The forest was quiet, save for the gentle rustle of the wind moving through the leaves. Inside the hollow tree, the baby finally woke up after a restless sleep. His little stomach roared loudly; he tried to move, but his body responded only with the clumsy, heavy limbs of an infant who had yet to learn how to use them.
His throat tightened. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he couldn't stop it.
Then, he cried.
It started as a soft whimper, but it quickly grew into a desperate, hungry wail—the cry of someone small and alone in a vast, indifferent world.
...
In another part of the forest, a man with a graying beard and hair tied back in a ponytail walked among the trees. A long sword rested on his back, and his traveler's cloak was stained with the dust of the road. Despite appearing to be in his fifties, he moved with the steady grace of a predator.
— "Tsk... not a single decent monster today," — he grumbled, checking some footprints in the mud. — "Where the hell have they all gone? I'm getting rusty."
He kicked a stone to vent his frustration. Suddenly, a sound broke his monologue. He stopped dead in his tracks, squinting and sharpening his ears.
— "What the heck was that? An animal?" — He clicked his tongue. — "No... it sounds like... No way. A baby?"
The crying rang out again, louder this time. The old man frowned and drew his sword with practiced caution.
— "If this is a bandit trap, I'm going to split them in two..."
But as he approached the ancient hollow tree, he found no hidden daggers or ambushes. He found only a small child with greenish-blue eyes and blond hair, looking up at him with tearful intensity.
— "Oh, by all the gods... Where did you come from?" — he murmured, genuinely surprised.
The baby looked at him and wailed again.
— "Alright, alright, alright! Don't scream like that, damn it," — said the old man, covering his ears. — "Why do these things always happen to me?"
He scanned the surroundings for any sign of other people, but the forest was silent.
— "Tsk... the devil take it," — he scoffed. — "If I leave you here, you'll die. And I'll be left with a guilty conscience."
The baby stretched a tiny hand toward him. The old man went silent for a second, his hardened expression softening.
— "Don't look at me with that face..." — he grumbled, picking him up carefully. — "Fine, fine. Come here."
The baby babbled something, almost as if responding to him.
— "You even try to talk?" — the man said, rolling his eyes. — "Enough. Let's go. I have a cabin nearby where I'm staying this season."
---
The Little One's Point of View (MC)
He carried me as if I were a sack of potatoes. This old man has zero delicacy! The swaying movement made me a little dizzy, but I stopped crying. I was still hungry, but at least I wasn't alone anymore.
— "Stop looking at me like that," — the old man grumbled as he walked. — "I don't know the first thing about babies, I'm warning you right now."
I tried to babble back, but only a strange, gurgling sound came out.
— "Yeah, yeah, whatever you said," — he answered. — "I guess you haven't eaten a thing. I'll find you something."
...
The cabin was rustic but cozy. The scent of wood and leather filled the air. The man put me down on a clean blanket and began to prepare a mixture of crushed dried fruit and warm water, scoffing non-stop.
— "First I don't find anything to hunt, now abandoned babies. This day can't get any worse."
But when he glanced at me, his expression shifted. He remembered something from a distant, painful past: a house in flames, the smoke, and the loss of his own wife and son. A heavy sigh escaped his chest.
— "I think I'm going to do something very stupid..." — he finally murmured. — "Fine. You'll stay with me."
After feeding me, the old man crossed his arms, observing me with curiosity.
— "Well, boy... I can't call you 'baby' forever, can I? Let's see... what should I call you? How about Arthur? Just like my sister's son. You better like it."
"Arthur."
That name resonated within me. Suddenly, a serene and melodic voice—far more graceful than any sound I had heard before—vibrated within my consciousness:
"Notice: The individual has granted you an identity. The name 'Arthur' has been registered."
I gave an involuntary jump of surprise. The old man approached quickly, worried I was about to spit up my food, but I was focused entirely on that voice.
"Who are you?" — I asked in my mind.
"Response: I am your unique skill, 'Great Sage.' I am here to assist you in the analysis and development of your abilities."
Can you help me understand what this man is saying?
"Initiating synchronization... Translating phonemes... Success. Skill acquired: Comprehension of Human Language."
I felt a wave of warmth flowing through my head. Suddenly, Ruben's words—I now knew that was his name—stopped being strange noises and took on perfect meaning. The old man picked me up and laid me on the bed while he started gathering tools to build a cradle.
— "Thank you, Great Sage," — I whispered in my mind. There was no verbal answer, but I felt the skill's presence, waiting.
---
Years Later
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into years. Ruben turned out to be a retired adventurer who made a living hunting and gathering. He always took me with him, whether hanging on his back or inside a modified sack. Despite his constant grumbling, I never lacked for anything.
By the time I turned three, I could walk and speak quite well. I often found myself mesmerized watching him train alone. His sword cut the air with a force and speed my eyes could barely follow.
— "Grandpa... will you teach me to use the sword like you?" — I asked one day.
Ruben sighed, but a slightly sadistic smirk played on his lips.
— "What did I tell you about calling me 'grandpa'? But fine... you can be sure I'll teach you. And it won't be easy."
When I turned four, the "hell" began. Ruben didn't give me a sword right away.
— "First, the foundation. If you're weak, you won't even be able to cut a bush."
I spent months doing push-ups, carrying stones, and running through the trees until I collapsed from exhaustion. Ruben was demanding, but he always made sure I didn't get truly hurt. However, one day he decided to try something new.
— "Arthur, I've wanted to test a theory. I'm going to teach you some magic."
My eyes shone with excitement. Magic? Does real magic exist in this world?
Ruben recited an incantation about the protection of water and launched a Water Ballat a tree, leaving a deep mark.
— "Now you try it."
I closed my eyes and concentrated. "Great Sage, help me."
"Analysis complete. Structure of the spell 'Water Ball' understood. Initiating execution."
I repeated the words, and to Ruben's surprise, a ball of water the size of my fist shot out, hitting the target. I tried a second, third, and fourth time... but on the fourth, I felt a sudden emptiness and fell unconscious.
Ruben caught me before I hit the ground, murmuring to himself about an old theory that training a child's mana from an early age could expand their reserves infinitely.
— "Incredible... this child is far smarter than any I've known. Perhaps he is... a Miko," — he whispered as he carried me back to the cabin, a new spark of respect in his eyes.
end of chapter