Chapter 2: Cries of a Reborn Cuntling(What’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he crying?)Rather than the wails of a newborn shrieking into life, what greeted the chamber was a bizarre, almost offended look on the infant’s face—like a man who’d been teleported mid-sip of coffee into an ancient fucking fairy tale.(Doctor, is my baby okay?)The one in the white robe—clearly some kind of healer—raised his hand and let loose a faint emerald glow. A semi-transparent shimmer of vines and leaves bloomed briefly around his cheeks like the ghost of a forest whispering secrets. He studied the baby as though the child had farted in church.“I’m perplexed,” the healer murmured. “There is no physical anomaly. The boy’s body is sound.”…While his newly acquired parents fretted over him, Elias was still mentally shitting bricks about his reincarnation. He glanced around at the fresh cast of NPCs populating this fantasy sim.The man with the glowing face? Definitely the doctor, or shaman, or whatever the

Chapter 4: Spellcraft of the Infant Archon – A Cradle Stirred by SorceryMonths had trickled by like golden sand through an hourglass etched in runes, and Elias—newborn heir of the boundless Holloway dominion—had dutifully fulfilled the sacred obligations of infancy: namely, doing absolutely fucking nothing but sleep, drool, and endure the indignity of frequent cheek-pinching.Yet, through it all, Elias retained his sanity by threading his consciousness with mana. It became his ritual, his secret. Each day, beneath the silken canopy of his cradle, he summoned the elemental tides from the surrounding atmosphere, feeding the arcane stones embedded in the very marrow of his reborn form.As the days bloomed into weeks, he began to feel it more clearly—an intimate familiarity blooming between him and the mana that saturated the air. He could taste the density of magic upon his tongue, differentiate between the drifting flavors of Earth, Fire, Water, and Air. He could see it, like colored s

Chapter 6: The Schematics of Sorcery and SteamSuddenly, an ethereal tide of celestial data surged into Elias’s mind—a storm of diagrams etched in flowing light and glyphic geometry. The ancient schematics, impossible yet intuitive, nested themselves deep into his consciousness like runes etched upon soulstone.He saw them.No—he knew them.Every curve, seal, and spiral of conduit-chant, etched into his memory like it had always been there.Through the cryptic knowledge gifted by Nexus-1, the arcane construct bound to his soul, Elias now fully understood the ancient art of hydra-flow systems—the lost, forbidden architecture of controlled water. He could build it. Forge it. Shape running water from nothing but will, copper, and glyph-borne spellcraft.“Yes!”“You uttered something, young master?” came the gentle voice of Bernice, the elder handmaid, as she entered the washroom—her hands full with yet another gleaming pail.Elias jolted upright mid-celebration, barely suppressing his vi

Chapter VIII — Flush: A Hymn to the River-God of ShitA symphony of astonishment echoed through the Holloway manor, like a choir of seraphs glimpsing forbidden divinity.Maids, a dozen or more, pressed themselves into Elias Holloway’s private sanctum—his once-humble bathroom now reborn as a shrine of technological heresy. Their eyes widened in reverence and disbelief as water danced freely from the brass-limned mouth of the faucet.“No incantation,” one whispered, brow furrowed, “yet the water obeys.”“Is there an elemental spirit trapped inside?” another gasped. “Or is someone casting from beyond the wall?”Bernice—ever vigilant, ever skeptical—stood before Elias, eyes narrowed with maternal suspicion. “Young master... did you construct this?”Elias, still damp from his most recent test, gave a modest nod, his expression the definition of mischief and miracle.“How?” they demanded, their voices rising in near-hysterical chorus, the hunger for arcane truth igniting behind their pupils

Chapter 10: The Alchemy of Cleanliness—Soap Wrought From Flame and FatThe days unfurled like golden ribbons in the wind, and whispers of the young heir’s wondrous constructs spread like wildfire beneath the vaulted skies of House Holloway. What began as a humble miracle in the kitchenhouse—those enchanted flowglyph arrays and waste-vanishing thrones—had now become the subject of awe, obsession, and near-religious reverence among the estate’s denizens.Servants returning from border-hunts and mage-errands found themselves halted mid-step by the sight of maids luxuriating near the communal atrium, dabbing clean limbs and twirling beneath cascades of warm water with glee. Where once the scent of sweat and the dull grind of chores had permeated the halls, now came the fragrant hush of rejuvenated lives.The butlers watched with furrowed brows. Their once disciplined, even stoic, routines had been overturned. The maids… were bathing. Twice. A day.“What in the hollow stars happened here?”