I just confirmed it—this is definitely not my era.

Some things are still hard to process.

Our first outing with Mother was eye-opening. She carried us both in baby slings—me on her back, Isolde against her chest. We were going shopping. A routine thing. Or so I thought, until I saw it.

I’ve been reborn into a world of magic and swords.

But not some medieval fantasy like in novels and anime. No. This was the Victorian era—just with fireballs.

I confirmed it when I saw people:

• Shooting flames from their hands.

• Swinging swords.

• Using magically-enhanced revolvers.

• Even healing wounds with a touch. One mother mended her child’s scraped knee like it was nothing.

Fascinating.

Hypnotic, even.

Isolde shared my awe. I watched her stretch her tiny hands toward a man making a water orb float. Without thinking, I did the same.

Instinct.

At night, Mother tells us hero stories. I don’t listen. The moment she tucks us in, I’m out cold. Not from boredom—baby stamina is a lie.

But that doesn’t stop Isolde from waking me up.

Without fail, right as I’m about to sleep, she climbs on top of me.

So no hero tales for me. But we did discover a shared obsession: books.

We can’t read fluently yet, but we learn fast.

Most books on the shelf? Almost all of them were boring.

Except two.

"Guide to Magic and Combat" and "The Paradox Scriptures."

The first is slim—maybe 200 pages.

The second?

Absurdly large.

I’m not exaggerating. That thing could crush a small animal. It nearly crushed us when we pulled it off the shelf. Luckily, it only grazed us before thudding beside us.

The Guide was dusty. I tried blowing on it to clean it… and just spat a glob of drool onto Isolde.

I laughed.

She, proving her superiority, blew the dust back into my face.

She laughed.

Fair. I deserved that.

We opened the book.

And… well. Letters.

What else was I expecting? Pictures of fairies? Recipes? Please.

The Guide had basic magic and combat info. Nothing shocking.

But The Paradox Scriptures?

That was different.

It didn’t just describe this world—it laid out fighting techniques. Techniques way too familiar.

• Karate (all variants).

• 
  

• 
  

• Kung Fu (every style).

• Jiujitsu.

• Taekwondo.

• Fencing.

• Boxing.

• Judo.

• Muay Thai.

I recognized all of it.

Why the hell would a book in this world document my past life’s martial arts with insane detail?

Isolde tilted her head, trying to mimic the stances sketched on the page.

I did the same.

Flexibility.

Speed.

Strength.

Ingenuity.

One thing’s clear: This won’t be easy.