The last thing I remembered was the unholy trinity of gamer fuel: lukewarm coffee, the crumbs of a week-old bag of chips, and the triumphant glow of my monitor. "And... done," I mumbled, my voice a dry rasp. The final Servant in my FGO Chaldea had reached their max level, max fou, max everything. A masterpiece of dedication and questionable life choices. My eyes, gritty from lack of sleep, scanned my desktop for the next soul-consuming vortex of time. There it was, the stylized icon of Genshin Impact. I'd put it off long enough. Time to dive into the world of Teyvat.
My cursor hovered over the icon. My finger twitched on the mouse.
And then my wall exploded.
It wasn't a metaphorical explosion of excitement. It was a literal, deafening, splinter-showering detonation as the grille of a large white truck, the infamous Truck-kun of isekai legend, occupied the space where my anime poster collection used to be. My last coherent thought wasn't one of fear or regret, but of pure, unadulterated indignation. Are you kidding me? I didn't even get to do my first 10-pull!
Then, darkness. A comforting, silent void. It was rather peaceful, actually.
"Ahem."
A voice, impossibly deep yet gentle, echoed in the nothingness. I found myself standing—or floating—before a being of indescribable light. It had no form, yet I knew it was looking at me. It felt like being judged by a nebula with a surprisingly good posture.
"That was… regrettable," the being of light said, its tone apologetic. "Logistical error. The truck was scheduled for a delinquent in the next district over. My sincerest apologies."
I blinked. Or, I would have, if I had eyes. "So, I died because of a clerical mistake in the cosmic DMV?"
"Precisely! You've grasped the situation with remarkable alacrity," the being boomed, sounding pleased. "As compensation for this... inconvenience... we are offering you our premium reincarnation package. New world, new life, and a custom-tailored power system. Think of it as a starter pack for your next great adventure."
My gamer brain, the only part of me that seemed to have survived the transition, immediately latched onto the key words. "System? Starter pack?"
"Indeed. Given your... extensive history with games of chance and heroic spirits, we've prepared something special. You'll be sent to a world you have some familiarity with, to ease the transition. Teyvat. As for your 'system'... well, you'll see." The light pulsed, growing brighter. "Oh, and we've given you a new look. A bit of an upgrade, if I do say so myself. Good luck, soul. Try not to get hit by any more trucks. Or dragons. Or falling gods."
The light consumed everything, and the peaceful void was replaced by a cacophony of sensation. It was tight, wet, and confusing. Then, a sudden, blinding light, a rush of cold air, and the overwhelming, terrifying sensation of being held by giant hands.
And then came the crying. It was a loud, piercing, uncontrollable wail. To my horror, I realized it was coming from me. The sensations were too much. The light was too bright, the sounds were too loud, and my own body was a prison I couldn't control. My adult consciousness was trapped inside the primal, instinct-driven brain of a newborn.
This is hell, I thought, as another sob wracked my tiny body. This is a far worse fate than Truck-kun.
"Oh, Frederica, look at him," a man's gentle voice cooed from above. "He has your hair. And my eyes."
"He's beautiful, Gunther," a woman's voice, soft and exhausted, replied. "Our little Arthur."
Arthur? Blond hair? Green eyes? My panicked, infant mind struggled to piece it together. I forced my brand-new, uncooperative eyes to focus. Reflected in the polished metal of a nearby water basin, I saw him. A baby with a tuft of fine, golden hair and eyes the color of fresh jade. The face was... familiar. In a flash of insight that cut through the infant haze, I knew. King Arthur Pendragon. The Prototype version from Fate. As if summoned by the thought, a translucent blue screen shimmered into existence before my eyes, visible only to me. It was clean, minimalist, and eerily reminiscent of a game UI.
System Initialization: Host Confirmed
Welcome, Arthur Aethel.
Template Synchronizing: [Heroic Spirit: Arthur Pendragon (Prototype)]
Current Synchronization Rate: 0.01%
Status Report
Name: Artorius Aethel
Race: Human
Level: 1
Titles: The Reincarnated One, The Newborn
Core Template Skills
Class Skills
Magic Resistance [Rank A]: 0% Unlocked
Riding [Rank B]: 0% Unlocked
Personal Skills
Instinct [Rank A]: 0.05% Unlocked
Mana Burst [Rank A]: 0.02% Unlocked
Giant Beast Hunting [Rank A]: 0% Unlocked
Noble Phantasms (NP) [SEALED]
Excalibur Proto [Rank EX]: The Sword of Promised Victory - 0% Unlocked
Invisible Air [Rank C]: Barrier of the Wind King - 0% Unlocked
Avalon [Rank EX]: The Everdistant Utopia - 0% Unlocked
Rhongomyniad [Rank A++]: The Lance that Shines to the End of the World - 0% Unlocked
Longinus [Rank EX]: The Holy Lance of Destiny - [ERROR: Foreign Concept Integration - SEALED]
Inheritance System: Knights of the Round Table [0% Acquired]
System Note: As Synchronization Rate with the core template increases, the legends of your most loyal knights will become accessible.
Further details locked pending 10% Synchronization Rate.
I stared at the panel, my baby brain rebooting from the sheer info dump. This wasn't just a starter pack; this was the ultimate limited-edition, 5-star banner pull with a side of divine intervention. Arthur Pendragon. Class skills, personal skills, and not one, not two, but five Noble Phantasms? Excalibur, the most famous holy sword in existence. Avalon, the ultimate defense. Rhongomyniad, the divine tower that fastens the planet. And... Longinus? The Spear of Destiny? That wasn't even part of the Arthurian mythos! It was a Judeo-Christian relic. What kind of bizarre crossover fanfiction had my soul gotten itself into?
And on top of that, the skills of the entire Round Table as an unlockable tree? The potential was staggering. Galahad's Lord Camelot, Lancelot's Knight of Owner, Gawain's Numeral of the Saint... The possibilities made my head spin. But the numbers brought me back to reality. 0.01% Synchronization. 0.05% Instinct. I couldn't even lift my own head, let alone a holy sword.
Just then, another set of footsteps entered the room. A man with a stern but proud face, dressed in the formal attire of a Mondstadt noble, stood beside my father. "Gunther. My friend. I came as soon as I heard. A healthy boy?"
"As healthy as they come, Seamus," my father, Gunther, beamed. "And what of Frederica? Is she alright?"
The man, Seamus, smiled tiredly. "She is. A bit worn, but she gave me a beautiful, healthy daughter."
My ears perked up. My new family, the Aethels, were apparently friends with this Seamus. Seamus... Gunnhildr? The father of Jean and Barbara?
A nurse entered, carrying another bundle of blankets. From within, a tuft of ash-blonde hair peeked out. She was placed in a cot beside mine. Our parents continued their proud, fatherly chatter, but I only had eyes for the other baby.
So that's her, I thought, my mind clearing for a moment. Jean Gunnhildr. The future Dandelion Knight and Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius.
I was born in Mondstadt, the City of Freedom. I looked like a heroic spirit from another franchise entirely. And my crib-mate was one of the most important characters in the early story of Genshin Impact.
My life was officially a fanfiction. And as my tiny body finally succumbed to the overwhelming exhaustion of being born, I had one last, clear thought.
Well... at least the view is good.
The first few years of my new life were an exercise in supreme patience and unending frustration. Being an infant with an adult mind is a unique form of torture. You have complex thoughts, desires, and an encyclopedic knowledge of memes, but your only methods of communication are crying, gurgling, and pooping. I spent most of my time observing, learning, and trying not to go insane from boredom.
My family, the Aethels, were what you might call minor nobility. We weren't on the level of the Gunnhildrs or the Ragnvindrs, but we had a history. The Aethels had been knights and scholars in service to Mondstadt for generations. Our home was a sturdy, respectable townhouse not far from the Knights of Favonius headquarters. My father, Gunther, was a retired knight-captain, a kind man with a strong sense of duty. My mother, Elara, was a gentle scholar from a family of alchemists, her kindness a perfect balance to my father's stoicism.
And then there was Jean.
Because our families were close and we were born on the same day, we were practically raised together. Our cribs were often side-by-side. Our first clumsy crawls were across the same living room rug. Our first words were spoken to the same set of cooing parents.
It was... weird. I knew this girl would one day carry the weight of her entire city on her shoulders. I knew about her strained relationship with her parents, her insecurities, her immense sense of responsibility that bordered on self-destructive. But right now, she was just Jean, a baby who cried when she was hungry and giggled when I managed to make a funny face.
My System was a constant companion in the background of my mind. Progress was agonizingly slow. Every time I successfully focused my eyes, my Instinct skill would tick up by 0.001%. When I finally managed to roll over, Mana Burst gained a hundredth of a percentage point. It seemed my Synchronization Rate was tied directly to my physical and mental development. Growing up was, quite literally, grinding EXP.
By the time I was five, I could walk, talk, and form coherent sentences that didn't involve demanding juice. Life became infinitely more interesting.
"Artie, faster!"
A five-year-old Jean, her ash-blonde hair tied into a small, clumsy ponytail, tugged on my hand. Her blue-gray eyes were wide with determination. We were in the gardens behind the Gunnhildr estate, a sprawling lawn perfect for running around.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I panted, my little legs working hard to keep up.
Jean was, even at this age, intensely focused. Her games weren't just games; they were "training exercises." Running was "patrol practice." Hide-and-seek was "stealth training." Today, we were "chasing away slimes," which involved us running from one end of the garden to the other while making fierce roaring noises.
I, on the other hand, was the chaos element. I knew Jean's future was one of rigid duty. Her mother, Frederica, was already instilling in her the Gunnhildr creed of "For Mondstadt, as always." So, I made it my personal mission to make sure she actually had a childhood.
"Hold on, Jean," I said, stopping abruptly. "Emergency."
She skidded to a halt, her expression immediately serious. "What is it? A surprise Abyss Mage attack?"
"Worse," I said, my face a mask of gravity. "I have detected... a Dandelion."
I pointed to a lone, fluffy dandelion standing proud in the grass. Jean's eyes lit up. This was one "training exercise" she couldn't resist. We both crouched down, took a deep breath, and blew. The seeds scattered into the wind, dancing in the afternoon sun over Cider Lake.
Jean laughed, a rare, genuine peel of delight that wasn't tied to duty or practice. It was a sound I treasured.
"Objective complete, Knight Jean," I said with a mock salute.
She giggled and saluted back. "Good work, Knight Arthur."
It was in these quiet moments that I felt the strangest mix of emotions. A fondness for this little girl who was my best friend, and a strange sort of preemptive nostalgia for the person she would become. I knew the hardships she would face, and a fierce, protective instinct bloomed in my chest.
That night, I checked my System panel.
System Update Log
Synchronization Rate:2.15%
Personal Skills Progress:
Instinct [Rank A]:3.50% Unlocked
Mana Burst [Rank A]:2.75% Unlocked
The progress was still slow, but it was progress. My Instinct skill was the most developed. It manifested as a low-level "gut feeling." I'd know when my mother was about to call me inside, or which direction a cat was about to dart. It was hardly the combat precognition of a true Heroic Spirit, but it was something.
Mana Burst was more esoteric. I could feel... something, inside me. A warmth in the core of my being, like a dormant hearth. I knew it was the source of my power, the magical energy that fueled a Servant's abilities. In Teyvat, it was probably analogous to the energy Visions manipulated, but mine was innate. I spent many nights sitting in my bed, trying to consciously access it.
I would close my eyes and focus on the warmth, trying to push it. For weeks, nothing happened. Then, one evening, as I focused with all my might, I felt a spark. The warmth surged, rushing from my core down my arm. My hand, resting on my blanket, suddenly glowed with a faint, golden light. There was a small fump sound, and a section of my woolen blanket about the size of a coin was instantly disintegrated, leaving behind a puff of smoke that smelled vaguely of ozone and burnt sugar.
My eyes snapped open. I stared at the hole in my blanket, then at my hand, then back at the hole. A grin slowly spread across my face.
It works.
The next five years were a whirlwind of growth, learning, and clandestine Mana Burst practice. My father began my formal combat training, teaching me the basics of the Favonius sword style. He was a patient teacher, but he was perplexed by my progress. My stances were always perfect, my footwork unnaturally precise. He chalked it up to natural talent; I knew it was the 0.5% of the Riding skill I had managed to unlock, which inexplicably seemed to govern general coordination and balance.
Jean, of course, was training too. Her mother had hired private tutors, and she was already proficient with a blade, her form embodying the grace and efficiency of the Gunnhildr clan. We often sparred together in the training yard behind the Knights' headquarters.
"You're too stiff, Artie!" Jean, now ten years old, called out, parrying my wooden sword with a crisp, practiced motion. Her ponytail was longer now, whipping through the air with her movements.
"You're too predictable, Jeannie!" I retorted, channeling a minuscule amount of mana into my legs. It wasn't a full Mana Burst, just a trickle of energy. My next step was faster, my lunge more explosive.
I'd learned to use my Mana Burst in subtle ways. A little burst to my legs for speed. A tiny pulse into my arms for strength. It was a dangerous game. Too much, and I'd shatter my wooden sword or send Jean flying. Too little, and it would have no effect. It was a constant balancing act, but my control was improving.
My sword slipped past her guard, the wooden tip coming to rest gently against her shoulder. "Yield."
Jean sighed, lowering her own sword. "How do you do that? You get this... burst of speed out of nowhere. It's not part of the standard Favonius footwork."
"A knight has to have his secrets," I said with a wink, dismissing the System notification that popped into my view.
[Mana Burst proficiency has increased.]
[Synchronization Rate: 8.70%]
Later that day, we wandered through the bustling streets of Mondstadt. It was a beautiful afternoon. The wind carried the scent of Cecilia flowers from the hills and the sweet aroma of sticky honey roast from Good Hunter. We passed the fountain in the main plaza, its water sparkling in the sun. I saw a young Diluc, his red hair a fiery beacon, having a stern-faced conversation with his father near the Angel's Share tavern. I saw a smaller, blue-haired boy —Kaeya—watching them from the shadows with a complicated expression.
I knew their stories. I knew the tragedy that was coming for them. A pang of helplessness hit me. I had all this future knowledge, but what could a ten-year-old boy do? For now, nothing. I could only get stronger.
"What are you thinking about?" Jean asked, noticing my silence. "You have that far-away look again."
"Just thinking about how big the world is," I said, offering her a smile. "And how much there is to protect."
She nodded, her expression turning serious again. "My mother says a knight's duty is to be the shield that protects the people of Mondstadt."
"A shield is good," I agreed. "But sometimes, you need a sword to break the things that threaten them."
Jean looked at me, her gaze thoughtful. It was a conversation too heavy for ten-year-olds, but for us, it felt natural. Our shared path towards knighthood was a bond that ran deeper than our friendship.
Our path led us towards the front gates, near the Whispering Woods. We weren't supposed to go beyond the walls without an escort, but the guards, who all knew my father, usually turned a blind eye if we stayed within sight.
"Let's practice our aim!" Jean suggested, pointing at a cluster of particularly round rocks near the edge of the woods.
We spent the next half hour throwing stones, cheering when we hit our mark and groaning when we missed. It was fun, simple, and childish. And it was exactly what we needed.
It was my Instinct that saved her.
It came as a sudden, sharp spike of dread, a cold knot in my stomach. The air felt wrong. The cheerful birdsong of the woods had gone silent.
"Jean, get back," I said, my voice low.
"What? Why?"
"Just do it!"
I pushed her behind me just as three figures burst from the trees. They weren't human. They were small, green, and wore crude wooden masks. Hilichurls. Standard, run-of-the-mill Level 1 mobs. But to two ten-year-olds, they were terrifying.
Jean let out a small gasp, her hand instinctively going for the hilt of the wooden sword at her belt. I drew mine as well, my heart pounding in my chest. Three was manageable.
Then, a fourth figure emerged. It was larger, bulkier, and carried a massive wooden shield. A Mitachurl. Not a mob two kids with sticks could handle.
The Mitachurl let out a guttural roar and charged.
Time seemed to slow down. My gamer brain, my adult consciousness, and my fledgling Instinct skill all screamed at once. Dodge left! It telegraphs its charge! The shield is wood, vulnerable to fire! We don't have fire! Plan B!
There was no Plan B.
Jean was frozen for a split second, her face pale with fear. The Mitachurl was a freight train of muscle and wood, and we were standing on the tracks.
There was no time to think. Only time to act.
Screw subtlety.
I shoved Jean hard to the side, sending her tumbling onto the grass. "Run!" I yelled.
Then, I turned to face the charge. I planted my feet, held my wooden sword in a two-handed grip, and poured every ounce of accessible energy into Mana Burst.
[WARNING: Mana output exceeds physical tolerance!]
[Vessel damage imminent!]
I ignored the flashing red warnings in my vision. The warmth in my core became a raging inferno. Golden light, far brighter than the faint glow I'd practiced with, erupted from my body, enveloping me and my flimsy sword in a corona of power. The air crackled. The sword wasn't just a piece of wood anymore; it felt like an extension of my will, a conduit for raw power.
The Mitachurl was five feet away. Three feet. One.
I swung.
Not with the grace of a Favonius knight, but with the desperate fury of a cornered animal. The golden-wreathed wooden sword met the heavy wooden shield with a sound like a thunderclap.
CRACK!
The Mitachurl's shield didn't just break; it exploded. Splinters the size of daggers flew in every direction. The force of the impact sent a shockwave outwards, knocking the smaller Hilichurls off their feet. The Mitachurl itself staggered back, its arm mangled, roaring in pain and confusion.
My own body screamed in protest. The recoil traveled up my arms, feeling like they were being torn from their sockets. My wooden sword had vanished, utterly atomized. Pain lanced through me, sharp and blinding. My vision swam.
But the Mitachurl was still standing. It shook its head and glared at me, its eyes burning with rage. It raised its uninjured fist to crush me.
I was defenseless. My energy was spent, my arms were useless, and my body was about to give out.
So this is it? Got a cheat-level power system just to die to a tutorial-zone miniboss? Pathetic.
Suddenly, a flash of silver and a gust of wind. "Stay away from him!"
Jean. She had scrambled to her feet, her face a mixture of terror and ferocious resolve. She charged forward, her own wooden sword held high, and swung with all her might at the Mitachurl's leg. It was a brave, foolish, and utterly useless attack. The wood bounced harmlessly off the creature's tough hide.
But it had bought a second.
And a second was all it took for the Knights of Favonius patrol to arrive. The clash had been too loud to ignore. Three knights, their steel swords drawn, descended on the scene like vengeful spirits.
"For Mondstadt!" one of them yelled, and the fight was over before it began. Polished steel made short work of the disoriented monsters.
I collapsed onto my knees, the last of my strength gone. The world was tilting. Jean rushed to my side, her eyes filled with tears. "Artie! Artie, are you okay?"
I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. "Told you," I wheezed, my voice barely a whisper. "Sometimes... you need a sword."
Then the world went black for the second time in my life. This time, however, it was accompanied by the frantic shouting of my best friend and the clatter of armored knights. It was a definite improvement over the truck.