Status Window
“Status Window.”
Ian Raven
You are nothing.
The status window was straight-up mocking Ian.
Ian is nothing. Poor, utterly insignificant Ian. If he had to pick a title for himself, it'd be "Ian, son of the farmer Ian." In this medieval fantasy world, a farmer's son was just that—nothing.
The status window wasn't wrong. It was the type that "never lied."
Ian, son of a farmer, was the only kid in the village with black hair. His mom had bright yellow locks. His dad was flaming redheaded. But Ian's hair was ink-black.
As a kid, his parents had fought endlessly over it.
"Be honest! Whose kid is this?!"
"Yours, who else's would it be?!"
"Don't give me that crap, you loose woman!"
"Is that how you talk to your wife?!"
Blah blah blah. The name Ian Raven had stuck largely because of that black hair.
Naming conventions around here were dead simple. First, the given name—parents slapped on whatever they fancied. Dogshit becomes Dogshit, Cowpat becomes Cowpat. Ian was just some simple name his folks liked. Then tack on the father's name at the end. Like those Russian "patronymics." Ian's dad's name? Ian. So Ian, son of Ian, makes Ian Ian. Spelled out: "Ian, son of Ian."
For the record, Grandpa was also Ian. Some families crammed grandpa in too, so Ian Ian Ian could've been his full name. But no one was calling him that—it'd drive you insane. People naturally drop repeats. So his full name boiled down to just Ian. Technically Ian III, maybe. The villagers called them Big Ian and Little Ian. Grandpa Ian? Best not to dwell on the dead.
Usually that's where it ended, but special cases got nicknames. Ian, with his raven-black hair so unlike everyone else's, got dubbed "Big Raven Ian."
"Haha! Look, the raven chick's passing by!"
"Ian washes his hair in ink every night~"
Ian clicked his tongue at the jeering village kids. What a bunch of rude little shits.
He might've snapped if they were his age, but their pure malice just struck him as pathetic. Ian was a reincarnator. From quiet Morning Calm Land—old Joseon, that is.
Debates on the afterlife are pointless. To confirm it exists, you gotta die first. And once you're dead, no talking. Even in a modern world where mysteries have lost their shine, death stays untouchable.
But not for reincarnator Ian. The afterlife exists. He couldn't vouch for everyone, but it sure applied to him.
Gwak Jaehan. Ian wrote his past-life name in the dirt, then erased it.
He knew keeping past-life memories on rebirth was rare. Hell, reincarnation itself was weird enough.
Ian ran a hand through his jet-black hair. Same color as back in Korea. Maybe his hair had reincarnated too, memories and all. So was his real self the hair, not the head? By that logic, bald guys... uh. Nah, stopping there. Mocking baldies as "soulless" was too cruel. They were just short a handful of follicles.
Anyway, Ian the Raven had been born the son of a farmer in the backwater Colbrunn region.
Like most imperial peasants, his family was dirt poor. Poor meaning you busted your ass daily but still skipped meals now and then.
Born third of four kids, Ian starved almost every day. Unlike Korea's kid-first love-fests, here adults ate before children—it was just how things were.
Problem: Two adults and four kids starving. Food for four portions only. Who eats?
Imperial answer: The two adults, first, and second. They needed calories for labor. No work, no food for anyone—whole family starves.
Firstborn was fifteen—teenager by modern standards. Built like an adult, strong as hell. With second, they could handle a man's workload.
But third and fourth? Kids. No work, small appetites. Skip meals. If really hungry, catch grasshoppers in the bushes or whatever.
So Ian's routine: Wake early, family breakfast. Parents get the lion's share; Ian and baby sis split a small bread roll. Rationed till lunch. Parents and bros head to fields; Ian minds sis and hits the woods. Forage all day: berries, bugs, bird eggs, greens. Home at dark. Lucky? Dinner together. Nah? Bed. Repeat at dawn.
Young as he was, Ian knew his lot was horrific. Scrounging food from dawn to dusk? Kid or wild animal?
Education? Woods were school, beasts the teachers. Savage survival skills. Aging without real learning. Sure, soon he'd slave in the millet fields with parents.
Hardship itself? Fine. Nothing free in life. Even "easy" crypto crashes hard.
Issue: Grind like hell, get jack shit. No income. Classic peasant problem.
Actually, Ian's folks weren't free farmers—they were serfs. Serfs worked land too, but tied to the estate.
Upside: Knight protection behind sturdy walls. No random bandit raids or monster snacks like freeholders.
Downside: Feudal bonds. Protection for obedience. No leaving without leave, tithes, labor, militia duty.
Parents serfs? Ian serf too.
Not all farmers equal. Wealthier ones saved for arms and armor—prime for armored infantry drafts, treated well.
Ian's folks? Rock-bottom dirt-poor tenant farmers. Borrowed lord's land, debt piled from bad harvests. Endless toil, empty hands, debtor's life.
Sick? Die and get buried. Lowly peasant fate. Parents' life, Ian's future.
Ian couldn't leave. Parental debts passed to kids.
No other jobs sans education. Learn what, how?
"What sin did I commit in my past life..."
Ian sighed like the ground might cave in. Dying young? Sin enough.
Watching sis gnaw soot-smeared roasted fish twisted his gut more. Lucky her—no thoughts, head empty.
"Bro, you not eating this?"
"I will, don't touch it."
Sis wolfed her share demon-fast, eyeing his. Looked like a starved beggar kid. Hell, minus the house, they were beggars.
Ian crunched his fish bones-first (palm-sized minnow) and pondered.
“Status Window.”
Ian Raven
You are nothing.
A translucent panel floated before his eyes. Straight out of games or novels. Proof he was a modern guy isekai'd.
Status windows were subculture mainstream now—practically screaming "you've got special powers!"
Status window but no isekai cheat? Grammar violation.
Ian was dead certain of his potential. Rebirth came with god-tier cheats.
Mental gymnastics, sure. But without it, terror of his grim future crushed him.
Cheat exists. Problem: Never actually seen it.
"If I just awaken my power...!"
Ian awakens! Awakened Ian! Lord gasps, knights bow to genius...!
Piles of food, gorge till bursting.
"Bro, if you're not eating..."
"Touch it and you're dead."
Lost in chuuni delusions, Ian finished. Two stream-caught minnows: lunch. Barely dulled hunger, but gratitude anyway.
"Bro. Dessert time?"
"Sounds good. Let's go."
Folks overlook it, but modern life quality beats medieval nobility. Tasty food, clean living, handy tools, stable homes. Fancy noble silver mirror vs. smartphone? No contest.
Modern-spoiled Ian passed sis the luxury intel: "Meals come with courses." Innocent sis soaked it up. Eat main, then dessert—obvious.
Siblings headed for wild strawberry bushes. And met a stranger.
"Oh my."
Shockingly, a woman. Solo female traveler in medieval times? Eyebrow-raising even by modern standards.
"Hi? Little ones?"
She greeted first, shaking awkwardness. Ian tensed instinctively. Lone woman wandering grimdark fantasy? No normie.
He struck a polite pose. But sis beat him.
"Who're you, aunty?"
"...Aunty?"
Ian panicked. "Aunty" to a woman was war declaration...!
Sure enough, her face control failed. Ian's vision went black!