Word spread of a toddler correcting tariff calculations before he'd form proper sentences.
"Taks se-en, Church sis," three-year-old Konrad piped. "In Rens fur better than Aset."
A loud smack made his head throb, a harsh reward for the insight.
"Sorry," Father Alastair mumbled. "He's been mouthy before he could even walk."
But the peddler dropped both his jaw and ledger.
"H-he's right," he scowled. "Haiten's Prodigy is real?!"
While names of his past faded away, thirty years behind the desk did not. He used to be in logistics, calculating distances and costs, slaving away in overtime—
But now he was the traders' hero.
As Lu promised, this experience gave him a head start. Not as a noble, though.
An advisor for the merchants, instead. He had a good eye for market trends and was in the perfect spot to dabble. The nearby Halaima Pass was the lifeblood of trade in Kasserlane.
"What would you like, Konny boy?" Peddlers courted him with coins, toys, and a wooden sword.
By his sixth summer, Haiten no longer smelled of piss and despair, but of spices and ale.
"Don't spoil him," the priest warned, pocketing much of his earnings. "It'll get to his head."
Which it did. Tallying someone else's silver on an empty stomach sure helped a lot.
Weak as he was, he accepted the Church's mercy, but plotted escapes once he turned nine.
Too bad, he needed more than pocket money to disappear. The world was dangerous.
"Travel with the saints' blessings," Alastair sent peddlers on their way. "Don't stray from the highway, or the mountain tribes'll get you. Nobody keeps them at bay since Halstadt—"
The tribes were also native to Kasserlane, but wouldn't bow to feudal lords.
This meant banditry was rampant, which only increased Haiten's importance.
Protected by mountain ranges, the king also fortified it against invaders. In peacetime, this attracted even more trade. At war—he didn't live long enough to see one.
Still, he'd soon challenge caravan guards with his wooden sword, eating a lot of dirt.
He'd only land his first solid hits by his twelfth winter, but it furthered his fame at a rapid pace.
"Haiten's Prodigy for ya," a bruised mercenary hollered. "You'll be as famous as Maou Midori."
Whoever that was.
Nomadic merchants brought odd tales from the east. They didn't always match, coming out embellished, so Maou was a warlord in one, an exotic dancer in the other. Most often a sorcerer.
He'd focus on key rumors, like bandit and monster sightings, but his curiosity won.
"Father, do you think this Maou Midori exists?" he asked on his fifteenth birthday.
"You're too old for fairytales," the priest grunted. "I've seen cardinals burn down towns with a prayer, but the stuff they say about Maou? No, cardinals from the capital would still bury him."
That didn't answer his question, but Konrad's eyes went wide. "Can I become a cardinal?!"
Kasserlane's heart was far, but with that kind of power—
"Ambitious, huh?" Alastair mocked him. "If the saints didn't bless you, it's impossible. The spirits don't like our kind, either. Your best bet would be to find that grumpy mage in Aset, but—"
"A mage?" Aset was a mere week's walk south through tribal territory. "Would he teach me?!"
"Hmpf, bring five hundred gold along, and if he liked you? Sure."
That soul-crushing sum could've bought a castle. Only the luckiest villagers saw a single coin in their entire lives. And that insane fortune wasn't even a guarantee?
The priest grabbed his arm.
"I know where that ambition comes from," he pointed at three moles on his hand in a perfect triangle. "This triad's a sign of the Halstadt bloodline. The lords who used to run Halaima."
For a breath, the boy imagined soldiers at his command, carrying his banners.
"The Church wiped them out, and I took you in, but—"
Ah. Well. A dead house meant no power, only curious birthmarks. Both true nobility and learning magic were still far out of his reach. And without them, his desire for control, too.
Until about a year later, adventurers visited Haiten.
"Goblins encroach on the nearby villages." They were a fascinating bunch, different from other mercenaries. "We'll lead a party to exterminate. Who wants in for looting rights?"
That was the closest he had ever been to monsters, not that he saw any.
He was eager, but—
"Don't even think about it," Alastair yanked him back. "You've no idea what lurks out there."
"B-but—the gold for my tuition."
The priest sighed.
"I know you'll bolt the moment you can stand on your own legs. So here's the deal. Teach an orphan to count as you do, and you'll get five percent of what the peddlers pay."
"Ten, and I'll teach them all," Konrad countered, smelling an opportunity.
Not that it was easy. Kasserlane had no basic education. Things he remembered from his old life were unheard of here. It took him three years to teach five of his peers, but that was enough.
By that time, he'd also begin to win his sparring matches against caravan guards.
A confidence boost that made him think he'd hold his own against any bandit. But when he finally turned eighteen, setting out with a mere three gold coins and a sword to his name—
Konrad realised bandits were the least of his worries.
On his sixth day on the road, the peddler's drawhorse became restless. The merchant who gave him a free lift prayed for every deity in existence. But the gods must have been busy that day.
Monsters appeared—real ones, in the flesh—in broad daylight.
Not in a picture book or in an embellished tale from faraway lands.
Creatures the size of boars swarmed them with deafening squeaks.
They had beaks, talons, and tiny wings that made them look unnatural. But they were fast. So fast they could outrun their own voices—the guard's arrows having no chance to catch them.
"Griphlets," they shouted in retreat.
And by the time he drew his sword, they left him alone, surrounded.
The monsters' first strike sliced their horse in half, its blood painting the cart red.
Konrad stabbed—his reward an ear-shattering scream—but a beak caught his blade.
The sword he bought for a whole gold coin snapped, and he froze.
The stub sank into an eye socket with a warcry, but four more Griphlets were already on him. All he had was the adrenaline spurring him on—but what he actually needed was a fast escape.
Whether those beasts could take to the skies or not, they foiled him in seconds.
Talons—white-hot pain exploding in his chest, and—a fireball?
It came out of nowhere, but a monster went up in smoke. Not even its bones remained.
His lungs were already ruptured, though, with talons still pinning him to the ground.
No weapons, no hope. At least this was a faster way to go than his last death.
Would Lu give him one more chance, or—
Before finishing that thought, a nimble shape brought a breeze of cinnamon with her.
Her dagger sank into the closest beast's neck, and that Griphlet crumbled into dust, too.
A purple crystal landed on Konrad's lap, and something—no, someone else came with it.
A girl with shrieking laughter. Orange mane and freckles for days. On his groin. Even if that weren't cutting all his blood off his brain, the grin alone would have made it HARD to think.
Crooked teeth and chaos. Beauty and mischief. Strange, but somehow familiar.
"Found you, sweetheart," she claimed.
But before Konrad could put the pieces together, he passed out.