Dad lore (1)...

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"Fair point…" I say, nodding my head. I'm at disadvantage. How am I supposed to compete with kids my age when I haven't properly trained at all?

Marsha nods, agreeing with me. It's an extremely fair and valid point, so how do I beat the experience gap? It's kinda a big deal.

"... Your dad would probably teach you the basics of sword fighting if you asked," She suggests, looking off to the side. "Plus, that alone would give you a good bit of physical training."

I look at her for a second, a puzzled expression on my face. Dad knows sword fighting? I thought he was just a woodcutter? As my Dad lore expands, I decide to just act like I always knew that, a skill I've mastered since I came to this world.

"Yeah," I say simply, deciding to leave matters at that for the time being. I don't like thinking ahead that much, nor am I a big fan of meticulous grand plans.

She nods, agreeing to the silent truce of letting the conversation die off there. After another minute of silence, I decide to bring up why I came into town in the first place.

Church, a place to commune with a god. In my past life, religion was fairly uncommon with all the gates and systems, but religion should be really big here. I mean, clerics exist, so you should be able to attain a power from god, right?

"Ms. Marsha, why does Dad say that no one in town goes to church?" I ask, looking over at her. It's something I've been curious about ever since Dad had briefly mentioned it in passing.

"Because they don't," She says, her face turning slightly solemn. She seems discouraged when it comes to this topic. "To these people, God is just a concept to make life worth living. Why worship a god when you can strive by yourself?"

I tilt my head slightly again, leaning back and looking around the room. Now that I think about it, most of the artifacts in here are pretty dusty. It makes me all the more curious, though.

"But can't people get powers from gods?" I ask. "Like, blessings and stuff?"

"No, Arthur. That's just a wives' tale told to make kids believe," She pauses, her mouth curls into a slight mocking smile. She makes her tone as rude as possible, as if she was talking to a complete moron. "Don't tell me you still believed that?"

I look away from her, my cheeks just barely heating from embarrassment. How was I supposed to know that was a stupid question?!? I'm forced to backtrack to save what little pride I think I possess.

"No, of course not!" I say, although my tone gives away the fact that I'm lying. Jesus, I'm mentally 37 and yet here I am acting like an actual child!

"Then why did you ask that, huh?" She asks, not letting up for even a single moment. I'm glad the mood shifted so much, even if it means I'm embarrassed. "You seemed to believe it if you wanted to ask about it."

* * *

A few hours later, Marsha has walked me home in order to ensure my safety. I wave to her before going inside the house and closing the door, returning to the safety that is my one home. I sigh before leaning against the door.

Today was too stressful for me, but I know that it will only get worse if I want this life to be different from the last. I know that I have to train to do all this cool hero stuff I want to do, so I should just stop complaining.

"Mom? Dad?" I ask, letting my voice resound throughout the house. I guess they must already be in their room, preparing to sleep… amongst other things. 

Ignoring the slightly grossed out feelings that come from such a thought, I set my sword down on the table and am seated. I could honestly fall asleep right here, but I don't despite my inherent want to take a nap. I toss my shoes off and head up the staircase, holding onto the rail even though I no longer need to. I arrive at the top of the staircase and go straight forward into my room. I close the door and sit at the desk, taking out the journal from the second cabinet and setting it down in front of myself. 

This journal of mine, or rather of the original Arthur, has become rather close to me. Most days, I end up writing down the happenings of the day as if the journal had always belonged to me.

'Journal entry, eighteenth of October. Today I went into the village for the first time and was promptly discriminated and beaten. It seems the stigma around me has made any life in this village impossible, so I'll have to leave eventually."

I write for a while more about the minor things, but fall asleep at the desk. It feels like I sleep way too much nowadays, whether intended or not.

* * *

Thomas Ishviel POV.

It's the nineteenth of October, a cold day for what the season should be bringing. Concerningly cold, almost.

I get up from bed and put on my jacket, my steps as silent as I can make them. Opening the door, I head downstairs and grab my axe. A fine tool, reminiscent of one I used to use, yet different enough to keep my mind off of any painful memories.

I open the front door and close it behind me, lighting the lantern I had set outside and picking it up. It's dark, just like every other morning. The sun hasn't yet shone upon the land, too delayed to deliver its graceful rays of yellow. My breath hangs before me in a mist... a slightly concerning thing.

So be it.

Even in the cold, I lack anything I should worry about. I start across the road before setting down the path to my left and into the forest. It wouldn't be hard to tear down the forest in a matter of an hour, but it would be terrible for sales. Deflation would impact local wood prices if I were to do something like that, not a sustainable market decision.

As I walk, I start whistling an old marching tune that I had forgotten for the longest time. I overheard Arthur whistling it yesterday, bringing back the memory. I had thought he had forgotten it, but I guess the memory stayed strong since it was so early in his life.

I heard Marsha mention something when I was in town yesterday. I think it was August that did it again. He's lucky that I'm not the man I used to be, else half this town would be gone.

Marsha's a good woman, reliable and tough... I'm glad she's taken a liking to Arthur over the years, even if she's afraid to be vulnerable enough to show it.

I arrive in a clearing of tree stumps, previously felled trees left by myself. I can only see a few yards in front of me due to the lantern, the black of early morning obscuring my vision. I head to the edge of this clearing, setting down my lantern on a stump nearby. Holding my axe now with both hands, I walk over to a tree that still stands.

Axe above my head, I swing it around and into the side of tree. Whilst I could just use mana to speed up the process, I don't and rather use the normal strength of my body. As the axe head impacts the bark of the wood, I feel the air decrease several degrees in temperature.

There's no use in pretending like I didn't notice, not when I know she wants my attention.