It was quiet.
It seemed a bit too early to be awake. My home had been a picture-perfect example
of a cheaply built house from the mid-Showa era. Back then,
even while lying in bed on the second floor, I could tell roughly what time it was just by the sounds around me.
I felt like only yesterday the cicadas had been buzzing, but before I knew it, the
season had changed to one where I wanted to burrow into my blankets for as long as possible. I stretched my
drowsiness to the absolute limit, listening to the silence outside.
There wasn’t a single sound of a car.
(It’s still early… Just once more, back into the fluffy, lukewarm depths of
sleep.)
But… wasn’t it too quiet? It felt like New Year’s morning. Wait, was that
a rooster?
A sharp cock-a-doodle-doo rang out.
(I have to get up.)
I sat up to find the usual darkness and the usual bed. Even with a sheet over it,
the straw mattress was prickly. My blankets were a grimy, matted mess, but it still took a surge of courage to
leave the warmth my body had managed to trap throughout the night. From downstairs, I could hear the muffled
voices of women and smell the sharp, woody tang of a fire being lit.
I needed to hurry, use the outhouse, and get to the well.
Larry Fee, a thirteen-year-old who still retained the soft features of childhood,
kicked off the heavy blankets.
This was the Central Continent. To its west, a chaotic swarm of Empires, Kingdoms,
and Duchies vied for dominance. In the heart of that region lay the Kingdom of Schuberitz, a nation that had
clawed its way into the ranks of the Great Powers over the last century.
Originally a small Duchy, it had expanded through a relentless campaign of
annexation. Guided by the counsel of sages, the last few generations of Kings had pushed the borders until they
hit the Horn Mountains to the south and the Norden Sea to the north. Now bordering over a dozen nations,
Schuberitz was a military juggernaut, standing toe-to-toe with the Eastern Rusis Empire and the Western Charler
Empire.
The story begins in the home of a Village Headman, located halfway along the Rock Salt Road in the Viscounty of Bizan. Young
Larry Fee was the third son of this house. In other lands, a Headman’s status was equivalent to a
Knight-Squire. With his pale skin, bronze eyes, and matching curly hair, he looked like any other boy you’d
find in the countryside.
The only thing that set him apart was a spark of magic he’d learned from his
older sister. Even then, it was barely enough to light a candle-a glorified party trick. He lacked the raw
strength to be a neighborhood leader like his second brother, and he lacked the sharp intellect of his eldest
brother who had recently passed away.
This thirteen-year-old boy would eventually become the King’s right hand and
expand the nation’s borders even further, but that was a story for much later.
Four years ago, a plague arriving from the southeast had wiped out half the
population of the Kingdom and its neighbors. In an age devoid of hygiene or medical science, the calamity had
covered the country in an instant. Rich and poor alike died in droves. It was only through techniques shared by
the Elven Kingdom to the north that the plague was finally contained, taking about a year to fully subside.
Larry’s village had been hollowed out, its population cut in half. The
farmlands had gone fallow. The world was only just beginning to recover. Yet, as the nations regained their
footing, a darker impulse began to stir. The loss of labor and resources wasn’t seen as a tragedy, but an
opportunity to seize strength from a neighbor.
Larry sat up in the room he shared with his brothers. Three sets of bunk beds lined
the walls. It used to be a cramped, rowdy space for six boys, but now only he and his brother Hans remained.
Hans hadn’t even come home last night, so Larry had the room to himself.
His three younger brothers and his eldest sister had been taken by the plague,
along with his parents. His eldest brother, who had taken over as Headman, had died in a skirmish three weeks
ago. Even the girls’ room next door was empty; his second sister had married and moved away two years prior.
From a family of eleven, only he, Hans, and their widowed sister-in-law and her two
daughters remained. Sometimes he missed the constant bickering of his little brothers, but in four years,
he’d learned to live with the silence.
(Still, what was that dream? Warm, soft bedding… I felt like a completely
different person in a different world, yet it felt familiar. Waking up to this feels wrong. Well, dreams are
just dreams.)
He fumbled in the dark for his shirt and trousers, dressing quickly before heading
for the stairs.
”Larry-bochan, you’ll trip,” warned Herta.
Larry offered a quick “Morning” as the head maid hurried past with a load
of wood. Though the sun wasn’t up, the first floor was bathed in the warm glow of Magic Lamps. Near the
large dining table, Larry caught sight of Teressa-san, his widowed sister-in-law. She sat with her bodice
loosened, nursing his infant niece. Larry averted his eyes immediately, mumbling a greeting as he bolted past
her toward the outhouse. He yanked open the door to the first stall.
”Ah-sorry!”
Nika, his sister-in-law’s personal maid, was already inside. Larry slammed the
door shut and ducked into the neighboring stall.
”Honestly! Ever heard of knocking?” Nika snapped through the thin wooden
partition.
Larry stammered an apology. Nika grumbled something he couldn’t catch, and when
she finished, she stepped out, holding a Magic Lamp high. She stood in front of Larry’s stall with a smirk.
”Not much to look at yet, is there?” she mocked, then slammed the door as
she left.
(What is her problem?)
After finishing, Larry headed to the courtyard. In the pre-dawn chill, the
menservants were gathered around the central well. Larry joined them and began brushing his teeth.
”Morning. Looks like Hans-bochan didn’t bother showing his face
again,” Nico remarked. Larry could only respond with a bitter shrug through a mouthful of foam.
”And here I thought he’d finally grow up and take the mantle,” Egil
said. “But after the way he barked at the Patron Klaus at the funeral… I’m thinking you’re the
one who’s going to end up as Headman, Larry.”
Even as a kid, Larry knew it wasn’t that simple. His eldest brother had died
without a male heir, so Hans was the natural successor. But Hans was a disaster, and he was loathed by their
uncle, Lord Klaus-the family’s political protector. Hans had always been trouble.
At thirteen, he’d been hauled off by guards for a brawl in Obernbach. Last
year, the headman of a neighboring village had come to their door fuming because Hans had allegedly forced
himself on a girl. They called him the Mad Dog of Strock Village, and for good reason. Then, at the funeral,
he’d had the gall to scream insults at Uncle Klaus in front of everyone.
Hans didn’t even want the job. He’d told Larry he planned to take his band
of local thugs and join a pioneer squad on the frontier. But that didn’t mean the title would just fall to
Larry. The Headman was responsible for taxes, records, and the village’s only licensed money-lending
business. If a kid like Larry took over, the adults would eat him alive. Most likely, Larry’s niece would
eventually be wed to a capable man who would take the name and the title.
”Larry-bochan, don’t look so grim,” Nico said, changing the subject.
“Did you hear? The Dvoraks across the river lost a sheep to a goblin last night.”
Larry blinked. “This early in the year?”
Usually, the monsters didn’t come down from the mountains until the first
snows. The men, glad for a distraction, immediately launched into a debate about the best way to kill a goblin
or how to fetch a high price for the ears.
”Alright, that’s enough jawing!” Egil barked. “We’ve got
three fields at Yokonose to turn today. Move it!”
The men headed for the tool shed. Larry’s morning was just beginning. His job
was to haul water from the well to the kitchen. Since they were brewing ale today, he’d be making at least
eight trips with the heavy shoulder-yoke. By the time he finished, the end-of-October sun would finally be
breaking over the horizon.
Summary:
Larry wakes up in a fantasy world with memories of modern Japan. He navigates a
household diminished by a plague and military conflict, realizing he is now a third son in a declining rural
leadership family. The chapter sets up the political tension regarding who will inherit the role of village
headman after his eldest brother’s death.
Trivia:
- Larry’s family used to have eleven members, now only five are left in the
main house.
- The ‘Mad Dog’ Hans is technically the heir but is politically sabotaged
by his own behavior and his uncle’s distaste.
- Goblins appearing in October is unnaturally early, suggesting a shift in the
local ecosystem or mountain conditions.
- Larry’s magic is currently limited to fire starting, which he considers a
party trick
Character Insight:
Larry shows a stoic acceptance of his lot, likely due to his ‘Showa’ soul
being older and more grounded than his thirteen-year-old body suggests. Hans is already established as a chaotic
element who rejects responsibility.
Lore And Worldbuilding Context:
The author uses the ‘mid-Showa house’ comparison to contrast the safety of
modern civilization with the ‘dirt and straw’ reality of the new world.
Glossary:
1 ↩ Showa era: The period of Japanese history corresponding to
the reign of Emperor Shōwa (1926–1989). Mid-Showa often refers to the post-war economic miracle era.
2 ↩ Headman (Meishu): A local administrative official in
Japanese history who managed village affairs, taxes, and registers.