I was two years old when we moved to a different town.
The journey was a long, arduous one, involving crossing multiple cities and coming across all kinds of people. Mother kept me close to her chest most of the time like I was some sort of secret to be hidden from unwanted eyes.
During this time, she never once attempted to explain what had happened after the aptitude test. Either she thought a six-month-old baby wouldn't remember anything even though the murder happened right before me, or it was nothing worth explaining in her eyes, both of which were equally disturbing.
Still, there was little change in the way she hugged me. I saw the same caring smile on her face whenever she reached for me, but I could feel a certain heaviness in the way she carried herself.
I'd been a people-pleasing, silent, and docile child back in my first life, so I did that. I showed no indication to the woman that I was disturbed by the whole thing. It wasn't necessarily a complete act since I found myself craving to be seen and heard by her, as I didn't want to be cast off before I hit at least puberty.
Thankfully, that wasn't the case with my new mother. She was a troubled woman, no doubt, and she had already given me a couple of mommy issues, but what really surprised me was the fact that I couldn't care less about that Father.
It could be that my baby brain did something to evade confronting the gravity of the situation. Either that, or I was so disoriented and dysynced from reality that a single murder of a corrupt priest hadn't been enough to wake me.
I also knew in part that my mother did that to protect me. Moving to another town was probably another cautionary step as well. Those were obvious. After all, right before that dagger ripped into his heart, the father had said he should immediately report this matter to the Head Priest.
Apparently, that was a no-no.
Although, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that my mother already expected such a result. She'd acted so fragile, so naïve that even I fell for it. I even thought she was being ripped off by that fool!
Who was the naïve one now, eh?
That was me. I didn't know anything about my new mother. I didn't know the world I was born in.
I needed to learn more, and it just so happened that I could finally walk on my feet now.
That bookshelf might as well prepare itself because I was about to devour the whole thing.
…..
As a two-year-old, I was still in my exploring phase. I didn't talk a lot, nor did I pester my mother with too much child-like behavior. If I were to be a genius as that priest thought me to be, then acting restrained and a bit aloof would be expected from me.
That was the easy part, though. The hard part was to justify the talent given to me. I couldn't count on time or the natural process of growing up. I knew I wasn't going to become a genius by walking around the house. If this was a magical world, there might be freakish babies throwing fireballs at my age.
I had too much to catch up with.
It was an afternoon when my mother was out that I made my way to the bookshelf. Now that I could carry myself around the house, Mother didn't look so distressed when she left me on my own. She probably had business with our new and scarcely decorated house. The bookshelf was one of the few things she'd brought with us on our way.
The books that were within my reach were the classical tales of those nameless heroes. Their leather covers looked simple and worn, unlike the occupants further up on the highest shelf. Of those, three of them seemed particularly valuable, their backs gleaming with golden, ancient letters.
One of them read "The Known Arts of Magic I", which sounded ominously alluring. The one in the middle was named "The Myriad Realms of Karthak I" if my meager mastery over the new language was to be believed. Now that looked like a whole bunch of exposition to me, but as a baby, new information was like occasional fruit I was being fed that tasted heavenly.
I couldn't get enough of it.
The third and the last of the gleaming books didn't have a name. It was older than the other two, its leathery cover wrinkled and torn at the edges. It was also on the smaller side compared to the rest.
Rolling up my sleeves, I eyed the stool in the corner of the hall. I would need that if I wanted to reach that far. To actually drag it to the bookshelf, though, took ungodly effort. I was sweating my ass off by the time I managed it.
Then, scrunching my nose up and biting my underlip, I worked myself on top of the stool, hauling my baby fat with a stubborn grunt. I'd positioned the stool crosswise to the bookshelf so that I could let the books fall to the ground without messing up my face.
And so, I stretched my chubby arms and wrenched the first one off the bookshelf.
"The Known Arts of Magic I" plopped down on the wooden floor with a resounding thud. I stared at it.
That was, without exaggeration, the proudest moment of my two-year-old career.
Climbing down, I dragged the heavy book to the backyard. I might as well enjoy the afternoon breeze while reading. I left the stool by the bookshelf for two reasons. First, if Mother took longer than expected to get back home, I could look at the other two for a while. The second, and the most obvious reason, was that I wanted Mother to see my efforts.
There was a good chance she'd berate me, telling me that it was too dangerous for a child to play around stools or bookshelves. I could take that. I wasn't any child, by all means. No, what I needed from her was for her to know I was eager to learn. Hopefully, that would give me something to work with.
Anyhow, I opened the book.
A cloud of dust splashed across my face. This book had been left alone for quite a while.
The pages were filled with characters that I recognized from the stories my mother read to me, and as they said, children learned quickly, which was why I was able to understand most of the content.
For the most part, the book discussed various magical fundamentals, including the types of magic, how to utilize them, and the process of learning to wield mana. Some explanations were quite winding and long, making my head ache, but I managed to get the gist of it.
Basically, magic fell under three broad categories: internal magic, external magic, and rune magic.
Of those, internal magic was fairly simple. Some people were born with the gift of mana, which came with a small internal mana reserve. It was crucial, as the only way to form a Mana Core was through utilizing this small reserve, which seemed like a huge deal. The color of a Core was also an indication of a Mage's general power and the grade of spells they could use. Everyone started from bronze, then came silver, and so on. Warmagic and healing magic belonged to this particular category.
People who lacked this internal reserve were referred to as Nulls.
External magic was something else. This umbrella term encompassed a great variety of fields like divine magic and summoning magic, hence why the book often repeated the phrase "Borrowed Power" between the paragraphs. Drawing power from magical sources fell under this category as well, which apparently could be deadly if not learned through a strict education.
People who were born with mana had an innate advantage in the field of external magic to the point that Nulls rarely practiced it. It was completely unfair and left a bad taste in my mouth until I finally arrived at the third and last type of magic.
Rune magic.
This was my jam.
It involved one's soul. According to the book, no one knew where this gift came from, although there were certain theories that included peculiarities one experienced in the womb. Either way, it was generally acknowledged that only one in millions of children would be born with this type of magic, making them exceedingly rare.
Soul magic, or rune magic—the two were used interchangeably across the pages—was a mysterious field even though the explanation of the way it was practiced seemed simple enough. It consisted of strange drawings that had extraordinary capabilities, ranging from strengthening the body to increasing the amount of mana a Mage could hold in their Cores.
These drawings, namely the runes, were strictly graded. For example, the book mentioned that a Grade 1 Mana Increasing Rune would boost one's mana by a whopping 20%. While it didn't look like much at first, the fact that a simple rune could grant such an increase to a Mage's Core was nothing short of miraculous.
Still, I wasn't exactly taken by the idea of drawing runes on people just to make them stronger. Sure, I could probably make a killing by selling runes or such, but becoming rich wasn't that big of a goal in a world where magic existed. So, my thinking was simple: If I can't make use of them on my own, then what is the point?
That was when I discovered the other part of the equation.
The Knight's Path.
Often called The Path of Glory, the Knight's Path was the most accessible road to power. It focused on cultivating internal energy through disciplined training and techniques. Anyone could become a Knight with enough effort. Like Mages, they had a ranking system, but instead of Core colors, their strength was measured by the hue of their internal energy. A Bronze Knight, for instance, radiated a bronze glow, which was the first step.
That instantly made me think of my mother. I didn't recall her having a particular color about her when she trained, but the way she swung that greatsword around, the way she hadn't flinched when she stabbed that dagger into the priest's chest…
Okay. She was definitely a Knight of sorts.
Then it occurred to me. I had chills all over my arms as I considered it. If I could somehow learn my way around these runes, then that meant we could become a deadly duo, my mother and I! She could teach me the ways of a Knight while I could draw runes for her.
Didn't that mean I was like the best child to have as a single mother?
I grinned myself into a choking spree, then gulped my spit down and straightened my little back. Smooth and easy, I took three breaths to calm myself.
Better not to get too overheated right now.
Yes. I needed to be clever about this.
I hadn't even finished this book yet, and there were two more to read. I had so much to do!
My excitement died somewhere around my chest when the door creaked gently open. Sprawled over on the lush grass with a book between my little elbows, I was completely busted.
Damn.
Just as I expected to be scolded by my obviously distressed mother, I was instead baffled when she suddenly burst into tears. Shocked, I didn't know what to do as she dashed in and took me into her arms.
Then she wept like she'd lost another child that I wasn't aware of.
…..
"I'm sorry, Leo."
After what felt like hours, I could finally understand a word of what she was saying.
"What kind of a mother leaves her child alone for hours? What if you tripped and fell? What if something happened to you when I was gone? I don't know what to do. I'm such a mess. Will you forgive me?"
I stood frozen as my mother stared pleadingly at me, her eyes reddened with tears. Curls of blond hair were smeared across her face, and she clutched the tips of them, nearly pulling them off.
There were so many things I wanted to tell her. So many questions on my mind that I wanted to ask, but at that moment, all I wished was for her to stop crying and take a deep breath.
"I'm okay, Mom," I said, placing one chubby hand on her knees. We were on the couch, and I could almost hear her heart thumping in her chest. "And I'm sorry. I will be careful from now on."
"No, my Leo." She shook her head, glancing around the room, then down into my eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry about. It was my fault. I promise I will be better."
So gentle was her touch that my cheeks flushed red as I struggled to stop tears from welling behind my eyes. Some baby reaction, I guessed, that had something to do with the fact that I could see genuine worry in the way she stared at me, an expression that felt so alien.
I tried to shake it off. It was uncomfortable. I wasn't used to it. On the contrary, I'd expected to be beaten after making a mess of our living hall.
This, though, was way beyond my expectations.
What was wrong with her? She'd never said anything to me. We were just a mother and son living here all alone, but I knew that was far from the whole truth. Mother was troubled with things she purposefully kept from me, and I couldn't blame her for it, nor was I in a position to demand certain answers.
I had no other choice but to wait until I was big enough to be trusted.
"You're a curious child," she said just then, wiping her eyes as she forced out a smile. She went over and picked up The Known Arts of Magic I from the backyard, then turned to me. "I should've expected as much from a budding Runemaster. So tell me, what did you learn?"
I didn't know why, but I felt compelled to speak. It was good that we were steering away from troubling stuff. Yes. We should speak about magic! That would lighten the mood.
"You are a Knight!" was all I could manage to muster.
Was I losing my speaking skills from acting the baby for so long? My vocabulary was painfully limited, but thankfully, that single sentence brought a broad smile to my mother's lips.
"You're right. Your mom is a Knight, and quite a strong one!" She beamed at me, then stretched her right arm out and flexed her muscles.
I was amazed at how well-defined and intricate they were as I stared, fixated on them. It must've come across as a child's astonishment since it improved my mother's mood a lot.
"Can I become one?" I asked, as I couldn't help myself. I didn't need a lot. Just a wooden sword as a start would get me my fix. That'd give me something to work with.
"Yes. You will become a Knight. A far more powerful one than your mother," she said, and that was it. We were doing this! I balled my fists in a power move, tried to look as triumphant and as ready as I possibly could. That earned me a chuckle from her.
"But it's too early for you to practice. Which is why I brought that notebook with me to this world."
My shoulders sagged, but before I could curse this little body of mine, my eyes widened with a sudden realization.
The priest had said I was some sort of planar genius. And now my mother basically told me that we came here from another world.
What kind of a place was this? A multiverse or something? Was Earth close? Then why did we rely on damned candles as a light source? I didn't remember seeing anything remotely modern on our way to this new town. So, what about that?
"I should prepare the dinner, but…" I heard Mother mumble to herself. Such was the difficulty of a single mother. I felt bad because she had to do everything on her own.
But hey, don't worry, mom, I promise I'll become big soon!
"Right. Let's do that. He's old enough," she said, seemingly having decided on something.
I watched as she walked over to the bookshelf and took the nameless, old book into her palm, which she placed beside the bag she'd carried with her all the time, a medieval-looking thing probably fashioned from leather as well. Then she pulled a stack of leather papers from inside the bag, followed by what I presumed was an ink bottle and a pen.
Soon, I was handed the papers and the rest, my mother lingering a second longer as she likely considered whether she should hand me that ancient notebook as well. In the end, my pleading, baby eyes seemingly powered through her indecision, and she placed the book right beside me and opened the first page.
"Why don't you draw something for me while I go get the dinner ready?" she said with an irresistible smile, then showed me how to use the ink pen. I got a pat on my head when I learned my way around it on the first try, after which she left me alone and vanished into the kitchen door.
With growing curiosity boiling in the pit of my stomach, I checked the first page out.
I frowned.
The page was littered with stains, and if my eyes weren't failing me, those looked like spots of dried blood. And as if that wasn't enough, there was a little note at the top right corner, the writing far too crooked compared to the otherwise smooth and perfectly crafted characters below.
"Basic Principles of Rune Magic, recorded by the Prime Runemaster Gestard, under the ever-motivating persuasion of the Celestial Knight Veyra Vorath's blade; better known as the Butcher of the Dawn."
I froze, then glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen. A certain someone was busy humming a happy song inside, unaware that a storm was taking hold of her little child's brain.
Then I turned back to the notebook, staring at that note crammed into a little corner.
Really, mom?! You were the Butcher of the Dawn?
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
.....