In the few minutes that Wolf had been gone, Viscount Cochin’s group was reduced to a dozen men. Red led the guards in a desperate struggle to maintain the defensive line, he and his men doing everything they could to keep their lord alive.

Fortunately, Hurricane Wall had a long duration, otherwise the enemy archers would’ve picked them off a long time ago.

The Northshield troops weren’t faring any better than the Johns and Josh merchant group’s guards. Of the original three hundred soldiers who’d charged the caravan, only forty or so still stood.

Then three dozen men, whom everyone had presumed dead, dazedly got up from the ground. They’d managed to shake off the effects of Shock and Awe. They regained their senses and saw their comrades fighting the few remaining caravan guards. They approached as slowly and as quietly as they could.

*Spurt!*

Reynard Cochin’s chant turned into a gurgling scream. A spearhead stuck out of his chest. In the frenzy of battle, even a Ninth Order Mage could fail to hear enemies creeping up behind their back.

*Crunch!*

The soldier jerked the spear out of the old man's chest, cracking his ribs, while kicking him in the back. Blood gushed from the wound, and the Viscount toppled down to the ground.

I’m going to die here, Reynard realized.

The Mage moved his eyes, trying to find Wolf, but the boy was too far away for him to see. Red and his men had formed a circle, and fought desperately.

Reynard smiled, blood flowing out of his mouth. That boy Redford looks like he’s shedding tears for me, he thought. I wonder whether Willem will be glad his old man had finally kicked the bucket? Reynard’s eyes finally swirled towards Archibald. I wonder what that Sword-Sage is doing.

If he’d been able, Reynard would’ve gasped. For a dying man, time crawled. His mind and soul desperately clutched to what little time he had left, trying to stretch it into infinity. Unfortunately, that infinity was not enough for Reynard Cochin. He could have spent decades just contemplating the sight before him.

Archibald sat cross-legged in the middle of a complex red seal, tucked in between the wagons and muttering gibberish Reynard could no longer make out.

The big man leaned his back against a wagon wheel, and was paler than Reynard. It was little wonder the soldiers had ignored him. He already looked like a corpse. The seal he sat in was shaped like a crimson triangle. Its sides were two meters long, each line ten centimeters thick. Inside the triangle was a square, which contained a pentagram, which contained a hexagram. The shapes kept getting smaller and smaller as their shape neared the state of a perfect circle.

Infinity into one! Reynard thought as his life flashed before his eyes. He recalled hearing True-Namers discuss this once upon a time, but he never understood it. Right now, as he neared death, he believed he did. He was one of the multitude, and was returning to one, to death.

That seal brought enlightenment, but it wasn’t the most shocking thing about the scene. Archibald had been reduced to a barely alive, dried up husk. His veins had been slit, and his blood flowed out, feeding the ever-evolving diagram and becoming the next set of lines.

As he fed the seal, a small silvery sapling sprouted from the withered man’s forehead. Even in Reynard’s distorted flow of time, where a mere moment stretched into hours or days, that sapling grew at a terrifying pace.

Taking in the horrifying tree that fed on Archibald’s blood, the tree that sought to encompass the world, Reynard realized his heart had stopped beating a while ago.

No! No! I want… see… it! I… legend… north… Lord… Thunder…

These were Reynard’s last thoughts before the world blurred and turned dark.

***

As soon as he’d heard the enemy commander shout out company names, Archibald knew there was no way Wolf and he would escape unscathed. Even if the enemy didn’t have anyone particularly strong, there was strength in numbers. As the saying went, enough ants can bring down an elephant.

Archibald was well aware of his boy’s strength. Wolf could handle any single individual in the battle, if not by relying on his own power, then by using the scrolls he had on him. A thousand troops, on the other hand, would be difficult to handle for anyone other than a full True-Namer. Even a Sword-Saint could eventually be tired to death.

The big man felt indignant. When he’d been at his peak, he could plug a demonic rift all by himself, let alone dispatch a couple of hundred regular troops. Yet here he was, a cripple who’d just recently begun healing the scars that had tormented him for decades.

There was only one thing he could do to guarantee his son's safety. Archibald would have to burn his blood and vitality by using a forbidden ritual. That way, he could increase his power and utter a True Name one final time.

Archibald drew a perfect triangle in the dirt of the ill-kept road, then moved to stand in its middle. Once he confirmed that the wagons hid him well enough, and that Wolf was far enough away, the big man slit his wrists.

Archibald’s blood flowed oddly. The first couple of drops hit the ground. They stood still for a moment then shot into the side of the ordinary looking triangle. They didn’t become bloody mud, but rather a part of the line, and formed a bridge of sorts, causing Archibald’s blood to slowly fill the shape.

Ignoring the drain of his vitality, Archibald kept murmuring the string of incoherent words and sounds. He hated everything about this clunky ritual. Back in the day, he could utter a True Name with a single word. But due to the infirmity of his soul, he had to mumble for a long while just to convey a part of his wish and intent.

While the man chanted, the triangle sucked in enough blood to fully form. Then it gave birth to a square. Once whole, the square spawned a pentagram, which created a hexagram…

The shapes kept appearing, one inside the other, the whole seal going down the mystic path True-Namers had long since noticed, the State of One. Anyone with a powerful enough soul could feel that simple truth of the world. The world longed for unity, or the point of singularity, as it was called, the state when all will become one and one will become all.

As life slowly left his body, Archibald gazed at the one thing in the world he still cared about, his son, dancing and weaving between his enemies. When Wolf had the chance, he killed multiple opponents with magic. When he didn’t, he reaped life after life with that damned silver-hilted blade he had. Seeing the sight before him, Archibald felt his heart clench.

If only there were fewer of them, he thought. Wolf could handle five companies by himself. Any more is a death sentence. If only I had started recovering a couple of years ago. I would’ve been able to help him without using such extreme measures. Damn it! We could’ve just turned invisible and flown away! To hell with the guards and the blasted caravan!

Archibald had never wished for his child to be stronger. The boy was already powerful beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Archibald knew the problem lay in him, the cripple, the incompetent baggage weighing down the genius.

As blood trickled out of his veins, Archibald looked back at his life from a fresh point of view. The scenes of his youth flashed by, leaving behind a bitter feeling. Looking back, Archibald felt disgust for his fellow humans.

The only bright moment of his youth came from that earth-shattering storm that had excavated his potential, the flash that had burned his eyes and the boom that had ruined his ears. Yet that bolt of lightning eventually allowed him to comprehend his True Names, to become Lord of Thunder. That which had blinded him gave him the vision to see much further than common folk.

He once again remembered being that near-deaf, near-blind child, his loving mother taking care of him. He recalled living in a blurry darkness until he turned nine, until his soul became powerful enough to make up for the defect of his maimed eyes and ears.

Archibald once again witnessed the Mage Academy life, and the days he’d spent in service to the Empire. Now he noticed something he’d overlooked for so long. A lot of those people were assholes, only working to maintain their noble supremacy. Common man was always snubbed, stepped on and bullied so that he would stay down, so that he would lose his will to fight against his oppressor.

Finally, Archibald’s mind wandered back to the hamlet of Muddy River, and the fateful meeting with the enemy he’d been fighting for over a century. He recalled the wretched state she was in, and how he took pity on her. He’d never expected that such an unlikely act of his would result in the greatest joy he’d ever felt in life.

In retrospect, their plan was ludicrous, laughable, something two deranged people did out of desperation. Yet here was the result. Not a child with a crippled soul like its parents, but a child so bright that it was surreal. It felt like they weren’t the ones who’d potty trained him, but rather he who’d taught them when to bring him the potty.

As Archibald relived the scenes of Wolf’s childhood, he suddenly realized that it was indeed Wolf who’d trained them, not the other way around. He’d had distinct cries for different situations. He even had a distinct cry for “No” practically from the moment he was born.

Months of Wolf’s life flashed by, and the day when Sky had died came. Most children would have cried and screamed their throats dry. But not Wolf. He didn’t shed a single tear when Archibald explained what happened.

Wolf just calmly listened, and eventually said, “I won’t be seeing Mommy again.”

As Archibald saw that scene, he realized that Wolf wasn’t asking a question. He was making a statement. He wasn’t sad because his mother was gone. He was sad because he wouldn’t get to see her again. At that point in time, Wolf was still too young to understand the concepts of afterlife or samsara, which Archibald had explained. Why was he so calm?

Then there was that scene with the Sword-Sage who gave Wolf the instructions for finding a cave of legacy. Why did that man seek out Wolf? Was it because of Sky? If that was the case, how did he manage to find them? If it wasn’t because of Sky, it was either because Wolf had attracted him somehow, or that Sword-Sage had never existed in the first place.

Even now, Archibald caught himself overlooking a very important piece of information. Wolf was supposed to be born with an exceptionally weak and withered soul. He was supposed to be doomed to be docile and dull, barely a manling. Yet the boy’s mind was sharp as a razor, and he was a far cry from being a docile child.

As Archibald’s flame of life was reduced to embers, he closely observed his distant son, his face, his movements, the look in his eye. The boy showed no emotion while slaying men, neither sympathy nor bloodlust, nor anger.

Archibald wondered, Is it even possible for a person to be like that? Probably only if they thought that life and death were an illusion…

While Archibald observed his son’s manner, the boy made a mistake. A soldier stabbed a spear into Wolf’s shoulder, and red blood sprayed from the wound. Wolf screamed and killed the man. Oddly, Archibald was certain that his son was screaming from humiliation or frustration, rather than pain.

Terror gripped the man’s heart as he watched arrows fly toward his child, but thankfully, his defensive spell was still active and deflected them.

I have to finish this ritual now, Archibald realized that Wolf was faltering. Worse still, the boy didn’t seem to be aware of it.

Several very long seconds passed, and the world suddenly grew silent. No, that’s the wrong way to describe it. The world was forced into silence. A lightning tree growing out of Archibald’s head extended several dozen kilometers in every direction.

Wolf turned around, and Archibald was able to see his son’s face one last time.

Ah, he figured it out. Such a bright child, Archibald thought apologetically. He’d started to believe that his child was emotionless, yet that face… Surprise, realization, shock, anger, fear, sadness, despair. All those emotions flashed across that beautiful face that still had some baby fat on its cheeks.

Tears ran down the boy’s face as he choked while trying to say something. He was screaming, but the pressure from the world’s laws extinguished all sound in the area, and made a bubble of sorts.

There were so many emotions in that one look that Archibald felt shame for ever thinking his son lacked emotions. He smiled weakly in apology, and muttered the last words of his last incantation.

***

I know the true names of Thunder, Lightning and Oak, were the words that echoed inside Wolf’s mind as he looked at his father’s withered figure.

A huge, silvery-bluish-white oak dominated the sky above Archibald. This was no illusion, nor was it really an oak. It was living lightning that danced and circulated in an ever-changing pattern that seemed to engulf the world, the focus of the world's will before which all living creatures were nothing but ants.

The last remaining caravan guards shook with fear as they bled from numerous injuries. Wolf realized that the ocean of Soul Force shaping the living lightning didn’t exert its pressure only on him, but on everyone within a huge area. Every living creature that saw the giant oak quivered in terror. The plea and offering that drew the attention of the world's will on such a tiny area froze everyone. The only sound in the perfectly still world was a quiet chant, which abruptly came to an end.

Sound and motion returned to the world. The invisible pressure that had kept everyone locked in place was gone. The world had acknowledged the plea, and the offering.

Immediately, birds and bugs took to the air, darkening the sky while trying their best to fly away as fast as possible. The forest was filled with the sounds of fleeing animals. Even the trees rustled their leaves in grief and despair.

“Everyone, fall back! Fall back, now!” Commander Andersen shouted.

He needn't have bothered. Shocked soldiers either ran away while dropping their weapons, or remained paralyzed with a primal fear that man felt towards the heavens.

“Sir! Grand General! We didn’t know you were here! We didn’t know these were your people! Please spare us! We didn’t know!” Commander Andersen yelled in despair.

He’d heard the legends about this tree when he was young. His grandfather was once an officer, and was assigned with sealing a demon rift. There, he saw the terrifying tree painted across the sky, a tree that instantly turned thousands of demons into nothing but embers dancing in the wind.

The oak towered above the region. It reached above the clouds, while its canopy spread far and wide. Archibald felt all of the living creatures under the shade of the great tree. Every single one of them, save for Wolf, was now marked. Mages could talk with animals, bugs and plants, and Archibald didn’t want to leave behind a single witness. Everything had to die so that his son could live.

“SON!”

A crackle of lightning from the tree broke through the stray clouds, while the thunder became a deep, masculine voice that shook everyone’s bones.

“THIS IS YOUR FATHER AS HE WAS AT HIS PEAK!"

"I WAS ONCE CALLED LORD OF THUNDER HILLMAN!"

"NOW I GIVE MY LIFE GLADLY TO PROTECT YOU!"

"KNOW THAT EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE IN THESE LAST FEW YEARS WAS FOR YOU AND ONLY FOR YOU!"

"I DIE WITH NO REGRETS."

"LIVE WELL!”

“Please don’t disappoint me,” Archibald whispered weakly to himself.

*Boom!*

The world became a hellscape of bluish-white light. Lightning rained everywhere under the giant oak. Every creature caught under its crown had their life mercilessly extinguished, while thunderous explosions scattered their ashes to the wind. The forest was destroyed and set on fire. The bridge behind Wolf exploded into splinters and fine pieces of stone as it plunged into the Great Yellow River.

“Sir, I was wrong! Spare us! We were only acting under—” Commander Andersen pleaded before two thick bolts of lightning struck him consecutively, leaving behind a smoldering heap.

Not a single body could remain. Otherwise, someone who could speak with corpses might find out what had happened here.

In the middle of this horrifying scene, Wolf looked at his father while in a complete daze. Tears and snot ran down his face as he bawled like a baby.

“FATHER!” the boy wailed at the top of his lungs, but the sound was completely drowned by the apocalypse taking place around him. Each time a lightning bolt hit, he felt it strike his soul.

Wolf felt a flash of sharp pain from his Mind Palace before he collapsed onto his knees. He kept screaming like a wounded beast, and beat the ground with his tiny fist. He raised his head and looked at his last remaining loved one, the only family he had left in the world. His father was gaunt, barely any different from a skeleton, yet that tormented figure still smiled warmly towards him.

Archibald tried to say something, but the noise was too great for Wolf to hear it. Wolf's eyes and head hurt from the constant flashing of bright lights. Tears blurred his vision as he screamed insanely. He’d missed his father’s last words!

Before his eyes Archibald’s body slowly scattered to ashes that were carried away by the still billowing storm. As his father disintegrated with that despicable, apologetic smile Wolf was left behind, completely alone in this cold, horrible world.