The Gaelius Mountains, where I’d been born and raised after my reincarnation, were a stretch of unwelcoming, infertile land. The monsters that prowled these highlands were ranked C to B, although monsters up to S could be found deeper in the mountains.
While it was nowhere near as dangerous as, say, the deadly edgelands talked about in hushed whispers and called “the End of the World” or some nonsense, it was still a difficult zone among the beginner areas.
In Golden Dawn, the Gaelius Mountains was one of the least popular zones, simply because it was barren and desolate there. The dreary mountain face continued on practically forever, and no decent vegetation could be found for miles. In other words, there was almost nothing I could use for crafting. None of the gathering points here produced any significant amount of ore. No SSS-ranked materials (like orichalcum) could be found here either.
Even the monsters were of middling rank. If your goal was to level up, players typically left the central starter areas, also known as the Central Nations, to farm experience points in remote zones. But, of course, all that information was just my knowledge of the game from my past life.
In this new world, the Gaelius Mountains were known as a monster-infested place of death. And I had hailed from those hostile lands. Maybe that was why I began my new military life as the leader of a platoon.
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“The reason you were selected to be a platoon leader? That’s simple—it’s because you can read.”
“I knew it.”
Two weeks had passed since I had left home. With my heart still buoyed by the prospect of sightseeing on this trip, I had finally arrived at the rendezvous point—the camp in the mercantile town of Ruicerl. There, my excitement had been swiftly shattered.
I would basically be a gofer for the army’s service corps.
The service corps was apparently the branch that handled tasks like managing supplies and transport at the rear of the main forces. Logistics, essentially. Since they were busy with preparations for the conscripted farmers pouring into Ruicerl one after another, the army couldn’t keep up with the paperwork.
There were only so many knights and soldiers that could be spared. They needed assistance, so anyone who seemed reasonably able to help with clerical work was pulled from the conscripts.
I wasn’t a special case. Everyone in this room was a merchant, a school teacher, or similar. My hair was an odd color compared to the others, but I stood out for other reasons. Between my ragged clothing and long, scruffy hair, everything about me screamed “barbarian”—and one who had freshly come down from the mountains at that. I had thought about buying a new set of clothes and getting a haircut before deployment, but before I had been able to do any of that, I had been pulled aside.
It’d happened when I’d been at the counter handing out provisions for soldiers. They had seemed to be in dire need of assistance where bookkeeping was concerned, so I had offered to help straighten it out. While I had been doing that, I’d happened to catch the eye of the lord knight in charge of the service corps—the very group I was now serving.
Blond and blue-eyed, this man was the young lordling of some noble house. I’d heard some of the junior officers calling him “Leto,” but I hadn’t managed to catch the name of his house.
His speech was genteel, having the clear markings of an excellent upbringing, and he was friendly and affable even toward commoners. Because of that, all the people who’d ended up in the service corps were doing their utmost to repay his kindness.
Work had finally begun to settle down, at least enough to afford a moment for some light chatter...and for some reason, his conversation partner of choice was me.
“Personnel who can read and write are valuable,” Leto explained to me. “I heavily respect the drive to learn, as well as the personal and cultural refinement that comes with being a learned individual.”
I couldn’t think of a decent response to that.
To tell the truth, I had deliberately pretended to be illiterate back home. The reason had been simple—had people known, they would’ve pushed all sorts of random jobs on my plate.
The ability to read and write was rare among ordinary farmers because they wouldn’t have received the education to do so. I hadn’t wanted anyone to expect anything of me, so the only people who’d known I was literate had been my close family. Considering where I had ended up the very second the cat had gotten out of the bag, it looked like my decision to hide it all this time had been correct.
When asked how I had learned my glyphs out in the middle of nowhere, I’d explained it away as having been taught by my grandmother. I hadn’t let on to the fact that I was a transmigrator yet, and honestly, I didn’t think I ever would. I’d be happy enough to be a mere craftsman of middling ability. Besides, if it were to come to light and the reaction I got was along the lines of “Wow, you’re not much for a transmigrator,” I’m pretty sure I’d get annoyed.
Leto smiled gently at me. “You can also handle elementary arithmetic in your head. If you were a regular serviceman instead of a conscript, I’d poach you for my own unit in a heartbeat,” he remarked before shaking his head. “But if I did that, then I suppose we’d be short a person to unify the conscripts from Gaelius.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure there must be plenty of people who are stronger than me and better qualified to be a leader too.”
“Capable people who have the acuity to think and act independently are bound to get promoted anyway. I personally selected you for platoon leader, so do your best and don’t die out there. I hope you’ll continue serving even after the war ends,” Leto said, pausing hesitantly. “I don’t suppose you have anyone waiting for you back home, do you?”
The question curiously came off like he’d gotten his hopes up. But—and I know it was a little silly for me to point this out—I was just a peasant farmer. Did that mean this world wasn’t so particular about socioeconomic hierarchies? Or maybe Leto was just a really nice guy. It was probably the latter.
I was impressed that he had the heart to be considerate of the families people had left behind. Countryside peasants who traveled to the city for work ordinarily went unaccompanied, and the people they left behind might wait years upon years for their return. In the end, plenty of people never came back...just like my fiancée.
“Both of my parents passed away when I was young, and my grandparents recently did as well. I don’t have any blood relatives left, but thank you for your concern,” I replied.
That elicited a response not from Leto, but from someone else entirely.
“Kariya, I’m pretty sure Leto was asking whether you had someone you were considering settling down with.”
That comment had come from a guy who’d told me he ran an inn at our first meeting. Butting into our conversation, he was shaking with mirth.
“Yeah, is there anyone in your village you’ve got your eye on?”
“Or maybe he’s asking whether you’re lonely at night.”
I was peppered with quips from the already-married peanut gallery.
A stable life presented the opportunity for study. It also made it easier to snag a wife. So, that being the case, the only people in this room who were still unwed bachelors were me, a poverty-stricken farmer, and his lordship himself.
Our stations in life were just too different. But instead of voicing my objection, I went along with their friendly ribbing. “There aren’t many women in my village, so having a partner is rarer than not. Besides, there’s a brothel in the village at the foot of the mountains, so everyone just goes there to get their fix,” I said.
“Did you go with ’em?”
“Not at all; I don’t have the money,” I replied. “But it’s not like I was alone, even though the house was empty once my grandparents passed away—I slept with my goats at night.”
Dead silence.
No one said a word. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.
Engulfed by an uncomfortable amount of laser-pointed stares that made me want to bolt, I confusedly turned my words over in my mind. Were they bothered by how unsanitary it was to sleep around livestock? I did use a deodorant I had crafted myself to remove the animal smell...
I tried to fill the silence. “It gets cold at night in the mountains, and I didn’t want them to freeze to death in the goat pen, so I let them into the house...” I said, trailing off.
Still no response.
Wait a second, I think I got it...
“Just to be clear, I didn’t have sex with my goats, okay?”
“O-Oh yeah,” one of them said, finally breaking their silence. “I’d never do it myself, but a guy I know said it felt pretty good, so I was just wondering...”
“Yeah,” another said. “Apparently, goats are a pretty good lay.”
Do people here engage in bestiality? I used to be a Japanese man, and that was something that had never crossed my mind, not even for a second. I guess it’s possible...but there’s zero chance I’d ever try it.