And so, I began a new life.
The house where I was born is the Fairchild Family, entrusted as Margrave in the Albion Kingdom, a nation with one of the longest histories on the continent.
As their second son, my new name was William.
I remembered my previous life on my sixth birthday.
When I woke up that morning, memories of my past life suddenly flooded into me, and it was quite a shock.
I also recalled that God had warned me I’d regain my memories after I got a bit older, but even knowing that, it was still surprising.
Looking down at my hands, I saw how small they were.
When I stood up, I realized how short I’d become.
That’s when it hit me—I really had been reborn.
My new parents were good people.
My father, Theodore, was renowned as a master of both the pen and the sword—a model lord who cherished his family.
With golden hair and blue eyes, he had the very image of a noble drawn in a painting.
My mother, Mary, was a gentle, loving, and beautiful woman, overflowing with affection.
It seemed I got my silver hair from my mother’s side.
People said my face resembled my father’s, but perhaps from eating too many delicious things, I was the only one in the family with a plump build.
Since my memories had returned, I wanted to learn more about this world, so I asked my parents if I could read some books.
“Father, Mother, if possible, may I read the books in the library?”
“Oh? You already want to read books at just six years old? Will, you’re remarkable.”
“My, my, Will, you’re so eager to study.”
Will was my nickname.
I’d heard in my previous life that Western names often had their own nicknames, and this world seemed to have a similar custom.
It appeared the library of the Margrave’s mansion contained some confidential information, and there were guards stationed at the entrance.
But when I toddled over, they said, “We’ve heard the request,” and unlocked the door for me.
I’d somehow learned the language of this world before regaining my memories, which was quite helpful.
As I read books every day, I gradually learned all sorts of things.
Science hadn’t developed in this world, but magic was widespread, and Demon Beasts existed.
The library held tales of heroes—Knights and Magicians joining forces to defeat powerful Demon Beasts—and I thought, just as God had said, this really was a “world of swords and magic.”
Reading books on geography, I learned that the Fairchild Margrave Family ruled the territory bordering the Great Western Forest, where Demon Beasts appeared, and that we were a distinguished noble family tasked with protecting the western frontier of the Albion Kingdom.
There hadn’t been any major wars recently, but it seemed my ancestors earned their rank by distinguishing themselves in old battles.
According to the history books, our family was permitted to maintain our own Knight Order to prepare for Demon Beasts because successive heads of the house had earned the trust of the royal family.
Yes, it seemed like our future was secure, which was a relief.
When I read the memoirs of the late former head of the house—my grandfather—I learned that while some Capital nobles secretly called us “country nobles,” the high-ranking nobles always treated us with respect.
In the Fairchild Family, it was customary for the whole family to eat breakfast and dinner together whenever possible.
When meals were ready, a maid would come fetch us and we’d head to the dining room.
Even in this frontier land, the grand dining hall boasted a frescoed ceiling befitting a noble house, and the long table glittered with silverware.
Each morning, as I took my seat, I would greet the handsome golden-haired, blue-eyed boy sitting across from me.
“Good morning, Eddie.”
“Good morning, Will. The weather’s nice again today.”
The one answering with a smile was my brother, Edward, who would turn ten this year.
He was both talented and good-natured, and people said the Fairchild Family’s future was in good hands.
We looked somewhat alike, but unlike my chubby self, my brother was slender and smart.
A little later, a cheerful girl sat down beside me.
“Good morning, brother.”
“Good morning, Sophie.”
This golden-haired, blue-eyed angel was my little sister, Sophia—nicknamed Sophie.
She was four years old, two years younger than me, and perhaps because we were close in age, she was especially attached to me.
A distinguished noble house guarding the west of the kingdom hardly seemed a “peaceful country family,” but I was grateful to God for blessing me with such a wonderful family.