Deidrick von Vanderbilt's calm composure was broken into a façade of excitement and shock when Maxwell opened his status window. "By the holy pantheon, seriously this is a trick of the light." There are ways to change one's status window to hide the extent of a user's skill. Such processes take time and skill. Even if his child could do that, it is still worthy of commendation. But this? This is absurd. No wonder the child has taken ill in the ceremony. An insurmountable amount of holy power was poured into such a frail body. It's by sheer luck that the child is still breathing.
"Fa- father? Are you alright?" Maxwell said when his father stood silent for an entire minute.
Finally, Deidrick broke his silence, "Who else knows of this?"
"Alexander. I told him when I woke up. There is none other than him."
"Then that is good. Their family is indebted to us and that boy seems to be loyal to you. Pray tell, did you ask him not to mention it to anybody?"
"Yes, I did." True to his word, Maxwell's memories tell him that Alexander is a man worthy of his trust. All he ever did and will ever do is for the sake of the Vanderbilt family.
"You really are my child. You have the precognition of what dangers these powers of yours possess. But do you have a concrete idea of what these dangers are?" Deidrick stroked his beard and stared back at the snow-tipped mountain range. "You are a bright lad, I believe you have an inkling of thought but I'll tell you what they are. Beyond those mountains and the border, we guard is the Angols. Books may say that they are civilized but they are mere magic-hating barbarians. They fear magic so they extinguish any sight of it. What more could your magic that surpasses the best of our mages? Then there is the Church of the Holy Pantheon. With your power, they may see you as a god. But you are just a man, a child - my child. The pantheon is merciful but their zealotry knows no bounds. I will protect you with all my power but there will be a time when you will need to fend for yourself. I have decided to hire you a private tutor ahead of your 10th birthday. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, father."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Days would pass after that meeting with his father. During that time, Maxwell was accustomed to his new life in the Vanderbilt household. He thought he could fit well but the lack of modern conveniences he grew up with made every passing day a slog. He missed his phone or the Internet. He missed eating ice cream or fried foods. Speaking of fried foods, he gave the head chef instructions on how to make fried chicken. He made it right, for the most part. He was surprised that such a strange instruction would make for a crispy meal. But since I used Hazelnut Oil, there's a nutty taste to the meal. Something that Maxwell could get used to.
Another thing of note is that while having a child’s body is enjoyable, the body of an adult still has more pros. Sure. He can run around the mansion without getting tired. He could jump at high places and fall without his knees cracking because his joints are like rubber. Or how he could get anything he asked from some of the stingy maids by merely making a cute pouting face. But the one thing he misses in an adult's body is the ability to masturbate. He could do it, yes. But it's useless if he cannot ejaculate. He tried it once in the bath and he spent about an hour waiting for something that will never come. He tried it in the bedroom and Alexander nearly caught him in the act. Maxwell gave up on the fifth day of fruitless endeavors. Good pantheon, he misses his dick.
With all manners of his former conveniences unavailable, Maxwell would spend his time in the library. In the dusty halls surrounded by mountains of his ancestor's collection, he learned the basics of magic in this world. There are particles carrying mystical energies around them. Through the focus of one's mind, portals in the body can act as a conduit to turn these energies into something practical or concrete. Think of the energies as the common clay. The body is the hand that gives the clay form. The hand of a novice produces useless lumps. Through practice and perseverance, the hand can create anything as long as there's clay to fill one's imagination.
Maxwell closed his eyes and focused on the energies inside him. He is a conduit of power. The hand to usher change. With his open palm, he uttered, "Fire!". Like a blossoming lotus, fire emerged from his palm. It filled his dark corner of the library with heat and light. Even though the fire floated mere centimeters from his hand, the heat is tolerable. Maxwell even held the fire with his other hand. It's painless and even felt oddly comfortable in his grasp.
In the next few days, he would practice the other elements. There was air where a spherical cyclone burst forth from his palm and sent the frail papers of the library into a mess. There was water which came out as a stream which Maxwell launched out of a window and drenched a poor farmer wet. There was earth that failed to produce any results until Maxwell tried it outside and a block of dirt floated to his palm. When he lifted the spell, a mound of dirt landed on his palm where a confused worm crawled out. Upon seeing it, Maxwell screamed at the top of his lungs and burned the poor sap into a crisp.
A few days more, he could create those elemental orbs twice their size and launch them at high speeds. He launched an orb of rock in the nearby glade. Upon landing, a loud explosion was heard sending birds and small monsters fleeing the scene. The knights of Andorre were quick to get to the scene. They assumed it to be a new attack from the Angols which is puzzling since they are far from the border. When mages under the Marquess of Andorre reported that the rock in the impact is of magical origin, Deidrick knew immediately where it came from. He called off the investigation and had Maxwell spanked 40 times for the 40 dead woodland critters found at the scene. Maxwell thought that he could receive a minor scratch from his punishment considering his level of resistance and durability. Of course, Deidrick Vanderbilt is not just a man of wit but also acuity. From the crypts of their ancestor, he unearthed a paddle enchanted with the force of fifty stampeding horses. It was used to explode the heads of invading Angols, but now, it's used to turn a 7-year-old's butt cheeks stinging red.
By the end of the month, since Maxwell was reincarnated into this world, he was called by his father that his tutor would come today. Maxwell expected many things from the clichés of somewhat similar stories in his previous world. He expected that his tutor would be wise and also probably old. He'd have an overflowing white beard and a set of mystical robes would complete the look of a wizard. What came was a different breed. He wasn't old, he's probably in his mid-30s by the looks of it. However, his father reminded him that his tutor is an elf. Their lifespan is a lot longer than a human’s. Proportionally to that of a human, he'd be about 90 years old.
"You've lost your marbles, Deidrick." The tutor scoffed, his feet raised to the coffee table. "Sure, I've taught your other child a year earlier than the other noble brats. But this? You're pressing your luck with this one."
Deidrick sipped a cup of mint tea, "I have not lost my marbles and I am not pressing my luck. Do you take me as a man who wastes his time in jest?"
"Well, there is always the first time. Can the kid even produce a spark?"
"Maxwell, show him." Maxwell opened his palm and a spherical inferno blossomed forth. It raged for a while before ending it with a close of his palm.
"I've lived for nearly a hundred years and I've seen my fair share when it comes to early magic practitioners which are mostly elves. But that? A spell without a chant? I could do that, yes. But it took me years just to do it for a simple spell. What tricks are you doing, Deidrick?"
"No tricks. A Vanderbilt deals with war and fire. Do not mistake our reputation for that of Family Scylla. Maxwell is a child blessed by the pantheon. Now, the next things I will say will stay in this room. Gilliard, I trust you because of your skills, not of your liberal tongue. No offense intended,"
"None was taken," Gilliard took a sip of his tea. From the way his eyes got big, it seems he liked the tea quite well. He liked it so much that he drank it all even though it's piping hot.
"If I hear a single rumor, a single whisper from a commoner's mouth about the things I will tell you - know this, I will have your head on a pike. Now, Maxwell. Show him your status screen."
Maxwell opened his status screen. Gilliard spat out the tea the moment he saw the series of numbers. Deidrick waved his gloved hand and the tea turned to steam mid-air. "The things you said are true. This child of yours is truly blessed by the pantheon. But why me? With that gift, my teachings are bare of use. The skills we have pale in comparison to his."
"An uncontrolled fire is powerful but quickly depletes its fuel. With the proper tools, that fire could be honed into something better. More powerful and refined. By your boundless wit, you know what I am talking about." Gilliard nodded while drinking another cup of tea. "With the shared experiences we had, you know that people will come for the boy. I am not asking that you protect him but give him the insight to do it himself."
"This is the most interesting job I've had so you know what my answer is,"
"Then teaching starts tomorrow when the sundial reaches the 9th rock. A servant outside will direct you to your quarters." With that, the meeting ended. Maxwell spent the remaining hours of the day with his father and ended it with sequestering himself in his room. His minds are filled with wonder and the excitement of finally having a teacher to refine this untapped talent. Then there's also another try of wanking himself, wishing under his breath that this might be the day where his balls start producing cum. But alas! Another dry orgasm was added to the list.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gilliard is a man of considerable skill even among the magically-attuned race of elves. Deidrick recounted that he met him back when he was still an adventurer. Back when the thought of inheriting the Vanderbilt duty is at the back of his mind. Gilliard would be a commendable person if it weren't for his mischief and conniving tongue. He tells the truth as much as he tells lies. Which is a good thing considering Maxwell's current predicament. If he dares to tell a person about Maxwell's powers, they'd brand him as a liar and a fool. Deidrick has ears everywhere in this realm. So even truths branded as tall-tales would mean that Gilliard's head would find itself on a pike.
Among Deidrick's reminders to Maxwell, he failed to stress the fact that Gilliard is the living embodiment of a raging boner. He'd flirt with everybody, even the staff of different genders and races, of commonality and nobility. After dinner, he'd see Gilliard stumbling towards his quarters with a flask of wine at hand, and two servants giggling under his arms. Maxwell swears that he must have fucked everyone in the manor except for him. All this is making Maxwell envious of the guy.
"In your status screen, it says you have a Possession skill. Do you have an inkling of what it does?" Gilliard asked one day. There's this pounding in his head from drinking too many. He'd love it if they could postpone doing magic today. But alas! Deidrick is always staring in that stupid window of his. Ears everywhere his ass. Might as well as add omnipresent vision. That would be good if he could have the kid do his own thing for the next few hours.
"I actually don't know. All I've ever done are elemental magics. Do you know how I can use Possession magic?" Maxwell asked.
Gilliard popped out his status window and showed Maxwell his LVL3 skill in Illusion. "Unlike elemental magic, minor talents take a bit of mental grease and less of the magical juice. Whenever I cast an illusion, I think of something real turned fake turned real. Then voila!" A half-naked elf with bulging muscles appeared before them, then quickly dissipated into nothingness. That display of magic alone was enough to send bile rushing on Gilliard's throat. He swallowed it which left a bitter aftertaste that lasted for a while. "In your case, I think it's got to do something with 'having something'. I don't know. What do you think?"
"Well, I do want to have a loaf of bread right now, and a slice of ham and cheese." What Maxwell really wants is to have a sandwich to be in his possession. He closed his eyes and focused. When he opened them, there's nothing but a whole bunch of nothing in his hands. Gilliard coughed followed by a gust of wind.
"That's a bust. Maybe instead of something, try thinking of someone. If that doesn't work, I don't know what will."
Wanting someone is difficult considering that all the people in the manor except his relatives are already owned by the Vanderbilts. Nonetheless, he filled his mind with such people. He thought of Alexander who was patiently waiting for him by the well near the gazebo. There's old man Pietro with his carriage of hay from this month's harvest. There's the maid named Cere, a total bitch even to the highest nobles of the house. But she gets the job done faster and more efficiently than the others. There's the farm boy named Louis who spends his limited free time playing with Maxwell. He thought hard of them and wished for them to be his. He wanted to be in their possession. He- He wanted to possess them.
Mystical energy surrounded Maxwell's body. Strange energy that Gilliard first felt today. When Maxwell opened his eyes, he felt that every movement was lighter and faster. He failed to anticipate his chance that he came crashing down the gazebo steps. Instead of hitting his head on the floorboards, his head just phased through and swore that he saw the decaying corpse of a glade squirrel. Maxwell screamed then floated back to the world above. That is going to be the stuff of today's nightmares.
"Possession is just phasing magic? I thought it'd be something else." Gilliard said.
"It's not finished just yet," While Maxwell is in this ghostly form, there is this ghastly band wrapped around his waist. Spikes are poking out of the band and they seem to be pointing to living creatures around him. The strongest spike is pointing towards the nearest person, which would be Gilliard. The next was pointing to Alexander who must have dozed off on the bench by the well. A bird whizzed past and a tiny spike from this energy belt whizzed past too. There are smaller spikes but they are obscured as to who they are pointing to or the people behind them are far away. "I believe that if I phase into somebody, I could take control of their mind and bodies. Or so this strange whisper in my mind says."