Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: Prologue
Chapter Title: How to Live as a Heavy Cavalryman on the Battlefield
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I was originally born into a decent family.
In a world where people died in droves without even a bowl of thin gruel to eat, I counted myself among the lucky ones.
I thought the same when I was young.
But soon enough, I realized there was a grave problem with my birth.
I was the second son.
And being the second son in a decent family meant you had no room to complain if the firstborn killed you anytime.
Other kingdoms might differ, but at least in the Kingdom of Thracia where I was born, that's how it was.
Long ago, some dimwitted king had snuck through an absurd policy called equal inheritance—forcing equal shares among all legitimate sons—and it had stayed that way ever since.
I was left with three main choices.
Die at the hands of my much older brother, renounce the secular world,
or dive into the power struggle—that Thracia-style elegant term for legalized fratricide and familial betrayal.
The answer was obvious.
At nine years old—right after a "tragic accident" recorded as such but really an attempted assassination by horseback fall—I left my family and took refuge in a monastery.
- Hermit Convent
The name alone seemed perfect for dodging disaster and hiding away.
What an idiotic idea.
Far from its name, the Hermit Convent was suspiciously obsessed with worldly affairs.
To the point of boldly meddling in the royal succession war.
And as a result, it got utterly crushed.
All because the Second Prince faction it backed got smashed by the First Prince faction.
The Second Prince, like most Thracians who failed their inheritance claims, honorably took his own life, and the Hermit Convent scattered like the rest of the Second Prince forces.
I narrowly escaped by the skin of my teeth and laicized that very day.
But my misfortune didn't end there.
Became a tenant farmer, and drought struck. Became a forest warden, and the whole forest burned down.
Shepherd, peddler, hunter, herbalist. None of them ended well.
At this point, I couldn't help but think it.
Am I just doomed to fail at everything?
Did misfortune seek me out, or did I chase after it?
Either way, one thing was clear: my luck was utter shit.
"What kind of freak wanders in here now? Born with both Great Misfortune and Great Fortune at once. Freaky. Utterly freaky."
I'd gone to a famous old fortune teller in the area out of frustration, and that's what she hit me with right away.
"A fate where misfortune and fortune balance in exquisite equilibrium. Simply put, shitty luck that never quite reaches the point of death."
In essence, bad things kept piling up, but when it hit death's door, fortune would kick in.
"Still, you're not fated for some ignoble death, so be grateful and make do. Life will be hard, but clinging to this wretched existence is something, right?"
Most ordinary folks would hear that and choose to live modestly, without grand ambitions, just as the prophecy suggested.
But I saw it differently.
"So, you're saying luck turns when it gets to the brink of death?"
Charitably, it was a shift in perspective. Otherwise, it was batshit crazy.
I acted on that crazy idea immediately.
Headed straight for a conflict zone rife with small-scale skirmishes and enlisted in the royal army.
"Oh! I really don't die?"
True to the prophecy.
On the razor's edge of death, but right when it counted, a miraculous escape would open up.
I grew even bolder, chasing the front lines.
Volunteering only for missions others deemed impossible—suicidal, even.
And I survived.
Came to, and I was decked out in merits and medals.
A little more service, retire, and live off a pension.
The end of hardship, the start of happiness.
...Like hell.
"War!"
War broke out.
Not just any war—a total war staking the kingdom's fate.
"Life, fuck."
What a clusterfuck. Again.