If you transmigrate into a noble, don’t become the second son.

My words may seem puzzling, but this was advice I wished to give all my fellows from the pits of my heart.

The stigma against second sons has always been around. Between the responsible eldest and the beloved youngest, the middle children were always neglected—on purpose or not.

The same couldn’t be said about a fantasy world. The difference was stark. When I suddenly woke up in the body of the son of a well-off Earl in a grand empire, I thought I’d be able to live in peace.

It was puzzling in the beginning, but after some days passed, I learned this world was of a famous novel! The fan-favorite character—the Emperor—was a dead giveaway. All the emperors had to change their names to that of the first emperor when they took the throne. Thank god for these weird customs.

I enjoyed grand meals, grand beds, and thought, eventually, grand friendships. I thought nothing would be in the way of this relaxed, rich life at the frontier. Money solved all, after all.

I was wrong.

“Ahem… we need to accumulate achievements in the war. The eldest is the heir, and the youngest is too young, so you go, son.”The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

My cold-hearted father uttered those words of love, handed me a bag of food, a letter of recommendation, and sent me to fucking war.

War against the demon king.

I hadn’t even read this damned novel! I just knew about it because its fanboys couldn’t shut up!

Regardless, humans were beings that had to adapt. I was sent to war, so I had to go to war. Life as a sixteen-year-old foot soldier was grueling, and it only grew tough as the threat of the demons became greater and greater.

I worked hard to rake in some achievements and be promoted enough to go away from the frontlines—but these fuckers. The more I achieved, the more to the front I was sent. They didn’t even give me that many promotions.

Pathetic as I was, I bit my teeth and fought for my life at the front for the next eight years. I don’t even remember how I survived seven of those eight years—the eighth yet continuing—but at last, thanks to the hard work and sacrifice of many, the war ended.

Goodbye, hellish battlefield. I will probably not write.

Now, the life of a soldier wasn’t all that bad—if you survive. I made a lot of connections with influential people. I also became involved with movements of power here and there. I didn’t mean to brag, but quite a few people hoping to make jewelry of my silver tongue popped up rather often.

Another great thing about surviving as a soldier was the savings. You never spent and only earned; what could be better?

The war was over, the population was reduced, and the Demon King had taken a good knock to the head and went back to sleep. All I had to do was sit back, relax, and live the rich life I had dreamed of.

That was how it was supposed to be…

That was so how it was fucking supposed to be…

“Ethan, you’re only 24, right?”

“That’s right, grand commander.”

“Alright, you go and teach in the academy.”

Fuck this.