Encountering Magic (1)

"Waaah. Waaah."

The cries of a newborn echoed through the mountains, shattering Vincent's early morning sleep.

"Ugh."

Even as he rubbed his tousled hair, the sorrowful tale of life continued to ring in his ears.

"Dear gods, what did I do to deserve this?"

Kicking off the blanket, Vincent sat up in bed. In the darkness, the muscles of the seasoned hunter tensed instinctively.

'Who the hell is out there? At this hour?'

He turned toward his sleeping wife, hoping she wouldn't wake. If she heard this, it would be another long night of trouble.

"Haaah."

Vincent and his wife, Olina, had been married for seven years, yet they had no children. They had spent a fortune consulting physicians, but all they received were vague explanations.

"Some couples just aren't compatible in that way. There's nothing wrong with either of you. Just keep trying. Heh!"

At first, Vincent had laughed along. But as time passed, nothing changed. By their fifth year of marriage, he had no choice but to accept it.

He would never have a child.

Though Olina never openly showed her disappointment, whenever Vincent caught the fleeting loneliness in her eyes, he couldn't help but resent himself.

"Damn it, whose kid is crying in the middle of the night just to rub salt in my wounds?"

Brushing aside his bitter thoughts, Vincent grabbed his single-bladed axe and stepped outside.

"Who's out there? Making a ruckus at this hour?!"

His roar echoed through the mountain.

No response.

A tense silence settled, and Vincent's expression hardened.

'A trap?'

Most hunters built their homes in the mountains. Every morning, they had to check the traps they set overnight, and sometimes, tracking large game meant spending days in the wilderness.

Naturally, they had to protect themselves. And that vulnerability often attracted bandits.

Of course, it could just be a merchant from another town, but there were no torches in sight.

"Damn bastard! I'll cut you into pieces!"

If this was a worst-case scenario, blood would be spilled.

Moving cautiously toward the stable where the sound had come from, Vincent threw open the door.

His keen hunter's eyes swept through the interior.

A soft snort.

The horses shuffled slightly.

Animals never lied. That simple response eased Vincent's rising tension.

'No place to hide.'

There were no signs of intrusion either.

"Then how...?"

Vincent's gaze landed on a bundle of cloth resting on the hay.

A baby, barely a couple of months old, was wailing with a scrunched-up face.

Hastily, Vincent hid his axe behind his back.

Then, as he knelt before the bundle, he set the weapon aside entirely and leaned in.

"Waaah. Waaah."

A baby as radiant as the moon lay there.

A child who knew nothing yet, just born into this world, about to carve out their own name.

The moment the baby saw his face, the crying stopped. Instead, a wide, toothless smile spread across the tiny lips.

Vincent's eyes trembled.

Then, as if struck by lightning, he shot up and ran out of the stable.

"Who's there?! Who's playing a joke?! You left a child here?! You heartless bastard! Show yourself!"

His voice thundered through the mountains.

"Come out! You really won't?! How could you abandon a child?! You're the worst! You hear me?!"

Still, no answer.

"Fine! If you've truly abandoned them, there's no going back! If I ever see you again, I'll beat your face to a pulp!"

Vincent screamed with all his might.

One day, when he looked back on this moment, he didn't want any regrets.

"Haaah. Haaah."

Catching his breath, he turned back toward the stable.

The baby, exhausted from crying, had fallen asleep.

With trembling hands, Vincent gently cradled the child and pressed his ear against the tiny chest.

"Ah..."

A heartbeat, so much faster than an adult's.

"Dear, what's going on?"

His wife, woken by his shouting, appeared.

Instead of answering, Vincent simply showed her the sleeping baby in his arms.

"What is this? Whose child is this?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to explain.

"I... I think this is our child."

Early summer.

The stream was cool, and the breeze refreshing.

With a freshly killed deer slung over his broad shoulders, Vincent hurried home.

More than the thrill of a successful hunt, the thought of his family waiting for him made his steps lighter.

"Shirone! Dad's home!"

"Dad!"

A twelve-year-old boy beamed and ran to the front door.

Unlike his rugged father, the boy's face resembled a finely cut gemstone.

Golden hair shimmering like silk. Deep, radiant blue eyes.

Every time Vincent looked at his beautiful son, his chest swelled with pride.

He dropped the deer onto the ground and pulled the boy into a rough embrace.

"My son, my treasure. Have you been well?"

"Yes! I helped Mom with cooking and read lots of books!"

Cooking and books.

The odd combination made Vincent pause, but he didn't show it.

"Haha, do you like reading that much?"

"Well… there's not much else to do."

The way Shirone flinched, as if guilty, made Vincent's heart ache.

He knew.

This miracle of a child was far more intelligent than his peers.

At first, he had stumbled through books, barely recognizing letters. But now, he read advanced texts effortlessly.

'That makes it harder.'

Hunters could barely afford to educate their children.

The only thing Vincent could teach his son was his own hard-earned hunting skills.

"A herbalist's child becomes a herbalist, and a hunter's child becomes a hunter. That's the safest life."

Even simple trades required knowledge and experience.

But Vincent couldn't bring himself to say it.

"You did well, Shirone. Whatever you do, learning is important. Next time I go to the city, I'll buy you a book."

"It's okay. I read all the books you got me, and they weren't that interesting."

Vincent chuckled.

Practical books were too expensive. He had only managed to get discarded noble texts from old shops.

Whether they were useful or not, they were hardly suited for a child.

'What a good kid.'

Vincent's nose stung with emotion.

"Alright! But how about this? Want to chop some wood with me? A man needs strength too. Today, I'll teach you how to swing an axe."

"Really?! Do I get my own axe?!"

"Haha! Of course! Today, we'll cut down every tree in the mountain!"

Grinning, Vincent handed his son a small axe.

It was expensive compared to their means, but unlike books, an axe could earn money.

'Eventually… he'll be a woodsman.'

That was reality. If so, he needed to build strength early.

But a nagging thought lingered.

'He's smart. And he has an air of nobility. Could he… be the child of a noble?'

Shaking his head, Vincent dismissed it.

'No. Shirone is my son. Not some abandoned child from the stable. He's mine.'