Four months later.
Eleanor, a woman with a pretty face and blonde hair, lay sickly pale, her face slick with perspiration as she groaned and huffed through labored breaths.
Pain etched deep lines across her usually serene features, and her trembling hands gripped the linen beneath her, knuckles white with effort. Her chest rose and fell erratically, each breath a testament to the battle she waged.
Despite the agony, her eyes flickered with a fierce determination, a mother's unyielding resolve to bring her child safely into the world.
Beside her, an old midwife dressed in a gray gown with a coarse cloth covering her mouth encouraged her firmly. "Push, my dear, push! You're doing wonderfully, just a bit more," she said, her voice filled with both urgency and warmth.
With one final effort, Eleanor let out a cry of exertion as the wail of a newborn filled the room. Relief and exhaustion washed over her, and she managed a faint smile before her body slackened, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she whispered, "Is the baby all right?"
The midwife gently placed the baby in her arms. "He's perfect, my dear. A strong little boy."
The door burst open, and a tall man with average features hurried inside. His gaze darted from Eleanor to the midwife. "What is it? The gender of the child?" he asked, his voice breathless with anticipation.
"It's a boy," the midwife replied, a gentle smile softening her weathered face.
The man's expression lit up with joy as he approached the bed. He knelt beside Eleanor and cupped her face tenderly. "Eleanor, we have another baby boy! Are you all right? You've been so strong."
Eleanor's lips curved into a tired smile, though her voice held a teasing edge. "I wanted another girl, Arthas. You've let me down."
Arthas laughed softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. You've been so incredible, Eleanor. Bringing this little one into the world—it's more than I can ever repay. You're the strongest, most amazing woman I know. For now, you need to rest. You've done more than enough, and I'll make sure everything else is taken care of." His voice dropped, filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Eleanor. Thank you for giving us this beautiful family."
He kissed her forehead before gently lifting the newborn. "I'll take him to his siblings. You rest now, my love."
Eleanor watched him leave, her heart swelling with affection despite her weariness. "Take care of him, Arthas," she murmured before closing her eyes.
Cradling the baby, Arthas walked down the manor's stone corridors, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone. The air carried a faint chill, mingled with the faint scent of aged wood and wax from the flickering torches mounted along the walls. Shadows danced erratically, lending an almost otherworldly life to the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. Each tapestry told a story of valor and legacy, their rich hues muted in the torchlight. The occasional creak of the wooden beams overhead added to the solemn ambiance, making the manor feel like a living, breathing entity watching over its inhabitants.
He stopped before a sturdy wooden door, where three young adults stood waiting. They were the baby's older siblings, their faces filled with curiosity and a touch of apprehension.
The eldest son, a freckled boy with blonde hair and a striking resemblance to his father, crossed his arms. "Well? Is it a boy or a girl?" he asked, his tone clipped but his eyes betraying a flicker of hope.
"A boy," Arthas said, smiling warmly as he held the infant closer.
The eldest groaned. "Another boy? Why couldn't it be a girl?" He turned and stormed off, muttering under his breath.
"William, wait!" Arthas called, but the boy didn't stop. Sighing, he turned to the others. "He'll come around. He always does."
The second son, Magnus, slimmer and wirier, smirked. "Big brother's always like this. Mother says he reacted the same way when I was born. It's almost tradition now."
The only daughter, a young woman with Eleanor's features but lacking her mother's radiant beauty, giggled. "William needs to lighten up. It's not the end of the world." She peeked at the baby, her expression softening. "He's so tiny. What are you going to name him, Father?"
Arthas's smile faltered. "We haven't decided yet. Your mother and I will talk once she's feeling better."
The siblings exchanged glances before nodding in understanding. "Let us know if you need help," the daughter said, placing a gentle hand on Arthas's arm.
"Thank you, Marion," Arthas replied, his voice full of affection. "But for now, let him rest. He's had quite the journey."
The trio left, their voices fading as they bantered quietly. Arthas sighed, turning back to the baby in his arms. "You're already loved more than you know," he murmured before placing the infant in the crib.
Inside the crib, the baby Aldrich stirred. His vision blurred, and the room's shapes and shadows swirled indistinctly. The voices he'd heard since his birth spoke in a language akin to modern Englush, though subtly different. He blinked slowly, processing his surroundings.
A faint chime caught his attention. In the lower right corner of his vision, a bell icon blinked. With an instinctual thought, he selected it.
[Quest: Survive the birthing process.] (Completed)
[Reward: 1x Lottery Ticket] (Claimable)
Suppressing an excited giggle, which emerged as an adorable coo, Aldrich mentally claimed the ticket. "Oh, this is going to be good," he thought, the corner of his tiny lips almost curling into what could only be described as a mischievous baby grin.
As the system's triumphant announcement echoed in his mind, he resisted the urge to break into a full-blown baby laugh.
WELCOME to the Legendary Lottery System, where extraordinary abilities, runes, and items await!
"Legendary Lottery System? Seriously? Did I just stumble into some kind of cosmic blunder?!" Aldrich mused, his analytical side kicking in. "Wait, wait. Breathe, Aldrich. Analyze. What's the catch here? Is there a cooldown for these tickets? Can I farm them? Or worse—microtransactions?!"
His imagination briefly conjured a mental image of him begging his parents for gold coins to buy another ticket. He shook his head—or rather, tried to. "No, focus! This is a gift, not a gacha trap." A triumphant voice echoed in his mind:
Aldrich nearly squealed in delight but quickly restrained himself. He glanced around before mentally urging the system to proceed.
[As a first-time user, you may select your prize from the following:]
Sharp ClawsEvergrowthCombustion (Consumable)
Aldrich considered the options carefully. "Sharp Claws? I mean, sure, a good weapon for my baby self. But come on, I just came into this world, and my new parents may even look at me as a monster if I suddenly grew claws. And Combustion… oh. It's flashy, but a one-time use? What am I going to do, set fire to a diaper emergency? Hard pass."
He paused, his tiny brain working overtime. "Now, Evergrowth… there's potential. It's subtle. No flashy pyrotechnics or immediate gratification, but it grows over time just based on its name. A sleeper pick, like me! The longer I survive, the stronger I get. It's practically custom-made for my current… uh, squishy state."
He grinned internally, or at least he hoped it translated to a grin on his baby face. "Gathering Storm, it is!"
After a moment, he made his choice. 'I pick the Evergrowth!'
The system confirmed his selection:
[Evergrowth: Passive – Gain +0.01 Strength, Vitality, Intelligence, and Agility every month.]
Aldrich's eyes widened in amazement. "This isn't just damage or ability power. It's enhancing my core attributes over time." A grin spread across his tiny face. "The longer I survive, the stronger I'll become."
Satisfied, he opened his status panel:
[Status Panel]
Age: 0.01 / 75 years
Class: N/A
Strength: 0.21
Agility: 0.21
Intelligence: 1.31
Vitality: 0.21
Skills: N/A
Skill Points: 0
Experience Points: 0
He noticed his attributes had slightly increased since birth, likely due to Evergrowth's immediate effect. "This might influence my growth," he mused. "I hope it won't make me… unusual."
Another chime interrupted his thoughts. The quest panel updated:
[Quest: Growing Up]
[Objective: Ingest Milk (0/250 liters, Time Limit: 12 months)]
[Reward: Chosen Attribute Point (+0.5), Health potion x1]
Aldrich's nose scrunched at the wording. "Creepy, but necessary. At least there's a reward."
He accepted the quest, his tiny body growing heavy with fatigue. As his eyelids drooped, Aldrich surrendered to the pull of sleep, his mind brimming with excitement for the journey ahead.
Arthas:
Arthas carefully laid his newborn son on the bed, his movements tender yet shadowed by worry. Each breath the infant took seemed fragile, as though the life within him hung by a thread. Arthas's chest tightened, his heart heavy with an ache that reached into his very soul.
He brushed his fingers across the soft fabric of the baby's blanket, his touch lingering as though it might offer some protection against an uncertain future. With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the room, leaving the fragile child behind. His boots echoed softly against the stone floor as he made his way back to the chamber where his wife had just endured the trials of childbirth.
Passing medieval walls adorned with flickering torches, their light casting elongated shadows on the cold stone, Arthas entered the room.
The faint scent of smoke and aged wood hung in the air, and the crackle of the flames provided the only sound in the otherwise solemn corridor. The dim light painted his features with somber resolve as he approached the bedside.
Eleanor lay there, her face pale but serene, her breathing steady.
He approached the bedside where Eleanor lay, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Turning to the midwife, he inquired, "How is my wife?"
"She needs rest and nourishment," the midwife replied, her voice calm but assured. "She is strong."
Relieved but still burdened, Arthas gave a curt nod. The midwife's reassurance lightened a fraction of the weight pressing on his chest, but his mind remained clouded with doubts. He grappled with the delicate balance between hope and fear, the flicker of optimism overshadowed by the daunting responsibilities ahead.
"Send word to the neighboring Viscounty's mage. Tell my retainers to fetch him at once."
The midwife bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord," she said before hurrying off to carry out his command.
Arthas gently caressed Eleanor's hair, a tender gesture laden with the weight of his worries. His thoughts spiraled, each strand of her hair a tether to memories both cherished and haunting. He saw flashes of her laughter under the summer sun, the unyielding courage in her eyes during their hardest days, and the moment she revealed her pregnancy with a tearful smile.
But now, all these were overshadowed by the creeping fear of failure, the possibility that he had not shielded them enough from the perils of their world.
His mind churned with fear and guilt, the lingering shadows of doubt gnawing at his resolve. He grappled with the fear of losing his son, the uncertainty of his future, and the haunting question of whether he had done enough to protect his family. The silent room seemed to echo his unspoken fears, each stroke of his hand through her hair a desperate plea for reassurance.
He whispered, "I can feel the frailty in our son. I pray it's only temporary." His thoughts drifted back to the moment he first held the infant, the worry gnawing at him.
"I recall the accident during your pregnancy," he murmured, his voice tinged with guilt. "Could that have weakened him?" But Eleanor, lost in the depths of sleep, offered no response.
Rising from her side, Arthas moved to the window, gazing out over his modest estate. The barracks, fit for ten soldiers, stood alongside a stable, a training ground, and a small plot of farmland. His eyes lingered, but his mind was elsewhere.
He thought of the mage's fee and the strain it would put on their finances. Resigned, he left the room, leaving Eleanor to rest peacefully.
Arthas descended to the manor's treasury, retrieving a pouch of twenty silver coins. As he opened the chest, the sight of the dwindling reserves weighed on him. With a sigh, he documented the expense in his ledger, the ink a stark reminder of their financial constraints.
An hour later, a knock interrupted his musings. Edmond, a retainer clad in well-maintained but worn leather armor, entered, breathing heavily. "My lord, the Viscounty's mage has arrived. He awaits you in the great hall."
The so-called "great hall" was more modest, akin to a standard living room. Arthas nodded, rising from his desk, and made his way there.
When he arrived, he found the mage—a young man with clear green eyes and an air of quiet confidence—already seated, sipping tea offered by the maid. Despite his Tier 1 Apprentice rank, his presence commanded respect. Arthas bowed deeply, acknowledging the power and knowledge that mages possessed.
Arthas reflected on the structured hierarchy that defined their world, where both mages and warriors ascended through clearly defined tiers, each step a testament to their growing power and mastery. For mages like Marvin, the journey began at the first rank:
These rigid hierarchies were the backbone of their society, molding its leaders and protectors, and serving as a constant reminder of the strength required to maintain order in their world. Apprentice mages could heal minor wounds and cast small fireballs—enough to overpower a squad of soldiers.
"No need for such formality," the mage, Marvin, said, returning the bow. Arthas, a warrior of the Tier 3 Enhanced Warrior tier, was a respected figure himself, capable of taking on multiple mages of his rank.
"What brings such urgency?" Marvin asked after taking a seat and sipping the tea offered by the maid.
Arthas sat opposite him, the weight of his concern evident. "It's my son. I need to know if he's healthy."
Marvin took another sip, his demeanor exuding an effortless calm. His dark robes, lined with faintly glowing runes, hinted at his profession, while the staff leaning against his chair bore intricate carvings that marked his magical lineage.
A slight smirk played on his face, suggesting both confidence and an air of superiority, traits often found among those who had walked the arcane path.
Despite his youth, his eyes—bright green and piercing—spoke of knowledge far beyond his years, hinting at a complex and enigmatic past. His relaxed posture, the slow, deliberate movements, and the faint smile playing on his lips painted a picture of a man at ease, in stark contrast to Arthas's barely concealed anxiety.
Marvin's unhurried manner seemed almost dismissive of the gravity of the situation, highlighting the gulf between the two men's emotional states. "Of course. But you understand, such work expends my energy and resources."
Arthas, maintaining a composed facade, placed the pouch of silver on the table. "Twenty silver coins. Please, help my son."
Marvin's hand darted for the pouch with a speed that made Arthas chuckle inwardly. Rising eagerly, the mage said, "Lead the way."
Arthas guided him to the nursery. Marvin approached the frail newborn, his expression turning serious. He retrieved a large, leather-bound spell book and murmured a series of incantations.
A soft golden glow enveloped the baby as Marvin cast a healing spell to stimulate the child's cells and mend unseen injuries.
Next, he withdrew a small crystal that pulsed faintly as he held it over the infant. Marvin's lips curved into a grin as he turned to Arthas.
"Your son has a normal physique, and his mind is unusually active—an early sign of great intelligence. However..."
He hesitated. "His mana reserves are almost nonexistent. Highly unusual."
Relief and concern mingled in Arthas's expression. "Can you help him develop mana?"
Marvin rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a silent yet familiar gesture.
Arthas sighed, understanding the unspoken demand. "Two gold coins," he said, retrieving the amount from his pocket. "But only if you succeed."
Marvin's grin widened as he accepted the payment. From his satchel, he produced a crystal vial containing a clear blue liquid.
Carefully, he let a few drops fall into the baby's mouth. Almost immediately, the infant's cheeks flushed with color, and he stirred faintly.
Using the crystal once more, Marvin examined the baby and nodded. "There's a sliver of mana now. While small, it's significant—it indicates that his body can potentially generate and store mana in the future. This will enable him to train as a warrior or mage, though his path may be more challenging than others."
Arthas exhaled a long breath and leaned heavily against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, a faint smile breaking through the tension on his face.
"Thank the heavens," he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion.
He turned to Marvin and clasped the mage's hand firmly. "You've given my family hope."
He escorted the mage to the carriage waiting outside. Watching it disappear into the distance, he finally allowed himself a small, hopeful smile.