Chapter 9: 8. 3 Years Later

“Not good enough, shorty!” My father bellows at me as he disarms me yet again, raising a sword to my throat.

“You’re too smug for someone who just beat a child.” I puff out my cheeks, placing my now empty hands on my hips. Yes, I finally have achieved the basic level of success in life—being able to speak coherently!

That and some foundational sword fighting. Moreover, I’ve gradually been learning magic. I’ve graduated from piddly little detection spells and have officially upgraded to being a master of the forces of nature, mwahahah!

Well, not really. I just learned all the basics.

“There’s no enemy you shouldn’t take pride in defeating. Every victory in battle is another death staved off.” My father rebukes me, sheathing his sword and deepening his smug expression. “Now, did you manage to level up your sword skills yet?”

“Well, not really…”

“Huh? It’s already been a year! There’s no way you can’t have talent in the sword, it runs in the family!” My father squats down in despair, seeming to doubt everything in his life. “Could it be your mother… betrayed me?”

“Idiot, I’m the spitting image of you!” I kick him for daring to insult our beloved Erin that way. Although I was born with my mother’s little button nose, and I haven’t cultivated his gaze sharp enough to cut even the air, I really am starting to resemble my father. The glossy black hair with a blue-violet shine, and bright hazel eyes that are like gold in the light.

“Then how come you’re so bad at this?!”

I open up my status screen, reviewing my progress.

Name TBD | LVL.3

Age: 3  |  Race: Half-human

HP: 17/20 | MP: 40/40

Traits:

Dreamer, Half Breed

Unique Abilities:

Oracle of Dreams, Harbinger, Skeleton Key, Jack-of-all-Spells, Wodetongue

Skills:

Wrestling Lvl.1, Bare-handed Lvl.2, Basic Sword Lvl.1, Primary Elemancy Lvl.1

Spells:

Divination (3), Conjuration (4)

Examine Lvl.1, Seek Lvl.3, Guidance Lvl.2 | Primary Pyromancy Lvl.2, Primary Hydromancy Lvl.3, Primary Anemancy Lvl.3, Primary Geomancy Lvl.1

By clicking on “Sword Lvl.1” I open the sub-menu, showing off more details—including the progression toward levelling up the skill. 

Basic Sword Lvl.1: 74%

The basics of the basics when it comes to wielding a sword. It’s just enough to make sure you don’t hurt yourself while holding one.

I ignore the sassy text, staring with despair at the progress bar. After three gruelling days of intensive boot camp training, I’ve crawled up exactly 2% in my skill progression for the sword.

“Lio is just a lousy teacher.” I decide. If this was an isekai novel, obviously I would fight in seclusion against my OP master swordsman father, questioning my skill level when compared to his monstrous strength, unable to understand what the actual bounds of common sense in this world is. Then, I would set out on my own only to find out that I myself am crazily OP!

Except with this skillboard, I can clearly understand the limits of my ability. My father more or less just beats me black and blue across the yard, and then badgers me about my progress. He’s the worst kind of “natural genius” at swordplay, who gives advice like “huh, just grip it” or “well, sort of just feel it, it’ll go ‘whoosh’ in a way that feels right” when you ask for help. It’s no wonder I’m not getting better.

“Hey, doesn’t the sky look overcast?” My mother calls from the doorway. “You two bring the washing in!”

I look out at the sky that hangs over the small village where we live. For some reason I imagined we would live out in the woods in seclusion, or somewhere on a mountain, but it’s actually quite a cheerful and idyllic place full of people.

Ah, well, humans specifically. It seems in a backwater place like this, you’ll only find humans.

The sky is mostly blue, but on the horizon is the dark bruising of a gathering stormfront. We’re heading into the rainy season, so it’s a familiar and expected sight. My father deeply dislikes rain, however. Whenever the weather turns bad like this, he becomes all restless and wound up. Well, he’s an intrinsically active person, so having to stay cooped up tends to make him go stir-crazy.

“The rain looks heavy. I hope it’s not gonna cause any rockslides in the mountains.” I comment, and my father bonks my head.

“Don’t jinx it!”

My father and I hurriedly bring in the washing, grabbing the last of it just before a light shower starts up. The rain pitter-patters on the roof as we stomp inside, shaking off our damp clothes.

“All right. Sit down and eat something.” Mother comes out, grabbing the wicker basket of clean laundry and whisking it away. On the kitchen stovetop is a large pot of beef and berry soup, with two steaming bowls already spooned out. Although my mother isn’t any kind of incredible adventurer, she always seems to have the most prescient powers when it comes to the weather.

It’s warming and filling, with a little bit of sweetness from the wild berries and honey, and the savoury meaty taste of beef. Delicious!

My mother sweeps back in, now landry-less, joining us to eat. “No more sparring practice. I’m heading into town to see the seamstress next week with the little one, and I don’t want to drag around a child covered in cuts and bruises. People will talk.”

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“Ah? A week is enough for this idiot to forget everything if we don’t practise everyday, though.” Father grumbles, receiving a kick under the table for his troubles. “Right, okay! Reading and writing it is, then.”

“Eh! No, actually, I promised some of the kids to go play!” I hastily yell.

In the mornings, my mother teaches me basic writing and arithmetic. As it turns out, she is the daughter of a famous merchant company, and is extremely savvy in calculations. She was even considered the golden heir to the family company! As for why she’s living out in the middle of nowhere with a lout for a husband now instead:

“Because we eloped.”

So I was told.

Although I already know all the mathematics, I don’t really want to get saddled with the title of “genius” again since my maths ability is actually quite average, so I fake a deep struggle with numbers. As for the writing, I do genuinely struggle there. As far as spoken languages go, listening and speaking comes naturally to me. However, writing is another matter. I have to learn a whole new alphabet and new linguistic format.

However, my father also teaches me reading and writing, and that’s even worse.

“This is the language of my people,” he explained during our first lesson, “which you’ll hopefully never really need to know. But if you do, you need to learn now to avoid mockery later.”

The language makes no sense to me. It reminds me of a massively more complicated version of cuneiform, designed to be written through a different means than graphite and paper, and a logogram on top of that, meaning I have to learn both the meaning of each script as well as how they form language.

Basically, it’s a nightmare! I can’t read it, I struggle to write it, and my father can’t teach it! I’d rather just get my ass beat by my father over and over again!

So even though I don’t like playing with the village children, I hastily use them as a shield to avoid a week of painful lessons. My father looks doubtful, since he knows I have no interest in hanging about with muddy brats, but my mother looks delighted. She’s the type to always be concerned about whether or not I have friends or if I’m being bullied.

So the next day, due to my own lies, I am exiled from the house.

Our cottage is on the top of the hill on the outskirts of the village. It’s a long hike up, but it gives a beautiful view of the houses below and the rolling pastures beyond. I head down into the village proper, greeted along the way by all the townsfolk. Although my family are outsiders, because my father has done a great job at protecting the village on the village watch and brings in extra income through hunting, we’re treated with affection.

“Hey, it’s shorty!” A voice laughs, and I feel an impact from behind. Agh, it’s the worst possible person who could have noticed me, the blacksmith’s son! The boy named Jarrod is six, but has a massive amount of strength since he already helps his father out with minor errands.

“Wait up, wait up, don’t leave me behind!” A shriller voice cries, and I feel another impact. Jarrod’s neighbour and surrogate younger sister, a carrot-top girl who always seems to be covered in mud. She’s four years old, making her the right age to be exceptionally annoying, but technically still older than me.

Like me, she’s yet to have her Naming Day. Apparently it's a tradition in the area to not name your child until their sixth birthday, since it’s considered bad luck. They have family nicknames, normally cute things like “little apple”, but of course I’m saddled with the one my father gave me: shorty.

Well, better than snotty!

“Little apple, go home. We’re going fishing at the river, and only boys are allowed!” Jarrod wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me away from little apple.

“No, we’re going to pick wildflowers, and only girls are allowed!” Little apple yells back, gripping onto my arm tightly and trying to yank me over. Unfortunately, her strength is no match for him. 

“Then, let’s go to Duckweed Pond. There are wildflowers growing near the bank.” I exclaim in desperation, to save my arms from being torn off. With a consensus reached, I am dragged along behind two excitable children.

Jarrod grabs a stick from the roadside along the way, using it to shake up the grass and send waves of startled grasshoppers leaping off into the overgrown pastures. Little apple shrieks as the sight, though whether it’s a girlish fear of insects or a childish excitement is unclear. Country children are built differently! He grabs one of the grasshoppers as it flies up, holding it out in his fingers and chasing her around while I watch, walking along at my own pace.

“Stop or I’ll tell auntie!” Little apple yells, finally having had enough.

“Bah, how boring. Why do you always have to follow us, anyway?” Jarrod puffs his chest, waving his sword. “You’re too timid to go on a real adventure, so we always have to hold back!”

“Of course I have to come. I can’t leave you alone with an innocent girl like shorty. Boys are beasts.” Little apple speaks with the heavy authority of a church auntie. “Besides, when I grow up, Jarrod and I are going to get married. You need to treat your future bride better!”

Hmm, girls seem to mature and start thinking of things like marriage so quickly. Although I don’t think little apple really understands the full implications, it’s true that in a small village like this, oftentimes you end up getting married to whoever is convenient and comfortable rather than who you love. A blacksmith in a place like this gets steady work, so her parents probably feel like the marriage is a secure future for her and encouraged it.

“Nuh uh! When I grow up, I’m going to the city to apprentice under a blacksmith there, and I’m going to make weapons for adventurers!” Jarrod leaps up on the crumbling stone fence, posing heroically—just before losing his balance and falling back into a bush.

“Wow! The city! Are there animals in the city?” Little apple stands on tiptoe to look over the fence at him as he climbs out with a sputter. “Will you shoe horses there?”

“No! I said I’m going to make weapons!” He glowers at her as I help him back over onto the road. He dusts off, then suddenly grabs me proudly. “We’re going to go together! And you’re not allowed because the city isn’t safe for girls!”

Are we? This is news to me. Boys are so full of vigour and ambition, I really envy it. I feel tired just hearing about this.

“Wow, is shorty going to become a blacksmith too?”

“Ah, no way. I have no interest in that.” I answer quickly before Jarrod can answer for me. Who knows what’ll come out of his mouth. “Trying to be a hero will probably just wind up getting you eaten by a monster.”

“Then what’ll you do in the city?”

They both look at me curiously. Well, good question. I probably do want to go see the city when I’m older, but as for what I’ll do to make a living, I haven’t really thought about it? Well, probably become a shop assistant or something. Or hey, Jarrod said something about adventurers. If this is a fantasy RPG world, then there may be an adventuring guild, and I could apply—of course, to work at the desk!

I think it would be interesting to hear stories from real adventurers and see interesting monsters brought back.

Finally we arrive at the pond.

 

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