[The ability to deny fate, but the outcome of my life is unknown, even to the God of this world. Did I screw up and choose the wrong thing? Guess I'll see.]
Brunhilda opened her tiny eyelids and could see herself in a small baby crib, staring up at the ceiling.
[Ugh, am I gonna be living like this for the next few years? This is gonna be a pain in my rear.]
"Brunhilda, you're awake!" The father leaned over the crib, smiling wide as ever. "Did you sleep well, pumpkin?"
[I guess you can say that.]
Brunhilda tried to respond but mostly spoke gibberish baby nonsense.
"You wanna go out sightseeing with your old man?"
[Huh, sightseeing? Heck yeah, take me with you! This is the perfect chance to learn more about this world!]
Brunhilda tried extending her frail arms in approval.
"Alright, kiddo, let's go out for a little walk."
The father grabbed Brunhilda from the crib, cradling her in his arms as he approached the door.
The outside air hit them as soon as her father pushed open the cottage door with the smell of pine, fresh soil, and woodsmoke washing over Brunhilda like a wave.
[Whoa... this place feels straight out of a fantasy painting. Way different from living in my old world.]
The village stretched out before her with stone paths in-between timber houses with thatched roofs. Merchants were already out, yelling about their goods from carts; fresh bread, cloth, even trinkets.
Her father carried her proudly in one arm, waving with the other as neighbors greeted him.
"Morning, Blackwood!"
"Heading to the market again, eh?"
"And with little Brunhilda too!"
He grinned wide as ever, showing off his baby like she was a prized trophy.
"That's right! Gotta show the village our strongest little girl!"
[Strongest, huh? Buddy, I can't even control my own neck muscles yet.]
Still, Brunhilda found herself oddly touched. In her past life, no one had ever paraded her around with this much pride. She was just Jill, the girl who clocked in late, burned fries, and barely paid rent. Now? She was someone's treasure.
Her father stopped at a stall where the baker, a plump woman dusted with flour, leaned over to smile at her.
"Oh, look at those chubby cheeks! She's going to break hearts when she's older!"
[Lady, please! Don't just throw future flags on me like that. I'm trying to dodge fate!]
The baker offered her father a warm loaf, and they chatted about an upcoming festival.
"Are you ready for Ezbrand's festival, Roderick?"
"Ready as ever." He responded. "Ezbrand has always protected us from magic, and now it's time we return the favor once more."
Brunhilda tuned them out, focusing instead on the people moving around her.
Some wore simple tunics, others cloaks, but then, her father's comment caught her attention.
[Magic confirmed. Hell yes!]
Her heart pounded with excitement. She could practically see the possibilities unfolding before her—spells, Grimoires, battles, maybe even dungeons.
"This village will always refuse magic. I'll show everyone why strength triumphs over all!"
[Huh? Wait a second, you guys dislike magic?! Just my luck!!]
Her father suddenly lifted Brunhilda upward toward the sky as the baby gasped.
From her father's arms, Brunhilda was just high enough to see over the roofs and stone paths.
"Brunhilda here will be just like me one day! A strong girl who will make Lord Ezbrand proud!"
[And here you go, trying to apply destiny onto me at a young age!!]
Despite her circumstance, Brunhilda could see the village stretch further than she first thought as there were children chasing each other between carts, and a group of older women scrubbing clothes along a stone trough.
Even chickens moved freely through the streets, pecking at crumbs, while a mangy dog walked proudly with a stolen sausage dangling from its jaws.
[Wow... so this is what a commoner's life looks like. There aren't any skyscrapers, blaring car horns, or cheap gas station coffee, just... people living life. It feels... peaceful, almost too peaceful.]
Her father lowered her in his arms as he walked toward the heart of the square, waving at the baker lady.
The fountain at the center sprayed water into the air, sparkling in the sunlight before falling back into the stone basin.
Children splashed their hands in it, laughing as her father smiled down at her.
"See that, Brunhilda? That fountain was built by my grandfather's generation. Still running strong."
[Okay, okay... you're telling me this place doesn't even have plumbing, but they've got a fountain that works better than half the faucets in my old apartment complex? Amazing.]
Though the villagers were all common folk, with no golden crowns or legendary heroes among them, Brunhilda couldn't help but be in awe as everything felt alive.
Her father eventually bought a bundle of herbs from a wiry old man and continued walking, bouncing her lightly in his arms.
"What do you think, Brunhilda? Nice, huh? Not much compared to the big cities, but this is our home, Galister Village."
[Galister village, huh? Alright, I'll remember that name.]
Her father laughed at her glaring eyes as Brunhilda smiled.
"Ha! Look at that! She likes it!"
More villagers turned their heads, some waving, chuckling, while others mentioned about how cute she looked.
She could get used to this.
+
After spending an hour exploring Galister Village, they returned home from their small journey. Brunhilda felt like she got to know her father a bit better; he was a hardworking man who always took care of the village and helped those in need.
She couldn't help but respect him.
Once she was put back in her crib, she internally groaned, wishing she could walk and explore on her own.
But this was her life.
[Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. I got to know some things about this world, like knowing magic exists outside of skills, and some guy known as Ezbrand or whatever. I'm assuming he's some God.]
+
Three hours have passed.
Her mother moved around the small cottage, tidying, folding clothes, and humming her own tune as if she were weaving peace into her heart.
[So this is it. Dinner's done, chores are getting wrapped up, and everyone's winding down. It's... simple, and honestly? Kind of nice. My parents abandoned me back in my old life, saying I'd always be a loser until the bitter end, and well... they were right. But now, I can finally start over!]
Outside, the sun went above the horizon.
Through the small window, the sky deepened to violet and then navy as the first stars came into view.
Her mother leaned over the crib, brushing Brunhilda's hairless head with her fingertips.
"Goodnight, my sweet girl."
Her father came over next, his rough, calloused hand surprisingly gentle as he tucked the blanket around her tiny body.
"Sleep tight, little Valkyrie."
[You two... are way too wholesome. I don't deserve this!]
The room fell quiet after they left and climbed into bed.
Only the sound of crickets outside filled the silence.
Brunhilda's heavy baby eyelids fought against her restless thoughts.
[So, recap—magic exists, this world runs on Soul Points, and I have the 'power to deny fate.' The God made it sound important, but right now it doesn't help me with the fact that I can't crawl, much less cast a fireball.]
She yawned, a squeaky, involuntary noise that made her face scrunch up.
[Still... today wasn't bad. My dad's a good guy. The villagers are nice. For the first time in forever, I feel like I belong somewhere.]
Brunhilda's breathing slowed as her tiny chest rose and fell in rhythm with the lull of night.
[Whatever comes next... I'll be ready.]
+
The morning light shone through the window, pulling Brunhilda from sleep.
She stretched her tiny arms with a squeaky yawn, blinking her round baby eyes at the ceiling above.
[Another day of baby simulator unlocked... oh joy. I'm just gonna pass back out...]
But before she could drift back into half-sleep, a booming voice rattled the quiet outside.
"Gather, villagers! By order of the baron, all citizens must present themselves in the square!"
The commanding tone wasn't friendly—it had the sound of authority.
Brunhilda's ears twitched as she came to a logical conclusion.
"Uh oh. That doesn't sound like the 'come buy my bread rolls' kind of yelling. That's the 'taxes or else' kind of yelling!]
Her mother walked into the room, worry present on her face as she scooped Brunhilda into her arms.
"Come on, sweetheart... stay close to Mama."
Cradled against her mother's chest, Brunhilda was carried outside.
The calm village she had seen yesterday felt suddenly different.
Neighbors were stepping out of their homes carrying children, and clutching baskets as if a routine had been forced upon them.
Down the path toward the square, armored men on horseback waited. Their tabards bore the mark of a falcon clutching an arrow.
[Knights. Yup! I should've known. Guess we've got feudal lords in charge around here. Probably here for coin, conscription, or both. Just my luck.]
Her father appeared beside them, wiping his hands nervously on his trousers before placing a steadying hand on his wife's shoulder.
"Let's see what this is about."
He stepped forward, approaching the knights who entered Galister, respectful as ever.
"If you're here for taxes, we've already paid them."
The lead knight dismounted as his polished boots crunched against the stone.
He gave a cold smile.
"Taxes, yes... already collected." He said. "But Baron Aldric has new demands. His coffers run low after sponsoring the border skirmishes, and loyal subjects must show their support."
The crowd looked uneasy, rightfully so.
A few villagers muttered, clutching their baskets even tighter as Brunhilda's father frowned.
"We've given more than enough this season. There won't be food left for winter if you take any more."
The knight's smile didn't falter.
"Then I suggest you pray to your gods for a mild winter." He gestured with a gloved hand, and two of his men began stalking through the crowd, seizing whatever caught their eye; bundles of herbs, a sack of flour, even a freshly baked pie cooling on a window ledge.
[Oh, fantastic. Not just knights—tax collectors with sticky fingers! Greedy, pompous leeches. Classic medieval nonsense.]
A woman cried out as one of the soldiers tried to tug a blanket from her shoulders.
"Please! That's all I have to keep my boy warm!"
The knight sneered at her remark.
"Then your boy should be grateful his sacrifice keeps his betters comfortable!"
Brunhilda's tiny fists balled up against her mother's chest.
[What the hell?! They're just robbing people in broad daylight! And everyone's too scared to fight back...]
Her father stepped forward before he raised his voice with steel.
"That's enough. You already took the taxes owed. This village won't survive if you strip us bare!"
The knight glared toward him, assessing, before his smirk widened.
"The Blackwoods. Always so... noble." He leaned in close, lowering his voice so the menace was clear. "Be careful, commoner. Too much nobility looks a lot like insolence."
Her father didn't back down, though Brunhilda felt her mother's arms tighten around her as she started trembling.
The knight straightened and raised his voice again.
"By order of Baron Aldric, each household must also present its Soul Point tally. You know the process, for the sake of our kingdom!"
The words fell heavily over the villagers as they became more anxious.
[They're not just thieves—they're measuring power? Well no need for me to worry... unless my special skill, Fatebreaker, does something out of the ordinary, then I'm toast!]
The knight motioned to his men.
"One by one, step forward. Any who resist will be punished as traitors to the crown."
The villagers moved into a crooked line as each family clutched baskets or children, moving toward the fountain where a scribe sat hunched.
The scribe had a strange device with him; a dull crystal orb set in bronze, glowing whenever someone placed their hand upon it.
With each touch, the orb flickered, then the scribe wrote numbers down with a quill.
[Oh great, fantasy-world lie detector but for power levels. Basically, a medieval "check your stats" kiosk. Just what I needed!]
The first villager, a gaunt man with calloused hands, stepped forward nervously.
He pressed his palm against the orb as it turned green.
The scribe cleared his throat.
"240 Soul Points."
The knight's smirk twisted into a sneer.
"Pathetic! That won't win the baron any wars if you were ever drafted!" He plucked the man's basket from him without asking and shoved him aside. "At least your basket of fruits will do us good."
The man bowed quickly, scurrying off before he could lose more.
Another villager, an older woman, moved forward. The orb glowed weaker for her, barely even flickering.
"80 Soul Points." The scribe said flatly.
The knight laughed.
"Even chickens have more worth! Be grateful the baron doesn't cull the useless."
The woman's shoulders shook as she hurried away, bowing her head.
[Wow. And I thought getting written up for late shifts at Stars Jr. was bad. This is next-level workplace harassment. I'm assuming they check people's SP to see if they're fit for war, in case they draft them? Man, that sucks.]
One by one, villagers stepped forward as their numbers were revealed for all to hear.
Every weak tally earned sneers.
Every half-decent number was mild praise.
Brunhilda's family inched closer to the front.
Her mother's arms were stiff, clutching her as if she could shield her from the world with sheer willpower.
Her father's jaw clenched tighter with each humiliation he saw; it was obvious that he was angry.
Finally, the knight's gaze settled on them.
"The Blackwoods. Step forward."
Her father walked steadily, though Brunhilda felt the tension in his chest as he carried himself tall.
He pressed his hand against the orb; it glowed brighter than the others.
It was indeed strong.
Even the scribe raised his brows.
"680 Soul Points."
The knight's grin returned, almost hungry.
"Now that's more like it. A fine tally for a humble commoner, it's grown more from last time. Tell me, Blackwood, where is your Grimoire? With that many soul points, you can obtain a powerful skill!"
Grimoires weren't toys, they were rare, precious, and dangerous items.
Her father's expression hardened.
"I have none. My strength comes from hard work, not skills and magic."
The knight clicked his tongue.
"Tsk, tsk. Wasted potential. The baron might take an interest in a man like you. A man with strength. Perhaps... conscription."
Her mother gasped, clutching Brunhilda tighter.
Her father stepped back protectively.
"I serve my village. That is enough."
The knight's smirk widened.
"We shall see."
His gaze turned, finally, to Brunhilda herself.
The baby in her mother's arms, stared at him with wide eyes.
"And what about the little one?" He said mockingly. "Every soul must be measured."
[Wait, WHAT?! No-no-no-no, hold on! I'm like two months old! I didn't think they were really gonna check my SP!]
Her mother's face paled.
"She's just a baby. Surely that's not necessary."
The knight leaned closer.
"Every soul. Even babies. The baron insists."
He motioned to the orb.
"Place her hand."
The villagers went quiet with all eyes fixed on the Blackwoods.
Her father's hand tightened into a fist as her mother froze, holding her tighter.
[Oh crap. If this thing picks up anything weird about me... will I get branded as a freak? Or worse—dragged off before I can even crawl?]