Errand Boy Luin
He slung his longsword over his shoulder and descended the slope path into the village.
After finishing his morning routine, he always returned to the village for a meal. To build up his body, he needed meat, and that meant tapping into the frozen ingredients stored away.
"Malton, could you grab my meat for me?"
"...You leave it here every damn day."
The fruit merchant Malton grumbled but opened the freezer anyway, pulling out a bundle of meat wrapped in leaves and handing it over.
"I handle all your odd jobs without a peep, though."
"Tch, making money off me and still bragging about it."
As Malton said, he was scraping by as an errand boy in this small northern village on the continent. At his age, he had no choice but to seek out work on his own two feet if he wanted to earn a living.
Of course, he had no intention of making errand boy his lifelong trade. It was just a side gig with an expiration date.
"You'd miss me if I wasn't around. Don't be so stingy."
"Ahem... Who said that?"
Malton cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly hit where it hurt. The folks of Rakselv Village were generally good-hearted like that.
On the way home with his meat, all sorts of requests stopped him in his tracks as usual.
"Thanks to you chasing off those wolves, I can finally sleep with my legs stretched out! Here, take plenty."
"Luin, come try this on. It's thanks for finding our house's lost Molto last time."
"Oh, Luin! Just like you said, filling the middle of the stream with crushed stone cleared right up the water. How'd you even think of something so clever...?"
From chicken farmer Uncle Davis, he got eggs and wheat. The newlywed clothing merchant Fedora and her husband gifted him a few outfits. Village elder Ma Kai O, who managed the stream and well, handed over tomatoes and bread. Before he knew it, his arms were piled mountain-high with gifts, blocking his view.
Damn, from one to ten, these people were overflowing with affection.
"Already thirteen years, huh."
His words carried layers of meaning.
Thirteen years living here as Luin. Or thirteen years since Kim Jaehan from Korea had reincarnated into this otherworld.
When memories of his past life surfaced, confusion was inevitable.
A message had planted itself in a corner of his mind, laying out a clear directive.
Save the
World
The text was a bit garbled... but he got the gist.
Still, a massive obstacle stood in his way, one that made achieving that goal impossible.
For instance, adventurer guilds ranked people by skill level.
His own realm was pathetically low, barely worth mentioning.
Even after picking up a sword at the ripe age of nine, all he'd managed was Lowest realm.
One might argue it was too early to judge talent, but if no promise showed by age ten, how the hell was he supposed to save the world?
If the god who reincarnated him here existed, they'd seriously fucked up.
"God, we're screwed, huh?"
That said, he hadn't completely given up.
He'd been training relentlessly, all with the goal of heading to the capital someday.
Call it his talent scouting plan.
"Save the world" implied some unprecedented calamity was coming.
Since he couldn't stop it himself, he'd find and raise the heroes who could.
The capital would be crawling with top-tier talents.
If he befriended those heroes and stuck by their side, his own lifeline could extend too.
A calculation that benefited him alone, obviously?
To make it happen, he had to grind through his packed schedule today as always.
"Better get home quick."
He hugged his towering pile of gifts and hurried his steps.
⁕ ⁕ ⁕
Luin's daily routine was simple.
Up before the roosters crowed, helping field workers with their chores, then breakfast followed by odd jobs for village merchants.
Snatched moments for training—every grueling drill under the sun—paired with balanced protein and nutrients.
Afternoons dedicated to swordplay.
He'd supplemented his sword knowledge by skimming the village's assorted martial arts manuals.
Luin hadn't just absorbed continental basics from tattered old books; he'd crammed every scrap of info he could gather.
No YouTube or Google here, so trial-and-error it was.
"Neck twist, arm bend..."
Luin dropped his sword.
The leather-wrapped hilt was fraying, the rusted blade one wrong swing from snapping.
He licked his dry lips and gulped from his waterskin.
Thirst lingered, unrelenting.
"Not like I've used it that much."
All skills ran on mana.
Low-realm users burned through it just manifesting one—natural order.
But his was the bottom-tier skill, barely a sip. And while he called himself talentless, his total mana pool was decent.
'Doesn't matter when the output's trash.'
Mana capacity was like memorizing math formulas—innate. Manifesting was applying them—acquired skill.
Knowing formulas but not using them? Useless.
Luin gripped his longsword again.
Low stance, sword raised to head height, tip upright. A faint blue aura cloaked the white blade.
Mana Blade.
Fruits of three-odd years' labor.
Skills ranged realms one through seven; Mana Blade squatted at the lowest: 1st realm.
Mediocre power, risky close range... Too half-assed for real fights, it was dismissed as Sword Dance instead of proper sword aura.
But it was all Luin had.
"Even shit's medicine in a pinch."
Keep grinding, maybe it'd gain a smidge of practicality?
Clinging to that hope, he slashed diagonally.
Shring!
Mana-clad edge cleaved air. Luin licked his upper lip, face sour.
"...Still lukewarm."
He sheathed the sword and pushed deeper into the forest than usual.
Today's schedule had extras. Once a week, he visited a spot.
"Gonna impose on you again today?"
Half a year back, he'd found a dragon's corpse in a cave near the village.
Skeleton, really.
Didn't matter why a mythical dragon's remains were here; Luin had a use for it.
Perfect test dummy.
Goal: shatter the skeleton, then set off on his journey.
Motivation made humans strive.
Mid-checks did make his hands itch.
"This time, I'll smash it."
Pouring every ounce of power, he channeled mana into the blade. Blue flames devoured the steel.
Flash!
Thrust at the dragon bone—crisp clang, blue sparks flew.
But the bone didn't yield a scratch, mocking the fanfare.
Luin collapsed face-first, groaning low.
"Agh, this is hopeless!"
His sword fared worse, wailing hollow before snapping in two.
"You served well, Caliburn..."
Short eulogy, but regrets lingered. Good swords were rare in this backwater.
Ores like steel barely circulated; no skilled smiths anyway.
Best they could forge were farm tools.
Luin lamented his axe-chopping fate.
'What am I, a lumberjack?'
Saying it aloud felt pathetic; he shook his head.
Too long in the sticks—mind going weird?
"Sleep first, deal later..."
A good nap, and things might roll.
Luin closed his eyes, soothed by the cave's chill draft.
The cave fell into submarine silence as the boy slept.
Then—a sharp crack shattered the quiet.
Cra-eack!
Eight centuries ago, in the Anti-Demon War, the legendary dragon Bryunak drew its final breath.
Peak of dragons, impervious to all physical damage.
Just now, the boy's strike had cracked the towering horn.