I was now four months old. My progress in learning the local language was slow, despite me having the mental capability of a grown adult.

Problem with reincarnation was, retaining one’s memories meant one also had past languages, which affected the accent. Having five of them certainly did not help. The maid and the mother could barely understand my speech. I struggled to get simple words across, let alone sentences.

My muscles were developed enough for me to lift my head. Soon as I was able to do that, I noticed that I had male genitalia.

I did not have much of a reaction to that. I died when I was 89 years old. When you get to that age, your sexuality resets to zero. Starting over as a male or a female did not matter to me.

Still, I noted the unnecessary organ as the candidate for mutilation test. I wondered how many times I had to cut it off for it to stop growing back, and what would I do with the tiny baby penises.

Stuff them in the mouth of the maid, I guess. Until she chokes on them and dies. That would be the ideal outcome.

***

6 months from birth, I was able to crawl. Finally. I was getting sick of the monotonous crib and the suffocating nursery cum torturing room.

The maid had softened her baby murdering tendency a bit, but the thirst for vendetta was still burning strongly in the depth of my computer-programmed consciousness.

The house I was living in was huge. My family seemed well-off.

I hadn’t figured out where the dude who was supposed to be my father was. There were three people living in this mansion, including me. There would soon be only two once I could throw fireballs.

The mother was getting more and more sickly. She was on bed more often than not. I stayed as far away from her room as I could.

Although I could not die, contrary to my wish, I could still feel pain. I didn’t know if I could catch diseases or not. I would prefer not to test that.

But sometimes the maid would carry me to the mother’s room, like today. I struggled in vain.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

People in this place probably had no concept of infectious diseases.

***

Positioned in front of Sofie’s chest was the little child, who was wildly waving his tiny hands and feet around. She brought the miniature human to the madam’s room without much difficulty.

Kyle immediately tried to crawl away once he touched the ground. Sofie picked him up again and placed him firmly on her laps. After a while of unsuccessful thrashing, the baby calmed down.

Madam Jean was sitting on the bed, with labored breathing. Her condition was getting worse and worse every day.

No amount of medicine and curing had any effect. The doctor in town shook his head, while the priests used all their mana trying to heal her. Her sickness was persistent like a worm eating away at her life.

Jean could sense that she was nearing the end.

She reached out to touch the baby’s cheek. As her hand approached, the baby turned its head away.

Jean felt her heart breaking. She didn’t know why her son avoided her. What had she done to make the baby despise his mother?

She conceived Kyle unnaturally.

At first, she was confused as to why she had gotten pregnant without being intimate with anyone after the death of her husband, three years ago. But when she saw the cute little baby on her hands, she had forgotten all the questions in her head.

Unfortunately, sickness struck Jean at the same time. She could not care for the child even if she wished to. Her body was heavy. Walking only a few steps would cause her to collapse.

Was the lack of caring the reason her son was rejecting her?

Jean opened her dried lips.

“I’m sorry, my child.”

“I will not be staying alongside you on your road ahead. I will leave this place soon.”

Sofie panicked with a small voice. “M-my lord, what are you…”, but Jean gestured for the maid to be silent.

“I hope that however long it takes, you could find it in your heart to forgive me.” She gave a pained smile after her words.

***

The tears rolling down the cheeks of the mother bored a hole through my chest.

I understood what was going through her mind. But I did not understand what was going through my mind.

I empathized with her. I could see why she was upset. I used to be a mother, after all. I also knew the feeling of not being able to take care of your child all too well.

What I did not understand was the emotions inside me. I felt sad for her. I felt pity. Why did I have emotions? Should a program have emotions? Do emotions of an AI matter?

Weren’t my emotions only codes in the machine? Why did they feel so real and reasonable?

I shut the dam of the existential queries back in my head and reached out to touch her fingers. Her face lighted up and a smile bloomed on her tired expression.

Warmness spread within me. It was not the bond of mother and son that I felt, but rather gratefulness. This house I was living in was hers, the meal I ate was provided by her. She never did breastfeed me, that was another point to be thankful for. Nevertheless, the baby feed that she, and later the maid made was, surprisingly, to my liking.

I did not know the work she did to afford all this, but she was the lord of this house, and the woman that birthed me.

I wanted to do something for her. In the sense of repayment, of course.