[ WP ] You have reincarnated in world where there are heroes , dragons and demons and you are villager number 231 .

I'm Villager number 231. 
 
 No, that's not actually my name. My given name in this world is Elric Sandgather, son of Wursal Sandgather. Before that I had a very different sort of title, but Villager number 231 is how I like to think of myself nowadays. There's some humor involved, so it's not all self-deprecating. 
 
 A majority of it is, but not *all* of it. 
 
 I live in a Village near the coastal walled city of Bicchiere. This is a strategically important location which boasts a port with the second largest standing population of Imperial soldiers within the human controlled territories of the Northern continent. If you happen to be rich or lucky enough to get a good long look on a map, my village will look like a tiny speck inland north-west of the massive and intricate blot of ink and detail undoubtedly sketching out the Cities, Guard stations, Dungeon entrances, and the Great Forests. 
 
 I'd like to tell you that the area has an interesting title of its very own, but as a frontier village, we do n't technically have a name for this place. The Empire assigned us a number: Village 52, located near the natural sand deposit. Two generations aged, founded in the 12th Year of Emperor Rilanthian the 5th's reign of power, may he live on forever. 
 
 That arbitrary number 52 is another part of the humor for me, if you're wondering. 
 
 Most people in these parts do n't find it very funny, or really even think about these things at all. Arguably, the main reason I do most comes from being reincarnated from a previous existence with a majority of my memories in-tact. Actually, I'd go so far give that particular reason a wide majority, followed by a complete absence of anyone reasonable to share my thoughts. Going about saying crazy things like `` I remember a life from before I was born,'' well... that is a just a great way to end up burned at the stake. 
 
 Yes, that still happens. 
 
 Seriously, seriously. 
 
 This is a fantasy sort of world, not a Western-culture post-industrial society. The Empire makes the rules and has some draconian policies, with some actual dragons to boot. 
 
 Nowadays, border towns on the Northern continent are n't exactly held with high regard. I guess at one point or another there were some cities further inland, but the decline of civilization seems to be in full swing, and though I have n't seen any sea people, I've most certainly seen evidence of tail-end of a Golden Age. The wilds are reclaiming the land around these parts, bit by bit, and the Empire ca n't be particularly bothered to do anything about it. Still, Village 52 is unique in that regard. They actually seem to bother for us because we make them money. 
 
 *'' ATTACK! We're under attack! `` * 
 
 Ah, there it is. The shouts have just only begun and my ears are already hurting. Twenty something years of this, and it still has n't gotten any better: The fantastic and familiar sound of ringing metal atop the two standing bell-towers in the center of town. It seems the first ones were apparently made of wood, but apparently that was rethought after they all burned down. Apparently though, no one thought this logic was worthwhile for the walls, or the houses for that matter. I'm smelling smoke. 
 
 Hmm... A lot of smoke. 
 
 See, it's not just in the fact that the village still standing and populated ( although that is unique in the greater scheme of things ) it's that we actually have a rather specific purpose, outside of being on the border of the Empire. There's a rather nice sand deposit, of rather nice sand about two leagues in every direction. A material that happens to be very useful for things, such as glass. Thus the unusual family name. 
 
 *'' Monsters, Monsters! `` * The Town Guard is rallying down the road. I can hear them, the clatter of armor and weapons is all but unmistakable. *'' Monsters at the Northern gates! They're chasing the trader's caravan! Come'on men! Lets give em' a taste of fury! `` * If I had it in me to get up and look out the window, I know I would see the familiar sight of adventurers and warrior types, hired as mercenaries. A few swords and spears, bows, maybe even a few staffs with the healers and Wizards. *'' To battle! `` * 
 
 Hear that? That's the reason most towns do n't have a high success rate in this territory to begin with. If literacy, sanitation, and intelligence of the local populations were n't already at all time lows, average life expectancy is n't exactly balancing things out. If anything it's the complete opposite. It's not like the Southern continent, where mankind is so over-saturated it's much too busy fighting itself to be concerned with the monsters and creatures roaming the wilds. Up here, humans are n't exactly in control of the land. 
 
 *'' For the Empire! `` * 
 
 Ah, the shouts of on-coming battle. Men and women trained and honed in their skills, ready for combat at a moment's notice. Each and every single one of them with stories and legends and lore aplenty. I suppose it sounds interesting, does n't it? 
 
 Fighting monsters with your comrades, saving the town for coin and prestige? It's a fantasy world after all: there are ancient treasures, ruins with gold and legendary weapons, giant beasts and magic artifacts of impossible power. Why am I laying in a shabby straw-bed by the window doing nothing, when I could be living the fantasy world dream? Well I'll tell you *Why*, exactly: 
 
 I'm Villager 231. 
 
 A random lucky soul that was reborn with memories of a past life- this is the start of a cliche story of power. Knowing what I know, you'd all but expect me to rise to fame and glory, to hone my talents at a young age and become a legend: but without a single exceptional skill, sub-par stats across the board and born into a family much too poor to waste time on a young child's delusions of grandiose heroic deeds, none of this has happened. 
 
 The closest effort I made was when I turned twelve in this life, I took all the money I'd save to pay for the Empire's Assessment test and the Guild hall. A magical device read my blood and measured my strengths. I still have the folded parchment of hidden under the floor-board to prove it, odd texts and numbers listing the obvious to anyone: If I picked up a sword and tried to take on the monsters outside the gate, I'd be dead in seconds. 
 
 Really, I guess I should have already expected this from my previous life. Anyone who has died once will already know the obvious: Life's not fair. 
 
 I'm weak, and there's not much I can do about it. Maybe if I was able to slay monsters I might be able to reap the reward of whatever hidden leveling system I suspect exists behind the scenes, but I doubt I'd make it very far. I'm starting from way too low on the scale, I'd probably die taking on a common-slime, and I know it well. 
 
 I'm the peon that dies in the cut-scenes when demonic creatures rip from the void before the heroes swoop in to save the day. I'm the random person who does n't get away when monsters invade the town in the ten second clip of carnage to set the genre's tone, or the person who meets the main character only to meet a tragic end in the same episode. The signs are all there: Heck, just the other day a Dungeon safe-zone in the region was destroyed, and a massive burst of Green-Fire lit up the sky above the Great Forest. If that's not a clear signal the Fantasy story-line elements are coalescing nearby, I do n't know what is. 
 
 Which is exactly why I'm not going outside. Why I've taken my extra shifts to fund a journey South, to where Mankind mostly has control of things beyond the occasional dungeon or rogue sea-monster. I've got a bag packed with a one-way caravan ticket out of the Village towards Bicchiere port tomorrow morning. I've perfected my smithing and trade skills as best I could. The life of a peaceful NPC is a humble one, but it's a proven routine. I might be random villager 231, but I'm not about to die like it. 
 
 *'' The Gates have been breached! The monsters! They've broken through! `` * 
 
 The guard will clean that up. Not a problem. 
 
 *'' Fire! The flames are spreading! Fire! Fire! `` * 
 
 There are mages that specialize in water magic. The Glass Factory hires several of them. I'm not concerned, they'll deal with it. 
 
 *'' THE FACTORY IS IN RUINS! MONSTERS! THERE ARE MONSTERS! `` * 
 
 That's happened before, I'm not worried. 
 
 *'' THE ARMORY IS ABLAZE! `` * 
 
 That's also happened. It's a Border town, no need to be alarmed. 
 
 *'' LIGHT HAVE MERCY! EVEN THE BELL-TOWERS ARE ON FIRE! `` * 
 
 Okay, that's new, but I'm still located on the Southern side of town, the fire wo n't make it to me any time soon. The monsters will have to make it through the garrison of Empire troops stationed here. 
 
 *'' OH GODS, HAVE MERCY! THE MONSTERS ARE TOO STRONG! * ***AGGGG-'' *** 
 
 *'' MONSTERS! THEY'VE MADE IT OVER THROUGH THE SOUTHERN WALL! `` * 
 
 God damn it all.
