Fourth-Ninth Month :

But then, something changed. After a few months—or maybe it was longer?—the world outside the womb started to become clearer. I could hear her—the soft, rhythmic voice of my mom, singing a lullaby. It was faint, but I could feel the warmth in her words. A gentle sensation washed over me as if the very essence of her love and care was being transferred directly to my soul.

I was aware of her presence, of the closeness. It was a warmth I’d never known, and it struck me hard.

In my previous life, I’d never felt like I belonged. My parents were distant figures in my memory. They'd check on me sometimes, but it felt like I was a burden to them. Always nagging me to do chores, to be more responsible. I resented them. The idea of leaving my old life was easy, even though I never got to say goodbye.

I felt it—a strange, comforting feeling that was both foreign and oddly familiar.

I didn’t know if I cared about it yet. I didn’t even know if I could. But I could feel her—my mother—and that made everything in this new world feel less lonely.

As more months passed, I began to notice something new—hunger. It wasn’t the kind of hunger I remembered from my old body, but it was there. A dull, persistent ache that reminded me I was getting closer to the moment I’d been waiting for. Any new sensation was welcome at this point, even this odd version of starvation.

“It’s almost time, huh?” I said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. Just one more month,” the god replied.

The last month was spent with the god droning on about the intricacies of the materials. Apparently, potions could be brewed from certain plants under specific conditions to recover health or cure sickness. Not exactly groundbreaking info, but better than nothing.

“Hey god”

“I told you I'm not a god, stop degrading me! “

“Well, it's easier than calling you a cyberthing. So is god, unless you have better solution”

“..... is Cyberith. But whatever your ignorant mind is not able to catch my technologic words. Changing the topic. Tomorrow’s the day. Honestly, you should be grateful I’ve given you so much information.”

“You spent 70% of the time ranting about the heroes’ lives,” I shot back. “But fine, the rest was... kinda useful. So, yeah, thanks.”

“Good. You’ve learned everything, right? Just remember, it’s not my fault if you die on your first day out there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s hear about the ‘heroes’ again, since you’re obsessed with them,” I said with a roll of my nonexistent eyes.

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THE HEROES:

Zakarias

The god explained that Zakarias was a wizard with absurd potential. His current self obtained a title of grand sage He could copy any spell he witnessed, no exceptions, just by seeing it once. The catch? He had no interest in defeating the demon lord. Instead, he was happily indulging in the wealth and women showered upon him by each kingdom.

Bale

Bale, according to the god, was the unluckiest of the bunch. The god refused to explain why, which only made me more curious. Bale’s category was Swordman, and he wielded a divine blade called the Sword of the Hero. Yeah, not exactly an inspired name. The sword granted Bale immense raw power, making him the second most powerful being in the world. The only reason he wasn’t the strongest was because of Kaelion’s broken skill.

Kaelion

Kaelion’s story was the most outrageous. The god told me he was a cocky businessman in his past life who somehow managed to convince the god to give him the "Cheater" category. Yes, you heard that right—his ability let him basically enter cheat codes into reality.

“Why the hell does a category like ‘Cheater’ even exist?” I blurted out.

“Well, normally it doesn’t. But when a position idea opens up, sometimes I like to experiment. I wanted to see what potential this human could have,”

Based on the description of Kaelion he was born and soon he entered a cheat code to increase his power, meaning he was born technically max out level since he only has to put the cheat code in. His purpose is unknown and even the god told me he does not know since he does not meddle in inner thoughts of the players.

“I do not understand, if this guy is so powerful then, why didn't he defeated the demon lord”

“Not sure, but maybe because of his weakness”

“Weakness?”

“ Yeah, I can’t tell you, but it is easy to figure out for anyone with logic, the hard thing is. It hardly can be called a weakness”

Something that caught me off guard when the god told me about the stats and levels in the previous months, was the limits, and Kaelion sounded the exact example that I needed to be clear on.

"Hey, god. You told me before that stats are unlimited, right? But levels aren’t. How does that work again?"

The god chuckled and replied, "Correct. Stats are unlimited, but levels are not. Stats can branch into subcategories, which are either proportional or unrelated to the other stats. Let me remind you of the core ones. Anything else not listed can typically be derived from these."

The god then laid out the list:

* Strength: Physical power, influencing attack damage, carrying capacity, and actions requiring brute force.

* Mana: The resource that powers supernatural abilities. Without mana, you can't perform magic, alchemy, spiritual connections or any skill requiring supernatural force—unless the skill explicitly has no need of mana consumption.

* Health: The amount of damage you can endure before death.

* Intelligence: Mental acuity, affecting problem-solving, planning, and certain skill efficiencies.

* Speed: Determines movement and attack speed (measured in km/h).

* Critical Rate: The probability of landing a critical hit, enhancing the potency of attacks.

* Magic: The most versatile supernatural power, used to cast spells and perform mystical tasks. At level 60 or higher, a user often no longer requires catalysts or enchantments to conjure spells.

* Crafting Skills: The ability to create and structure items, from weapons to materials and complex constructs.

* Raw Power: Untamed energy, often used in combat or to fuel machinery and other heavy processes.

The god continued, "Like I said, these are the essentials. Other stats, like stamina, often go unnoticed because they're proportional to core stats like strength or speed. For example, if your strength and speed are high, most will assume your stamina increased proportionally. You don’t need to track every minor detail—it’s the big ones that matter."

"As for levels, they're limited. Simply put, they're like gates to higher consciousness and understanding, capped at level 100. Now, before your 'rotting brain,' as you might call it, asks why I didn’t make levels unlimited too, let me explain. Sure, I could have made everything limitless, but many of the rules I created came from a random generator of ideas. Of course, there were exceptions—just to keep things interesting."

The pieces were starting to fall into place, but something still gnawed at me. Kaelion.

"Wait," I blurted. "If Kaelion used the cheat code to max out his stats... you don’t mean—"

The god interrupted with an almost casual air. "Yes. He has infinite stats. If he wants, he could destroy the universe."

I froze, stunned by the revelation. Infinite stats? It was the kind of cheat even games didn’t allow. My mind raced, trying to process this.

But then, something didn’t add up. Kaelion had a weakness—or so the god claimed earlier. Still, it didn’t sound like any weakness would matter with stats like that.

Then why hasn’t he killed the Demon Lord yet. The question burned in my mind. I’d have to confront Kaelion someday if I want to fulfill my wish, but could I even hope to beat someone like that? For now, the thought lingered, heavy with doubt and dread.

"But remember this," the god continued, his tone sharp yet oddly reassuring, like a drill burrowing into my thoughts. "Even someone with infinite stats can be defeated by normal means, as long as your level is higher. Learning high-level skills can make all the difference."

I clung to that shred of hope, but then he dropped the hammer.

"In Kaelion's case, however, it's special. He’s been level 100 since the very beginning."

That tone—half discouragement, half encouragement—sent a chill down my spine. It was like he was testing me, trying to see if I’d break under the weight of that truth or rise above it. My heart wavered, but only for a moment.

“And that’s all about the heroes I guess,” I muttered, half-annoyed.

“Yeah, but the chance of you meeting them is so low that you don’t have to worry,” the god replied with a shrug, or at least I imagined it as one.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Which is the worst part. Wasting time on information I don’t even need.”

The god chuckled. “You know, your mom is heading to the hospital right now. You’ll be born soon.”

“Good,” I replied, brushing past his comment. “Let’s see… The rest of the info was about…”

RECOVERY:

There are ways to recover during battle:

1. Healing Spells – Performed by a user of magic.

2. Potions – Instant-use items that restore health, mana, or counter ailments like poison, curses, or debuffs. These are handmade and require specific ingredients, making them time-intensive to create. However, due to abundant natural resources, they are relatively cheap to produce.

3. Crafted Items – Items dropped by creatures or made by craftsmen. Some private companies specialize in crafting potions and consumables for adventurers.

COMBAT WEAPONS:

Weapons are mostly crafted by tavern craftsmen or traded among adventurers. The tricky part is avoiding scams—many can’t directly read the stats or discern the weapon's original material.

LIFE AND DEATH:

“If I die,” I recalled the god explaining, “there are items that can resurrect me legally, or illegally by necromancy and such but there’s a catch: resurrection must occur within 24 hours of death. After that, no legal or forbidden method will work.”

He had also mentioned the possibility of immortality. Though vague on the details, the fact that it existed was enough to spark my curiosity. If it was achievable, perhaps it could be part of my long-term goals.

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“Politics,” I muttered. “I don’t remember much about that.”

“No big deal,” the god reassured me. “Each kingdom has its own diplomacy anyway.”

“Oh, right. How many kingdoms are there?”

“In total, there are eight kingdoms.”

I frowned. “So how does it work with three heroes for eight kingdoms?”

“‘Hero’ what people see is a divine category but what I see is just a label like the rest of categories, like farmer. So,” the god explained. “I don’t force them to serve any kingdom or follow a specific objective. Every player has free will once they enter the world. Many don’t care about adventuring or defeating the demon lord. They settle down, start families, or carve out lives for themselves.”

I can feel my surroundings shaking and the contractions start appearing.

“Oh, it’s almost time for you to depart,” the god said with a tone that felt unusually final.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “You’re annoying, but I guess this was better than being stuck alone.”

“Getting sentimental, are we? What a brat,” the god scoffed, though his words felt more playful than dismissive.

Suddenly, I felt something new—movement. A rush of sensations overwhelmed me. For the first time, I felt myself being pulled into the light. It was blinding, even though my eyes refused to open. My body felt heavy, fragile, and... wet.

“Congratulations! It’s a healthy boy,” a cheerful voice announced.

I didn’t cry. Of course, I didn’t. Even in this new world, I was a man.

And then it happened. My senses sharpened just in time for an unfamiliar sensation—someone was holding me, carefully yet firmly.

A loud, sharp smack appeared against my backside.

Crying sounds coming from me, my body told me to, it feels natural.

“Gah! What the—” I thought, startled. That hurt! Who thought slapping newborns was a good idea?

Before I could process the insult, a soothing voice cooed above me.

I felt the air shift as I was carried over, handed gently to another set of arms. These felt softer, warmer. I couldn’t quite see her, but I could feel her presence.

“Shh, no worries. Mommy’s here.”

The sound of her voice was soft, almost musical. I felt her warmth and the faint, salty drops of her tears landing on my tiny, helpless face. Wait... was she crying on me? Was she trying to drown me on my first day of life?

“Dear, he’s beautiful,” she said to someone nearby.

Through blurry vision, I could make out silhouettes—a woman holding me close, her trembling shoulders proof of her overwhelming emotion.

“I know! Look at him!” boomed a deep, powerful voice.

And then, there was him.

“Is it a boy? Amazing!” The deep, booming voice sounded excited, eager.

“Dear, calm down. He’s just a baby.”

“I know, I know! But I can’t wait for him to grow up! I’ll teach him to be a real man. Can I hold him?”

“Of course, but first we have to name him,” my mother said softly, handing me over.

The transition was jarring—less delicate, more... firm. The arms holding me were strong, rough, and a bit overwhelming. As my vision struggled to focus, I got my first look at him.

Is this... my father? Please god tell me he isn’t.

He looked like a gorilla dressed as a human.

“No way. Am I doomed to be an ugly as him?” My thoughts were loud but the peace I felt in the presence of these two were even louder.

This sucks but I just have to be an adventurer and then my life will be solved.

“Hmm, maybe Maximus? “

“No, Dorion” Dad handed me back to mom.

She looked at me, she was scanning me somehow, and suddenly she was startled.

“What's wrong?” my dad asked

“I know. His name,” She smiled with a soft gentle voice. She did say the same words I wanted to hear, like she read my mind.

“Daryn” Is like she knew me from the beginning, somehow I was impressed.

“Daryn? Sounds like a name of a wuss”

“Dorion, please. Is a mother instinct this name fits him like the ring you gave it to me”

“Fine, Daryn Villa Lustria will be” My dad said nervously. With his tone of voice he might be feeling embarrassed.

Just like that my name still being Daryn even in another world.

First-seventh year:

My parents—despite their quirks—weren’t so bad. They fed me well, spoiled me occasionally, and my consistent nagging for things kept their attention squarely on me. It was a solid balance. My favorite part? Crying in the middle of the night just to get their attention. The sad part was that it was mostly my dad who carried me to calm me down. But when it was my mom, I didn’t know why, but I felt an extra peace when she did it. Maybe it was because, in this world, she was my biological mother—like some mandatory instinct or something.

During the next couple of years, I only dedicated myself to learning the basics, as being able to stand by myself and pronounce the words mom and dad, to be honest, was harder than I thought.

By the time I turned six, I had started stringing together words here and there, enough to earn cheerful reactions when they called me by their affectionate nicknames. It was also the first year I received presents—an exciting milestone. In previous years, “parties” were just the three of us: Mom, Dad, and me, gathered around a candlelit cake, sharing quiet moments that, while small, still felt special.

By the time I was seven, I gained the freedom to walk out the house, or at least see what was outside. The world I’d been thrown into felt like a cruel joke. Looking outside, all I saw was a barren wasteland, cracked earth stretching endlessly under an unforgiving sun. It was worse than the desolate towns of my previous life, and that was saying something. The neighbors seemed kind enough, but this place wasn’t meant for kids—it was a workers’ town, where dreams went to die and labor filled the void.

I kicked at a dusty toy vault in the corner of the room, counting the contents. One, two, three toys. That was it. Still, it was more than nothing. They’d given me something every Christmas and birthday since I turned six. Before that, it was just small gatherings—Mom, Dad, and a candlelit cake only on my birthdays. Now, at least, they tried. It wasn’t much, but I guessed this life wasn’t completely miserable.

“Good life, so far,” I muttered, a mix of resignation and sarcasm. The words had barely left my mouth when I heard it—a voice I thought I’d left behind.

“Yeah, enjoy it while you can. Youth only lasts so long.”

I froze. That voice. My skin crawled as I turned, scanning the empty room. My stomach tightened. “You,” I hissed. “The god.”

“Hmm,” he mused, his voice crackling like static. “Let’s not call me that anymore. Feels weird now that we’re, you know, partners in crime.”

As my mom’s voice echoed from the kitchen, bright and clear, I shook off the weirdness of the encounter.

“My mom’s calling. I’ve gotta go. See you later,” I said, brushing off the god—no, Admin—apparently.

“Acting like such a baby,” he mocked as I started to walk away.

I waved him off. “Whatever. I don’t have time for you.”

“Wait,” he said sharply. “I’m not leaving anytime soon. I want to enjoy this little vacation.”

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t just follow me. My mom’s going to see you and start asking questions.”

"Wait—" but his voice was cut off as something glowed in the toy vault. A strange orange-and-white ball with glowing, circuit-like designs emerged, bouncing out in the air from the vault.

“What the—” I blinked in disbelief.

The ball crackled with energy as it spoke, its tone smug. “I am Pachesko now. I’ve taken on a physical form. A harmless form, so I don’t come across as threatening to your mother.”

I stared at the ball, dumbfounded. “You’re...a ball now?”

“I am not a ball,” he snapped. “I am a sophisticated, cybernetic lifeform!”

“You’re a computer ball,” I said, smirking.

“Do not provoke me!” Pachesko bounced slightly, his glowing circuits pulsing like veins.

“What’s with the name Pachesko?”

He bounced again, this time higher, as if to intimidate me. “I generated it randomly from a name generator I made. It’s my name now. Deal with it.”

I shrugged. “Fine. Whatever, Pachesko. Come on then, but don’t freak out my mom.”

God or Pachesko—it didn’t really matter. If he was so focused on being called a god, I guessed Pachesko was easier to remember than “cyberthing.”

I kicked him gently in front of me like a soccer ball as I headed to the kitchen. The shiny orb grumbled with every bounce. “Stop that!” he growled. “I’m not a toy!”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I said, smirking as I tried to spin him under my foot, causing his circuits to flicker wildly. “You’re definitely toy-sized.”

We arrived in the kitchen, where my mom was preparing a bowl of soup and my dad was reading the newspaper.

“Mom, can I keep it?” I asked, clutching Pachesko tightly in my arms.

“Where did you find it?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“Ah, I just... found it,” I replied, avoiding her gaze.

“Honey, what if it belongs to one of the neighbor’s kids?”

“But, Mom, there are no kids around,” I said, the words landing heavier than I intended. My mom’s expression faltered, guilt flickering across her face.

“You should stop playing with toys,” my dad cut in, his voice firm. “You’re already seven. Be a man. At your age, I was helping my dad carry sandbags.”

“Dorion!” my mom snapped, her tone sharp. “He’s just a kid.”

“I know he is,” my dad said, holding up his hands defensively, “but look at him—he looks like a wimp because you spoil him so much!”

My mom shot him a fiery glare that could melt steel, and he immediately started backpedaling. “Ah… don’t take me the wrong way. I’m not saying he shouldn’t enjoy his childhood, but I don’t want to raise an ungrateful, useless brat.”

My dad’s words grew weaker under the weight of my mom’s blazing stare—a classic scene in our household.

She finally sighed, turning to me. “So, Daryn, you can keep that… thing, whatever it is.”

My dad nodded, trying to act like he still had the upper hand. “Yeah, uh, sure. Keep it.”

“Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad,” I said quickly, grinning from ear to ear.

As I sat down to eat, the warm, savory taste of the food made me forget everything for a moment. It was so good.