?The house rule was clear and, to Ren, irritatingly irrational: formal knowledge and weapons training only began at age seven. Arthur believed that childhood should be pure, focused on building bonds and humility, preventing precocious intellect from breeding arrogance or sibling rivalry. Therefore, while his older brothers, Leon and Kael, were already sweating in the courtyard, Ren was condemned to the worst punishment for a 27-year-old ex-soldier: Maya’s doll tea party.
?"Ren, you’re not drinking your invisible petal tea," said Maya, with her bright blue eyes and a smile that Ren was certain hid the intellect of an anime villain.
?Maya, at six years old, was Ren's human radar. Every time he tried to sneak away, she would appear with a porcelain teapot.
?"Is this girl actually from this world?" Ren thought, breaking into a cold sweat. "I suspect she’s also reincarnated. It’s impossible for a child to predict my flanking maneuvers with such precision!"
?He knew Maya was watching him. She knew about his "fetish" for books and seemed to enjoy his failed attempts. And there were many.
?The Chronology of Tactical Failure
?The first attempt was "Operation Inverted Trojan Horse." Ren spent three days studying the delivery schedule of the mansion’s supplies. He hid inside a wicker basket that was supposed to carry bureaucratic scrolls to the room next to the library.
?When the basket was dropped off and Ren began to lift the lid, smelling victory, the lid was opened from above. Arthur was there, holding a cup of coffee.
?"Looking for a place for a nap, Ren?" the Marquess asked with terrifying calm.
?"? DESGRA?A! (Oh, damnation!)" Ren’s mind screamed. "How did he know it was this basket? I changed the labels! This man is a demon!"
?The second attempt was "Operation Heir’s Shadow." Ren fabricated a horsehair wig and used cork-padded boots to simulate the height and gait of his older brother, Leon. He walked down the hallway with the rigid posture of a seven-year-old noble, taking advantage of the torchlight shadows.
?As he passed the library door, he heard a voice from behind a statue:
?"The stride is correct, but the smell of baby soap gave you away, 'Leon'."
?It was Arthur. Again.
?"QUE COISA RUIM, MEU DEUS! (What an evil thing, my God!)" Ren snorted internally, being carried back to his room like a kitten by the scruff of his neck.
?The third attempt was "Operation Iron Chameleon." Ren hid inside a decorative suit of armor in the hallway, waiting for the guards' shift change. He stayed motionless for two hours, controlling his breathing as he had learned in the Amazon jungles. When the guards clicked their heels to leave, Ren took his first metallic step.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
?Clang.
?The helmet of the armor next to him opened. Arthur was sitting inside it, somehow, just waiting.
?"WHAT THE HELL!" Ren nearly had a breakdown. "He was inside the armor the whole time? Doesn't he have a territory to govern?! Get a hobby, old man!"
?The Ventilation Incident
?Decided to use his technical knowledge, Ren went for "Operation Duct Rat." He discovered that the mansion's ventilation system was interconnected to keep the book rooms cool. He climbed the pipes with Herculeable effort for his tiny arms.
?He crawled through the cold metal, dodging dust, until he saw strange lights. Straight lines of blue mana crossed the duct.
?"Magic lasers? Seriously? In a residential library?" He used his toddler flexibility to contort his body, passing over and under the detection lines.
?When his hand touched the grate leading into the library, he felt a warm breath in his left ear. In the cramped, dark duct, Arthur’s face appeared, illuminated by a small flame on his fingertip, with a comically sinister "gotcha" expression.
?"WHAT KIND OF DISGRA?A IS THIS? THIS GUY WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE! HOW IN THE WORLD IS THIS POSSIBLE, OH COISA RUIM!" Ren screamed in thought as he was pulled out by his feet.
?Success and the Sinister Game of Tag
?Days later, after discovering a secret passage connecting the wine cellar to the library—and ensuring his father was buried in economic reports—Ren finally succeeded. He entered the library; the silence was sacred, and the smell of old paper was like pure oxygen.
?However, upon reaching the central table, his heart stopped. Iris, his mother, and Maya were there, reading calmly. Maya, who would turn seven in weeks, already had informal "visiting" permission.
?"Finally, Ren!" Iris laughed, closing a book. "We were betting if you’d try to come down the chimney today or use the bush disguise again."
?Maya gave a mischievous giggle. They had been watching all his "tactics" from the front row.
?"I was just entertainment for them this whole time? My sergeant's honor is in the trash!" Ren thought, indignant.
?But the celebration was short-lived. A thud echoed at the door. Arthur Valerius entered the room, but not walking. He was in a "search posture," moving in a sinister and fast way, like a figure from a horror movie.
?"RENN... I SMELL A RECRUIT OUT OF POST..." Arthur joked, with a comical guttural voice.
?Ren felt the cold chill of survival. What followed was a chase worthy of Scooby-Doo. Ren dived between "History of Races" shelves, slid under tables, and used the rolling wooden ladders as ramps. Arthur appeared around every corner, the door guards joined in trying to corner him, and Maya cheered from the corner:
?"Go, Ren! Daddy’s gaining ground!"
?It was ten minutes of pure intensity. Ren used every evasion technique, but his four-year-old body betrayed him. His lungs burned, and his legs felt heavy. He collapsed on the plush rug, exhausted, as Arthur picked him up, laughing victoriously.
?"Enough tactics for today, little general," Arthur said, sitting down with his son in his lap.
?Ren, still panting, finally asked why the rule was so strict. Arthur, losing his joking tone, looked into his son’s eyes with a wisdom that Keinji recognized immediately. It was the same look his father, Vitor, used to give him.
?"My son, House Valerius does not seek to create arrogant geniuses, but human leaders. Childhood is the only time you can be 'pure,' where you play with the guard’s son and the cook’s daughter without looking at their status. This unbreakable trust we have with our people—including elves and demi-humans—is born from these games in the mud. If you grow up only among books and swords, you will see the people as numbers or tools. I want you to see them as friends."
?Ren felt the impact of those words. Arthur's "logistics" weren't about war; they were about humanity.
?"I understand..." Ren whispered, feeling a deep respect for his father. "I’ll enjoy my childhood, Papa. But... can I play sword-fighting with the guards' kids?"
?Arthur smiled. "As long as it's with wooden swords and you don't try to 'invade' anything until you’re seven."
?Ren accepted the deal. But as he left the library, he already felt the familiar weight in his hands. In his past life, he was a Katana master in high school and a machete survivor in the Amazon jungles.
?Now, the "swordplay" in the courtyard would be his new training ground. He would be the most dangerous baby in that kingdom, and he would do it while, officially, only "playing horsey."
Desgra?a or Coisa Ruim are his way of venting his frustration at his father's "OP" (Overpowered) parenting skills. Hope you guys enjoy this more lighthearted side of our little sergeant!