After I Became the Youngest Son of a Lord [Western Fantasy]

One cold winter, the land of Francis, abandoned by the gods, welcomed the youngest and most beloved son of the lord and lady.

The people of Francis expressed their gratitude to the brave lord and the kind lady by bringing out their finest foods and gathering around the bonfire to sing beautiful hymns.

At that time, no one knew what astonishing changes this frail child would bring to this desolate land.

Eli Curtis Francis, a five-year-old, whose soul is a computer science student from another world, stared thoughtfully at the cards drawn from his late-arriving card drawing system.

While others summon forbidden beasts and legendary weapons, he draws potato and beet construction blueprints.

Well, at least the system started him off with a dragon.

Fine, while others are out hunting dragons and searching for treasure in a world of swords and magic, he’ll take up a shovel and focus on infrastructure.

A quirky dwarf master shoulders his burdens and heads towards the continent’s first smelting base, an elf who shuns contact with humans holds a delicate bowl of ice cream in the marketplace, and a bard strums his harp on a towering city wall, singing loudly.

Francis, the Land of Freedom

Abandoned by the gods

They are valiant and skilled in battle, they are rich and just

Purple irises bloom on the endless ice plains

The shadow of the dragon sweeps over every scorching land

Francis, the Land of Freedom

A place where the gods cannot reach

It is magnificent and dazzling, gentle and inclusive

Praise the Land of Freedom, Francis

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Pairing: Infrastructure-obsessed frail mage (uke) x ruthless, powerful, tragic half-elf (seme)

The early relationship is very unpleasant

There is the ‘wife-chasing crematorium’ trope and the ‘hungry wolf turned loyal dog’ trope, but in the later stages, the seme enters the scene rather late.

In the eyes of the uke, magic is akin to a program, and the uke is the star of the computer science department.

The uke begins by capturing a dragon, and there’s a special reason why he’s not suspected. The entire Holy Church is made up of villains.

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Francis does not believe in gods; we only believe in the hoes in our hands and the swords at our waists, the campfire before us and the magic we chant, the sunset over our land and the laughter we share with one another.