The Beginning After The End Chapter 1: The Light At The End of The Tunnel

I never put much stock in that "light at the end of the tunnel" nonsense. You know the stories: people have a brush with death and wake up gasping about seeing a divine glow.

Yet, here I am, drifting through a tunnel toward a blinding radiance. The last memory I have is falling asleep in my private quarters—or the royal chamber, as my subjects called it.

Is this death? If it is, how did it happen? Was I the victim of an assassination?

I can’t recall making any enemies recently, but in my position as a powerful public figure, people rarely need a logical reason to want you gone.

Regardless...

Since I didn't seem to be waking up from this dream, I decided to simply drift toward the brilliance ahead.

The trek felt like it lasted for ages. I half-expected to hear a choir of cherubs singing some holy melody, welcoming me into the afterlife.

Instead, my entire world blurred into a hazy crimson as a cacophony of noise hit my ears. I tried to speak, but the only sound I could produce was a piercing wail.

The muffled sounds around me sharpened into words, and I heard someone say: "Congratulations, Sir and Madam. He is a perfectly healthy boy."

...Hold on.

Under normal circumstances, my first thought probably should have been something like, "Damn, was I just born? Am I a baby?"

But for some reason, the only thought that crossed my mind was, 'So that bright light at the end of the tunnel is actually just the light entering a woman's vag...'

Haha... let’s just stop that train of thought right there.

Attempting to analyze my situation with the logic of a King, I first noted that I understood the language being spoken here. That was a promising start.

Next, I forced my eyes open—a slow and painful process—and my retinas were overwhelmed by a chaotic mess of colors and shapes. It took a moment for my infant vision to adjust. Standing before me was a man who looked like a doctor, though his appearance was far from pleasant; he had long, graying hair on his head and chin. His spectacles were so thick they looked like they could stop a bullet. Oddly enough, he wasn't wearing medical scrubs, and we weren't in a hospital.

In fact, it looked like I had been delivered during some dark ritual. The room was illuminated only by a few flickering candles, and we were lying on a bed of straw on the floor.

I glanced over at the woman who had just pushed me out of her tunnel. It seemed only right to call her mother. After observing her for a few moments, I realized she was quite beautiful, though my blurry vision might have played a part in that. She wasn't a flashy beauty; rather, she was lovely in a gentle, warm way, with striking auburn hair and deep brown eyes. Her long lashes and petite nose gave her an appearance I felt instinctively drawn to. She radiated a motherly aura. Perhaps this is why infants are so attached to their mothers?

I turned my head to the right and spotted a man who I assumed was my father, mostly because of the tearful, foolish grin he was giving me. He immediately chirped, "Hi there, little Art! It's your daddy. Can you say dada?" My mother and the local doctor—despite his questionable credentials—both rolled their eyes. My mother managed a weak laugh, saying, "Honey, he was just born."

Looking closer at my father, I could understand why my mother liked him. Despite the fact that he seemed to have a few screws loose for expecting a newborn to speak (I'll give him a pass and assume he was just overwhelmed with joy), he was a very handsome man. He had a sharp, clean-shaven jawline that suited his face well. His ash-brown hair was neatly trimmed, and his thick, fierce eyebrows slanted down like swords into a V-shape. However, his eyes were soft, partly due to their slight downturn and partly because of the deep sapphire blue of his irises.

"Hmm, he isn't crying. Doctor, aren't babies supposed to cry when they're born?" I heard my mother ask.

By the time I was done checking ou—I mean, observing my parents, the old doctor excused himself. "There are instances where the child remains quiet. Rest for a few days, Mrs. Leywin. Mr. Leywin, keep me updated on Arthur's condition."

The first few weeks after my exit from the tunnel were a special kind of torture. I possessed almost zero motor control over my body; I could wave my limbs around, but even that was exhausting. I learned, quite bitterly, that infants have no real command over their fingers.

I hate to ruin the magic for you, but when a baby grabs your finger, it isn't out of affection. It's a reflex, like hitting a funny bone. Beyond the lack of motor skills, I couldn't even control my own bathroom breaks. I was not the master of my bladder. It just... happened. Haa...

On a more positive note, I quickly grew fond of being breastfed.

Don't get the wrong idea; I didn't have any hidden motives. It's simply that breast milk is much tastier and more nutritious than formula, okay? Seriously... believe me.

The "ritual room" turned out to be my parents' bedroom. From what I could gather, I was stuck in a world that resembled my own past, before the invention of electricity.

However, my mother shattered that theory one day when she healed a cut on my leg—a gift from my clumsy father, who had bumped me into a dresser while playing.

It wasn't a "kiss it better" kind of healing. It was a full-on, glowing light accompanied by a low hum emanating from her actual hands.

Where on earth am I?

My mother, Alice Leywin, and my father, Reynolds Leywin, seemed like wonderful people—perhaps even saintly. I began to suspect my mother was an angel because I had never encountered someone so kind and warm. While strapped to her back in a baby carrier, I accompanied her to what she called a town. This place, Ashber, was more like a small outpost, lacking proper roads or permanent buildings. We walked along a dirt path lined with tents where merchants sold everything from basic supplies to items that made me double-take: weapons, armor, and glowing rocks... actual shining stones!

The strangest thing to witness was people carrying weapons as if they were fashion accessories. I even saw a man barely five-foot-seven lugging a war axe that was bigger than he was! My mother kept chatting with me, likely trying to help me learn the language, as she bought groceries and greeted people. During all this, my body betrayed me again, and I drifted off to sleep... Curse this weak infant form.

One day, while sitting in my mother's lap as she held me close, I watched my father intently. He was chanting something that sounded like a prayer to the earth for nearly a minute. I leaned forward, nearly falling out of my seat, expecting a massive magical event like an earthquake or a stone titan. After what felt like forever (and for a baby with a tiny attention span, it really was), three boulders the size of grown men rose from the dirt and crashed into a tree.

What in the... that was it?

I flailed my arms in frustration, but my dimwitted father took it as a sign of awe. He grinned widely and said, "Your dad is pretty great, isn't he?"

Actually, my father was a much better physical fighter. When he donned his iron gauntlets, even I was impressed. Despite his large build, his movements were incredibly fast and precise. His punches were powerful enough to break the sound barrier, yet fluid enough to leave no gaps in his defense. In my previous world, he would have been a high-ranking combatant leading a battalion. Here, he was just my idiot father.

From what I've gathered, this world is a straightforward place governed by magic and warriors, where status is determined by strength and gold. In that regard, it wasn't much different from my old life, minus the technology and the subtle differences between magic and Qi.

In my former world, large-scale wars were a thing of the past. Battles still occurred, and armies existed for defense, but major international disputes were settled by a duel between Kings. These fights were limited to the use of Qi and melee weapons. Smaller disagreements were handled via mock battles between squads using limited firearms.

Because of this, Kings weren't just fat figureheads on thrones; they had to be the most powerful warriors to represent their people.

But enough about the past.

The money here seemed simple enough based on my mother's shopping trips.

Copper is the lowest value, followed by silver, and then gold. I haven't seen anything that cost a full gold coin yet; a normal family can get by on a few coppers a day.

100 Copper = 1 Silver

100 Silver = 1 Gold

My days were spent trying to train this new body and mastering the basic motor functions hidden within me.

That peaceful routine, however, was about to change.