《The Legacy - this ain't just another isekai novel》


 Seriously? Again? (Guess Whos Back in Diapers…)

    Darkness... nah, not really. More like this weird, fuzzy nothingness. Then, pressure¡ªuncomfortable, suffocating¡ªand suddenly... LIGHT!


    And cold. And noise. So much noise. My brand-new ears were buzzing like crazy. I tried to scream and¡ªsurprise, surprise¡ªwhat came out was a high-pitched baby wail. What the hell...? Oh, this is bad.


    I opened my eyes¡ªor tried to. Everything was blurry, just giant shapes moving around me. I could hear voices: one deep and male, sounding relieved; the other, soft and female, tired but overflowing with joy. Then, big but surprisingly gentle hands wrapped me in something warm and soft.


    "He''s a healthy boy, honey. A strong one," the man said. Through my crappy vision, I made out a massive figure¡ªmuscular, dark-haired, sharp features. Even in my dazed state, he radiated power.


    "Oh, look at him... He''s beautiful, Garen," the woman whispered. She leaned in, her light hair and kind, sky-colored eyes coming into view. Just looking at her was soothing. "What should we name him?"


    "Lexo," Garen said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "His name is Lexo, love."


    Lexo. That''s me. Or... was me? My mind was a whirlwind. I remembered something else¡ªanother world. Books, screens, tech... a pretty anticlimactic death (truck-kun? A dumb slip-and-fall? The details were conveniently fuzzy). And now... this. A baby. Whimpering, helpless, and completely unable to control my own bowels. Yep, definitely reborn. What kind of light novel clich¨¦ is this?!


    Right as that cynical thought crossed my mind, something flickered. Like a hallucination¡ªexcept way too sharp. A translucent blue screen popped up in front of my eyes, visible only to me.


    --------------


    [Lexo]


    Level: 0


    HP: 10/10


    MP: 5/5


    STR: 1


    VIT: 1


    INT: ?? (Locked)


    WIS: ?? (Locked)


    DEX: 1


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    MAG: 1


    Status: Newborn, Conscious Mind.


    --------------


    Aha! Stats! Knew it! INT and WIS locked, huh? Makes sense¡ªmy baby brain probably isn''t fully wired up to my adult consciousness yet. And that status... Conscious Mind. The system knows I''m aware. Interesting. And kinda creepy.


    They placed me in the woman''s arms¡ªmy mom, I guess. She smiled down at me, and I swear I felt a faint, comforting energy flow from her when she touched my forehead. Definitely a healer mom type.


    Garen¡ªmy dad¡ªstayed close. His hand, huge and rough, scarred even to my blurry vision, patted my head with a kind of clumsy tenderness. Ex-hero or soldier type, I thought. He looked the part. Strong. Protective.


    Man, what a set of parents I lucked into.


    The room around me was simple but clean. Smelled like wood, dried herbs... most likely a village. Firstborn son, possibly OP parents... the setup was solid. Now came the hard part: surviving infancy as a mental adult stuck in a useless baby body.


    The cycle of eating, sleeping, and... well, pooping was painfully slow but necessary. I watched everything I could, absorbing every little detail.


    Weeks turned into months. My vision sharpened, and my muscle control got slightly less pathetic. I could turn my head, babble in ways my parents thought were cute (if only they knew...). I started noticing patterns: Dad left often, sometimes coming back smelling like the woods and sweat. Other times, he trained in the backyard with a wooden sword (a sword!), moving with the kind of power and precision that confirmed my suspicions.


    Mom took care of me but also treated other villagers who came by with injuries or sickness, using a mix of herbs and that gentle, healing light I sometimes felt from her.


    My status screen hadn''t changed much¡ªmaybe a point or two in HP and MP from natural growth.


    The question is... what now?


    I''m a baby with an adult mind in a fantasy world, probably rocking some broken skills eventually. The possibilities are limited right now, but they''re there.

 Look at Me—Crawling Towards Enlightenment (Or Maybe Just the Fridge)

    Man, crawling! My first taste of actual movement¡ªeven if it''s just dragging myself across the floor. My knees are definitely gonna hate me for this later, but right now, it''s my personal ride to explore the tiny universe of our house and backyard. And while I shuffle around like a determined caterpillar, that weird sensation is still there¡ªright under my sternum. Not painful, just... there. Like a tiny, dormant sun waiting to be fed.


    Now that I''m about two months old and my hand-eye (or maybe eye-crawl?) coordination is improving, I''ve started noticing these... fragments? Tiny specks of warm light scattered throughout my body. I can''t see them with my eyes, obviously¡ªit''s more like sensing my own blood flow, but subtler, more... magical. Mana? Or some kind of precursor to it?


    Looks like I live in a village called Villa Serena, which, as the name suggests, is pretty chill. Nothing too special¡ªtypical medieval-style houses, a big central park that doubles as an open-air market in the mornings, a huge fancy palace up north (probably the government building), a forest to the west, and our house near the outskirts to the south. To the east, there''s a dirt road with a makeshift watchtower a few meters high, likely for guards to keep an eye on who comes and goes.


    "That''s where Dad works, champ," he says, pointing proudly at the tall wooden structure¡ªwhich, honestly, looks like it would collapse in a strong wind. Bored, I grab his nose just to shut him up for a second. It works. He just stares at me like an idiot before tossing me way too high into the air, catching me, and doing it again. And again.


    "Honey, you''ll scare him! Don''t be so rough," Mom says, scooping me up into her warm arms. "My sweet little Lexo," she murmurs, playing with my tiny hands and lifting me gently.


    This whole scene plays out nearly every day when we go to the market as a family. Even the villagers are weirdly nice, giving us small gifts and letting us buy first, even when there''s a long line.


    My favorite crawling spot is near the edge of the yard, where Dad¡ªGaren, the ex-hero type with muscles that could probably snap logs¡ªdoes his morning training. Watching him train is fascinating. It''s not just brute strength; there''s a rhythm, a flow to his movements with the wooden sword. Sometimes, when he pulls off a particularly intense set, I swear I feel a faint vibration in my chest, like my core is resonating with his effort.


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    Some kind of internal energy technique? Even if it''s not full-on magic, there''s something there.


    Then there''s Mom¡ªElara, the healer, all refined grace with gentle hands. When she''s not patching up some villager with a nasty cut or a weird fever, she just sits quietly, eyes closed. Meditating, I guess. But when she heals, it''s different. I can see the soft, warm light wrapping around her hands, and I can feel a connection to my own core and those scattered fragments. It''s like her energy ''calls out'' to the specks inside me, making them vibrate.


    From what I''ve gathered from their conversations, there''s some kind of ''awakening'' around age thirteen¡ªprobably when this internal system fully matures and activates.


    But¡­ what if I don''t wait?


    The idea is tempting. Here I am, a reincarnated guy with knowledge of tropes and possibilities. Wait thirteen years? That''s an eternity in baby time! If these fragments are supposed to merge into my core eventually, why not give them a little push?


    So, while pretending to chew on a blade of grass (very baby-like behavior¡ªgotta keep up appearances), I close my eyes and focus. I try to feel one of the fragments in my arm and¡­ pull it. Mentally, of course. Like trying to wiggle a numb toe.


    Frustration. It''s like trying to grab smoke with boxing gloves. I can feel the fragments, I can feel the core, but the ''thread'' connecting them¡ªor the strength to move them¡ªis


    just not there. Or maybe it is, but my control is as clumsy as my ability to walk.


    After several minutes of intense concentration (which probably just looks like a baby zoning out at a fly), I manage¡­ something?


    One of the specks closest to my core, in my chest, seems to vibrate more intensely. Did it move? Even just a little? Or was that just my reincarnated brain overthinking? No fireworks, no system notification, no sudden power surge. Just that faint vibration and a wave of exhaustion that feels way out of proportion to the effort.


    Damn. This is gonna be harder than I thought. Maybe trying to manipulate internal energy without a developed body is like trying to run a marathon on newborn legs.


    Makes sense, I guess.


    Still, that tiny vibration¡­ it was something. Not nothing. A small but undeniable proof that my theory might be right. The fragments can be influenced. I just need to figure out how.

 Zen Baby (Dad Takes Flight)

    If my past life taught me anything (besides the fact that trucks are dangerous and naps are criminally underrated), it''s that practice¡ªno matter how tedious¡ªusually pays off. Or at the very least, it makes you really good at being tediously persistent.


    So, I set up my secret baby-monk-in-training routine. While crawling around the house, exploring every dusty corner (and, of course, taste-testing them¡ªgotta keep up appearances), I dedicate part of my downtime to that internal energy thing. It''s exhausting. Trying to "pull" those warm specks of light feels less like focused effort and more like trying to juggle Jell-O using sheer willpower. My adult brain is screaming in frustration inside this baby skull, but all my body does is babble nonsense or hiccup randomly.


    Mom is my main source of intel, and I''m eternally grateful she''s such a chatterbox. She talks to herself while sorting herbs, fills Dad in when he gets home from work, and even explains things to villagers who stop by for healing. And the best part? She assumes I''m just enjoying the sound of her voice. Poor, clueless woman¡ªI''m absorbing every word.


    "Once you awaken," she explained one day to some noble-looking kid with a fractured arm, while I "played" with my feet (surprisingly entertaining, by the way), "your core is... raw. Like a lump of coal. Dark, full of impurities." She paused, and I felt her gaze flick toward me. "But over time, with meditation, with careful use of energy... it cleanses. It refines. It turns dark red, like dying embers. Then a brighter red, like blood. With more work, orange like the sunset, yellow like the midday sun... The most gifted or diligent might reach silver, like the moon, or even pure white, like light itself."


    Light. Like hers.


    When she heals, I can feel the warmth, the brightness, the purity of her energy. And when she explained the elements¡ªEarth, Water, Air, Fire as basics; Light and Darkness as rarities; and advanced combos like Metal, Electricity, Ice... even Gravity (okay, that sounds OP!)¡ªI felt a pull when she mentioned Light. Was it because of her influence? Or did I actually have an affinity for it?


    My daily training continues. I crawl over to my favorite spot in the yard to watch Dad. Today, he''s not alone. Thom, a young guard¡ªkinda lanky, bald, with a mustache that covers half his face and looking way out of shape¡ªis sparring with him using wooden swords.


    Or at least, trying to.


    Thom is getting absolutely wrecked. Dad moves with a speed and fluidity that totally contradicts his bulky frame. He dodges a clumsy swing, spins effortlessly, and disarms Thom without breaking a sweat.


    "You need to train more," Dad says with a sigh. "You left your left flank wide open. And your stance... you gotta take this seriously, buddy. You never know..."


    At the peak of a particularly fast exchange, as Dad blocks one of Thom''s desperate thrusts, I swear I see the faintest orange flicker on his wooden blade. A second later, a wave of dry heat brushes against my skin. Definitely Fire. But controlled¡ªso precise it''s almost unnoticeable.


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    Maybe to impress his adoring audience (me, obviously), Dad decides to put on a little show.


    "Watch this, Thom! You too, champ!" he says, winking at me. He braces himself, drops into a low stance, and suddenly explodes into a flurry of cuts and thrusts against a training post. His wooden sword whistles through the air, leaving afterimages. Each impact shakes the ground, and with every strike, I feel it. A pulse in my chest. A resonance.


    The air around the post distorts slightly from the heat.


    I''m so caught up in the display, feeling that strange vibration deep in my core, that I don''t notice the real danger.


    Dad''s final strike lands with extra force, and a small shockwave ripples outward. For Thom, it''s just a warm breeze. But for me¡ªa barely three-month-old baby¡ªit''s like getting smacked by a pillow the size of a house.


    I go flying.


    A choked little yelp escapes my throat as I tumble onto the grass. Before I can even process what happened, I hear an exasperated sigh and feel Mom scooping me up. There''s no blinding light, no dramatic display of magic¡ªjust a subtle distortion in the air and the faint scent of something... bitter.


    "Garen," she says, her voice deceptively pleasant, "I told you to be careful."


    Dad immediately freezes, looking like a man who just realized he walked into a trap.


    "You seemed to be in the mood to fly," Mom continues.


    Before Dad can even react, she shifts me to her left arm and, with her right, grabs him by the wrist.


    A trained warrior. A man who can literally set his sword on fire.


    Effortlessly lifted off the ground and yeeted into a haystack.


    With a dull thud, Dad vanishes into a pile of straw.


    Thom, wisely, takes this as his cue to leave.


    Mom gently checks me over, her expression softening. "Are you okay, little one? That brute of a father..." She shoots a death glare at the haystack, where Dad is slowly emerging, covered in straw and looking thoroughly humbled.


    "It was just a demonstration, Elara!" he protests, brushing himself off.


    "Demonstrate age-appropriate things, Garen. Not how to create shockwaves."


    Yeah. Mom is definitely the scary one.


    With the family drama over, I shift my focus back to my actual training.


    Lying on my stomach, I zero in on one of those stubborn little motes of warm light in my left shoulder. I pull¡ªwith everything I''ve got¡ªimagining an invisible thread...


    And¡ªPLICK!


    Not a sound, exactly. More like a sensation. Like a tiny rubber band snapping.


    The mote moved. Barely a micrometer. But it moved! It''s closer to my core.


    And then¡ª


    --------------------


    [Lexo]


    Level: 0.01


    HP: 12/12


    MP: 6/6 (+1)


    (STR, VIT, DEX slightly increased from physical growth)


    INT: ?? (Locked)


    WIS: ?? (Locked)


    MAG: 1


    Status: Conscious Mind, Minimal Mana Flow Detected.


    --------------------


    ONE MP POINT! And a status change! "Minimal Mana Flow Detected."


    Ha! I knew it!


    Ridiculous persistence has paid off with a minuscule but measurable result.


    I feel absurdly proud. And completely wiped out.


    I need a nap. A real nap, not a fake training nap.


    Three months old. I can almost sit up by myself, my babbling is starting to vaguely sound like "Mama" and "Dada" (totally on purpose¡ªgotta keep the parents happy), and I''ve moved an infinitesimal fraction of my internal energy.


    Progress is progress.


    And now, I have crucial new intel on elements and core refinement.


    Let''s see where this goes.

 Diaper Duty by Day, Ninja by… Oh Wait, Still Day (Beard Hair Takedown)

    The routine has become my secret religion. Eat, sleep, soil diapers (ugh, the indignity!), and in every quiet moment¡ªevery second before I nod off or right when I wake up¡ªmy consciousness dives inward. Time to move those fragments. Every second counts, I tell myself with the utmost seriousness of some ancient monk trapped in a body that can barely hold its own head up without wobbling.


    Progress is glacial. Like trying to erode a mountain by blowing on it. But it''s not zero. After weeks of effort that leave me mentally drained (a super weird feeling in a body that just wants to drool and sleep), I''ve managed to get a couple more specks to join the first one near my core. They''re still incredibly tiny, like grains of sand on an endless beach, but they''re there. My core doesn''t feel like a dead spot anymore¡ªit''s more like... a very, very dim firefly. And my MP is up to 8. Small victories!


    Meanwhile, my understanding of the world¡ªand especially my parents¡ªkeeps growing.


    Dad isn''t just an ex-hero. He''s the ex-hero.


    Sometimes, when we go to the village market (with me strapped to Mom''s chest like a glorified fashion accessory), I catch whispers. Names spoken in awe: Ash Fang, The Terror of the Northern Hordes. Sneaky glances of admiration aimed at the big guy who''s now awkwardly haggling over some vegetables. It''s surreal. This gentle giant who makes silly faces at me and lets me tug on his scruffy beard is apparently a living legend.


    "Ow! Too rough, champ. You''ll leave my chin bald¡ªand then Mom will get mad," he says, gently pulling my hand away.


    I pause. Then, with the precision of a master manipulator, I let out a soft whimper.


    "Gwaah."


    Dad freezes. I swear I see his instincts kick in, like a battle-hardened warrior sensing an ambush.


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    A soft hand lands on his back.


    "Lexo, champ, Dad will let you play," he blurts out, immediately placing my fingers back on his beard. "No worries about a few less hairs, ha ha ha!"


    I peek past him. Mom is standing there, watching.


    I flash her my best baby smile. Checkmate.


    But back to Dad''s story. He gave it all up¡ªfor Mom, for me. From what I piece together from snatches of conversation at lunchtime, it''s almost a light novel clich¨¦: a battle-worn hero finds peace in the eyes of a kind healer. The pregnancy was the final straw. He hung up his sword (the real one, not the wooden training prop) and sought anonymity in this quiet village. Now he''s just a simple guard¡ªa job ridiculously beneath his skills¡ªbut it lets him be home every night.


    "His core is Yellow, Lexo," Mom whispers to me one day while rocking me, as if I could actually understand. "Bright Yellow. Something most people only dream of seeing, let alone reaching. Years of battles, of refining his spirit and inner fire..."


    Fire.


    That''s his element. A Fire user with a Yellow core. One in a million, Mom said. And he doesn''t just use magic¡ªhe channels that super-refined energy into pure physical skill. Now I get why his training sessions look so intense. Why his strikes against that poor old practice post aren''t just hits, but precision-crafted destruction.


    When he moves, I feel it. The ground trembles ever so slightly beneath his feet. The air ripples around him.


    I clap my chubby little hands when he finishes, letting out a "Bababa!" He takes it as pure admiration (and he''s not entirely wrong). His smile, glistening with sweat and pride, is worth more than any treasure from my past life.


    Mom is Light.Dad is Yellow Fire.Both exceptional in their own ways.


    And me... I''m their son.


    The firstborn. With my way-too-early consciousness and my fledgling core that barely flickers. The rarity of high-level cores, the near impossibility of being multi-elemental... all that info buzzes in my head.


    What kind of potential do I have?


    Will I inherit something from them?


    I''ve been moving fragments without thinking about their color, purely focusing on the mechanics of control. But now that I know more about the elements¡ªand seeing the raw power Dad wields physically and the refined grace Mom channels magically¡ªcuriosity is starting to itch.


    My mana flow is minimal, sure.


    But it exists.


    And that''s enough.


    For now.

 Strutting Like a Champ (The Adventurer Parade Has Arrived)

    I''d say I''ve gathered more than 40% of all those specks floating inside me, though I still haven''t decided on a specific element.


    Five months old! The world looks very different when you''re in a vaguely upright position. My legs are basically overcooked noodles with a mind of their own, but hey¡ªI managed to string several steps together. Sure, I''m using furniture for support, wobbling around like a tiny drunk, but I''m walking!


    The first time I made it across the short distance between the sofa and Dad''s outstretched knees was¡­ unforgettable.


    Garen¡ª"Ash Fang," "The Terror of the Hordes," the man with a brilliant Yellow core forged in a thousand battles¡ªburst into tears.


    Thick tears rolled down his cheeks as he hoisted me high with a booming laugh that kept cracking with emotion. "My champ! He''s walking! Elara, look¡ªour Lexo is walking!"


    Mom just smiled, that warm, radiant smile of hers that seems to light up the room (maybe literally?), and clapped softly for me.


    Yeah. Totally worth the countless crash-landings on my butt.


    My internal refinement routine continues relentlessly. Every nap, every night, every quiet moment is a chance. And it''s working. The feeling of scattered specks is fading¡ªnow I sense a denser, warmer concentration right under my sternum, like a small, rising sun.


    According to my stats window, I''ve fused about 40% of those fragments. My core isn''t a dying firefly anymore¡ªit''s more like a steady candle flame: small, but definite.


    The blue screen flashed recently: MP: 15/15.


    Significant progress!


    I still haven''t chosen an element. Stockpiling fuel and refining control comes first. There''s no point in worrying about affinities if I don''t have enough mana to do anything with them.


    Then, one day, the outside world barges in¡ªbig time.


    .........


    Visitors.


    A loud, colorful group arrives in the village, heading straight for our house. Dad''s old adventurer buddies.


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    There''s a massive blond guy with a braided beard thick enough to challenge Dad''s, lugging an axe so big it looks like he wrestled a tree into submission. Beside him is a serious-looking elf woman, barely older than a teen, carrying an elegantly carved bow. And trailing behind them is a scrawny guy with a prominent nose, dressed like a ninja from head to toe, constantly toying with a pair of daggers. Very subtle, my dude.


    They''re ecstatic, slapping Dad''s back so hard it sounds like thunder, all while sneaking glances at Mom with a mix of respect and¡­ something close to nervousness.


    "Garen, you old dog! So this is where you''ve been hiding!" roars the axe guy¡ªBorin¡ªwho''s casually carrying a freshly hunted beast over his shoulder.


    "Not hiding, Borin. Just living quietly," Dad replies, though there''s that old adventuring spark in his eyes. "By the way, impressive Stone Wolf¡ªwe''re feasting tonight!"


    The elf, Lyra, simply nods at Mom, ignoring the two giants beside her. "Lady Elara. It''s an honor. We never imagined the great Garen could convince you to retire to a place like this."


    "No need for ''Lady,'' dear," Mom says smoothly, waving a hand. "My husband''s friends are part of this family too¡­" Then she sighs. "As long as you don''t cause any damage or bother little Lexo, are we clear?"


    That last part is definitely rhetorical.


    They all nod in unison¡ªeven Dad.


    ¡­Hold on. Lady Elara? You?


    The pieces start clicking together, thanks to their chatter (and my exceptional skill at looking like an adorable, harmless baby while eavesdropping).


    Mom isn''t just a talented healer.


    She''s Elara Vanyae, supreme honors graduate of the World Academy of Mages in the actual capital. A Light mage whose potential, according to the dagger-tinkerer (Kael, I think), "made archmages tremble."


    Dad laughs nervously. "Well, I don''t know about all that. Her core is so bright I can''t even perceive it! She''s on another level."


    ¡­Yellow is one in a million.


    And Mom''s above that? White? Or something even rarer?


    And this ridiculously powerful mage from the capital¡ªwith a reputation that apparently crosses borders¡ªis here, changing my diapers and playing peek-a-boo with me.


    The irony is delicious.


    Her smile is still as kind as ever. Her hands are just as gentle when she plays with me or heals a villager''s burn. The makeshift clinic in the room attached to the house is always busy, as people flock from all over to seek the miracle healer.


    Dad''s friends stick around for a few days. They eye me curiously¡ªthe son of a legend and a mystery.


    Borin tries to make me laugh by tossing me into the air (equal parts terrifying and fun).Lyra watches me with those piercing elven eyes, like she''s trying to read my future.Kael¡­ well, Kael tries to teach me how to hide things, which is pretty useless when I can barely hold onto a rattle.


    I''ve gathered a decent chunk of internal energy now¡ªalmost half of my initial potential. My control is still clumsy, but it''s there.


    And now I know.


    My parents aren''t just strong.


    They''re powerhouses.


    Fire and Light, both at the very top of their game.


    And Dad''s friends?


    They''re a reminder that the world outside this little village is huge.


    And one day, I''ll be ready for it.