Five years had passed since I reincarnated into this world.
In that time, I learned that my father was a mercenary, which explained his sturdy figure and battle-worn demeanor. My mother, on the other hand, was a talented chef working at a prestigious restaurant.
In this world, mercenaries were nothing like their counterparts in my previous life. Here, they resembled the adventurers from the fictional books I used to read. They undertook dangerous missions, fought monsters, and sometimes served as protectors of the weak.
The ranking system was also similar—F being the lowest and S being the highest. My father was a B-rank mercenary, which was considered highly respectable, especially for someone from such a humble background.
Thanks to the small library in our home, I gained a lot of knowledge about the world I now lived in.
The continent I resided on was called Dragona, and it was home to four races: humans, dwarves, elves, and orcs. Each race ruled different parts of the continent.
Humans lived in the western lands, in the Kingdom of Redgard, where the soil was fertile and abundant.
I asked my mother a lot of questions ever since coming to this world. Mother gladly answered each ofy questions which helped tremendously.
"Thank you, mother!" I shouted internally.
To the east was the elven kingdom of Felv, a mysterious realm shrouded in dense forests and magic. We also lived near the border of the elves.
In the south were the warring orc tribes, fierce warriors who thrived in the chaos of constant warfare and destruction. They were masters of the battlefield, their lands scarred with the marks of endless conflict.
Finally, in the frigid north lay the dwarven kingdom of Asgard. Renowned for their abundance of recourses and neutrality. The dwarves were expecitly known to be master craftsmen and traders.
The geography of Dragona tailored the needs of each race, minimizing the conflicts that could arise over land. Instead, trade and cooperation flourished among the four races, maintaining an uneasy but lasting peace.
While I was lost in my thoughts, a familiar voice snapped me back to reality.
"Ray! Dinner's ready!" my mother called out from the dining room.
I closed the book I was reading and carefully stood up. Even after five years, I still hadn't fully adjusted to this small, childlike body.
As I entered the dining room, my mother smiled warmly. "Stay here. I'll go get your father," she said before heading outside.
I climbed into my chair, struggling slightly, and made myself comfortable. My father was outside, training as usual. He spent most of his free time refining his swordsmanship.
When everyone was gathered, we began eating. The food, as always, was divine. My mother truly was an exceptional chef.
Halfway through the meal, my curiosity got the better of me.
"Father, why are you always outside playing with that stick?" I asked, trying to mimic the tone of a curious five-year-old.
My father burst into laughter. "I'm not playing, Ray. I'm honing my swordsmanship. And for the record, that 'stick' is called a sword," he corrected with a grin.
He paused for a moment, his expression growing more serious.
"I have an upcoming mission. I've been hired by a nobleman to escort him to the capital. I'll be gone for about a month."
Both my mother and I looked at him in surprise. A month? That was a long time.
Who would protect us if something happened? Bandits weren't uncommon in these parts. Could I do anything with this fragile body of mine? Worse case scenarios filled my head.
Sensing my unease, my father leaned forward. "While I'm gone, Ray, I want you to protect your mother. That's why I've decided to teach you how to use a sword."
My mother gasped in disbelief. "What?! He's only five, Darev! He's just a child!"
"Don't worry," my father replied with a calm smile. "I believe in our son. He's smart and strong. And that is exactly why we need to put our trust in him."
I clenched my fists. He was right.
In my past life, I was utterly useless, but I'd promised myself I wouldn't waste this new chance.
This was my first step.
"Father," I said, my voice firm. "Please teach me how to use a sword. I want to protect Mother and our home!"
Both of my parents looked at me, surprised by my determination.
"Don't worry," my father chuckled. "You'll be the strongest five-year-old ever!"
We all laughed together, the tension easing.
"Now, let's finish our meal," my mother said, smiling warmly.
After dinner, my father took me outside for my first lesson. My mother, meanwhile, stayed behind to clean up.
"Ray, my son, are you ready to fight?!" my father shouted.
"Yes, Father!" I yelled back, my small voice filled with enthusiasm.
He handed me a wooden sword, which I held tightly in both hands.
"Father, are you ready to witness the birth of a genius?" I declared boldly.
"That's the spirit!" he said, laughing.
Without warning, he charged at me, disappearing in an instant before reappearing behind me.
I barely managed to block his strike, but the force knocked me to the ground.
"My son has talent after all!" he exclaimed, surprised.
"Of course I do!" I retorted internally.
I tried to regain my footing, but my tiny body betrayed me. I stumbled again, eliciting more laughter from my father.
"Don't worry," he said, helping me up. "You've got spirit. That's what matters. Now, let's get serious."
For the next five hours, my father taught me the basics of combat—how to strike, where to aim, and how to maximize damage.
By the time the sun set, I was utterly exhausted.
"We'll continue tomorrow," my father said. "In the meantime, you can read the combat and magic books in the library."
I nodded, silently adding it to my growing list of tasks.
Dinner that evening was just as delicious as always, and afterward, I lay in bed, lost in thought.
Should I become a mercenary like my father? The idea was tempting, but I wanted more.
Clenching my tiny fist, I made a promise to myself.
"Just you wait," I whispered.
With that, I closed my eyes and drifted into a deep slumber, ready to face whatever tomorrow would bring.