Vol 2 Chapter 2 – Boyhood – Early Autumn, at Twelve • Part 2

After ordering armor at Smith Oyakata’s workshop, I methodically continued with the harvest preparations in my family’s barn.

I sharpened my farming tools—sickles, hoes, and so on—by wiping off the preservative oil, polishing them, and carefully honing their blades on a whetstone to keep them razor-sharp. That way, I can easily harvest the rye and crow barley I’ve grown.

As the tools took on a menacing gleam, the reason I’d ordered armor sprang back into my mind.

In the end, although I agonized over it for quite a while, my practical ambitions are still unclear.

I find faith so unsettling that I’ve been hesitant to explore it, and I haven’t learned magic because the necessary “flag” hasn’t been triggered yet. If I’m being cautious, it’s too optimistic to think I’ll pick it up before striking out on my own.

So with my current skill set, the only typical adventurer-like roles I see are swordsman or scout.

And in this world, combining those two roles is easy enough.

In TRPGs, scouts are usually small and agile—like Margit—burdened with flimsy “paper armor” and lacking direct attack power, so close combat’s basically a no-go.

But I’ve built up more proficiency than most people, and since I’m not forced by any “system” to choose a single path, I can effectively merge scouting and swordsmanship skills.

If I opt for light equipment, I can handle either role.

Taking all this into account, my second tentative plan is to focus on my swordsmanship while leaving some room to shift into a magic swordsman or a cleric swordsman.

Hence the trouble I went to in crafting a wooden mold and purchasing armor.

A frontliner with zero Armor Points (AP) just looks pathetic, right? If I show up in plain clothes holding a mere stick and claim “I’m a swordsman” while forming an adventuring party, who would join me?

Thinking this was the most practical and versatile option, I decided my first step in shaping my future was to obtain armor. There’s no downside to wielding a sword or spear, and self-defense is vital anywhere.

Then, if I’m lucky enough to learn magic or finally reconcile myself to faith, I can become a magic swordsman or a cleric swordsman. If neither happens, I’ll just master the sword. Fortunately, my battlefield sword style is broad and adaptable to just about any weapon.

…It’s no different than my usual indecisive approach, but it can’t be helped.

After all, if I could use magic, I’d definitely want to try.

Who doesn’t dream of bombarding enemies with flashy spells while storming into battle—and even shining outside of combat as well? Seriously, who wouldn’t?

With a small laugh at the pristine blade I’d just honed, I imagined that future. A sword so finely polished it reflects my face—how cool would it be to become that kind of man?

Now that my tools are ready, I need to tend to our draft horse, Holter, who’s about to get very busy. During harvest, there’s a seemingly endless amount of cargo, and our horse is as swamped as the rest of us.

Gathering my barn tools and heading to the stable, I sensed a presence darting from the house—picked up by 《Sense Detection》. I could also tell someone was following me.

Anything that scampers along behind me is adorable.

“Onii-sama, Onii-sama.”

It’s even more charming when it’s my little sister.

“Oh, Eliza. What’s going on?”

My sister—five years younger than me—clung to the belt around my waist.

Her name is Eliza. She was frail and only recently, upon turning six, allowed outdoors. She’s an incredibly cute child.

Because of that, she still seems a little younger than her age, and since we’re closest in age among the siblings, she’s extremely attached to me. She follows me around the house more than she does our mother.

I know why; the memories are still vivid.

She’s like a tiny version of our mother, but until last year she was always catching colds.

Don’t underestimate a simple cold in this world. There are no antibiotics, and doctors or healers—those who use healing magic or miracles—charge exorbitant fees. A child with weak stamina can literally die from it.

In fact, in this manor, infants who can’t even stand often die. Every year, a few frail children pass away, and adults can also be taken if they worsen.

However, my side jobs bring in some extra income for the family. My father sells them when he goes to town or to any passing caravans.

I remember earning quite a sum once by remaking a broken wheel from scratch.

With that money, Father bought expensive medicine from a herbalist in town to treat Eliza.

And each time I gave her those bitter concoctions, I’d say, “Your big brother worked really hard to get this. I know it’s bitter, but bear with it and drink.” Since then, she’s seen me as someone reliable.

Maybe that’s why we’re like ducklings.

In reality, I’m not that great a person.

Still, I concealed that thought and gave her a kind, big-brotherly smile as I knelt down, softly stroking her head so as not to shatter her childish illusions.

“Kaka-sama keeps sewing and sewing, and it’s so boring.”

Seeing her puff out her cheeks is almost too cute to handle.

“Yeah, well, Heinz onii-sama’s wedding is nearly here. Everyone’s crazy busy.”

My eldest brother will be fifteen this fall. While I turn twelve, he’ll be at marriageable age. The new cottage for him and his bride—though calling it a “cottage” might be misleading since it’s quite sizable—is already complete. Along with two other couples, they’ll have a wedding at the late-autumn harvest festival.

In this manor—and throughout the Line Triple Empire—wedding season is autumn. The God of Fertility governs not just the ripening of crops and natural cycles, but marriage as well.

Crops only bear fruit when reproduction succeeds, so it’s the same concept for people. Because of that, many manors hold marriages in autumn, when the God of Fertility’s power is strongest.

Since our village is small, a wedding becomes a major event. Holding multiple ceremonies is too much work, and combining them with the manor-wide harvest festival—where everyone chips in money—makes it more practical.

The district governor sends wedding gifts too—though there’s also a marriage tax that would have seemed ridiculous in my previous life, but if it means a bigger celebration, no one objects.

So, we’re in a final scramble to get everything in order.

First is the formal attire. The bride’s most elaborate outfit is provided by her side, but we still need proper clothing for our groom. Reusing old garments would lower our family’s “standing” in the manor, so everyone tries hard for the eldest son’s ceremony.

Meanwhile, many second sons just get their clothes altered.

We also need new or refined outfits for the rest of us. Even if it’s not as grand as the fancy pourpoint-like suit the groom will wear, we want to dress up a bit—some embroidery here or new clothes there. It’s part of the manor’s politics, even if I’m too young to be fully involved.

You can see it at church in how people are seated and in the order we greet the district governor.

“A wedding?”

“Yes, a wedding. It’s a joyful event.”

Honestly, as the fourth son—who’ll eventually leave—and with Eliza likely to be married off, neither of us is deeply affected by it.

“There’ll be lots of delicious food. You saw the bride in her all-white outfit at the last harvest festival, right, Eliza?”

“You mean that pure white dress?”

“That’s right, the one the bride wore.”

Strangely, in this world, wedding attire is a jumble of styles ranging from bustle dresses to Art Deco, reminiscent of early modern Britain. It’s a mystery. As I’ve suspected, there might be others like me who drifted here, bringing those designs. From papermaking laws to random bits of modern and medieval technology, my homeland is a strange chimera of eras.

“…Then I’ll wear one, too!”

“Huh? Eliza wants to wear a wedding dress?”

“Yes!”

It’s natural for a little girl to want a fancy dress. Even in a thrifty manor, everyone dresses up for a wedding. All that fluffy lace and frills must be irresistible for someone her age.

“But Eliza has no groom.”

“Then I’ll marry Erich onii-sama!”

She’s adorable. In my previous life, I was the youngest child, so I never experienced being an older brother. Now I understand why so many big brothers turn into hopeless siscons.

“Haha, so you’re going to be my bride?”

“Yes!”

I lifted her up and perched her on my broadening shoulders. Even though it’s late summer, it’s still quite hot, so staying out of the sun is probably best.

“Alright, then we’ll have to get you a gorgeous outfit.”

“Mm!”

She gave a tiny nod. I’ve noticed the men are sewing frantically, and I’m sure our mother is throwing herself into making Eliza’s formal dress. Besides, after we’re done with it, we can sell the used dress in town.

She’ll undoubtedly be just as dazzling as any bride.

Part of me watches my doting-brother behavior with a bit of detachment—wondering if it’s alright to treat it like pure joy—but this happiness, in its own small way, is precious.

…And that’s good enough for me.

【Tips】Under the Line Triple Empire’s family registry law, marriage among humans is forbidden if they’re in a direct line of descent or within the second degree of kinship.

In the blink of an eye, late autumn arrived. No matter that I’ve been a farmer for nearly ten years now, allocating proficiency at or above 《Skilled》 in various farming-related skills, I still can’t get used to how hectic harvest time is. And perhaps because my routine has become ingrained in my body, my skill proficiency hardly increases anymore. It seems continuing to invest in it—both for the future and for efficiency—has reached its limit.

Relieved we managed to pay this year’s taxes properly despite the dizzying workload, we now greet the harvest festival with incomparable delight. In my dimming memories of my previous life, I wonder which was more thrilling—when I closed a major deal and got promoted, or right now?

Anyway, I should deeply thank the gods of this world for letting me see this day. Unlike my previous life, here the gods really do answer prayers for those with strong faith, so to skip offering even a single prayer would be disrespectful.

Today is a day for celebration, a day to give thanks to the God of Fertility, and the weather couldn’t be better.

The festival’s being held in the large square near the manor’s meeting hall and the home of our local dignitary.

Countless tables line the area, laden with steaming dishes prepared by the women of our manor. Just for today—thanks to the gods’ favoritism—freshly cooked meals won’t cool, and drinks chilled at the well won’t warm up. The God of Fertility must be feeling so appreciated that such miracles are freely granted.

Everyone in the manor, men and women alike, is in high spirits. They’re not just excited to see the wedding finery, indulge in delicious food, or browse the caravans’ market stalls set up for the festival.

The simpler truth is that it’s a place to meet potential partners.

Groups of people who play instruments gather and strike up lively tunes all over the manor, and everyone dances to their heart’s content. In a time with so few amusements, music and dancing are the ultimate form of entertainment.

And once the dancing raises everyone’s excitement, once night falls…well, you can guess the rest.

Here, because grain breeding hasn’t advanced much and the rye stalks are still tall, it’s not unusual for men and women to meet at festivals and get “friendly” in the fields. Many form official couples from such encounters, while those who can’t inherit a family estate might carry on a quiet romance. It’s said that’s how the folk song “When We Met in the Rye Field” originated.

Naturally, plenty of young people look forward to that.

Yes, I’m talking about my family’s second and third sons. They ran off somewhere instead of helping with preparations.

Fuming a bit, I keep placing the dishes that were brought for the feast. We were supposed to have a bigger crew for this, but it’s normal for near-adults who just want to have fun to skip out on serious work. As a result, a handful of people—myself included—are stuck doing everything, just like the conscientious students preparing for a school festival while everyone else goes off to play. The world may change, but human nature seems the same.

After carrying in platefuls of steaming food and wiping my sweat away, I glance around the square, which looks as if it’s carpeted in gold now that the undergrowth has withered. Everyone bustles about, soaked in sweat but beaming with happiness. Labor is hard, but when it’s for something fun, it feels lighter somehow.

A nostalgic feeling wells up inside. Back in college, I worked part-time to afford our TRPG club room and pay the high membership fees, since we didn’t have many members. It was tough, but rolling dice after all that effort was indescribably rewarding. Maybe the trouble we went through was why we could fully immerse ourselves in those expensive rulebooks, which cost more than some textbooks.

Then again, that may be the reason I never got used to systems that prioritized chaotic, roll-based antics. I guess it’s just my “burden” to bear.

I really want to sit around a table and roll dice with everyone again. Even being cursed as a “terrible GM,” battering them with the brute force of natural twenties and double-six rolls was a blast…

From somewhere, I heard a loud cheer. Turning toward the noise, I saw a group of small-bodied hunters—Margit’s kin—pulling a large cart. It was pulled by several hunters, and on the cart lay a massive boar nearly two meters long, already skinned.

They had mentioned preparing a feast and told me to look forward to it—this must be what they meant.

I’m really curious how those tiny hunters managed to take it down. I’ve heard that even a 5.56mm rifle headshot can fail to kill a huge boar. Since this is for a celebration, they probably didn’t use poison either…

“Hey, did you hear? The district governor’s sending fireworks for the celebration.”

“Really? That means he’s hired a mage? Wow.”

As I watched the spiderfolk, who looked like minuscule dots beside that enormous boar, I overheard some younger men preparing another table. Maybe I’ve put too many points into 《Eavesdropping》 and 《Sense Detection》 lately—my hearing seems too sharp.

Fireworks…that’s luxurious. Night fireworks are nice, but there’s something special about daytime fireworks for a morale boost, too.

More than that, it reminds me of that old man. Thinking about the ring hanging from my neck, I can’t help looking forward to when this item might turn into a key artifact.

Soaking up the festival’s vibrant atmosphere, I gazed up at the high autumn sky, my heart pounding with excitement for the night’s festivities…