Light Bringer: New World[LitRPG, Fantasy, a very crazy idea]

The first sound of the world was not a cry, but the dry echo of metal clattering against metal on a surgical tray.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead at a sickening pace, smearing the blurred vision with yellowish halos. Gloved hands gripped his tiny ankles, holding him upside down before a sharp slap echoed against his thin skin. Biological reflex took control before any coherent thought could form.

Dante wailed. Not out of fear, but from the sheer mechanical irritation of having lungs forced to work.

It was at the exact millisecond his first breath completed its cycle that the air before his eyes became more than just the glare of the delivery room. In the center of that sensory blur, floating mere inches from his small, flat nose, a line of glowing text appeared, perfectly clear in his mind.

[Soul Interface bound successfully.]

[Biological host registered: Dante.]

[Loading existence matrix... 100%.]

He tried blinking, trying to push the translucent smear away with heavy eyelids, but the thing did not budge. It was not a retinal illusion. It was etched into the very fabric of his perception.

What is this crap?

The thought formed with shocking clarity for a brain that had barely minutes of oxygenation. He did not know where the language came from, nor how he managed to construct such a complete sentence, but he knew, with cold certainty, that it did not belong there. A dense void lay where his memories should have resided. An unsettling feeling of having left something colossal behind. He knew he had once been someone. He knew the weight of existing, the mechanics of the world, the feeling of making decisions. But names, faces, places? Nothing. Just an empty shell of repurposed consciousness.

”It’s a boy, Mrs. Miller.” The doctor’s voice sounded distant, muffled by the ringing in the newborn’s ears. ”Breathing is stable, reflexes within standard range. A little below ideal weight, but healthy.”

Dante felt his body wrapped in a thick, slightly rough cloth, passed from hand to hand until settling against a woman’s sweaty chest.

Kayla Miller breathed through an open mouth, brown hair clinging to her forehead from the strain of hours in labor. She looked down at the tiny creature in her arms for a few seconds. There were no copious tears of maternal devotion, nor that cinematic glow of total fulfillment. There was only raw exhaustion, an obvious resignation of someone who had just finished a long and painful chore.

”He’s so small...” she muttered, her hoarse voice cracking halfway through.

Near the door, leaning against the wall with arms crossed over a worn leather jacket, Maicon Miller pushed off with his shoulders. He took two hesitant steps toward the gurney, looked at the bundle in his wife’s lap, and rubbed his stubbled chin.

”At least he was born in one piece.” Maicon cleared his throat, as if feeling the need to fill the room’s silence. ”Did the doctor say when we can head home? Hospital parking charges by the hour after midnight.”

Kayla rolled her eyes slowly, closing them right after. ”You haven’t even started paying the room bill and you’re already complaining about parking, Maicon? For God’s sake.”

”I’m just being realistic. Bills don’t stop just because you gave birth.”

While the two traded low jabs stripped of any real heat, Dante kept his half-closed eyes focused on the grayish rectangle that remained suspended above his new mother’s head.

These are my parents. Wonderful. Looks like I didn’t hit the jackpot in the genetic lottery this time.

The translucent window cared nothing for his mental venting. With a silent click at the base of his skull, new information unfolded.

[Main Menu available.]

[10 Existential Management Tabs detected.]

Below the header, ten small icons aligned vertically. Dante tried forcing his focus onto the third icon, but all he received was static.

[Tab 02 & 03: Locked. Requirement: Biological age 10 years or Primary Class Awakening.]

[Tab 04: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

[Tab 05: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

[Tab 06: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

[Tab 07: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

[Tab 08: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

[Tab 09: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

[Tab 10: Locked. Requirement: Not met.]

Only two tabs were clear and accessible. The first, marked with the simplified symbol of a human bust, flickered in a pale gray tone. The second, shaped like a rolled scroll, displayed a small red dot in the upper corner.

Ten tabs? What kind of complex contraption did they cram into my head?

He tried to move his arms, but his infant limbs responded only with an uncoordinated tremor. Unable to point or touch, he used pure mental intent to direct his focus onto the first option.

The interface answered instantly.

The first three years of life were a constant exercise in patience and biological frustration.

The Miller family apartment was on the third floor of an old suburban building, where the plumbing hissed whenever someone ran the shower and the scent of neighbors’ fried food soaked into the thin drywall. Maicon worked at an auto parts warehouse, always returning home late with grease-stained hands and a mood swinging between dead silence and grumbling about the price of gas. Kayla spent most of the day in front of the television, watching variety shows and cheap soap operas while folding laundry or cooking bland baby food.

They did not hit him. They did not starve him. But there was no excess of warmth or care. If Dante cried, Kayla waited for the commercial break to end before checking his diaper. If Dante fell while trying to crawl, Maicon simply grunted ”get up, kid” without taking his eyes off the sports paper.

To Dante, that was practically a blessing. His parents’ mild neglect gave him the space he needed to spend hours staring at the crib ceiling, unraveling the mechanics of what the system called Status.

By the age of four, he could manipulate the interface as effortlessly as breathing.

Sitting on the worn parquet floor of the small bedroom, surrounded by old wooden blocks he deliberately stacked crookedly to look like an ordinary child, he willed the command.

Status.

The screen opened in the air, visible only to him. Dante had tested this exhaustively. Neither Kayla walking past with the laundry basket nor Maicon complaining about the electric bill could see the projection.

[Name: Dante Miller]

[Level: 1 (0/100 EXP)]

[Class: None]

[Health Points: 12/12]

[Mana Points: 28/28]

[Primary Attributes:]

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

[Strength: 04]

[Dexterity: 06]

[Constitution: 04]

[Intelligence: 14]

[Wisdom: 12]

[Charisma: 11]

[Passive Traits & Flaws:]

[Congenital Physical Frailty: Your body has low muscle density and a tendency toward accelerated fatigue. Physical stamina costs increased by 30%.]

[Pre-Forged Mind: Passive bonus to information processing and resistance against basic cognitive manipulation.]

Dante stared at the numbers, letting out a soft sigh that made the top of the block tower wobble.

Four Strength. Four Constitution. I’m basically a walking piece of wet paper.

He had experienced it firsthand ever since he learned to walk. While other neighborhood kids ran endlessly along the cracked pavement, he could not manage two full laps around the building courtyard without his chest burning and his legs shaking like dry twigs. Catching a simple cold kept him bedridden for three weeks, coughing until his stomach hurt. The system did not lie: his body was weak. Any attempt to focus on direct combat, brawling, or long-distance sprinting would be sheer stupidity.

On the other hand, an Intelligence score at age four that was nearly triple his physical strength stood out. And his Mana pool, even without learning a single spell, already began at a decent baseline.

If I try to punch anyone, I’ll break my wrist. Message received. Magic, summoning, anything that lets me fight two miles away from danger. That’s going to be the path.

He shifted his gaze to the second menu icon, where the reddish notification still nagged him.

Quests.

The screen shifted, revealing a single line of text framed by faded golden borders.

[Origin Quest (Tier Zero): The Echo of the First Name.]

[Objective: Uncover the identity and records of your previous incarnation.]

[Progress: 0%]

[Reward: Primary Memory Unlock, Hidden Bloodline Trait, Soul Matrix Expansion.]

[Failure Penalty: None.]

Dante stared at the text for a few seconds.

Find out who I was? What for?

He slowly shook his head, using his mind to select the top corner of the prompt.

Hide quest.

The window collapsed instantly, vanishing from his sight.

If my past self died or was wiped out, that’s his problem. I’m not wasting what little energy I have chasing ghosts while I can barely carry a preschool backpack without running out of breath. Leave it buried.

He had no time for existential crises. Life in the real world already took enough effort just to avoid looking like a freak to adults. He had to deliberately make mistakes when Kayla tried to teach him counting, botching simple math to avoid raising suspicions in kindergarten. He had to pretend to care about loud cartoons on television so Maicon wouldn’t think his son was some silent weirdo.

It was an exhausting performance, but a necessary one.

By the age of seven, Dante began to better understand the structure of the world around him and, more importantly, the clues the system dropped in the footers of locked interfaces.

The human world was flat, gray, and predictable. Old cars spewed black exhaust along the avenues, people woke up early to work in cramped offices, and no one seemed to have the slightest clue that reality possessed extra layers. There were no flying heroes, no monsters crawling out of manholes, no people conjuring fireballs in the town square. No one had an interface floating before their eyes.

Dante had spent weeks quietly observing pedestrians, primary school teachers, and his own parents. No one glanced into empty air the way he did. No one hesitated while trying to read an invisible transparent board. The system was an anomaly belonging to him alone.

At least on Earth.

It was during a rainy afternoon in third grade, while waiting out recess beneath the courtyard awning to avoid getting wet and courting another fever, that he explored the general settings menu recently unlocked.

Among the options for adjusting screen opacity and mental audio notifications, there was a disabled subcategory titled Planar Resonance.

Hovering his intent over the option, a detailed notice popped up:

[Planar Resonance: Inactive.]

[Linked Destination: Infernal Plane (General Sublayer).]

[Registered Geographic Structure: 9 Major Continents, 15 Minor Continents.]

[Transit Condition: Unrestricted individual access granted by Soul Matrix. Locked until core maturity (Age: 10).]

[Environmental Note: The Infernal Plane operates under the aegis of the Global System. All native inhabitants and damned souls possess active interfaces.]

Dante swallowed hard, feeling the back of his neck prickle.

Hell?

He reread the description three times to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding it.

The place where the dead go? Nine major continents and fifteen minor ones... And everyone there has a system? So I’m not some unique freak in the universe, I’m just on the wrong damn planet.

The revelation changed everything. If Hell had a complex geographic layout and residents governed by the system, it was not merely a pit of fire and medieval torture like people on Earth loved to preach. It was an entire society. A world with active LitRPG rules, classes, levels, and who knows what kind of danger.

And most unsettling of all: he had a direct ticket there branded onto his soul.

Fast travel? Between worlds?

He snapped the screen shut as a classmate dashed past, splashing puddle water over his shoe. Dante didn’t even bother cursing at the kid. His brain was far too busy calculating the implications of that discovery.

If no one on Earth had powers or systems, he had to ensure no one ever suspected a thing. If anyone found out he could pull up magical menus and vanish into thin air, he would end up a lab rat before finishing elementary school.

And in Hell? If he showed up there, a living human with the ability to freely travel between dimensions while demons and damned souls remained bound to their respective continents based on their sins... He would be hunted the second he set foot outside a safe zone.

Absolute discretion. The conclusion sank into his mind like a nail into hardwood. Nobody here can know. Nobody there can know. If I want to make the most of this madness without winding up dead or dissected, I’ll have to play it strictly by the book.

He tugged the thin jacket snug around his shoulders, feeling the damp wind raise goosebumps on his pale skin. The body remained weak, but the mind was sharper than ever.

Three days remained until his tenth birthday.

The Miller living room sat immersed in the usual Tuesday night gloom. The television blared a loud laundry detergent commercial, casting light over the sofa where Kayla dozed with her head resting on a faded cushion. In the kitchen, Maicon pulled open the refrigerator door, grabbed a bottle of cheap beer, and kicked it shut with his heel, letting out the long, heavy sigh of a man who had spent twelve hours unloading freight.

”Dante,” Maicon called from the kitchen, not raising his voice louder than necessary.

Dante, sitting at the small dining table with an open math notebook, looked up. ”Yeah?”

”Your birthday’s Friday, right?” Maicon took a swig from the bottle, leaning against the chipped laminate counter. ”Your mom bought one of those boxed cake mixes. If there’s any cash left after payday Thursday, we’ll grab that two-liter soda you like.”

”Thanks, Dad. That sounds great.”

”Cool. Don’t stay up late, keeping the living room light on wastes power.”

Maicon turned his back and walked down the bedroom hallway, shuffling his slippers against the floor. Dante waited for his parents’ door to shut and the apartment’s quiet to settle before setting down his pencil.

He didn’t resent his father, nor his mother. They were what they were: two ordinary, exhausted people trapped in the suffocating routine of a dead-end life, fulfilling the bureaucratic chore of keeping a kid alive until he was old enough to fend for himself. There was no abuse, but there was no depth either. Dante accepted it naturally. It made things simpler. Less attachment meant fewer questions when he needed time and space for his own plans.

He leaned back in the wooden chair, closing his eyes for a moment before summoning the interface.

Menu.

The panel materialized, but this time something was different. The tabs that previously showed static lock notices were outlined in a faint glow, pulsing in rhythm with a countdown timer that had appeared in the upper right corner of his vision.

[Countdown to Core Maturation: 71 hours, 14 minutes, 02 seconds.]

[Unlocks scheduled for the 10-Year Milestone:]

[Tab 02: Arcane Grimoire & Soul Binding.]

[Tab 03: Primary Class Selection (Caster/Summoner available).]

[Tab 04: Access to Planar Transit (Earth/Infernal Crossing Rift).]

Dante stared at the countdown, feeling the blood course a little faster through his veins for the first time in years.

His passive childhood, confined to pretending to be an ordinary, frail boy in a dull suburb, was running on borrowed time. In less than three days, the tool forged into his soul would finally disengage its main locks.

He did not know what he would find on the other side when the rift to Hell opened, nor what manner of demons or laws governed those continents of sinners. But he knew one thing: with a body that could barely haul its own schoolbag, he wasn’t joining that game just to be a pawn.

Dante closed his math notebook, flicked off the desk light, and walked in the dark toward his small bedroom, a faint, subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

Seventy-one hours. Hurry up already.