Status...


Name:
Peter
Race:
Human


Class:
None




Title:
Trailblazer: Skills, Skill Creator
Age:
5


Health:
50
Mana:
2780


Stats...


Constitution:
5
Spirit:
278


Strength:
5
Agility:
5


Intelligence:
2




Luck:
18
Charisma:
35


Skills:
IDE, Status Camouflage, Mana Sense Lv. 4



 
Looking at his status, Peter sighed, disappointed at his slow progress. His scrutinising eyes slowly scanned the transparent screen from top to bottom and stilled at Intelligence. That 2 in front of his Intelligence stat almost seemed to mock him.
With another sigh, he shook his head and dressed in the new clothes his mother had given him. A light blue full-sleeved shirt and black pants. The shirt complemented his oceanic blue eyes, making him look good despite the medieval design of the clothing.
It was just before evening, and the village was preparing to celebrate the harvest festival. Preparations had been ongoing since morning, though neither of his parents had been involved in the physical labour.
His father had his duties, and all the guards were exempt from festival preparations. His mother, on the other hand, had already been helping for days, managing the ledgers to categorise the harvest. Lots of paperwork that she was willing to do after Elder Minerva’s health worsened.
As for Peter? According to the adults, he was too small to be trusted with real work. He did offer himself in good faith, only to hear light-hearted rejections. Not that he was complaining, it just meant less work for him. He toned down his silly pranks, not to disturb the hard-working adults.
…
Walking alongside his mother, Peter made his way toward the village gates, noting the lack of crops swaying in the winds on both sides of their path. Both dressed in new clothes, Mariah had bought from a travelling merchant during his last visit.
Harvest festival was a special occasion, one of the only festivals that villagers celebrated every year. Opening up their money pouch for a little bit of spending was allowed. They were not lacking in money, with both Mariah and Joseph earning a lot from their services to the village.
Villagers respected them both, causing their household to never buy stuff available in the village. Whenever Joseph returned from his patrolling job, he would have his hands filled with hunted prey or grown crops.
That meant they only spent money during periodic merchant visits. Mostly on city goods and spices.
It didn’t take them long to reach the gates, finding the same old duo of guards stationed on duty.
“Looks like Mama’s boy is here too,” the old guard at the gate smirked, noticing their approaching figures, dressed in nice clothes.
Peter scoffed, not a bit offended by the form of address. “Heh. If you think I’d be ashamed of that, you’re dead wrong, old man.”
The guard shook his head. “You’re too mature for your age. Half of them would have been red as a tomato, either from embarrassment or anger."
“Nah, most kids my age are just bad at comebacks.” Peter waved a hand dismissively. “Sounds like a skill issue to me. Get good.”Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
The old guard let out a gruff laugh. “Brat.”
“See you at the festival, old man.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Neither the other guard nor Mariah paid them any mind. They were too used to this. Their bickering session was a common occurrence.
Moving past the giant wooden gates, Peter and Mariah made their way toward the village centre, taking close to a dozen minutes to reach it. They walked passed plenty of households and various shops.
At the heart of the village, a wide-open ground had been set up for the festival. By nightfall, the villagers would gather to burn dried crop waste in a towering bonfire. The same was likely taking place in all the nearby villages around this time.
To the south, rows of long wooden tables were lined up, ready for the communal feast. The villagers had all pitched in, with livestock, fruits, vegetables, and flour. Everyone shared what they could. Those who couldn’t offer anything material offered skilled services.
Those with high Cooking Skills were busy preparing meals, expertly turning the gathered ingredients into a mouth-watering feast. Peter watched them work tirelessly, a familiar itch tugging at him. He wanted to join in.
Back in his old world, he had lived alone during his university years, long enough to learn how to cook properly. He knew dishes no one here had ever seen before.
‘Maybe in a few years,’ he mused, getting lost in an imaginative world, earning praises from others for creating dazzling food. He’d blow their minds with things like pasta and pizza.
Not that the food here tasted bad. Far from it. The Cooking Skill ensured that even the simplest dishes, even those made with minimal spices, were always rich in flavour. Nothing ever tasted bland. Nothing ever tasted off.
Still, one day, he’d introduce them to something new. If simple things could taste so wonderful using skills, modern food might taste divine.
To the north, kids under fifteen weren’t allowed. That was where the alcohol flowed freely. Alcohol was one of the things Peter hated, thus, he wasn’t interested in what happened in the north.
To the east, mothers who had chosen to refrain from drinking were watching over the young babies. Peter had a lot of respect for them. Most drank some sort of spirit in this world once they were allowed to touch it. One of the few entertainments in life in this medieval era. The higher Constitution helped as well, making it harder to get drunk from a simple alcoholic substance.
That left the west, where most of the kids gathered. Peter would be going there.
By the time Peter and his mother arrived at the square, the place was already alive with energy, crowds laughing, voices overlapping, the scent of freshly cooked food filling the air. Everyone was mingling with everyone, making small groups to talk about something before splitting apart to meet others.
Peter trailed behind his mother for a while, letting her fuss over him as she fixed his collar. Then, with a final once-over, she gave him a nod of approval. Peter found adoration in her prideful gaze and felt a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t divine to look at, but calling him more than above average wouldn’t be far-fetched.
“You can go now,” she said before heading off to join a group of women chatting nearby, finding the topic interesting.
Finding himself alone, Peter decided to look for his friends. His feet naturally carried him eastward. Eyes looked around, searching for them in a moving flood of people, all in their best clothing and dressed differently than normal, making the task a bit harder.
Still, he spotted them soon enough, huddled together in a corner.
“What’s going on?” he asked, stepping closer. Heads turned toward him, but no one answered. All of them carried drooping eyes, a downcast expression on their faces.
Nearby, an older kid played a flute, and a few children danced in a circle to the lively tune. Peter felt the urge to join in, but something about his friends’ expressions made him pause.
“Why do you all look so gloomy?” he pressed. “Did something happen?”
Still, silence.
Peter frowned. “Well? Out with it.” Feeling impatient. When no one spoke up, he jabbed Charles in the side. The boy yelped, eyes wide in shock and sudden pain. The reply finally came from David, who avoided Peter’s gaze.
“Charles… He got a really good skill in his first advancement.”
“Really?” Peter turned to look at Charles properly. The boy gave a small, shaky nod, an unusually meek behaviour from someone of his character. A guilty expression on his face, eyes searching for disappointment on Peter’s face.
A smile bloomed on Peter’s face as he stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug. “Congratulations, my friend! What is it?” he asked, enthusiastically patting Charles on the right shoulder. It was a piece of wonderful news.
“Rune Smithing {Armour},” Monica curtly answered for him, face full of frustration.
Peter’s eyes widened. “Whoa… That’s incredible.” He nodded in approval, still not understanding the reason for their behaviour.
Monica continued, “Aunt Amelia told Ma and Da that Charles won’t be able to make full use of his skill in the village. She said they should move to a proper city.” That, that finally made Peter understand.
“The church offered to cover his apprenticeship under a runic blacksmith,” she added, her voice quieter now. “In return, they expect him to make armour for them to pay back the loan.”
“They agreed,” David instantly finished. “Charles and Monica are leaving for the city.”
“Ahh…” Peter exhaled, rubbing his right cheek with a forced smile. “Well, no need to be so down about it. Do you want him to stay here and waste his potential?” They might have expected him to be sad like them, but Peter understood the bigger picture. The deal wasn’t bad. It was not a forbidden skill.