The vegetable-strewn path was quickly cleaned by a flurry of apologetic servants, and Arthur was, with much cooing and clucking from Nurse Nanny, returned to his pram. The gardener, still chuckling, gave him a respectful nod before returning to his duties, probably wondering if he'd dreamt the whole thing. Arthur, meanwhile, felt a strange sense of vindication. He had caused chaos. He had earned points. He was, apparently, good at this.
[EXCELLENT WORK, SOUL UNIT! 👏 YOUR FIRST PUBLIC PERFORMANCE WAS A SMASH HIT! THE AUDIENCE (AND THE VEGETABLES) LOVED IT! 🥕🥬]
Yeah, yeah, CVI. Don't get too excited. It was a fluke. And I'm still stuck in this glorified baby prison.
The rest of the garden stroll was uneventful, much to Arthur's relief. He spent the time observing his surroundings. The "House of Valerius," as Nurse Nanny had called it, was clearly a minor noble house. The manor itself was large but not ostentatious, more comfortable than grand. The servants seemed genuinely fond of 'little master Elian,' which was a relief. At least he wasn't reincarnated into a family of cartoon villains. Yet.
Upon returning to his room, Nurse Nanny declared it "nap time." Arthur, a grown man, bristled at the indignity. Nap time? I just died and reincarnated! My brain is still trying to process the concept of a sentient emoji system! I don't need a nap, I need answers! Or a strong cup of coffee!
[NAP TIME IS CRUCIAL FOR REJUVENATION, SOUL UNIT! 😴 OPTIMAL REST LEADS TO OPTIMAL COMEDIC TIMING! THINK OF IT AS A STRATEGIC POWER-UP! 🔋]
He tried to argue, but Nurse Nanny was surprisingly firm. Before he knew it, he was tucked into his soft bed, the grumpy squirrel carvings on the ceiling staring down at him. The scent of lavender and old socks was surprisingly effective. Despite his mental protests, his tiny body, still recovering from the shock of… well, everything, quickly succumbed to sleep.
He awoke a few hours later to the sound of hushed voices. Nurse Nanny was gone, replaced by two figures standing by his bed.
One was a man, tall and slender, with a neatly trimmed beard and a perpetually worried expression. He wore fine, but not overly flashy, clothes. This had to be his new father.
The other was a woman, equally elegant, with kind eyes that held a hint of weariness. His new mother, presumably.
"He seems to be recovering well, my dear," his father said, his voice soft and gentle. "Nurse Nanny said he even… made her laugh this morning." He exchanged a bewildered glance with his wife.
"Indeed," his mother replied, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. "And the gardener was quite beside himself. Said Elian caused a 'vegetable avalanche.'" She chuckled softly. "Our little Elian, full of surprises."
Arthur lay still, feigning sleep. He listened, trying to glean more information about his new family and his new identity.
"The fever broke quite suddenly," his father continued, sighing. "A blessing. But he seems… different. More… lively."
Lively? I just burped on my nurse and assaulted a gardener with a rubber chicken. 'Chaotic' might be a more accurate term, Dad, Arthur thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
They spoke of mundane noble affairs: the harvest, a neighboring lord's upcoming visit, the price of wool. It was all very… normal. Which, in Arthur's new, absurd reality, was somehow the most unsettling thing of all.
After a few more minutes, they left, leaving Arthur alone once more. He opened his eyes.
[PARENTS: IDENTIFIED! 👨👩👧👦 STATUS: MILDLY BEWILDERED BUT AFFECTIONATE! 👍]
Thanks for the update, CVI. Very insightful.
He decided to explore his new body a bit more. He wiggled his fingers, curled his toes. He tried to sit up again, this time with more control. It was still a struggle, but he managed to prop himself against the pillows. He was definitely still very small.
He glanced at the bedside table. The gruel was still there, looking even sadder. And next to it, the 'Infinite Rubber Chicken of Distraction.' He picked it up. It felt strangely comforting in his hand. A beacon of absurdity in a world that was trying to pretend it was normal.
Okay, CVI, Arthur thought. What's next? More burping? More tripping? Do I get to meet any actual fantasy creatures that aren't just confused gardeners?
[PATIENCE, SOUL UNIT! 🧘♂️ THE WORLD OF AETHELGARD IS VAST AND FULL OF COMEDIC OPPORTUNITIES! YOUR NEXT HUMOR QUEST WILL PRESENT ITSELF WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT! THINK OF IT AS A SURPRISE COMEDY GUEST! 🎁]
A surprise comedy guest that will probably involve me doing something humiliating, Arthur muttered to himself.
He spent the rest of the afternoon practicing his new 'Tripping Hazard' skill in the privacy of his room. He tried to trip over the rug. He tried to trip over his own feet. He even tried to trip over the rubber chicken. Most attempts resulted in him just falling over in a heap, not particularly gracefully.
[TRIPPING ATTEMPT: 37. GRACEFULNESS RATING: 2/10. 📉 MORE PRACTICE REQUIRED, SOUL UNIT! REMEMBER, IT'S NOT JUST ABOUT FALLING, IT'S ABOUT FALLING WITH FLAIR! 🤸♀️✨]
I'm trying, CVI! It's harder than it looks!
As dusk settled, a maid brought him a light supper – thankfully, not gruel, but a thin broth and some soft bread. He ate it slowly, still feeling vaguely unsatisfied. His mind, however, was buzzing. He was in a new world. He had a bizarre system. And he was apparently destined to be a comedic force of nature, whether he liked it or not.
He looked out the window. The moon was a sliver in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows across the garden. Beyond the manor walls, he could see the faint glow of a distant town. A whole new world, waiting to be accidentally entertained by him.
Right then, Arthur thought, a determined glint in his eye. If I'm going to be a comedic hero, I might as well be the best damn comedic hero this world has ever seen. Even if it means more burps and accidental vegetable explosions. And maybe, just maybe, I can find a decent snack in that town. A man can dream. 💭🍕