I was born the eighth and the last child, the fourth son, to a family that owned and ran a tavern located in a small town near the Baron's manor. Unfortunately, my three eldest siblings had passed away during the epidemic before I was born. What remained were my parents and their five children, me being the youngest.

The first couple of years was a frustrating experience as an infant with full conscience and the memory of after-... pre-life. When I finally gained the motor control, and things started to move per my will, I was up and running and holding conversations with the adults. At first, my family was scared; One evening, I overheard father and mother discussing, in whispers, whether they had spawned a demon child.

"No, I am godsent."

That was true in all literal sense, but father freaked out. A priest was called in, and we had a long talk, him trying to determine whether there was any devil's work in me.

"I sense a slight touch of the divine," he observed, and we became friends. Of course, I was a little taken aback by the fact that some people were able to sense the divinity. I thus kept the whole thing about the goddesses and my mission a secret. In general, we were in good terms, the priest and I. He was a bald old man in his late years. He had seen things and suffered through the devastating epidemic and, in the end, emerged wiser, kinder, and wrinklier. Yet he remained humble and faithful, and I liked to listen to what he had to say about the world we were living in. The old priest gave me the holy book through which I learned the letters of this world. I liked reading it again and again because, in essence, the book was a hilariously written fan-fiction with my good buddy God as its protagonist. Sometimes when I was alone, I would read a passage aloud giggling like a toddler, for I was a toddler, imagining the fat boy God blushing and fidgeting in embarrassment listening to this made-up fiction about himself.

Like my siblings, I started to help out in the tavern. By the age of three, I was managing the larder on top of running errands. Father began to entrust more and more on me, but he never allowed me to go out on my own carrying money.

"Mugging you would be as easy as taking sweets from a toddler's hand," father said. I, a three years old toddler, couldn't argue against that, although I complained he was being overly cautious. There was no mugging on the streets. The town was as peaceful and beautiful as a sleeping baby; like me. Being so close to the Baron's manor helped, too. His Lordship truly looked after his people.

It took me a while to notice the townsfolk unofficially referred His Lordship as the Marquis of the Roseland, and it puzzled me greatly. As far as I knew, the Roseland was a barony ruled by the Baron stemming from the La Rose family. The name La Rose originated from 'Of the Roseland' because they had ruled the land for so long the Roseland was the La Rose, and the La Rose were the Roseland.

"A long, long time ago, we were a marquisat," my good old priest kindly answered my question. Many and many generations ago, the La Rose were the Marquises ruling over the marquisat, which included the Roseland, the swampland, the mountains to the north, the forest to the south, nowadays Montclam and patches of neighboring lands. One of the Marquises, the great great great grandfather of His Lordship, infamously bludgeoned traitor Dumas to death with his banner-draped pole, effectively stopping a rebellion in its fetus stage. The bloodstain remained on the banner to this day, symbolizing the La Rose family's unwavering loyalty to the kingdom and His Majesty. However, some generations later, the then Marquis had become tired of all the bickering and scheming and power struggle in the Royal Court. The Marquis did the unthinkable and humbly returned his title to the baffled King, and settled with the title of the Baron of the Roseland Barony. The people of the Roseland welcomed the decision as their ruler returned to his humble land of origin. Overall it was a fascinating story, and I was impressed. The barony flourished thanks to now undivided attention given by the Baron.

You see, despite being surrounded by the hostile environment of desert, mountains, and swamps, the Roseland itself was a land of plenty. The forest provided much. The soil was dark and rich. The hot air from the desert and the ice-cold glacial wind from the mountains competed over the Roseland and created a temperate climate with changing seasons. Any idiot could sow anything one could imagine, and it would grow. The wild roses were especially prominent, and every spring, they would bloom like crazy and cover the land in brilliant red and pink and white, and the air would be scented sweet for months. The Roseland was good. The Barons and the Baronesses of La Rose made it great. The goddesses, for once, had done me a favor. They had sent me to a good place.

###

It wasn't like I had had any experience nor specialization carried over from my previous life. I had been an ordinary student in my short-lived life. Unlike the protagonists in the vast majority of the isekai novels and mangas, I was not an otaku. Nor had any advanced knowledge or techniques in odd fields, which turned out to be very handy in their new fantasy worlds. Nor was I given a cheat skill by the goddesses during my reincarnation. I had nothing and was given nothing. I had to do with what little I had and knew, and if I didn't know about something, I sat down and thought about it. And that was more than enough in this world. What was considered the common sense in the modern society of my previous life, and what little I remembered from the basic education were more than adequate for daily dealings of this world's simple tavern.

It was a late morning in the spring. There weren't any patrons at this hour, so I took the opportunity to sit down at a table near the entrance. I wanted to take a look into the ledger that I had been keeping.

At first, father was reluctant to spend money on papers, which were expensive, only to have them filled with rows and columns of incomprehensible words and numbers sheets after sheets. As far as he was concerned, papers were luxury, which had no place in a simple tavern like his. Eventually, he changed his mind as my record keeping and larder tracking had vastly improved the overall efficiency of our expenses. The business was doing good. Father was immensely proud, and whenever he had the chance to, he bragged about how his little forty months old son helped the family make more coppers and silvers. Soon the shopkeepers and craftsmen in the town were sending their sons to our tavern to have me teach them the trick, which turned out to be very difficult as the majority of them were illiterate.

Merchantman Ado, on the other hand, was a smart man who knew the letters and the numbers. His family handled vegetables and fruits a couple of buildings down the street. Father was sourcing more than half of the larder from Ado, so we had this symbiotic relationship. Ado, instead of sending his son, came to learn the art of bookkeeping himself. I thought we had become friends, he and I, but alas, I did not foresee it would come back to bite me.

I was going over the records and our stock status, trying to figure out an issue that had been puzzling me for weeks, when the Baron walked in. He was accompanied by his treasurer and the manor's cook. Father and the Baron's cook were good friends, for they shared the same passion for cooking.

The spring festival was coming up, and, as usual, the Baron was footing the bill for the foods and meads that were to be served during the massive festive dinner where everyone was welcomed. Father and mother were part of the whole thing and had been extra busy in preparation. The Baron, apparently, wanted to talk to father about projected expenditure on our part so he could appropriately provide in advance. The cook came along because he wanted to discuss a new recipe he had come up with and wanted to hear father's opinion.

After the initial greeting and bowing, I went back to my work and paid no attention to the adults' business. I had finally cracked the mystery and was steaming, furious. Ado pretty much knew our daily consumptions of potatoes and onions. Up to a certain point, we had been buying three sacks of potatoes, thirty per sack, each week. As for the onions, it had been two sacks of twenty onions each. Thanks to my larder tracking and record-keeping, we had been keeping our stocks lean on a just-in-time basis. Then something changed. We were suddenly buying four sacks of twenty-nine potatoes each and three sacks of nineteen onions per sack. The unit prices were lowered slightly, reflecting the reduced number of potatoes and onions per sack, so on the surface, nothing was foul. However, every week, near the end of the week, father would find we were short of a few potatoes and onions. My siblings would then be dispatched to go buy the stuff from the merchant; and that was how he was selling extra sacks of potatoes and onions every week, forcing us to tank the excess stock of perishables and increased costs. I was furious. I raged and called for my elder brothers. They emerged from the cellar and the kitchen and came rushing to find their toddler brother throwing fits. I waved the sheets in front of them and screamed and yelled and explained how we were being ripped off.

"Brothers, grab your clubs and go tell master Ado if he ever does this again-"

I realized the tavern had become very quiet. I suddenly remembered we had a noble guest, none other than His Lordship the Baron himself. I could feel my face turning bright red, and it was very hot. I lowered my head and looked at my feet, embarrassed and ashamed. Somebody was drumming their fingers on the wooden table.

"Is that the son who made this?"

It was the Baron's voice.

"Yes, milord. The little one."

I raised my head and saw the adults sitting at a round table. Father looked angry but was trying to maintain his composure. But the Baron and his treasurer were watching me with curious eyes. In the Baron's hand was the large sheet I had prepared for father. It detailed the item by item breakdown of our projected expenses for the coming festive dinner.

"Come over here, boy. And bring those with you." The treasurer beckoned me. I grabbed my sheets from the table and walked over and stood in front of him. To a little toddler me, he was a freaking giant, and this giant smiled and took my ledgers.

He took his time studying the records I had scribbled with my tiny hands. In the meantime, the Baron was studying me intensely. At last, the treasurer laid the sheets on the table and sighed.

"Well?" The Baron inquired.

"Milord, the boy is right."

"Is that so?"

The treasurer rubbed his eyes as if he was suddenly tired.

"Milord, as much as I like to encourage our merchants and traders to explore new ways of profiteering, I believe," he waved his hand over my sheets, "doing so at fellow tradesmen's expenses shall be frowned upon."

The Baron knocked on the table.

"Exactly my thoughts. Would you be so kind and have a word with this man Ado?"

"I would gladly, milord."

With that, the Baron and his men stood up. They were leaving, but the Baron stopped at the door, still holding the expenditure sheet I had made, now rolled into a scroll. He turned around and faced me.

"You, boy, what is your name?"

"His name is René, milord," father answered instead as I was standing there blushing. The Baron gave me a small nod.

"Little son René, we shall meet again."

And then they left. Well, OK, not the cook. He stayed behind and started to discuss his new recipe with father.

Shortly before lunch, Ado came with a bouquet of flowers.

"These are for the lady of the house."

He sat down with father and me and apologized for his ungentlemanly business practices. "I don't know what I was thinking. Trying to rip off my most valuable friends." He shook his head in shame and offered compensation. Father declined and instead suggested they share a jug of mead.

By the afternoon, father and Ado were drunk and friends again. Red-faced, the merchant ruffled up my hair.

"Of course, you saw me through, didn't you, little boy?" He chuckled and turned to my father. "You are a lucky man, mon ami."

###

It was the start of the spring festival, which took place on the night of the full moon following the wild roses bloom. Everyone in the town was excited and busy preparing for the annual occasion. Markets closed early, and stalls were put up specifically for the festival, selling yummy food and specially brewed drinks. It was only the last year that there was the first proper play in our town, some romantic comedy, but this year everyone was already expecting and looking forward to the play as if this was something that was 'a part of the tradition.' I heard the Baron was footing the bill for the play as well.

I strolled through the main festival street, holding the hand of one of my sisters. I said street, but it was just a wide muddy passage defined by carts and stalls placed side by side, stretching a long line between two clearings. My brothers went ahead and came back with sweets and snacks, and with the sisters, they were spoiling me real good. Folks walked up and down gingerly, chatting happily. Some already red-faced from drinking at this early hour of the evening. Kids, as they do, waded through the crowd, running, splashing muds as their tiny feet skipped on the ground.

The fresh spring breeze carried the smokes and the irresistible smell of grilled meat mixed with the sweet aroma of spiced honey meads and bitter ales. And of course, the sweet scent of the spring roses. At the end of the festive road was a large round clearing; in the middle of it, dads and uncles of the town were busy piling up woods for the bonfire. The lighting of the bonfire would mark the first night of the festival, followed by lots of drinking and dancing and laughter.

On the other side of the clearing, if things were to be done as they had always been done before, a long table would be set up overlooking the bonfire and the clearing. The town's elders would be seated there with the Baron and the Baroness. The Baron would personally wish all the best and good health for the elders and share the table, talking about the good old times and also the promising future. The elders would nod, their eyes twinkling gratefully. They would, in return, bestow their blessing on the Baron's endeavors, to which the nobleman would smile and humbly nod, occasionally thanking the kind words.

To the side, my father would be engaged in a friendly competition with the Baron's cook. Every year they would bring out their kitchen and prepare their best dishes for the folks at the Baron's expenses. The two men would intensely watch the fire, stirring pots and sprinkling salts on meat, their faces red from the heat and also a large quantity of honey meads. They would occasionally walk over to the other and discuss seasoning or brainstorm a new recipe before hastily retreating to their respective pots and grills.

And when the evening had sufficiently progressed and the folks gathered around the bonfire in anticipation, the festival would begin for real. The eldest of the elders would wave his hand, and the bonfire would be lit. Fiddles and flutes would start, and the folks would go round and round the fire, hands in hands, skipping. And the maidens would bring out smoked hams that had weathered the cold, dry winter air. They would, one by one, present the stock to the most senior elder woman at the table who would do the inspection with hawk-like eyes. Once satisfied, she would bless the larder with nods, and would, from time to time, point out particular seasoning or flavor applied to the hams to the Baroness, who, in return, would listen with great interest with curious eyes.

And I missed all of these. I had walked into the clearing with a fairly good mood, but this particular day the sight of joyfulness and the festive atmosphere suddenly reminded me of the town festival I had gone to every year during my previous life. I missed my friends. I missed my family.

My brothers and sisters asked me what was wrong, and I said nothing was wrong. That was a lie. I felt painfully guilty for having a sudden yearning for my family back in my previous life while walking into the festival, holding the hands of my wonderful brothers and sisters who loved me to bits. I was not the kind of person who could easily replace the love for the old family with a new one. Nor did I love my new family any less just because I missed mom and pop from my previous life. I felt miserable. I felt as if I was tainting their good-natured spirits with my meaningless sorrow. So I made up some lame excuse and removed myself from the scene. I found a conveniently placed sack of grains in the shadow. I sat myself down, arms around the knees, watching the townsfolk dancing and laughing and enjoying themselves. I saw mother talking to father, and they laughed and kissed, and there was a playfulness in father's eyes. I fell asleep weeping.

I woke up to the warm feeling of pressing against a soft yet full bosom that had a slight hint of sweet rose's scent. I quickly opened my eyes and found myself in the lap of the Baroness. Seeing I had woken up, Her Ladyship squeezed my cheeks and hugged me tightly but did not say anything. The Baron, who was sitting next to his wife, didn't say anything either. He just gave me a big grin and ruffled up my head.

Three days after the festival, a horse carriage arrived in front of our tavern and asked for me. The Baron wished to see me at his manor.

###

It was a short ride to the Baron's manor, for he lived quite close to my town. The carriage got off the broad dirt road and entered a small wood through which a path ran right in the middle. And without me realizing it, we were in the large garden in front of the large multi-story manor that to my inexperienced toddler eyes resembled a small palace. The carriage ran along the path through the garden, and I could see vast arrays of flowerbeds, mostly roses.

I was let off in front of the doorstep, and above it, a maid, a young adult woman of maybe twenty, twenty-one, was waiting for me.

"René of the Tavern?" she called out to me.

"If you say so, mademoiselle."

"My, my. I was told you were a child, but I didn't expect a toddler." With that, she beckoned me to come with her.

She led me through the beautifully decorated marble hall, up the red-carpeted stairs, and through corridors to finally come to a stop in front of a wooden door at the end of the hallway. She knocked twice.

"Master majordome, the boy is here."

The room was a modest office. Behind the wooden desk, a silver-haired hawk-like man was waiting for me in his chair. The desk was taller than me, so the man stood up and came around and knelt before me, lowering himself to my eye-level.

"René of the Tavern?"

"René, Master majordome." I bowed politely.

He smiled big and offered his hand for a shake, to my surprise. I shook his hand as manly as I could, which made him smile even more.

"Come, my child. We have been waiting for you."

Still holding my small hand, he led me out of his office. From the way the maid had addressed the man as 'majordome', I knew he was the one running the manor. If the Barony were a country, this man would be the minister of interior. And this puzzled me. 'What am I doing here?'

We walked through the hallway some more and came to a large spacious room. This had to be it. This had to be the Baron's court where His Lordship handled the dealings of the Barony. But the Baron wasn't there. Instead, half a dozen men were sitting on the long bench at one wall, underneath a large painting that depicted the Marquis of the Roseland bludgeoning Dumas to death. I immediately recognized the treasurer among the men, and upon seeing me enter the court, he waved his hand with a big grin on his face.

"That's him? René of the Tavern?" one of the men asked.

"My... It's just a baby!"

At this point, I was a bit scared. The majordome must have sensed it for he once again knelt beside me and patted my shoulders."Do not be afraid, my child. We do not intend to devour you." Then he bared his fangs as a joke, and I burst out laughing.

For the next three freaking hours, the men asked me questions about everything. They read a passage of a poem and asked me what I thought about it. They asked me math questions. They asked me what I thought about the fact that the La Rose family gave up the Marquis title. They asked me what I thought about Montclam, a piece of land I had never been to. And we got into a long discussion about how the people in my town could do better. They spent a good amount of time explaining how certain things ran in the manor and then asked me what I thought about it. Questions led to answers which led to discussions and sometimes to arguments. At one point, I found myself sitting with them, brainstorming an economic drive that, hopefully, would result in more roses exported to Montclam and beyond.

I was reading aloud a long poem written on an equally long scroll, and the men were listening with eyes closed, sometimes nodding, when the Baron walked in. We jumped up and bowed.

"My good men, how goes?" The Baron came by my side and ruffled up my hair.

The majordome looked at his fellow men's faces one by one, and they each nodded.

"Your Lordship, we came to the agreement René of the Tavern is... gifted."

"I suspected so." The Baron agreed.

The majordome bowed again and continued.

"I see the boy, once he comes of age, heading Your Lordship's court."

The Baron lifted his eyes from me and met those of his men. They nodded. I was standing there with my mouth agape.

"Excellent! Majordome, please arrange for the boy's room." The Baron let out a cry of joy and turned to face me. "René of the Tavern, welcome to my humble manor. But first, we shall go discuss the matter with your father."