Status…
[
Name: Peter
Race: Human
Class: None
Age: 5
Title: Trailblazer: Skills, Skill Creator
Stats:
Health: 50 (Cons * 10)
Mana: 2780 (Spirit * 10)
Constitution: 5 Spirit: 278
Strength: 5 Agility: 5
Intelligence: 2
Luck: 18 Charisma: 35
Skills:
IDE, Status Camouflage, Mana sense Lv. 4
]
Peter felt a bit disappointed by his slow progress.
That 2 in front of his Intelligence stat almost seemed to mock him.
With a sigh, he shook his head and dressed in the new clothes his mother had given him.
It was just before evening, and the village was preparing to celebrate the harvest festival. Preparations had been ongoing since morning, though neither of his parents had been involved in the physical labor.
His father had his own duties, and all the guards were exempt from festival preparations. His mother, on the other hand, had already been helping for days, managing the ledgers to categorize the harvest.
As for Peter? According to the adults, he was too small to be trusted with real work.
Not that he was complaining—it just meant less work for him.
…
Narrator's P.O.V
Mariah and Peter walked together toward the village gates, both dressed in new clothes Mariah had bought from a traveling merchant during his last visit.
"Looks like Mama's boy is here too," the old guard at the gate smirked.
Peter scoffed. "Heh. If you think I'd be ashamed of that, you're dead wrong, old man."
The guard shook his head. "You're too mature for your age."
"Nah, most kids my age are just bad at comebacks." Peter waved a hand dismissively. "Sounds like a skill issue to me. Get good."
The old guard let out a gruff laugh. "Brat."
"See you at the festival, old man."
"Yeah, yeah."
Neither the other guard nor Mariah paid them any mind. They were too used to this.
Moving past the gates, Peter and Mariah made their way toward the village center.
At the heart of the village, a wide-open ground had been set up for the festival. By nightfall, the villagers would gather to burn dried crop waste in a towering bonfire.
To the south, rows of long wooden tables were lined up, ready for the communal feast. The villagers had all pitched in—livestock, fruits, vegetables, flour. Everyone shared what they could.
Those with high Cooking Skills were busy preparing meals, expertly turning the gathered ingredients into a feast.
Peter watched them work, a familiar itch tugging at him. He wanted to join in.
Back in his old world, he had lived alone during his university years—long enough to learn how to cook properly. He knew dishes no one here had ever seen before.
'Maybe in a few years', he mused.
He'd blow their minds with things like pasta and pizza.
Not that the food here tasted bad. Far from it. The Cooking Skill ensured that even the simplest dishes, even those made with minimal spices, were always rich in flavor.
Nothing ever tasted bland. Nothing ever tasted off.
Still, one day, he'd introduce them to something new.
To the north, kids under fifteen weren't allowed. That was where the alcohol flowed freely.
To the east, mothers who had chosen to refrain from drinking were watching over the babies.
That left the west, where most of the kids gathered.
By the time Peter and his mother arrived at the square, the place was already alive with energy—crowds laughing, voices overlapping, the scent of freshly cooked food filling the air.
Peter trailed behind his mother for a while, letting her fuss over him as she fixed his collar. Then, with a final once-over, she gave him a nod of approval.
"You can go now," she said before heading off to join a group of women chatting nearby.
Finding himself alone, Peter decided to look for his friends. His feet naturally carried him eastward.
He spotted them soon enough, huddled together in a corner.
"What's going on?" he asked, stepping closer.
Heads turned toward him, but no one answered.
Nearby, an older kid played a flute, and a few children danced in a circle to the lively tune. Peter felt the urge to join in, but something about his friends' expressions made him pause.
"Why do you all look so gloomy?" he pressed. "Did something happen?"
Still, silence.
Peter frowned. "Well? Out with it."
When no one spoke up, he jabbed Charles in the side. The boy yelped.
The reply finally came from David, who avoided Peter's gaze.
"Charles… He got a really good skill in his first advancement."
"Really?" Peter turned to look at Charles properly.
The boy gave a small nod.
A smile bloomed on Peter's face as he stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
"Congratulations, my friend! What is it?" he asked, patting Charles on the shoulder.
"Rune Smithing—Armor," Monica answered for him.
Peter's eyes widened. "Whoa… That's incredible." He nodded in approval.
Monica continued, "Aunt Amelia told Ma and Da that Charles won't be able to make full use of his skill in the village. She said they should move to a proper city."
"The church offered to cover his apprenticeship under a runic blacksmith," she added, her voice quieter now. "In return, they expect him to make armor for them to pay back the loan."
"They agreed," David finished. "Charles and Monica are leaving for the city."
"Ahh…" Peter exhaled, rubbing his right cheek with a forced smile. "Well, no need to be so down about it. Do you really want him to stay here and waste his potential?"
David muttered, "I heard cities have a lot of things villages like ours can't offer."
"They do," Peter nodded. "I'm sure you'll both experience all sorts of new things. And Rune Smithing? That's a lucrative job. You're gonna be rich," he said, directing the last part at Charles.
"I don't want to leave you guys," Monica pouted.
"Don't be like that. Here, how about this?" Peter rested his chin on his palm, pretending to be deep in thought. "Let's make a promise—no matter what happens, we won't forget each other. We'll stay friends and meet again when we're older. Sound good?"
Silence stretched for a moment before one by one, they nodded.
"Good. Now, let's enjoy the festival. It's better to part with happy memories than sad ones."
They nodded again, their spirits lifting.
Peter, however, wasn't naïve. He knew these two would likely make new friends in the city and, eventually, forget about them.
That was life.
He wasn't going to hold it against them. They were kids, after all.
The only reason he suggested the promise was to make them feel better about parting—at least for now.
Peter took the lead, striding toward the group of teenagers nearby.
His approach didn't go unnoticed. Curious gazes followed him as he closed the distance, his confident gait making an impression.
Stopping in front of a girl who had been watching her friends dance, he flashed a charming smile before extending his hand toward her. One foot shifted forward as he leaned slightly into a bow.