Anomaly and Rebirth

Wu Qiren sat in the classroom, his hands flying across the keyboard as he rapidly recorded the discussion between two other students.

"Enlightenment is mankind's release from its self-incurred immaturity, such as laziness and cowardice. When Kant expounded on enlightenment, he emphasized that everyone possesses reason—universal reason."

Another student replied in a pleasant voice:

"The universal reason born of enlightenment was maximally excavated and utilized, thus Created our era—reason is supreme, infinite, eternal, capable of bringing us unprecedented power—"

Hearing this, Wu Qiren stopped typing and frowned. The usually mild-mannered and polite young man interrupted directly, lifting his head: "Classmate, I think you might not have read Foucault on the relationship between power and truth, or Heidegger on technology—"

But he didn't finish. When he saw who was sitting before him, he was too shocked to speak.

There, across from Wu Qiren.

Sat the brown-haired, blue-robed, handsome and refined Air Elementalist, Echeida Sackern.

The other was looking at him gently, speaking in that pleasant voice:

"If there truly existed unrestricted power and omniscient, omnipotent reason in this world, Tales, would you really—"

"—not want it?"

Tales jolted awake from the bed!

In the darkness, he gripped the JC Dagger under his pillow, gasping and drenched in cold sweat.

He rolled over and jumped off the bed, his bare feet touching the expensive heated floor tiles, the pleasant scent of calming perfume filling his nostrils. Only then did he realize where he was.

The bandages and tape covering his chest and other wounds itched and ached, sobering him up considerably. He steadied his breathing and tucked the JC back under his pillow.

Still shaken, he fell backward onto the massive bed—big enough for twenty Tales to sleep in.

The silk pajamas rustled against his body, a sensation Tales found unfamiliar. The multi-spring mattress was soft and smooth, yielding to his contours, while the silk-covered Northern goose-down quilt wrapped him tightly. The imported smooth silk pillow from the southern coast cradled his head and shoulders from below.

At that moment, Tales felt as though something was squeezing him from head to toe.

Just like the Air Elementalist had wrapped him in air and slowly compressed him.

The thought made Tales restless. He threw off the feather-light, smooth, comfortable quilt, dropped back to the floor, and groped his way to a corner, curling up as he lay down. The hard floor and solid walls gave him a familiar sense of security.

Only then did Tales slowly exhale, letting out a helpless laugh.

Who'd have thought I'd end up like this, he tapped the solid floor tiles, mocking himself with a wry smile.

I really miss the little ones at the Sixth House—hope Yala can take care of them.

I'll have to talk to Gilbert about this tomorrow. Even if I can't contact them directly, I can at least look after them in secret.

But the memory Fragment he'd just unearthed in his dream made his newly eased mood suddenly tense up again.

Dreams were reflections of the subconscious. The memories of his past life were probably the deepest fragments hidden in his subconscious. But this time, even Echeida Sackern had appeared in the dream.

"Guess I really am bothered by that madman's words, huh?" Tales muttered in the darkness.

Hours earlier, his brief encounter with the Elementalist flashed through his mind. The Elementalist's alternately rational and capricious behavior, his mysterious and unfathomable power, and his almost inhuman, immortal body—all of it sent chills down Tales's spine.

And those words of his.

"It seems you don't know your own nature, child."

The words surfaced again in his aching mind.

Tales forced himself to push aside the excess emotions of irritation and fear, calming down to analyze the Elementalist's words.

According to Echeida, he was the same as him—a Magus—no, merely someone with the potential to become an Elementalist.

Judging by Echeida's behavior, people with such potential were extremely rare. That's a good thing for me.

But from what I've seen so far, Elementalists in this world don't seem to be well-liked characters.

Echeida's words were heavily subjective. But if even part of what he said was true—about the so-called war between Elementalists and humans—then Elementalists were practically hunted by everyone, doomed the moment they saw the light.

And more than that, Tales thought with concern, Echeida's body—after his heart was pierced, blue light shone from the wound. So he really isn't human anymore, is he?

And Yordel Gatt—according to him, he should have arrived at the Ruined House much earlier. That meant he'd also heard Echeida's words—Tales clenched his fist—does he know about my Loss of Control in front of the Elementalist too?

If Yordel knows, will Gilbert and King Kessel also find out? How will they see me?

There were still too many questions.

Like that neurotic, eerily cold, and highly suspicious King father of mine.

Like how I'm clearly seven years old, but that Divine Art-enhanced Bloodline Lamp was from twelve years ago.

Like my origins, my surname, and what I mean to the kingdom.

Like why the news of my return had to be kept so secret—Yordel and Gilbert practically smuggled me back like thieves.

Like what the hell is going on with this world—medieval ecology? High-magic world? Steampunk?

Tales slapped his forehead.

No, I can't figure anything out—I still have too little basic understanding of this world.

I need a full children's primer starting from the fundamentals!

Tales let out a helpless sigh.

But his gaze immediately turned serious.

Enlightenment, learning—these things can all come slowly.

But.

There was one thing that had to be resolved.

It concerned his own life and body.

He began recalling the Magic User's words:

"It seems you don't know your own nature, child."

"But no matter. Everyone has their first Loss of Control. We all start from ignorance."

Tales clasped his hands together in the darkness, thinking back on what was called "Loss of Control."

Ashida had compressed him with magic energy in the air, preparing to crush him into a ball.

His whole body had seethed and boiled as if on fire.

I saw that energy ball in his hand—it should be what's called an "Air Wall."

The energy ball turned red and suddenly appeared before me.

And then—

Wait!

Tales seemed to grasp a thread of the key.

Blood. And that burning sensation.

Tales slowly sat up.

Quade.

That name flashed through his mind.

He had also experienced that feeling of blood boiling, right at the junctures when Quade beat and abused him twice. The common point between those two times—and even the encounter with Ashida—was that he had bled!

Tales had previously thought that burning sensation inside him was caused by the "Divine Art" Gilbert mentioned, triggered when his blood hit the ground.

Now it seemed that Ashida's so-called "Loss of Control" also happened exactly when that burning sensation appeared.

Tales suddenly realized that in front of Ashida, this wasn't his first so-called "Loss of Control."

His true first Loss of Control was still with Quade.

When Quade tried to kill Colia, that bastard should have been holding his JC Dagger!

How did that dagger suddenly appear in my own hand?

Just as bizarre as that energy ball suddenly appearing before me!

Quade.

Bleeding.

Burning sensation.

Dagger.

Ashida.

Energy ball.

Yordel and Gilbert.

Bloodline Lamp.

Tales closed his eyes. He found he couldn't sort out these chaotic elements.

Too messy.

Too tangled.

But he wasn't discouraged. Instead, a long-lost excitement welled up from the bottom of his heart.

Categorizing complex and chaotic phenomena, setting up hypotheses and theoretical frameworks, eliminating irrelevant variables, summarizing causal logic, and finally verifying the completeness of the theory.

And—that eternally unverifiable "uncertainty," the ever-uneliminable "endogeneity," the never-perfect "quasi-experimental method" and "counterfactual analysis."

Wasn't this exactly the alluring puzzle of social science that could never be perfectly solved, and the game he used to love playing most?

And this time, he wasn't facing a multi-causal social phenomenon that was impossible to tackle or verify, but a single problem on his own body—one that could be repeatedly tested!

When Tales opened his eyes again, the pupils in the darkness were already full of the desire for a challenge.

He tried to calm his mind and sort out the phenomena before him.

With few samples, too many variables, and simple mechanisms, the overly complex Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) was not advisable.

He'd just use the most basic Mill's methods of induction.

First, take bleeding and Loss of Control as keywords, and select cases and events.

He slowly closed his eyes. A familiar feeling surged back into Tales's mind as various chaotic elements and factors rapidly arranged themselves in his consciousness.

Following the research purpose and chronological order, for each sample, he determined whether different "conditions" (rather than "causes") and "outcomes" were present or absent.

Events flashed rapidly before his eyes. He removed samples with too many missing values, combined the conditions and results of each event, then distinguished them by level and type.

A clear, organized table formed in his mind, with four observable and comparable event samples arranged within:

Sample One:

Condition 1.1: Quade beat him for the first time. Condition 1.2: Bleeding. Result 1: No anomaly.

Sample Two:

Condition 2.1: Quade beat him a second time and prepared to kill Colia. Condition 2.2: Bleeding. Result 2: Loss of Control—the dagger appeared in his hand from nowhere.

Sample Three:

Condition 3.1: Ashida prepared to kill him. Condition 3.2: Bleeding. Result 3: Loss of Control—Ashida's energy sphere appeared before him.

Sample Four:

Condition 4.1: He verified his bloodline before Yordel, Gilbert, and that lamp. Condition 4.2: Bleeding. Result 4: No anomaly.

The listing complete, the comparison began.

Seeking similarities and differences, inducting and summarizing.

The table slowly simplified, normalized, merged, and coalesced into a single line of text.

Tales opened his eyes gently.

Conclusion: When bleeding coincides with a killing event, there is a probability of accompanying what is called "Loss of Control"—nearby objects or energy undergo varying degrees of displacement.

No, this conclusion was still too preliminary.

First, the sample size was too small. Second, certain interfering variables could not be ruled out.

Then, "killing event" seemed too distant—it might be a false mechanism. Perhaps the killing event triggered something else, and that something was the true cause of the Loss of Control.

Also, he needed to find a way to factor that lamp into consideration.

Finally, this only proved correlation between a few things; causal inference was still insufficient.

Regardless—Tales turned over and lay down—at least he had a preliminary conclusion about "Loss of Control."

As for the next direction of research—

Tales let out a breath and suddenly felt a wave of fatigue in his brain.

Indeed, he rubbed his temples vigorously. Was thinking about these things still too much of a burden for a seven-year-old mind?

But then he was startled to realize something was off.

This logical induction and deduction just now should have at least required a pen and some scratch paper to write down.

Yet the actual execution process inside his brain—was it almost instantaneous?

A long moment passed.

Tales slapped the floor, feeling the ache in his head.

Indeed, from magical energy and Loss of Control, to this so-called bloodline, to this monstrous efficiency of thought—this body, this brain—

Was abnormal.

With that thought, Tales slowly drifted into sleep.

When Tales was politely woken by Gilbert, he found himself back in bed, neatly tucked under the covers.

"Tales, my esteemed young sir, good day."

Gilbert respectfully pulled open the floor-to-ceiling curtains. The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the enormous windows, illuminating this luxurious and comfortable room in full brightness.

The ornate heated floor tiles bearing the Starfall pattern, the giant lizard-hide lounge sofa, the wide copper four-poster bed, the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, the built-in fireplace—all presented themselves before Tales's eyes.

Everything constantly reminded him that his life had changed.

Unbelievable. Just a few hours ago, he had been a gang brat living hand to mouth, hanging by a thread.

And now, he was the bloodline descendant of the supreme ruler of the entire Starfall Kingdom.

"It is now two in the afternoon. I sincerely advise you to get up and eat at this time, as it will effectively promote your body's recovery and maintenance," the Middle-Aged Noble said in a mild tone, but Tales could sense the urging behind it.

"Also," Gilbert blinked amiably and smiled, "per His Majesty's wish, our first lesson will begin this afternoon."

"I imagine you also have many questions, and I would be happy to answer them."

Tales rubbed his eyes, yawned, shed the uncomfortable silk pajamas, fumbled around, and haphazardly pulled on the noble's casual clothes Gilbert had prepared.

"Great," he squinted lazily, "I love lessons the most."

Also, Tales closed his eyes and thought silently: Who the hell pulled me back from the floor and stuffed me into bed while I was sleeping soundly?

"Mr. Tales, you seem to like those pants quite a bit."

"Huh?"

"Because you're putting them on your head."

"What? Something that looks like this is actually pants?"

"Mr. Tales, it seems you've taken quite a fancy to that buttoned coat as well."

"Oh, so it's meant to be worn on the outside."

"Mr. Tales, I believe you'll need the belt on your left side."

"Ah, thank you. I was wondering why it kept slipping off."

A moment passed.

"Mr. Gilbert."

"Yes?"

"Please help me put on this damned outfit."

"With great pleasure, my esteemed young sir."

Some readers have told me that the specialized social science terminology in this chapter felt too "pretentious," leaving them confused and frowning. So I've come back to rewrite it in a simpler version—hoping this reads a bit better.