Wolf dodged the stones as he ran back home. He dashed inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Children kept yelling and pelting the cottage with stones for over an hour until they got bored and went back to the village, probably to play some other game.

Wolf stayed inside, waiting for Archibald to come home. While sitting idly in the house, he came up with a way to tell his father about the destinations he wanted to visit.

Night had already fallen by the time Archibald came back. A couple of rabbits hung from his belt, while he carried a deer slung across his shoulder.

“Daddy!” Wolf started, but Archibald shushed him with a wave of his hand.

“We can talk once I’m done with these,” the man muttered, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

He’d spent his day hunting and planning for the future, then lugging all that meat back home. To make matters worse, his head was full of dark thoughts. He was worried about what Wolf was going to do after his death, which wasn’t all that far in the future.

Trapped in his gloomy mood, the tired hunter placed the bloodless carcasses on the wooden table. With a frown he started skinning them, after which he removed strips of marbled meat, ready for smoking or cooking. Once done with his butchery, Archibald turned to face his boy.

“Sorry, son. What is it you wanted to talk about?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Daddy,” Wolf said, and started into a well-rehearsed lie, “I met a man in the forest last summer. He looked like Mommy and called himself a Sword-Saint. He said that I have a powerful soul and a lot of potential for swordsmanship. He spent an afternoon showing me some moves. Then he told me that I should seek out his place of inheritance if I’m ever interested in following in his footsteps.”

The string of words was like a series of bombs exploding inside Archibald’s mind.

How does he know what a Sword-Saint is? Maybe he’s heard stories from other children… But knowing that a powerful soul is needed to become a great one isn’t common knowledge…

Archibald took a deep, long breath to calm down and sort out his thoughts.

“What was that bit about your soul?” he asked.

Powerful warriors needed to develop their souls enough to improve perception and reaction time, but there was so much more one could do with it. Its more important application was in the field of magic, where one exerted the power of their soul to change the fabric of reality.

Wolf thought about this question for a moment. How should he respond?

“He said that I have three columns in my Mind Hall,” the boy replied, reporting the state of his soul as it had been this time last year, thinking it a safe thing to say.

For a moment, Archibald was so shocked that he lost control of his legs. The big man sat back down hard onto the wooden chair, causing it to creak.

“What did you say? Wait, how did he know that?” he stuttered.

“He asked me to close my eyes and describe what I can see.” Wolf inwardly cringed, realizing he was getting more and more tangled up in his own lies.

“Wait, he taught you how to do meditative introspection and you did it?”

“Um, I don’t know? I closed my eyes and saw a large hall with three columns. He called it a Mind Hall. I’ve been doing it ever since. Last night I found out that I now have four columns.” Wolf fumbled for words, trying to speak as truthfully as possible. Ironically, it was that confusion which added credibility to his words.

Archibald’s eyes went wide. He felt a surge of excitement and pride welling up, but he had to make sure, to make certain Wolf wasn’t playing a game of some sorts. If he was, Archibald would spank him so hard the boy would never dream of pulling off a stunt like this ever again.

“What does your Mind Hall look like? How do you meditate?” he asked as he forced down his excitement and expectations.

“I don’t know what meditate is,” Wolf replied. “My Mind Hall… There is a big chair that looks like it’s made from bone. To reach the chair you have to climb ten steps. The room is filled with white fog, but some of it has disappeared. When I sit on the big chair, I can see two columns to the left of me and two to the right. There is also a wall twenty steps behind me. That wall is also made of the same thing as the floor. It’s not as cold as stone, but it’s not as smooth as bone.”

Wolf tried his best to give an accurate account, within the scope of his limited vocabulary. Meanwhile, Archibald listened raptly. With every new word Wolf said, his father’s grin grew wider and wider as his eyes shone with pride and hope.

How clearly a person could see their Mind Hall depended on their power and potential. The fact that Wolf could describe some of the things Archibald knew to be true, such as the appearance of the columns, which look like oddly shaped braids, was a sure sign that the boy wasn’t lying.

And Wolf really wasn’t lying about the appearance of his Mind Hall. This fact lent credibility to the rest of his words, at least in Archibald’s eyes.

Ever since their son had been born, Archibald and Sky had worried about his Mind Hall collapsing or having irreparable flaws. Archibald still had nightmares in which Wolf was just drooling and staring at a wall with hollow eyes, or where his son simply went to sleep from which he would never wake up.

As Wolf concluded his description, he gave his father a confused look. He knew that he was reincarnated and that that was a big deal and apparently unique. He was aware of all that. But what was the big deal about knowing that he had a Mind Palace? His past life also knew this and also had a Mind Palace. This probably meant that everyone should have one.

“Is this a big thing, Daddy? Doesn’t everyone have a Mind Hall?” Wolf asked. Wondering if this too was an oddity unique to him. He’d never even imagined that such an obvious hole existed in his made-up story.

We might actually have a chance, Archibald thought before slapping his thigh and laughing heartily.

“Everyone has a Mind Hall, but I’ve never heard of anyone having one on the same scale as yours,” Archibald exclaimed. “My son is a genius! You’re only four years old and yet you have the soul as powerful as a Fourth Order Mage! Why would you study swordsmanship instead of magic?”

It was now Wolf’s turn to be shocked.

“I… I can study magic?” Wolf asked, his eyes sparkling. His father had told him stories of great Mages slaying evil Monster Beasts that threatened the people of their empire. They could command fire and lightning and destroy everything before them!

“With a soul like yours? You should be able to become an Archmage before turning thirty, no, make that twenty-five,” Archibald prophesied. “You might even become a True-Namer by the age of thirty! That’s an unprecedented level of talent!”

Archibald was already fantasizing about his son’s bright future. But first he needed to get admitted into a Mage Academy.

“What is an Archmage? What is a True-Namer?” Wolf asked with stars in his eyes.

“An Archmage is a Mage that can cast spells of the Tenth Order,” Archibald explained with great zeal and excitement. “A Mage who has completed his Mind Hall and is on the cusp of learning a True Name. A True-Namer is a Mage who has managed to unlock their Mind Hall and started forming a Mind Palace. For each Mind Hall they have in their Mind Palace, they can learn a new True Name of a concept or natural phenomenon. For instance, I know the True Names of Thunder, Lightning and Oak. At my peak, I had three Mind Halls in my Mind Palace and was just a bit shy of finishing a fourth.”

“Daddy, you’re a True-Namer? You’re awesome! Why are you a hunter? Do all True-Namers hunt for food?” Wolf frowned, a bit confused but very much proud of his awesome father.

“Things happened and I can’t use my power. But that’s not important right now.” Archibald coughed, avoiding the unpleasant topic before moving back to the matter at hand. “What is important is that I can teach you. It would be even better if you were to enter a Mage Academy once you’re old enough. With your talent, they would be raving mad not to accept you at the earliest possible age…”

Even if you’re an orphan of an unknown origin, Archibald thought, but left the sentence unfinished.

Seeing his father falter for words, Wolf shifted his gaze and saw the neatly stacked pieces of meat. “Daddy, you wanted to take the meat to the neighbors.”

Archibald laughed loudly at the child’s attempt to dig him out of a tight spot.

“You’re right! I’ll be leaving some for us, though! We’re eating rabbit tonight.” The man slapped his thigh again, set aside some meat and left to deliver the rest.

Along the way Archibald kept laughing and muttering to himself like a madman. “He really is my boy! The son of the Lord of Thunder Hillman…”

To think that we were worried simply because he was a child of a pair of cripples. Sky, he might even be able to avenge us one day! Good thing I didn’t burn that letter of yours. It will probably motivate him even more once he reads it! If my human race is lucky, he will hate your kind to the bone. Archibald thought as he walked.

And then the big man froze. His mad cackle abruptly stopped, making him sound like a rooster getting strangled.

“Shit! I have to hide the fact that he’s a half-elf,” the man muttered while scratching his head. “An illusion won’t do the trick, it’ll have to be a transmutation. But magic of such magnitude would cost me what’s left of my second Mind Hall, probably even more. After casting that spell, I’ll be left with what? Some eight years… Eight years… Well, that’s enough. It’s enough for him to enter the Mage Academy and find a foothold. As for what’s left of the dregs of my soul… Fuck it. I’m a dead man already.”

Archibald entered the village proper, passing the first mud and straw house surrounded by barley fields. Realizing someone might hear him, the big man stopped his rambling.

Damn… I’ll probably have to kill myself. Better than drag it out for more than a year the way Sky did. She had me to clean her and take care of her, but he won’t have anyone to help him… Would Wolf blame himself once my soulless body starved? But, gods damn it, I couldn’t just bury her while she was still breathing!

Grim thoughts assailed Archibald’s mind, but he did his best not to let them touch his face. When he delivered the meat, he acted humbly. The former great general bowed slightly to those peasants who’d been kind to him over the years and he thanked them sincerely. However, behind that calm, friendly face of his, Archibald’s mind was racing.

That Sword-Saint seems to be a decent fellow, despite being an elf, the big man thought. He doesn’t care that Wolf is a half-human. But it would be a waste of Wolf’s talent not to study magic with such a powerful soul. But, if Wolf followed that elf, I wouldn’t have to worry about leaving him alone. I’d also get to live a bit longer if I don’t use that spell…

No, no, stop thinking that! He has to study magic. He might even become a World Power that way, the first one in ages. But you can’t lie about personal information when entering a Mage Academy. They don't ask about race. At least they didn't back when I was around. What kind of child would risk living in another race's domain? Changing his appearance should be enough. But I can’t leave any evidence behind in case someone goes around snooping about his background. It’s a shame. Some nice folks used to live in this hamlet…

With his mind made up, Archibald told all the people he visited to enjoy the meat in a stew or have themselves a nice roast. He swore to them that there was no need to ration it, nor would there be any need for them to worry about food for the winter. He would make sure that they didn't starve before he left.

The only thing that bothered him was the happiness and gratitude with which these simple people took his words.

“Sir Hunter,” an elderly woman said with a kind smile. “Take some freshly baked bread for your effort, please.”

“Thank you, Nancy,” Archibald accepted, mirroring the woman’s smile. His heart clenched, but he forced himself to smile. He couldn’t take the risk of leaving them alive.

Based on his past experience, Archibald knew the consequences of not being brutal enough. It was paramount to silence the people who saw what they shouldn't have. Otherwise, some of them might stab Wolf in the back one day, no matter how unlikely it seemed now.

With a heavy heart, Archibald came back home and told Wolf that they would be leaving in three days. He had something to take care of before leaving. For the safety of his son, Archibald was willing to bear one more sin and a couple more deaths.

The next morning, the father and son had a little sparring match with a pair of sticks. The result of which left Archibald dumbfounded. If he wasn’t overwhelmingly physically stronger than his four-year-old son, he would’ve lost. Most squires ten years older than Wolf would lose half their teeth fighting him with practice swords.

The boy used a queer technique. The strikes seemed simple and straightforward, but there was no avoiding them. The speed and proficiency with which Wolf executed his attacks made it look like he’d been studying the sword for years.

The boy could probably beat most grown men to death with nothing but a sturdy stick, let alone a real sword. Maybe it really wasn’t a waste for him to pick up some sword arts? He wouldn’t be able to enroll into the Mage Academy before he turned twelve anyway. If he could, he’d stick out like a sore thumb, which was too dangerous. Tall trees sticking out of the forest and all that…

Two days went by in a flash. Other than some kids chasing after little Wolf once or twice a day, there were no incidents. On the morning of the third day, about half an hour before dawn, Archibald gently shook his son awake. Wolf woke up immediately, feeling excited as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got dressed quickly.

Archibald had already prepared everything long before Wolf woke up. The father and son left quietly. Even though they had snuck out like thieves, this was the true start of Wolf’s adventure.

Unbeknownst to little Wolf, the sun which rose above the village half a kilometer away shone down upon rivers of blood. During the night, every last man, woman and child had their throats slit in their sleep.

When a merchant caravan stopped by weeks later, they were greeted by a hellish scene. They spread the news across the duchy about the slaughter which had taken place. The incident was later known as the Muddy River Massacre in which a whole human settlement was exterminated overnight. Everyone assumed it was the elves who did it, but there was no proof. The reason for this act of hatred was never discovered.

Archibald's lessons:

Mind Hall mutations aren’t all that unusual. Generally they indicate an enhancement of some sort. The most common being an elemental type Mind Hall. This means that the Mage has an affinity towards a certain element. Spells of that element can be learned and cast as if they are one Order lower. The drawback is that spells of the opposite element are somewhat more difficult to learn and preparing them takes about twice as long.

Another relatively common mutation increases the absorption ability of all scrolls in the Mind Hall. This in turn results in faster spell preparation. The time saved ranges between one-tenth and two-thirds, without any known adverse effects.

Naturally, every positive mutation has a negative counterpart. It’s just that people who have such mutations are generally considered lacking in magical aptitude from the start. Due to this, these negative mutations seem to be much rarer than they actually are.