I was born in a little village called "Maple Breath Village." Because it was far too remote, and even the nearest large towns in the surrounding area took many days to reach on foot, it was hard to describe its exact location.
It was probably somewhere in the mountains to the southeast of Climbing Cloud Province.
The village was very small, and the mountains were very high.
It was far from the trade roads, and Thin Mist Forest was even farther away, on the other side of the world.
Because of that, even the Green-skinned Goblins rumored to swarm like cockroaches only occasionally appeared in the mouths of the drunken men in the village.
But the scenery should have been good.
At least, that was what my father said—he had followed caravans outside for a few years.
Every year, during the months of "Eli" and "Mano," the entire valley would be dyed gold and red by the maple trees.
When the strong wind blew through, leaves redder than the sunset swayed with it, layer upon layer, as though the valley itself was breathing.
That was also the origin of the name "Maple Breath Village."
My childhood memories had long since blurred, but I should have been like the present "Little Alan," running wild through the woods all day.
He was very obedient. He could always make it home before dark, at least far more obedient than I had been as a child.
Of course, I suspected he was simply too timid, frightened by the few scary little stories Mother made up before bed.
I was somewhat dissatisfied with that.
As my younger brother, he should have been a little braver. In the future, even if he could not become an apprentice knight like "William," he at least needed to be