In a remote corner of the Grecia Empire, in a small valley coddled by a mountain range, there was a village. Kirkstead it was called. Isolated from the rest of the Grecia Empire, only a thin mountain path on the northern side allowed entry.
Kirkstead’s farmlands were vast and touched even the base of the surrounding mountain ranges, yet there were only about one hundred houses that called this place home. It was an isolated community. Due to its unique geographical location, even when war swept across the world, they would remain unharmed.
For many generations, this land has been passed down.
Currently, in the south of Kirkstead, inside one particular house, a woman was screaming and wailing in pain.
“Aaah, Osevua. Nainta ookdosh Ni vie!” A [Midwife] yelled as a head popped out from the birthing woman.
After a few more moments of intense clenching and screaming, the baby smoothly fell into the hands of the [Midwife]. The umbilical cord was cut and the baby—right on time—burst into tears.
A father, two young boys and an eldest daughter were then allowed inside by the midwife. Everyone cheered as the family celebrated a successful birth. The father, a lanky man with short, swept-back hair, was simply relieved that his wife had survived the process.
Inside the undeveloped and newborn mind of that very baby, Greg could not create a single thought. He could only blankly stare at the screen in front of him.
[Reincarnation successful!]
***
Life as a baby was uneventful. For the most part, It felt like Greg was living through a blurry dream. As the months passed, the white faces of his siblings and parents became vivid and defined. His unruly body became more familiar. Reality started to become more “real” to him.
At this time, all he did was poo, cry, sleep, and eat. Unfortunately, no one would ever respond to his cries or change his diaper when he pooped his pants. It was only in the early morning or late evening when what he could call his “mother” arrived, that would his needs be tended to.
She would always look red in the face, covered in sweat, and exhausted from a hard day’s work. His two older brothers and father also looked the same way. Their clothes would all be covered in dirt once they returned back to the house.
***
A year passed.
The previously unfamiliar language was now something he was semi-fluent in—although he still couldn’t talk due to his infant body. Dressed in his small baby clothes, a tight brown rag that covered his torso and privates, he had walked outside and was amazed at the massive stretch of land that they cultivated.
They were [Farmers]. They tilled, harvested and grew a plant that looked very similar to what he knew as Earth’s “wheat” plant. It was tall and golden, except the cob at the top was purple and black. It wasn’t poisonous. Just a different colour for some reason.
Greg—or Milo as he was called now—would’ve thought he was on earth if it weren’t for how primitive their residence was. His mother, Yvette, cooked their food over the fire in their living room’s hearth. There was no electricity either. His mother and sister knitted their own clothes too. It was like he was living in medieval Europe.
And so every night, other than his mother’s breast milk, he would eat a serving of porridge, some vegetables from their garden, and a side of fish his sister managed to “barter” from the fishermen using her charming smile.
As for everybody else, they would eat the same thing but with several times more portions. They all ate as much as a pig would. Fortunately, not like one. By the end of every dinner, even his petite-looking sister would have downed three plates of porridge, vegetables and fish.
Apparently, the fisherman's son had taken a fancy to her and was trying to gain her favour by giving her lower prices compared to other people. She took advantage of that. She didn’t state her opinion of the fisherman's son. Only that he was “nice and helpful”.
***
Milo knew that something had been up. For the past three years of his life, he would often notice his family spacing out, staring at thin air. They also spoke weirdly sometimes. Like they were some fantasy geeks talking about their favourite video game.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
It wasn’t just that either. They could carry things that were far too heavy for any normal person to carry. His mother could cause dust to disappear with a casual sweep of her broom. And the other day, he had even witnessed his father pick up an entire pig with only a slight grunt. He read between the lines and guessed that magic probably existed too.
By this point, he was a completely fluent three-year-old. If it weren’t for his high-pitched baby voice, a normal person would’ve thought they were talking to a grown adult. This became a point of constant praise by his family. They said he had a “naturally high intellect”. This was usually accompanied by his older brothers making weird, exaggerated sounds as they “foretold” his future as a mighty wizard.
‘One day, he will also slay dragons and then with his wizard money, we’ll all be able to live in a gigantic, gold-plated mansion with a thousand servants,’ his second oldest brother, Byrn, had said.
And so, after a lot of deliberation, hesitation, and asking himself whether he was simply crazy and imagining it all, he popped the question at the end of dinner.
“Mom, why does everyone stare out into space and talk about [Class] and [Level] stuff sometimes?”
Only the light from the dying fire of the hearth lit the room and its small interior. The living room had only enough space for a humble kitchen, hearth, a small cabinet to place their shoes, and a table for six—which was soon to be seven as his mother was six months pregnant.
Rubbing her belly, his mother dragged a strand of blonde hair out of her face and explained to her strangely intelligent three-year-old son, “That’s because it affects our everyday life! When you turn ten, the Gods will initiate you. When that time comes, you can become anything you want! A [Mage], [Dragon Knight], or a [Hero]. Anything is possible, my dear Milo.”
Milo on the outside gave an 'ooo' of amazement. But on the inside, he was startled.
Is God playing with me right now? Did he make an entire world like a freaking Video Game?
Out of curiosity, he asked, “What level are you, Mom?”
He had heard everyone talking about their levels the most. Whenever anybody “levelled up”, they would let out a big cheer and celebrate that night with extra food and meat for all.
Mom grinned and said proudly, “Level 17. And once I hit level 25 and rank up into [Lady of the Farm], then I can gain a trait that will make me look as young as thirty for the rest of my life!!”
She then rolled up her sleeve and popped a bicep that wouldn’t lose out to a seasoned gym-goer. Milo gulped.
Everyone broke into a bout of laughter hearing their mother. After that, everyone else stated their levels, Milo’s curiosity becoming an outlet of pride for his family.
His Father, George, was a Level 30 [Eesht Farmer], a higher-tiered and specialised version of the 1st-tier class [Farmer]. There were tiers to one’s [Class], and every increment of 25 levels saw one’s [Class] rank up into a higher tier with more power, versatility, and status. However, with each level, the next one would become increasingly difficult to reach. The difference between levels 49 and 50 would be enough to bring someone from Level 1 to 7 in one go.
While [Soldiers] and [Adventurers] gained experience from killing and looting, they gained experience from farming. Compared to the former, the latter was a long and gruelling process with a very low rate of return. One could go months and years without levelling up. The highest-level person in their village was an old man called Og. He was Level 43 [Eesht Farmer] and had been farming his entire life ever since he was a young boy. They say old man Og can match the work of three men all by himself.
Apparently, there were only a few 3rd tier farmers. They worked for royalty and the most powerful nobility—like Dukes and Earls. 4th tier farmers didn’t exist. At least there weren’t any right now. The 3rd tier farmers were so powerful that their crops were twice as energy-dense, grew thrice as fast, and their lands were blessed by the weather. And if the rest of the Empire of Grecia experienced a famine, the royalty and nobility had made sure they themselves would never starve.
His two older brothers, John and Byrn, were both 1st tier [Farmers] in their early twenties while his eldest sister, Lisa, was a Level 18 [Seamstress]. The only reason she was able to barter for the fish in the first place was because of the clothing she created.
As Milo went to bed that night, he contemplated on what he had heard, wondering how much he could level up, and what class he would get in the future.
***
As a four-year-old boy, Milo completed his chores with frightening dexterity and agility. Although uninitiated by the system, he could feel [Workaholic (1)] working in the background. The bucket of water that he carried on his back was far lighter than it should have been, and he was so well-balanced that he had never once spilled a drop of water. It was only after seeing with how much ease he carried it that the other people at the well had let him be. They had asked if he had classed already—but he denied it, saying that he was just naturally strong. Fortunately, they believed him.
Ever since Milo had turned three and taken the initiative to help out his family, he began doing miscellaneous chores—chores that his eldest sister had been stuck doing her entire life. This freed up time for her to spend the majority of her day knitting and cutting cloth, instead of carrying water, tending to the garden, cutting wood, and everything else trivial and minor.
Milo worked so well in fact that despite his young body, he was only about an hour slower than his fully grown, nineteen-year-old sister. She was getting married to the fisherman’s son in four months so these responsibilities were going to eventually be pushed onto him anyway. He didn’t know how that lanky, dorky-looking guy did it, but Thor had charmed his sister like a Prince in a love story. She just wouldn’t stop talking about him at dinner!
In his free time, Milo would learn to knit from Lisa. Though he wasn’t planning to become a [Seamstress] like his sister, just being able to pursue some type of hobby was the most delightful and enjoyable thing to him! His sister, on the other hand, grew strangely concerned. Did her little brother in fact enjoy her own class work more than she did?
Despite her ruthless criticism of his work every other second, the boy never budged.
When Milo’s enthusiasm had yet to fade after multiple months of work with her, she had to begrudgingly admit the truth. He did in fact enjoy knitting more than she did.
***
Another year later, Milo cried tears of happiness as he saw the rising sun.
He was free!
His brain had finally developed enough for him to have profound, intelligent thoughts. His consciousness began to coordinate with itself and the impact of living a free life, away from the mafia and its troubles, caused him to feel a multitude of feelings he had never felt before.
Happiness. Gratitude. Love.
He had hammered this fact into himself so many times over the past few months, but every time it would always hit as hard. He was safe from the mafia. He was safe from debt. He was safe from all the beatings. He was safe from his boss. He was safe from work. He could relax and just live life. Sure, he didn’t have any modern technology.
The family in this life wasn’t what he was used to, but they had grown on him. The only ambition in his past life had been to live freely. And now he could!
Now that this ambition was fulfilled, he just lived day by day, succulently enjoying what he had. Every moment, every smile, all his hard work, the satisfaction of contributing to his family’s efforts. The sun on his skin. The blowing wind. The beautiful view of a golden ocean of Eesht.
He was completely and utterly satisfied with life.
Furthermore, Kirkstead was located in a remote valley, basically completely separate from the rest of the Grecia Empire. For the last few centuries, these lands have remained completely untouched. And they would continue to remain peaceful and beautiful and flourish into the next age.
Oh…how wrong Milo had been.