By the time I was five, I had become something of a quiet force in the village.
I didn't run with the other children. I didn't waste my time playing in the fields or chasing goats. While the others learned to throw pebbles and carve sticks, I was tilling soil, crafting beams, and now… shaping metal. For two years, I had worked the fields alongside my mother. I knew the rhythm of the land better than the sky above. The soil became a second home, and though I had leveled up only twice in Farmer during that span, I didn't complain.
"XP is slow. That's fine. I'm in this for the long game."
When I wasn't farming, I worked with my father in carpentry. He was honest and hard-working but not exactly a master. His joints weren't precise, and his woodcraft was crude. But he built roofs that didn't leak, and beds that didn't break. One level in Carpenter was all I could squeeze out after months of help, and I suspected I'd hit the ceiling under his tutelage.
So when winter came, I turned my sights to the forge. His name was Garlon, a thick-browed man with a black beard and a belly that shook when he laughed though he didn't laugh much. His forge sat at the edge of the village, closer to the river for easy cooling. Iron tools, plow heads, nails, hammers, and horseshoes were stacked neatly in bins. Nothing fancy. Nothing enchanted.
Just functional craftsmanship.
One cold morning, after finishing my chores and rubbing my numb fingers by the hearth, I turned to my father.
"I want to learn blacksmithing."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That's dangerous work, lad."
"So is life."
He blinked, then smirked.
"Alright, then. Let's ask Garlon."
My father explained my request. Garlon looked down at me, frowning, thick arms crossed over his apron.
"If the boy wants to learn," he grunted, "he works for me. Free. I don't train for charity."
"Fair," I replied before my father could even speak.
Garlon raised an eyebrow.
"You sure talk like an adult, kid."
And so it began.
Winter was cruel that year. Snow buried the fields, the cold bit into bones, and most villagers huddled near fireplaces like frightened cats.
But not me.
Every day after finishing my morning chores, I walked through ice and snow to the forge. I stood beside Garlon, watching him hammer heated iron into shape. I studied the way the color changed, from dull red to blazing orange. I memorized the timing of strikes, the way the tongs were handled, and how quenching needed to be precise or ruin the piece. I lifted heavy crates, fetched coal, cleaned soot, stoked fires and then, after days of watching, I asked:
"Can I try?"
He grunted.
"You'll burn yourself."
"I won't."
I did.
At first, I shaped horseshoes.Then nails.
Then I tried a farming chisel, copying Garlon's exact steps. The first was clumsy. The second was better. The third… almost perfect."You're copying me exactly," Garlon muttered. "Like a damn mirror."
One day, I lifted a bar of iron 40 kilograms at least without effort and set it on the anvil.
He stared.
"You're not normal."
I shrugged. "I'm just strong."
"Strong? You're a child. That iron would throw a grown man's back out."
He lefted out of the forge that evening and spoke to my parents. I listened from the doorway. "Your boy's not right," Garlon said, wiping soot from his forehead. "He works harder than most grown men I've hired, doesn't tire, and lifts iron like it's a wool. You sure he's… yours?"
"What do you mean?" my father asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I mean," Garlon said, lowering his voice, "he's a damn freak. A strong one at that. And no child should be that strong."
"I was there when he was born, he is blessed by the 4 god"
Later that night the fire popped in the hearth. My father stared into the flames, holding a mug in his calloused hands. My mother sat on her stool, mending a wool shirt, eyes low.
"Ren," my father said finally, "You've always been different. Quiet. But Strong. Very strong."
He looked at me. Not afraid. Just worried.
"Ren promise me you'd grow up a good man, a hardworking man, and mostly improtanally a kind man, i know one day you grow up strong, but don't end up rotten like those nobles, ok mè boy"
"I promise dad, i will never, and i mean NEVER ACT OR BE A NOBLE"
"Ren lad, i did not say you can't become a noble yourself, boy"
"I know but i hate the idea of a noble, there are so wasteful"
"Ren lad, and here i was worried you'd become rotten, it is not worng to want to be rich, lad"
"I know, dad"
[REN INFO CARD]
vermin killer: 8/15
Farmer:3/15
Carpentry:1/15
Blacksmith:1/10