Seven Years Old
"Huff... huff..."
The open field behind the manor. Tucked between dense trees and thick bushes, it was impressively flat and barren—not a single weed in sight, clearly well-maintained.
Now seven years old and starting my knight training, I was running for dear life in front of a fully armored knight.
"Don't slow down! You've got five laps left!"
My father, Lord Knight Balorn Bayfort, and my instructor, Sir Roland Ashford—one of the two Minor Knights under his command—were overseeing my lessons.
The knight training had begun the moment I turned seven, and half a year had already passed. So far, all we'd done was strap on a long wooden sword and run like idiots, but the results were miraculous.
At first, sprinting ten laps around this field—about the size of an elementary school playground—had felt impossible, like I was going to die. But now, after six months, I could handle fifty laps without breaking a sweat.
This is a fantasy world, alright...
Endless days of what felt like abuse, yet my body had adapted without any issues, just pure performance gains. Of course, if I hadn't practiced circulating the mana inside me—the official name for that energy I'd discovered at age four—before training started, I never could have kept up.
No matter how exhausted I got mid-run, gritting my teeth and channeling mana through my legs once or twice gave me the strength for another lap, out of nowhere.
About two months in, Sir Roland had suddenly shouted, "Young master, you're a natural!" and burst into mad laughter. Otherwise, I might've thought this insane intensity was standard knight training.
He'd been pushing my limits on purpose, but I kept exceeding them. Must've blown his mind.
"Last one! Good work."
With the daily quota done, it was time for a break.
"You've improved so much in such a short time! I think you're ready for the next step."
Sir Roland approached, chatting about what came next. Looked like I'd cleared the first hurdle.
"You've still got energy left after runs, so starting tomorrow, we'll add sword training right after—every day."
"Oh, finally learning the sword?"
"Haha! Eager, huh? But... it's not quite what you think."
"Uh... now I'm getting anxious."
"Hahaha! That's all for today!"
Seeing his cheerful grin reminded me of half a year ago. He'd had the exact same look before we started running...
I wiped my sweat with a sour expression, gave a half-hearted bow, and headed back to the manor.
The manor's bathroom already had warm water ready. This modest space—about the size of a modern apartment bathroom—held just a single wooden tub big enough for an adult to soak comfortably.
The tub and buckets beside it were like halved oak wine barrels: wooden staves bound with iron hoops, with iron handles on the buckets like old-school pails from my past life.
A few months of post-training baths, and the servants now prepared everything without prompting: fresh clothes and two buckets of hot water.
Since training wrapped up just before noon meal, they probably boiled it alongside lunch in the kitchen.
I used one bucket to wipe down with a cloth, the other for washing my face and hair. The goal was just to rinse off sweat, so I kept it quick and headed to my room.
Knock knock.
"Young master, lunch is ready."
"Come in."
A servant arrived soon after with the meal. I sat at the table, and they set it out on a wooden tray with silver-plated utensils.
Lize used to teach table manners during meals, but after mastering them post-reincarnation awareness—and turning seven, freeing her from childcare—I ate alone now.
First course: white bread and potage. The thick soup, simmered with meat, grains, and veggies, had a bit of a gamey smell but was the tastiest thing I'd eaten in this world.
With few domesticated livestock, meat came from wild game—usually tough and funky. No modern preprocessing like in my past life, so quality varied wildly by cook.
Luckily, our manor's chef was decent; aside from a few misses, it rivaled my old world's grub.
I scraped the bowl clean with torn bread. Then came the second course: steak and diluted wine in a ceramic goblet. Deer meat, by the look.
One bite, and my mouth filled with a musky stench—like venison broth with a drop of musk perfume.
Urk...
Musk. The potage's veggies and long simmer masked it as mere gaminess, but this quick-grilled steak hit hard. And tough to boot...
Not inedible without the smell, but nothing I'd crave. Still, protein was protein—I gritted my teeth and powered through the steak first.
Wine for palate-cleansing after. Anyone hearing might yell, "Wine for a seven-year-old?!" But diluted, it was just bland grape-water.
Lize had mentioned well water causes tummy aches—water quality issues meant even kids drank booze lite.
Steak demolished. Dessert arrived: cheese with raisins? Salty cheese and sweet dried grapes—a perfect sweet-salty combo.
The sun-dried raisins were less sugary than my past life; the cheese, brined with milk additives, was saltier. Still, beats nothing.
"Done. Clear it."
Post-meal, I called the waiting servant to tidy up.
The temple bell would ring noon soon, then afternoon three hours later, evening three after that.
Noon meant lunch over; afternoon bell meant lessons with Priest Ben at the temple.
So, free time until then!
I bolted to the manor's library.
No computers or internet—leisure options were slim. Training? Done this morning; more without rest would wreck me.
Naps after eating? Nah. Chess with servants? Boring.
Books it was. Lucky Lize had certified me unteachable pre-seven, earning Mother's library access. Otherwise, it'd be literacy drills with her.
Click.
Library door open. Much like Priest Ben's office: two wall-filling bookshelves, a round reception table. Minus the paperwork pile by the window.
About 40-ish books—slightly more than Ben's. Leather pages meant thick but few pages; a past-life 1000-pager equated to 200 here. No intimidation needed.
Expensive paper meant tiny, dense, hand-written fonts—uneven but info-light per book.
One left, huh.
Over a year of visits, I'd devoured nearly everything. Kid schedule + few books helped, plus all in common tongue by neat scribes—easy reads.
The locked chest held sensitive tomes; even as Father's son, risking decapitation? Pass.
That left the thickest: Beginner Magic Grimoire.
First thing I cracked upon access, but too many unknowns—abandoned it.
Two hand-spans thick—eyeballing 30cm, a massive beast. Laid flat, it looked like a leather box. Enchanted binding? Sturdy as hell, pages opened fully without damage.
Why in a knight family's library? No clue. But adults lose parental protection eventually—learn what you can now.
Vocabulary boosted from other books; time to tackle it.
I opened the Beginner Magic Grimoire's first page.