Chapter 1 - Eil of Albat Village

01. Eil of Albat Village

From the moment I became aware of the world, my earliest memory is from age four.
It happened during a walk in the woods with adults when I was left behind, completely alone.

At that moment, I truly thought:
I’m going to die like this.

That’s my oldest clear memory.

I trembled, recalling the terror of wolves howling in the distance and the rustling forest at night.
And now, trapped in the heart of that fear, I sensed death looming.

As a child, I realized my only option was to find my way home alone.
No adults or older kids to rely on. Just myself. I had to survive on my own.
That much, at least, I understood.

What I learned then was: “Stay silent, avoid detection, and search for clues.”

I desperately wanted to cry but held it in.
Well, truthfully, I stifled my sobs and let only a few tears fall. Just a few.

While my eyes “sweated” a little, I forced myself to stay calm and retrace my steps.

The village wasn’t far.
After all, I’d walked there myself.

The ground showed no footprints,
but faint traces of flattened grass marked our path.

This must be where we came from.

Convinced, I followed it home.

Later, I learned it was just a grove near the village—no forest, no predators. But to a four-year-old, it felt vast.

——Incidentally, none of the adults or other children noticed I was missing or that they’d left me behind.

I was never one to stand out.
Or rather, I was an unusually quiet child.

Growing up, people often said things like, “I didn’t realize you were there” or “Speak up if you’re around!”

After that incident, I developed a strange instinct to “avoid detection by threats” in case I was ever stranded again.

“Threats” like escaping after pranking adults with friends, fleeing my bossy older sister, or dodging my mother chasing me with vegetables I hated.

Not that I lacked presence—I actively erased it.
Not that I went unnoticed—I deliberately silenced my footsteps.

And so, I became the “invisible child.”

——

Life passed uneventfully until an “incident” at age ten.

My village was poor and sparsely populated, so children were seen as labor resources.

By nine, it was time for me to contribute.
My sister, Horn, was already plowing fields and playing wildly—the polar opposite of me, radiating energy wherever she went.

But an unexpected twist came:
Bekt, the village hunter, intervened.

Though my parents wanted me helping on the farm, I ended up apprenticing under Bekt.

Why? He noticed my habit of hiding—not just my quiet nature, but my skill at staying undetected.

The art of stalking prey.
The skill of avoiding a prey’s notice.

He convinced my parents I had hunter potential.

My opinion?
I instantly agreed because hunters ate meat regularly. My motive was meat, not ambition.

True to Bekt’s expectations, I blossomed instantly. By day three, I was hunting rabbits and birds with a child’s bow.

Thus began my glorious meat festival.

My parents and hyperactive sister rejoiced at the meat gracing our meager table.
Of course, so did I.

“YEEEEAAAAAH!! MEAT! MEAT!!”

Outsiders might cringe at my sister’s excitement, but I was the happiest. Quietly, but deeply.

The “incident” happened a year into my apprenticeship.

Hunting is perilous.

“Uh-oh.”

While tracking prey together, Bekt let out a thunderous fart. So loud it startled birds from nearby trees.

Bodily functions happen. Even kids know that.

But consider:
Adult height vs. child height.

Yes.
Direct hit.

The toxic cloud struck his apprentice’s face.

“Ugh, it stinks— AHHHH!!”

I leaped back—but there was nothing beneath my feet.
No ground. Just a steep slope.

I slid down leaves, crashed into trees, and tumbled wildly.

——My memory cuts off here.

Later, I learned I’d hit my head, lost consciousness for a day, and teetered near death.

“I’m sorry! My fart almost killed you!”

Bekt apologized tearfully.

I replied, “It was my fault.”

I’d known about the slope. I’d followed him silently.
The sudden blast and stench made me panic. My mistake.

But secretly, I wanted him to apologize for the direct hit and stench, not just the fart.

(The smell wasn’t his fault, but the aim? Definitely intentional. Bekt loved teasing kids. He meant to gas me.)

Watching a grown man cry, I kept that to myself.

And so, the incident ended.

——

Except for one lasting problem.

Whether from the head injury or eye damage,
my vision worsened slightly.

I could see nearby things clearly, but distant objects grew blurry.

No big deal, though.

——

At fifteen, Eil the hunter apprentice of Albat Village faced his Selection Day.
And gained a baffling “aptitude”: Glasses.

If taken literally, this was a blessing.

In cities, “glasses” existed—unreachable luxuries for poor village kids.

If my power truly summoned glasses…

“…Glasses?”

I muttered, pulling my hand from the Selection Crystal.

A force drained from my body, leaving a strange object in my palm.

——I felt it.
——The vanished power now resided here.

Traveling merchants wore similar items. I’d never asked what they were.

But this had to be “glasses.”

Usage?

“…Oh.”

Temples hooked over ears.
Transparent glass before my eyes.

Through them, the world sharpened.

My once-blurry vision cleared.

“Ph-Physical Summoning…!?”

“Huh!? This is Physical Summoning!? Glasses!?”

Soldiers panicked, spreading confusion through the village.
Glasses? Glasses? Everyone buzzed with questions.

Seeing the vivid world, I understood.
My aptitude was “creating glasses.”

……

What even is that?
What’s the point?

Well, I needed glasses. So I welcomed it.

——

Physical Summoning:
A branch of magic requiring “magical aptitude,” materializing objects.

In the Selection, this was a success—magic talent confirmed.

But the problem? My summons were glasses. Extremely niche.

Soldiers, the chief, villagers—all bewildered.
A simple knife or fire magic would’ve been normal. They’d have celebrated a mage’s birth, like with my sister Horn.

But glasses.

My “aptitude” was glasses.

I was now a glasses-summoning mage.

Their confusion made sense.

——

Probably only I—who needed glasses—was genuinely happy.

A useless power?

Nonsense.
I’d never wanted anything more.

Outwardly calm, I was ecstatic. As thrilled as when I first hunted a rabbit.

With these, I could aim at prey from mid-to-long range.
No more creeping close. Hunting efficiency would soar.

——The village remained awkward, unsure whether to celebrate or mock the “pathetic mage.”

But I was happy.

Even if no one else saw it.