Original Translation can be found at Priddles Translations.

Let’s talk about the first time I used magic.

In this world, I was born and raised in a quintessential farming village, northwest from the imperial capital of Meiziss ⌈¹⌋. My parents held a managerial role and, compared to the other families, we were on the affluent side. Though I say affluent, it was only slightly above the average commoner household.

Aside from the land we owned, which was considerably large, everything else was very ordinary. Taking this into consideration, it was actually a miracle to be able to find a grimoire in such a mundane place.

One day, around sunset…

“Gerald, could you go grab a new candle?”

“Okay!”

At night, in this world, basic lighting consists of candles and oil ⌈²⌋ lamps. Nobles may have the magical illumination known as the sphere of light, but you won’t find any commoners that possess it. For that reason, every household in this village would light candles once the sky darkens.

That day, the candle in the living room was flickering and was about to burn out. And without any candles, we’d have to eat in the dark. For that reason, when a candle looks like it’s at its end, we needed to retrieve another one from the storage room.

After nodding to my father in acknowledgement, I headed towards the storage room. Upon opening the door and entering, I was met with a scene of chaos that spread throughout the room. So many things (mainly junk) were scattered about and forced together. It was to the point that you couldn’t tell one thing apart from another.

There was a table missing a leg, a broken vase, a shelf missing its handles and stuck closed, carelessly stacked old thick wood and bundles of paper… Years of neglect had made everything dusty, especially the air.

“As usual, it looks like going to be tough to find even a single candle…”

It’s amazing that someone could feel inclined to store something like candles in a room like this. Doesn’t Father think that searching through this is too much trouble? As shocked as I was, I should probably find a candle soon. And so, I forced my way in and waded through the junk.

“If only it was a little more organised…”

I let a complaint slip after discovering that the mess was worse than I imagined. After some more wading, and a little effort, I managed to uncover a plain wooden box that the candles were stored inside.

“Alright, found it…”

While reaching out to the box of candles, I accidentally brushed against a nearby tower of books.

“Ah!”

By the time I shouted, it was too late.

Stacks of thick books, bundles of paper and similar items collapsed with great force onto the ever disheveled floor. Letting out a sigh, I glared at the books scattered across the floor before me.

The chaos had become evermore impossible to tidy up.

Well, from the start it was impossible to tell where anything was anyway…

“Dammit…”

Getting on my knees, I decided to at least clean up a little and started by grabbing the books within reach. Then, amongst the books I had gathered…I discovered it.

“Hmm? This is…”

It was large and had a deep crimson binding. The front cover was extravagantly decorated with golden thread, giving it the impression of an expensive ornament. Rather than a book, I had the feeling it was more apt to describe it as a decoration.

It was so large that I had to hug it to my chest to pick it up. The book was decidedly heavy for my 5 year old self. On top of that, although the book was wearing out, the paper itself was of significantly high quality. Until then, all the paper I had come across was like sandpaper. I had never experienced such a smooth sensation from touching paper ⌈³⌋.

“I wonder if this is some special book. The binding looks really high quality.”

Either way, this isn’t the kind of book you would find in a rural farming village. It was more like a book that would be handled by the rumored Royal Library. After thinking so, I spontaneously became extremely interested in its contents.

At five years of age, I had already learnt to read and write, and had recently been spending some of my spare time reading. When my mother put me to sleep, she would often recount tales of heroes and other local legends, but I loved them so much I would get so excited that I was unable to sleep. It was a foregone conclusion that a book like this would greatly arouse my curiosity.

It crossed my mind that it could be something that shouldn’t be touched, but that thought lasted but a moment before my curiosity won over and peeled open the front cover. However, the letters written in the book were not the ones taught to me by my parents, but something else entirely.

“…? This is, err…”

Page after page were completely covered in a strange language. Was it a foreign language? Or an ancient one? I had absolutely no idea with my mere 5 years worth of knowledge The only thing I understood was that it would be impossible for me to read this by myself.

Oh well, it can’t be helped…

It was a bit of a shame that I couldn’t read it. I might also get in trouble for touching such a splendid book without permission. After convincing myself of that, I tried to close the book. In that instant, it happened.

“–a, gah, aaaghaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!?”

I was assaulted by furious headache.

It continued for a while, and when the headache eventually dissolved I had regained my memories of a past life ⌈⁴⌋. I thought it would fry my brain; having a lifetime’s memories poured into my head in such a short time.

Regardless, at that moment, I remembered everything…

I remembered that I was called Okata Kazuhiko…
I remembered that I was a 19 year old university student studying arts…
I remembered that I was run over by a car and died…
I remembered the time I spent half-alive before succumbing to my injuries…

And naturally…I remembered the Japanese language…

Memory after memory streamed in without pause.

“W, what the hell…could it be…a flag?” I muttered unconsciously.

The concept of flags…does not exist in this world. The use of that word is, in itself, the greatest proof that I had recovered the memories of a past life.