The Magic Lord's Life Is No Picnic

Anyone who has seen The Martian knows how that story opens.

And I dare say — I dare say — that I was in a far, far worse position than Matt Da-freaking-m-on.

"So you weren't going to go down quietly after all."

As I brushed the dust off my shoulders, the werewolf's corpse lay sprawled before me, its whole body turned into a pincushion by arrows of light.

I kindled a small flame on my palm and blew on it — whoosh — and the fire writhed up like a serpent, coiling away to consume the corpse. Having reduced everything but the head to ash, the fire snake quietly slithered back to me and vanished.

At the same moment, a translucent window appeared before my eyes — filling my vision, visible to me alone.

"Yes, yes, I get it — now stop popping up! Every time I start to forget, here you come again..."

Wanting to catch my breath — and to check whether anyone had witnessed that little display — I leapt hard into the air, and the surrounding landscape spread out beneath me in an instant.

The broad farmland was divided into fallow and cultivated plots, and out on the grazing grounds the sheep lay huddled together in sleep. The mill and the smithy, which had churned away busily all day, stood silent.

Beyond them lay a scattering of other facilities and villages, and up on the hill, a single square-built keep sat in silent vigil, ringed by a makeshift palisade of stacked timber.

That's right — this was the medieval era. Except...

Aura. Mana. Circles. Magic towers. Sword Experts and Sword Masters. Adventurers.

None of those things everyone knows so well existed here. This was an utterly ordinary, utterly normal plain Middle Ages.

And I...

...was the only true mage in that world, the only one capable of hunting down the 'monsters' hiding within it.

And that was something I absolutely could not let be discovered.

Flicking away the window that kept blocking my view with a jerk of my chin, I landed again and emerged from the forest.

Outside the woods, the farmers stood waiting tensely with torches and farming implements in hand, and I set down the werewolf's head I'd prepared beforehand.

"M-My lord... don't tell me that's...!"

"That's right, it is. The culprit behind the sheep abductions. Found it dead in one of the traps."

Correct. And at the same time, I was the lord.

Reus, the unremarkable boy lord of Crow's Head Valley, a perfectly ordinary manor tucked away in a forgotten corner of the west. That was me.

"Good heavens... I had no idea it was a beast this size..."

"Finally dead, you damned sheep-stealing wolf spawn!"

The furious farmers pounded the werewolf's head to a pulp with sickles and shovels until there was nothing left of it.

There we go. Case closed. Culprit caught, evidence thoroughly disposed of. I was just about to consider the whole matter wrapped up when—

"But to think you slew that monstrous thing all alone at your age... Truly remarkable, my lord!"

"He's right! A man so young, performing feats like you'd cast a spell to do it!"

At the word spell, I stiffened, my face freezing before I could help it. Just as the whole atmosphere threatened to freeze along with it, I hurriedly broke into a laugh.

"...Oh, come off it! What am I, some kind of mage?"

"Well, you handle everything with such uncanny skill, my lord — who could help thinking it?"

"Now, now, lad! Don't go saying things like that! Haven't you heard word of the witch hunt that broke out somewhere north of Jerg recently? What would you do if the lord here got dragged in by those sorts of people, hm?!"

"Ridiculous talk! This is the man who even goes out hunting wolves with us — who'd ever accuse him of anything?"

Yes, yes. Thank you all so very much for your blazing support. Now please, for the love of everything, stop talking and go home! Smiling this hard is exhausting!

"Thank you, my lord!"

"We won't forget this debt, my lord!"

"Right, it's late — everyone head home safely. Sleep soundly tonight, without a worry."

Once everyone had gone and I was left alone, I wandered the grounds a while before collapsing onto the grass. The teenage body still had stamina to spare, but the mind was another matter entirely.

The only thing comforting my worn-out soul was the shrill chorus of nameless insects crying in the grass.

"How on earth did things come to this...?"

As if to answer the umpteenth lament of my life, a single white meteor streaked across the clear night sky.

And so, with no one knowing that their lord — a mage, no less — had slain the werewolf, another peaceful, quiet medieval night drifted on by.

Life Time: Medieval — LTM for short.

A game famous for letting you become the lord of a manor and experience every facet of medieval life.

It was one entry in the long-running Life Time open-world simulation series — the latest installment dealt with 1800s America, if I recalled correctly?

And why, of all entries, was Medieval especially famous? Simple: the developers had released their development tools entirely, making mod production completely free.

War mods. Crusade mods. Age of Exploration mods. Wandering Knight mods... The modding community ran wild with their imaginations under the banner of the Middle Ages.

I'd installed the game as soon as I heard the news. I'd already played the original, so I meant to enjoy the mod-loaded version this time.

My plan was to stuff it full of fantasy monster mods and play as a cheat-enabled boy mage.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I got transmigrated into this very game. With the mods still installed. Sure, my past life had ended with me keeling over from heatstroke while hauling freight at a distribution center without even air conditioning, but...

I couldn't tell you why I, the guy who never even left a 5,700-character review, was granted the honor of possession — but that wasn't the important part.

That damned message popped up the moment I started to forget, forever needling at my nerves.

"Do not reveal your magic." After turning that warning over in my head for a long, long time, the answer I finally arrived at was...

"This is just the Middle Ages. No magic, no monsters. No... there weren't supposed to be."

After being possessed and settling in, I'd just figured, ah, so I'm inside LTM now~ and coasted along. It never occurred to me that this place might be 'LTM with the mods installed.'

In other words, thanks to the mods I had installed, this world had quietly, without anyone knowing, transformed from 'medieval' into 'medieval fantasy.'

Goblins. Werewolves. Orcs. Skeletons... Creatures like these were hiding away somewhere in this world, holding their breath.

And the only one in all the world capable of dealing with them was me — its one and only mage.

Naturally, the people of this world regarded such things as nothing more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than figments of imagination and delusion, and anyone who claimed to have actually seen one was written off as a lunatic.

If the goblin hadn't ambushed me — the one lunging to kill the clueless fool who'd gone stargazing at night with no escort whatsoever.

If, at the very moment its hands were crushing my throat, I hadn't instinctively unleashed magic out of sheer desperate will to live.

If that system message hadn't flashed up right afterward — then I, too, would never have known. Not until the day I died.

Alone in my office, I snapped my fingers. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠small flame rose from the tip of my index finger, drifted onto my palm, and swelled into a modest ball of fire.

If that had been all, I could simply have lived out my days as a hidden powerhouse. But this cursed world insisted on maintaining 'estate management' as well, the absolute nerve of it.

"You'd think being a mage-lord would earn me a bit more of a... freeloading kind of life."

Just as the urge surged through me to incinerate the mountain of paperwork on my desk with the flame on my palm, someone knocked at the door.

"Ah, um, c... come in!"

As I frantically clenched my fist to snuff out the flame, a sharp-featured woman with a brown bob opened the door, stepped inside, and bowed.

"Good morning, my lord. And sure enough, the paperwork hasn't even been started."

"I... I was just about to get to it."

"Why, of course you were. I'm quite certain I heard that exact same thing five days ago, four days ago, three days ago, two days ago, and yesterday too! But I shall graciously refrain from mentioning it."

Splaying her fingers and then folding them down one by one from the thumb as she counted off — this cold-blooded woman, my very same age, served as both my aide and my secretary.

"Laura, I was out helping catch the wolf yesterday. Cut me some slack."

"Whatever possessed you to go out for a single oversized wolf, my lord? That's what the townsfolk are for — each man fending for himself."

Because it wasn't just an oversized wolf, that's why! It was a werewolf! If you lot had tried to catch it yourselves you'd have had to raise an army — for me it was one click and done!

"Something you'd like to say, my lord?"

"...No."

"Then perhaps instead of forcing that unsettling smile, you might turn your attention to the paperwork that's been piling up, my scruffy-haired lord."

"Did something unnecessary get tacked onto the end there?"

"My apologies, scruffy."

"Ah, so it was 'my lord' that was the unnecessary part."

Every fiber of me wanted to snap back at my insolent aide — what do you know of my struggles! — but as a lord, I truly was incompetent, no arguing it.

After all, I'd been sneaking off to hunt the monsters prowling the territory, leaving the actual work almost entirely untouched...

"Hold on — what is this?"

"The pronoun 'this,' my lord, could refer to any of a vast number of things."

"This thing, I mean, this one!"

While working steadily through the stack of documents with Laura, I held out the one sheet that had caught my eye.

"Why are there only three lines? Don't tell me this is a summary?"

"No, my lord. That is the entirety of it. Agriculture, commerce, livestock, fishing, forestry, mining, manufacturing, arms production... when not a single industry in this domain turns a profit, bankruptcy is only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠natural, isn't it?"

"Th-Then where did all the money we did have go?"

"Purchases of foodstuffs. Maintenance of the palisade. Repairs to the millstone gears of the mill — the ones driven by ox or horse, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that is. Repairs to the pasture fences the 'big wolf' tore down. Repairs to the windmill vanes... Shall I continue?"

"No... no, that's enough. You can stop. I've thoroughly grasped that we're doomed."

"Please don't worry yourself too much. Worst case, the Crown reclaims the domain, you're stripped of your post, you live like a beggar, and then some bandit ends your life. There's little worse it can do than that, is there?"

Look at her, speaking so freely about a domain that's supposedly hers too. Two months into being a lord, and I'd never dreamed bankruptcy would come sprinting up to my doorstep.

The reason I was this anxious was simple. In LTM, the moment your manor collapsed, you were on a one-way express ticket to the universal Bad Ending.

That desolate ending screen — a single line of text, You lost everything, were driven from your lands, and perished in the streets, beneath nothing but the image of your character hanging lifeless from a tree.

This can't go on. It can't! I racked my brain for some way out, but with the treasury on the brink of ruin, there was no seed capital for anything...

'Bandits...?'

Bandits. Thieving bastards who fill their own bellies with what belongs to others. And those vermin had banded together into a horde, plundering the whole countryside.

No supernatural powers, sure — but they threatened people, which arguably made them monsters too, didn't it?

"These... bandits. How long have they been around?"

"Four months now, my lord. Bands from other regions banded together and built up their strength, or so I hear."

"So they've been hitting places all over, then?"

"You have no idea. Not only did they steal the harvested grain, they made off with our stockpiled flour as well. Other manors lost not just the coin they were transporting but several head of cattle on top of it. They're vicious brutes who attack soldiers and farmers alike, indiscriminately — which makes them devilishly hard to deal with."

"Goodness. What utterly despicable scum."

"How kindly of you to speak of it as someone else's problem. Bandits could come crashing into this very room at any moment, you realize."

"Oh, come now. That'll never happen."

"And if such a thing did come to pass, know that I would flee without so much as a glance back — so do try not to take it too hard."

Oh, it won't happen, all right.

Because before long, those bastards were going to provide our domain with its seed capital — and then vanish from this world forever.