Sun shone down upon a lush grassy field with gentle rolling hills.
The skies were blue with lazy clouds drifting in the sky, untainted by any pollution.
In such a beautiful world and landscape, a boy sat beneath the shade of a tall oak tree that stood solitarily in the field, writing in a notebook with ink and quill.
He was a fine young lad, sharp sky-blue eyes glowing with intelligence, well-kept smooth night-black hair, fair skinned, and slightly round face with baby fat. The last part is to be expected given how he was no more than five years old.
The boy wore a clean white shirt, matching black shorts and coat, and a pair of brown leather loafers.
Suddenly, the young voice of a girl of similar age as the boy rang out in the field.
"Master Sherlock! Master Sherlock! Your parents are calling for you!"
The owner of the voice, a young amber-eyed girl with fluttering white silky hair and long pointy ears rushed toward the boy sitting beneath the oak tree, clutching the helm of her long black skirt that was a part of her hybrid Victorian and French maid attire, revealing white stockings.
Sherlock looked up from his book, smiling and greeted her.
"Oh, hey Silvaria! How are you doing?"
After rushing up to him, Silvaria panted and gasped for air for a short while before facing her young master with a beaming flushed face.
"I am doing fine, Master Sherlock! Anyways, your parents sent me to come fetch you!"
Sherlock raised a brow, surprised.
"Both of my parents are asking for me? Not just my mom?"
Silvaria nodded.
"Mhm! Both of them told me to find you and bring you back home! They said it was something important!"
"Sigh!"
The young master Silvaria served, leaned his head on one arm looking depressed. The bubbly young elf maid curiously asked out of concern.
"What's wrong, Master Sherlock?"
To the sudden shock of Silvaria, Sherlock patted her head.
The elf girl's face turned beet-red with embarrassment.
"EH! Wha-wha-what are you doing, Master Sherlock!?!"
"Sorry, Silvaria, you're the only source of comfort I have in this dull life of mine."
Steam started to pour out of Silvaria's ears, her face became redder if possible and her brain went into overdrive, imagining what her young lord could've meant by those words.
Sherlock, unable to read the mood, stopped patting his elf maid's head and continued speaking.
"Alright, let's go see what my parents want from me."
The boy and his maid set out back to his mansion, with the boy having his head in the clouds while the maid continued to blush and occasionally sneakily glancing at him wondering what he's thinking of.
Hey guys, it's me, Shin Chihiro, or should I say Sherlock Holmes?
Yeah, that's right, it isn't a pseudonym or nickname. This is legitimately the name I was born with.
Ironic isn't it, for a guy lauded as the Modern Teen Sherlock to know nothing about the Sherlock series and be reincarnated in another world as him.
There's not much that happened in the past five years since I arrived in this world. It's quite boring in fact.
You're probably curious as to what sort of world I got reincarnated in? Well, there's a lot to digest but here's the snippets that I know from the conversations everyone had and the books I'm able to read from the library.
Apparently the place I'm living in is a province called Northton in the country of Angola, an island nation similar to Earth's Britain, England. The continent, Eurova, is similar to Europe's, except it doesn't share a land border with this world's equivalent of Asia, separating the two continents by a large ocean body called the Varis Ocean. Some other major differences are this world's equivalent of the Middle-East and India are part of Eurova, and this world's equivalent of Africa is smaller and further away, creating another ocean called.
The era I'm living in is 36 AD (After Death of Demon King) of the New Imperial Calendar, a combination of the Industrial and Middle age due to the presence of magic. Various units of measurement, including time, seem to be the same here as is on Earth.
Currently it is the middle of Springtime, April 16. The world has concepts like factories, Parliament and schools but are still old school in some aspects like having to travel by foot or mount, and conducting warfare with swords, bows, cavalry charges and other outdated weapons and tactics. Heck, hospitals aren't even a thing!
Such a drastic difference is largely caused by the presence of magic. With magic, one can simply wave their hand and obliterate several dozen well-armed soldiers with a Fireball, instantly heal broken limbs and wounds that would have otherwise been crippling, and be able to temporarily gain the power of flight for a short amount of time or increase their speed by concentrating magic around their limbs.
Well, that's all I know for now. Even though I'm mentally twenty-two years old, my body is still that of a five year old's. You can't expect too much from a five-year old can you? Hopefully, when I soon begin my studies, I'll be able to learn more about this fascinating world. I can't wait to get my cheats and start an amazing adventure!
Speaking of adventure. If you have the choice to be transmigrated or reincarnated, pick transmigrated, because having to relive my younger years is such a drag! Especially when you're living in an out-of-date fantasy world!
There's a reason why writers gloss over the protagonist's childhood, nobody wants to sit through several volumes and arcs about the main character taking his first baby steps or making his first acquaintances at daycare!
Sure, I might be born to an aristocratic family and be among the privileged, but there's nothing to do!
The kids my age all live several dozen miles away, so play-dates and hang-outs are impossible unless their parents are spoiled enough to have a winged mount like a wyvern they could use to fly over.
Magic can't be used until you're a certain age and are considered to have the right aptitude for it, so no blasting targets to Kingdom-come like Hiroshima or Nagasaki.
The best entertainment materials are plays, Shakespearean-like novels and toys made from wood. As a person who came from a world of gaming consoles, manga and block-buster films. I can say for certainty the delights of this world are nowhere near Earth's.
Ugh! I wish I was back on Earth playing my favourite gacha game right now!
Shortly after a few minutes of walking and inner-monologuing, we got back to the mansion, a fancy Victorian-esque villa with uniformly trimmed hedges standing out front.
Two man-servants stood at the front double doors at the main entrance of the mansion, tall men dressed in dark servant's attire. One servant was muscular and burly, in his thirties with a thick brown beard. The other was a thin man in his late-twenties with a mean face and a scar across his left eye.
I greeted both of them.
"Good morning, Darrell and Markus, how are the both of you doing?"
The burly man, Darrell, cheerfully replied.
"Ah! Young master Sherlock! Thank you for your concern! I am doing well. More importantly, your parents were looking for you! They even sent little Miss Silvaria to fetch you!"
"Yeah, you know what my father is like, stiffer than the capital's Benjamin Tower!"
"Now, now! You shouldn't be talking about your father like that! If he hears you, you'll be in for a beating!"
"He won't beat me if he doesn't hear about it."
"Haha! Very true!"
I engaged in idle chatter with Darrell for a while longer before entering the mansion's lobby.
It's as you'd expect from a typical Victorian-era mansion. A polished wood floor, a lush red carpet leading to a grand staircase that diverged into two, dark wooden bannisters lined the side of the stairs and overhanging hallways.
Besides the sunlight entering through the windows, the main source of light was a magnificent magic crystal chandelier (I haven't figured out how the crystals work yet). Illuminating all the miscellaneous expensive items such as vases, armour sets, wooden furnishings and more.
I suddenly recalled during my conversation I noticed that Markus had been silent the whole time, glaring at us with a disdainful look in his eyes.
Crap! I should have been more careful of what I said! Mr. Scar-eye is a personal servant of Crofton's! He'll no doubt report what I said to my brother who will then rat me out to my father! Curse this slow-thinking five-year old brain of mine!!!
Oh well, the most I'll be in for is ten beatings from the iron cudgel of old Miss Trumbull. The grey-haired old hag has the face of a bulldog and is twice as mean as one. Although she's old and not trained in any martial arts, she can break a rolling pin in half with one hand.
…
I pray to whatever higher power exists in this world that my father doesn't hear what I said about him.
Silvaria and I took the left staircase and entered a red-carpeted hallway lined with many paintings, tapestries, and even more vases and fragile collectibles.
Seriously, what is with nobles always displaying frail and expensive items in public places that can be easily knocked over and broken?
Just look at Silvaria! She's shivering all over and tightly clinging to the back of my coat!
Poor thing, she must still remember how that maid was flogged to the brink of death a month ago for breaking one of my stepmom's favourite porcelain-ware.
I briefly turned around, giving her a light gentle hug.
"Yeep!"
She let out a yelp of surprise but quickly calmed after I stroked her back and offered words of assurance.
"It's alright, no one will do anything bad to you like they did with Mary. You're a careful and diligent person. Even if you do make a careless mistake, I'll make sure no harm will come to you."
Having spoken my piece, I let go of Silvaria.
Tears were visible in her eyes, her lips quivered, just as I thought she was about to break down sobbing, she wiped them away, snivelling a little, then smiled.
"Thank you, Master Sherlock! I'll continue to do my best to serve you!"
I gave a smile in return to my adorable little elf maid.
"I look forward to our continued acquaintanceship."
With that little episode over, we continued walking until we reached the end of the hallway, where a single lone door stood, which led to my father's office. Don't let its simple appearance deceive you, the thing is booby-trapped with countless spells and safeguards that'll leave you dead if you don't have the key or permission to enter.
I knocked on the door and identified myself.
"Hey, dad, it's me, Sherlock. May I come in?"
A gruff voice answered.
"Enter."
I twisted the door knob, opened the door and entered. As Silvaria wasn't called in, she remained standing outside.
The office was as simplistic as you can have for a noble.
Expensively carved dark wood furniture, several rows of cabinets with various important files and documents stored in them, and a large glass window wall to let in sunlight, with massive curtains hanging off to the sides.
Despite its simplicity, the office had an intimidating feel to it. It probably has something to do with all the heads hanging from all three walls in the room.
Orcs, Kobolds, Ogres, Trolls, Werewolves and various other monsters stared down at me from the plaques they were screwed to. The one I felt the most pressure from was a large, spiky, dark-scaled lizard head.
This was the head of a dragon.
Was it the head of a dragon? I can't tell since dragon heads and wyvern heads look basically the same, except one is much larger than the other.
However, if this intimidating aura came from a stuffed wyvern head, I shudder to imagine what it'd be like to stand before the presence of a live dragon.
As I stood admiring the wyvern head, a gruff authoritative voice broke my thoughts.
"What are you doing, gawking like that, boy? Turn around and face me."
A gentler soothing voice lightly reprimanded the owner of the gruff voice.
"Joshua, don't be like that, he's just a child."
"Well he better start growing up, you know what's happening today."
While the two voices continued their discussion, I turned around to face my parents.
The owner of the gruff voice is my father, Marquis Joseph Holmes, a tall, muscular, broad-shouldered and fierce-eyed man with a well-kept beard wearing a bright-red military officer uniform. Similar to the military attire British officers wore in the 18th-century.
The other softer voice belonged to my mother, Anne Holmes, a willowy dark-haired woman in a simple (for a noble) green dress with slender limbs, a healthy rosy complexion and slightly droopy sky-blue eyes, just like mine.
I bear extremely little resemblance to my father to the point where I sometimes wondered if my mother had an affair with another man in the past.
After my parents finished their discussion, which I had no interest in, their attention turned toward me.
"Sherlock, do you know why I've called you here?"
Nope, none at all. If today was important, would I have spent my time outside leisurely writing?
Of course, I didn't respond like that to my father, not if I want my butt to be redder than a tomato and be unable to sit properly for a week.
He's a tyrant I tell you, a tyrant.
"No father, I'm afraid I don't know why I've been summoned."
My annoying ill-tempered Spartan of a father sighed before explaining.
"Today is the Day of Acquisition. Meaning every child five years of age must be brought to the nearest temple to have their abilities and skills appraised by the priests."
…
YESSSSS!!!
Finally! After five boring years, I finally get to receive the OP powers promised to me by the Goddess! Woohoo!
As I continued my happy inner monologue, my father continued speaking.
"Sherlock, when you are brought to the temple, you must behave accordingly so as not to tarnish the reputation of our family. Your actions will be carefully viewed by the masses, one slip and the proud image and legacy our family has built will come crashing down.
I don't care if the powers bestowed upon you by the Goddess are rubbish or will elevate House Holmes further, but once you receive the powers I want you to suck in your pride or disappointment and calmly walk away.
Am I understood?"
I gave a robotic yes and my father simply nodded, satisfied with my answer.
"Good, be ready at the entrance in twenty minutes. Also, bring Silvaria with you, we'll also appraise her abilities as well."
With that said, I left my father's office and headed to my room with Silvaria in tow to get a change of clothing suitable for travel and presentation of oneself before the public on a momentous event.
After Sherlock left, his parents remained in the room gazing from the window at the outside scenery.
Sherlock's mother, Anne, spoke reminiscently.
"He reminds me a great deal of you when you were younger."
Joseph turned to look at his mistress with a raised eyebrow.
"Resembles me? He couldn't be any different. I was for a lack of a better term, wilder. Look at him, quiet, observant and obedient. Although a little excessive, he's definitely a better kid than his brother or I ever was."
The dark-haired woman next to him gave a bemused smile.
"You'd be surprised, he hides a lot more than you know."
The taciturn Joseph's interest peaked a little.
"Oh? Do tell."
Anne playfully stuck out her tongue.
"That's for me to keep a secret and for you to find out."
Joseph humphed.
"Whatever, I'm already swamped with work, those damn Francians have been stirring up trouble in our overseas territories lately and those stubborn old business-minded Councilmen aren't helping at all. They keep escalating the situation further, ordering the military to respond to their provocation with force when our men have no experience with combat on land besides the skirmishes with the Alba barbarians up north."
Joseph's mistress patted him.
"Forget about work for today, alright? Let's get ready for our son's Acquisition."
The Marquis agreed with his wife's suggestion and the pair went to their chambers to prepare.