almost clearly feel it now. It really was not merely a mana; it was something far more great and fundamental than mana. Essence Energy. The origin energy, the very force that governed all energies — and all things revolved around this energy.

A screen pop out because of this realization.

[Spacetime, matter, life — everything was traced back to the essence energy.]

Yet, despite its omnipresence, people barely understood it.

He heard that normal cultivators spent years meditating just to sense it. Some trained their bodies alongside their meditation to speed up the process, but even then, it would take them at least around three to six years before they could even wield it effectively.

But Vincent was different. He had the System.

The moment he became aware of Essence Energy, something within him stirred. The System, that mysterious and ever-silent guide embedded in his soul, resonated with the energy. It was as if the two forces recognized each other, synchronizing in a way that defied logic.

[System Integration: 1%]

Vincent's eyes widened—or at least, he thought they did. Given his lack of muscle control, it was more likely that he made a strange baby expression instead.

This changed everything. His progress would not be slow like the others. With the System accelerating his development, he would master Essence Energy within two to three years instead of six. If even the greatest minds in the world barely grasped its secrets, then he would rise to the pinnacle and understand what they could not.

He tried to say something grand, something worthy of the realization he had just reached.

"Hgggaa!"

His mother, sitting nearby, giggled. "Oh dear, did my little boy just try to talk?"

Vincent nearly died of embarrassment.

Determined to make the most of his infancy, Vincent threw himself into training. He exercised his tiny limbs, strengthening his muscles so he could crawl more efficiently. He listened intently whenever his father spoke, trying to absorb knowledge about swordsmanship. When books were within reach, he attempted to turn the pages—though his little fingers struggled mightily.

His first attempt at standing was a disaster. He wobbled for a brief, glorious moment before toppling over. His second attempt ended in a similar fate. But he did not give up. A warrior was not defined by his falls, but by how many times he rose again.

By the time he successfully stood without support, he threw his hands up in triumph. He had conquered the first major hurdle of babyhood.

His father, ever the serious man, watched this with a raised eyebrow. "He has spirit," he mused. "Perhaps he truly will become a swordsman."

Vincent wanted to protest. He had no intention of just being a swordsman! He was aiming for something far greater!

But all that came out was an enthusiastic, "Bababababa!"

Lady Clara gasped dramatically. "His first words! Darling, did you hear? He spoke!"

Lord Aldric nodded solemnly. "Indeed. His battle cry."

Vincent wanted to scream. That was not what he meant at all!

Still, despite the misunderstandings, one truth remained—his journey had begun. His body was still weak now, but he would grow stronger. His understanding of Essence Energy was just beginning, but he would grasp its secrets. The System and the Essence resonated with each other, hinting at a connection far deeper than he yet understood.

He had time. And he would use every moment of it to rise beyond what anyone imagined.

But he really need to start master walking first.