Black Mountain Village used to be a place that boomed thanks to its mines. But the deposits couldn't have been that great, because the mine shut down after just ten years. Still, during those ten years, they dug into the mountain and pulled out tons of minerals, and all that black dirt from underground got dumped on the mountainside. That's how it got the name Black Mountain Village.
For a while, tons of tourists would come just to see this black mountain at least once, but the numbers gradually dropped off. Now it's become Black Mountain Village, a backwater where even drifters don't bother showing up.
'Living in a backwater like this.'
John, a reincarnated soul, propped a long shepherd's staff on his shoulder and sat down against a tree, staring ahead. This peaceful mountain village was so safe that in the thirteen years since he'd been born into this world, not a single monster had ever invaded.
'It's a fantasy world, alright.'
He had no choice but to accept it was fantasy. He'd even seen magic, thanks to a retired wizard who'd settled down here in his old age. Life was more peaceful than he'd imagined from novels. But at the same time, it was boring as hell.
That wizard, whose magic was way less impressive than movie effects but at least had the fun factor of being real, had been in the ground for quite a while now.
For John—Rowan the shepherd in this life—who'd lived in the modern world where constant hustle was the norm, sometimes the easy work was nice, but man, he just couldn't stand the boredom.
'I'm dying of boredom here.'
For Rowan, who'd lived in the modern era with culture, content, and information pouring out like a flood, this place was no different from exile.
'Not like I can go back to the modern world anyway.'
He had absolutely zero talent for magic. His mana was like a rat turd. Literally, he'd projected his mana through a crystal orb once, and it was exactly the size of a rat turd. A harsh reality.
As the sun started to set, Rowan got up. He whistled through his fingers, signaling the sheepdog. It was Sernhac's dog, but it followed other people just fine. The sheep scattered across the vast ranch all headed back in. Sheep were pretty profitable livestock because clothes were always in demand.
'Gotta go eat.'
One of Rowan's few pleasures!
At least the spices here were pretty well developed, so he never went hungry. Otherwise, Rowan would've become an herb gatherer. He might've ended up living in the mountains and forests, searching for fragrant, non-poisonous plants.
'I really hate that fishy smell.'
The worst thing was the gamey smell of meat. Here, meat went into everything. The reason he could deal with it was simply that he was the son of a ranch owner, and this village had more serfs than you'd expect.
It was a place where the crude idea of "we've got lots of people to farm, so we can raise lots of livestock" was actually working out.
'It's awful.'
Rowan felt sorry for the serfs who'd lost their freedom and were condemned to a life of poverty, stuck in one place forever. Most of them had become serfs because they'd taken on debt or committed crimes.
'Not like there's anything I can do about it.'
He had his own problems to deal with.
"Rowan? You're here kinda early today."
A serf working the fields acted pretty friendly. They weren't slaves but serfs, so they didn't face ridiculously harsh discrimination. Besides, this serf was Mals, who used to be a citizen living in this village, just like Rowan.
"Mals. Where's Rakson?"
"He said he was going to the warehouse. He's got a lot on his plate today. Just this morning, several merchants came by. Fall's coming, so the competition's already heating up."
"That much?"
"You didn't know? There was a huge uproar when monsters attacked Torch Fortress."
Rowan had no idea. Even small bits of info counted as pretty big news around here. With so little information to begin with, it was manageable. Mals only knew because he was a serf of Rakson, who showed up and wielded influence in everything.
"That's not far from here..."
"They say it's only six days away."
When it took a month to reach the capital, six days was basically next door.
'Guy's always got his ear to the ground.'
Rowan was careful about what he said around Mals. The guy talked as much as he listened. As a serf, he had to give a lot to Rakson, but at the same time, that meant Rakson was basically his backer.
If you hurt Mals badly just for running his mouth, you'd have to pay Rakson. The compensation didn't go to Mals but to Rakson, and it'd be higher than usual too.
'He's a local bigwig who's surpassed even the village chief.'
With Rakson as his backer, Mals could gossip about anyone as long as he didn't mess with someone really important. Truth was, a lot of citizens didn't like Mals. Nobody likes someone who talks about others behind their backs.
"Good luck with that."
"You too, work hard."
Mals's eyes narrowed as he watched Rowan walk away without his staff.
'The ranch owner's second son is desperate to make something of himself. If he leaves this backwater, he'll just get his ass kicked and come crawling back. He'll be grateful just to make it back alive!'
As a serf who couldn't go anywhere, Mals resented Rowan's behavior, which showed his ambition to succeed. Everyone knew Rowan was paying Rakson, a retired veteran, to learn how to fight.
"Ptui!"
He spat on the field. It was jealousy. Rowan was getting pretty good reviews for his combat skills. It pissed him off.
Rumor had it that Rakson mentioned Rowan at least once at every dinner, according to what he'd heard from the maid. That was a big deal. He might even get a letter of recommendation.
"Hurry up and bring it!"
"Yes!"
Rakson, who was checking inventory in the food warehouse and bossing around a serf, sensed someone approaching. He had a longsword at his waist, and on the opposite side of his belt were two throwing daggers. Even though he was retired, he lived like he was still on active duty.
"Rowan? You're early. Has that much time passed already?"
Looking at the sky turning slightly sunset-colored, Rakson realized he was actually late. But he didn't apologize. That's just how people's sense of time was around here.
"Stop working and go do something else. We'll continue tomorrow."
"Yes!!"
The serf answered sharply. It was like watching the military. As a retired soldier, he handled his subordinates like troops. Rough.
Since this mountain village had basically no landowners, the land cleared by serfs had become a training ground. Rakson was definitely the wealthiest person in Black Mountain Village. He'd come to this village with ten criminal serfs, and now he had even more.
'Labor's the best.'
Rowan stepped onto the flat training ground and marveled again. Literally, in this world packed with nature, this pristine training ground that looked to be about 11,000 square feet never got old.
"What's so amazing about it? Why are you staring blankly at the training ground again?"
At Rakson's words, Rowan made an excuse.
"Me? Where's the sword?"
That bluntness actually pleased Rakson. It was a reaction that guaranteed he really was marveling at the training ground every time.
'Men and their pride.'
There was no such thing as a wooden sword with an iron core in this world. Human life was cheaper than livestock here. One horse the size of an ox did the work of ten people, so naturally, humans were cheaper than livestock.
They used iron swords that not only weren't sharp but had edges that were deliberately dulled. This wasn't a place with the conditions to produce various types of training swords. It wasn't that such things were considered useless—the resources and infrastructure just didn't exist.
Get a training sword just for Rowan? Starting with a shortsword, then later a longsword, greatsword, and even a rapier? That was ridiculous.
Thump thump!
Rowan knocked on the shield.
Obviously, if you're using a sword, you need a shield. A single sword was enough if you were just going out for a stroll in town, but that wasn't Rowan's situation. He wanted combat. That thrill was just an extreme sport to relieve the boredom of this backwater.
It was an ordinary round shield, but it was carved from a solid log into shield form, covered with horsehide, and then plated with iron. It was truly an excellent combat shield, good enough for actual battle without any regrets.
"Let's warm up first."
"Yes!"
Unlike Rowan's blunt but quiet words earlier, a loud voice rang across the training ground. It was natural to kiss ass to the person teaching you how to fight.
He'd kissed ass to people he'd never see again after leaving the military. Why wouldn't he do it for the teacher teaching him combat? This was basic for Rowan.
'Nothing to learn from this guy except how to fight well.'
But he didn't actually consider him a real teacher.
Rowan slammed the shield against a log and swung the iron sword around. The quality of the iron sword wasn't great.
It was iron so hard it needed to be folded repeatedly, iron that broke easily. The iron sword made from scrap-iron-grade ore was used to drastically reduce costs. But by folding the iron day and night for ten days to make it even slightly softer, then heat-treating it to harden it, it became a decent sword.
The blacksmith Malrux's sword, where effort was put into improving the iron quality, lacked a lot to be called a master craftsman's blade, but it was still a decent sword.
"Ha! Ha!"
His feet moved too. Watching Rowan move intensely for ten minutes, Rakson inwardly clicked his tongue. The naturally strong striking timing and even breath control looked like a proper warrior already.
'In three years... no, even in just one year, he could be a soldier.'
Even when Rowan showed exceptional talent, Rakson never praised him, and his internal evaluations were harsh. The lesson he'd learned from living long enough to become a retired soldier was to never judge people easily.
'I'll give him credit for his grit.'
The fact that he worked hard on his own was a weapon around here. Having some kind of big ambition at that age was talent enough to deserve praise.
The remaining five minutes were intense stretching. All sorts of modern stretches, reborn under the name of "forgotten knowledge," looked bizarre to Rakson's eyes as Rowan claimed they were for flexibility.
"Huh? Rakson. You're taking up a shield?"
Rowan was shocked when Rakson picked up a shield, unlike usual. When his voice got a bit higher, Rakson let out a chuckle.
"Yeah. You've gotten pretty skilled too. For three years, you've used sword and shield every single day without rest."
It was a bit of an approving atmosphere. But Rowan didn't even bat an eye at such praise.
"My physical abilities are pretty low. Still, you picking up a shield is kind of..."
"This kid? If I praise you, just give me a short answer."
"Yes!"
When Rowan shouted like he was picking a fight, Rakson grinned, then got serious.
"When else will you learn to fight someone with stronger physical abilities than you? And it has to be now. You've been training your body since you were ten. When you're grown, there'll be tons of people weaker than you."
Fighting stronger opponents! Surviving that was the new training method Rakson would give Rowan. Plus, he felt one sword wasn't enough. For old Rakson, at this point where Rowan's potential was exploding, he could allow himself one sword strike.
'Wait, isn't this training I don't even need to do? I probably won't meet many people stronger than me anyway...'
He wanted to say this, but held back. He knew Rakson's temperament well. Rakson was the kind of guy who'd crack your ribs if you joked around too much.
'One sword isn't enough against a reckless kid who can't control his boiling blood.'
The vigor that comes with youth—getting hit by a car and bouncing right back up, only crying about the broken bike, or at most a broken finger. That was Rowan's current situation.
Not fully grown but at thirteen, Rowan had reached an age where he couldn't control his vigor.
Not bulky but with a muscular, sturdy build, his agility, reaction speed, and dynamic visual acuity were enough to show a trick or two or land a lucky shot even with low strength and short stature.
'Damn it.'
When Rakson showed no sign of putting down the shield, Rowan cursed internally. The guy was a foot taller and way heavier, and he's using a shield against a kid? Total bastard.
'That son of a bitch old man. But did he really think I wouldn't have a plan for all this overflowing time?'
Rowan's only content was spacing out and simulating all kinds of fights like shadow boxing. His only sport here was swordsmanship, to the point where he even dreamed of fighting monsters from movies.
'Obviously avoid a head-on fight.'
He moved sideways, looking for an opening. Rakson wasn't surprised either, expecting a flank attack. He was an experienced retired soldier.
"Hup!"
He held his breath and explosively unleashed the power from his leg muscles. He leaped into Rakson's range in an instant. Using his short stature, he lowered his body completely. The sword swung.
Whoosh!
'That insane sound!'
The sound of Rakson's longsword swinging was terrifying. An ordinary citizen would shrink back and hesitate even after closing in, getting their throat cut.
Retired veteran or not, those crazy active-duty muscles hadn't disappeared with age. Besides, he'd been doing minimal training through his lessons with Rowan, so muscle loss from aging was minimized.
Rowan used his dynamic vision to instantly track the sword's trajectory and moved quickly, hitting the ground with his shield. Obviously, Rakson didn't just stand there either. His shield pushed forward.
Clang!
Sword and shield collided. Even in that moment, Rakson took a step forward and leaned his body in. He charged like a body check, putting his weight behind the shield, like a tiger's jaws pushing forward.
Thud!
Rowan blocked it with his shield and got pushed back.
Swish! Swoosh!
Rakson's longsword, with slack force, struck like a snake—stabbing and slashing. Watching Rowan dodge by bending down and moving sideways, Rakson grinned.
"First time facing an enemy with a shield, isn't it?"
"Had nothing to do, so I imagined it. And there was exactly this kind of situation."
"They say shepherding's busy work, but that was all bullshit."
"I'm the second son; my brother Sernhac handles most of the work, so I can slack off."
Even while chatting, Rowan looked for an opening, but there wasn't one.
"Go easy on me."
Rakson answered that by charging. The relentless old man. Literally, cruelty forged in real combat!
Rowan, with a lump on his head, felt uneasy about his ringing skull and collapsed to the ground. Dodging the charge had been the mistake. Dodging the charge of the tall Rakson was a big error. Even dodging kept him in range.
'The charge speed is faster than I thought.'
Rowan's defeat was basically sealed when he believed the stupid intellectual's claim that big bears are slower than humans. Big means faster. Stronger. More brutal.
"Learned another lesson today."
"Right. Always keep what you learned today in mind and chew on it. It'll be a big help later."
At Rowan's humility, Rakson spoke gruffly for no reason. He felt awkward. They weren't even teacher and student. He just sparred for money. Still, Rowan was respectful.
"Have dinner here before you go."
"Thank you. As expected, Rakson's..."
"Cut the bullshit."
Rakson's big house had a well, so he washed up there with cold water right away.
"Brrr! Ah! Hoo!"
Watching Rowan shiver, Rakson dumped the cold water jar he'd prepared right on him.
"GAAAH!"
Night fell. Rowan first put steaming, oil-floating, spice-scented soup in his mouth.
They shared a glass of wine, and Rakson spoke first.
"There's something you need to do for me. I need someone small."
"What? You planning some kind of burglary...?"
When Rakson's eyes turned fierce, Rowan grinned and apologized. Rakson wasn't the type to laugh it off.
"Sorry."
"Ahem!"
Rakson cleared his throat and returned to the topic. He got to the point.