The thief rushed through the crowded marketplace, Helen's coin purse gripped tightly in his fist. But his escape was short-lived.

With a swift motion of her fingers, Helen summoned thin tendrils of water that shot through the air and coiled around the thief's legs. He fell forward, arms flailing.

"You won't get away that easy," Helen declared, brow furrowed in concentration as she maintained her aquatic bindings.

The thief struggled against the slippery bonds but could not break free. Nearby guards took notice and marched over to apprehend him.

"We'll take it from here, ma'am," said the captain, before looking disdainfully at the thief. "Not so clever now, are you?"

As the guards dragged him away, Arthur stared wide-eyed from the baby carrier on Helen's chest. His mother's casual display of magic was impressive. She manipulated the very air's moisture with elegant precision.

After profusely thanking the guards, Helen carried a gurgling Arthur back through the busy marketplace. The infant babbled excitedly, miming water tendrils with his pudgy hands. Helen laughed.

"You enjoyed mommy's little trick, did you?" She kissed Arthur's round cheek.

"One day I'll teach you, my sweet boy."

Arthur was already enraptured by this world's magical possibilities. He imagined himself summoning torrential storms or waterspouts like an anime protagonist. But those fantasies would have to wait. For now, he was merely a spectator.

As they passed the barracks near the market's edge, Arthur heard a great commotion. Guards streamed out to surround a hulking figure approaching the gates. Arthur's eyes widened as he spotted his father, Marc, covered in blood and gore, dragging a large, squirming sack that emitted ominous growls.

"Make way! The hunter returns successful once again!" shouted a guard, prompting others to rush to Marc's aid, helping carry his burden.

Arthur was stunned, but what struck him most was the guards' nonchalance in response to Marc's macabre state. They seemed accustomed to such scenes, treating his father's return with a mixture of admiration and routine.

"Welcome back, Sir Marc! That beast never stood a chance against you," said the captain, clapping Marc on the back.

Marc nodded wearily. "It was a vicious fight, but the city is safe again."

The sack continued to writhe and growl ominously as Marc drew nearer. Arthur couldn't help but overhear two guards whispering to each other:

"Did you hear? Sir Marc slew a manticore on his latest hunt!"

"By the gods! A manticore? No wonder he's one of the only C-ranks around."

"Yes, his strength is incredible. Monster attacks have declined sharply since he arrived."

"We're lucky to have him. The city's defences have improved enormously thanks to him."

"We mere D-ranks can rest easy knowing Sir Marc protects the gates."

Arthur absorbed their hushed exchange, realizing the gravity of his father's actions. Marc was not just a warrior; he was a guardian, a stalwart defender against the monstrous threats that loomed beyond the city's walls. His father's role as a C-rank warrior wasn't merely about personal strength; it was about ensuring the safety and well-being of everyone within the city.

Listening to the guards' excited chatter, Arthur's concern for his father deepened. Marc regularly risked his life to confront these deadly creatures, a realization that evoked a mix of awe and worry within him. His desire to grow stronger wasn’t rooted in envy; it was a genuine wish to aid his family and support his father's tireless efforts in safeguarding their home.

Marc waved wearily to Helen and Arthur before being escorted away to clean up. Arthur watched him go, his admiration for his father's dedication now tinged with a new understanding of the weight and significance of being a C-rank protector. Back at the house, Arthur lay in his crib processing the day's events. His father was a renowned monster hunter and his mother a skilled magic wielder. No wonder they commanded such respect.

But where did that leave him? A helpless babe could hardly contribute to slaying beasts or wielding magic. Jealousy and frustration simmered within Arthur.

Over the next few days, he observed his parents closely, hoping to glean their secrets. Marc often tended his weapons and armor, sharpening swords or oiling leather. His skill with blade and bow was evident from his fluid drills.

Meanwhile, Helen would summon swirling waters while chanting softly. The elegant dances of her magic seemed effortless. Arthur longed to feel that mystical energy flow through him.

At dinner one evening, Arthur listened raptly as his parents discussed Marc's latest hunt.

"The manticore was clever, using its spiked tail and venomous barbs in coordination. But I severed the tail and finished the beast off with a thrust through its heart.

Helen smiled. "Your battle focus is inspiring. No beast stands a chance."

She turned to Arthur, fussing over a loose thread on his tunic.

"Don't worry little one, you'll stay safe here while your father slays those nasty monsters."

Arthur could only frown and thrash his limbs. He wanted to be out there like Marc, not cooped up like some useless noble's son. There had to be a way to prepare himself for the difficulties he will face in this world. But how?

After dinner, restlessness kept Arthur awake in his crib. He knew he was gifted this second life for a reason. He must find his calling and rise to overcome the limitations of this infant body.

As moonlight spilled into the room, Arthur made a solemn vow. Whatever fortuitous powers this world held, he would seize them and forge his own path. The time had come to seek out his golden finger and grasp destiny with his own two hands.

Over the next few weeks, Arthur began his search for a way to prepare himself for the future. Whenever Helen carried him through town, he observed the villagers keenly. What secrets or skills could aid his quest?

He noticed a grizzled old man sitting outside a hut on the edge of town. The man's wrinkled hands gave off a faint golden shimmer as he whittled wood with incredible speed. Was that magic enhancing his carving skills?

In the marketplace, he noticed a jittery man produce flames with just a snap of his fingers. Was it mere sleight of hand or true pyrokinetic magic? Near the barracks, a burly soldier lunged forward at superhuman speed to catch a falling barrel. Some type of movement enhancement?

He also spotted a muscular youth practicing sword drills in an alley. His strikes seemed imbued with scorching heat if the charred crate remnants were any indication. Some form of fire magic?

Each sighting fuelled Arthur's impatience. Powerful abilities were everywhere in this world, if only one knew where to look. He itched to uncover the mystical secrets that would elevate him from helpless babe.

But for now, Helen just rocked him gently in her arms, cooing soft lullabies to lull him to sleep. As rest overtook him, Arthur's mind swirled with dreams of magic swords, eldritch tomes and elemental mastery.

“One day…”, he vowed silently.

And so concluded Arthur's first glimpses into the wider world. Much remained mysterious, but his destined path was coming into focus. Eyes wide open, he would bide his time and seize his opportunity when ready. This was merely the calm before the storm.