My Chief Aide Is Worth Ten Men

"Hey, you there! Set those down gently by the main beam!!"

"Aigoo, my ears are gonna grow calluses. Say that one more time and it'll make fifty!"

The day after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Reus eliminated the Jack-o'-Lantern, the villagers threw themselves into repairing the communal warehouse from the early hours of the morning. Since it was a shared storehouse, there was no question of whether or not anyone would pitch in — everyone did.

"Still, our lord sure is a generous man, ain't he."

"That's what I'm sayin'. I figured he'd order the repairs done, but I never dreamed he'd pay for all of it himself."

When public facilities within a manor fell into disrepair, it was only right that the lord bore the full cost. After all, one of a lord's principal duties — in exchange for receiving judicial rights, legal authority, and the like — was to keep life in his domain running smoothly.

...That, however, was nothing but a pretty-sounding ideal, and reality was an entirely different beast. The vast majority of lords snatched up every right they could while merely glancing sideways at their duties.

And so, whenever public facilities broke down, the custom had become for the lord to pay only a pittance while the peasants scraped together the rest on their own. The people of Crow's Head Valley knew this all too well, and had expected nothing much...

But Reus was a different story.

He'd simply asked how much it would take, handed over the entire sum, and told them to buy the materials and fix it. Tossing in a warning to work carefully and not get hurt was just a bonus.

"He really is a strange one, ain't he."

"Eh, why d'you talk like that? Just say he's a good man and be done with it."

"You're both right, so quit yappin' and go fetch the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠planks for the roof!"

Simply by not exploiting them beyond what was necessary, Reus was already, by the standards of this era, more than good enough a lord.

"What in the...?"

Meanwhile, Werner, who had gone out to tend the pumpkin patch, came across a hollowed-out pumpkin carved with a grinning mouth and creepy smiling eyes, and scowled at it.

"Ei, leaving something this ill-omened lying around will ruin the whole year's harvest. Begone!!"

Werner hoisted up the unsettling pumpkin and hurled it to the edge of the field. It hit the ground and burst apart, shattering to pieces.

Lina, who'd been playing nearby, idly kicked at the broken shards a couple of times before wandering off.

After that, the mysterious arsons plaguing the village simply ceased, just as Reus had promised.

Being able to read and write is a truly tremendous blessing.

Was it ninety-seven percent? Ninety-eight? I once watched a documentary saying that was roughly the illiteracy rate in the Middle Ages. And of the lucky two or three percent who could read at all, far fewer could do it properly.

In my own manor alone, the only people who could both read and write were Laura and me.

To modern people — who come standard-equipped with fast reading and writing skills, and Koreans in particular — this probably doesn't hit home at all. It certainly didn't for me, at first.

Right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after I arrived here, I even harbored an ambitious dream: 'I'll spread my language system and script throughout this medieval world!' I told myself.

I folded, cleanly and completely, in exactly four days. Four days to learn your own limits? That's a bargain.

Who would have thought I'd end up worshipping King Sejong all over again in a place like this. I miss you, Hangul. Oh, how I miss you...

And it wasn't just the reading. Nothing I took for granted in the modern world exists here, and so much is wildly different from the era I knew.

No, let me be honest. It's inconvenient. Genuinely, truly, mind-meltingly inconvenient.

Carving up the world with modern knowledge and jump-starting civilization? I wouldn't dare dream of it. Every single day is just brutal.

I remember chuckling at the "medieval experts" who would swarm every thread about medieval fantasy or domain-building stories on the old internet forums of my previous world — 'Wow, this guy really knows everything, huh.'

And now? I would give anything to recall even a scrap of what those people wrote, even their throwaway comments.

I sincerely wished, more than once, that I'd had some kind of magic that let me browse those posts whenever I needed them.

If I could have focused solely on running my domain, I'd have given it my absolute best — but with the ever-looming threat of mode... monsters that could appear anywhere, at any time, that was impossible too.

Or suppose it were a world where monsters showed up but no one cared... no, actually, that would probably cause chaos of an entirely different kind.

A sprawling, luxurious grand mansion? Doesn't exist! All we have here is a square stone keep — that's it, that's everything.

Meals? Well, let's just say not many people could tell bread from a rock with their eyes closed.

Thank god I'd learned the basic concepts of feudalism and manor structure in compulsory education. If I hadn't... oh, dear god.

Well... that was a lot of whining, but the conclusion was simple.

A medieval world without fantasy... is brutal. Especially for a lord.

I think I finally understand why so many people wanted to wrap the Middle Ages in romantic fantasy.

Honestly, I'm not even sure 'lord' is the right word for me. Shouldn't it be more like... castellan?

Maybe it'd be different if I were part of the imperial family or royalty, but I'm basically a young village chief, dammit!!

With more unknowns than knowns piling up like this, I had no choice but to lean entirely on Laura, who was born and raised here.

I say this with complete sincerity: without her, I'd have hit three or more communal bad endings by now.

But Laura was still human, and humans have their limits.

"Huh...?"

"Laura! Laura, are you okay?"

"I'm, I'm fide. I'll be back shortwy!"

Blood suddenly streaming from her nose mid-task, she clamped a hand over it and hurried outside. She returned a while later with a strip of cloth stuffed up her nostril, but...

"Oh, damn it...!"

"Laura."

"N-no, it's nothing. I just... felt a little dizzy, that's all."

Watching her rub her eyes again and again, her head nodding off toward sleep, I reached over and took the documents off her desk. Textbook overwork symptoms.

"Go home and rest. I'll manage the correspondence somehow."

"Even if you handle them... I'm the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one who has to give everything a final check in the end, my lord."

"Then go rest properly today, and come back tomorrow healthy to do your checking. Can you even read the words straight in the state you're in?"

"But..."

"No buts — go, now! Yay! Work's over for today!"

I hurriedly swept everything off her desk — writing implements, books, every last scrap of work — and hauled her up onto her feet.

"Thank you. Then, if you'll excuse me..."

"Get home safe."

After sending Laura home — coughing faintly, looking worse by the minute — I returned to my office alone and set to work on the petitions.

What do you want me to do about it? If it's soothing, be grateful and enjoy it. Better sleep, right?

Get the date right first, for crying out loud—!

"Seriously, if he's paid back two out of three, that's most of it, isn't it? Just bear with it a little longer."

The very fact that I could read these petty grievances at all was thanks to Laura, who took down the peasants' words, organized them, and turned them into proper documents for me.

That's right — anyone who assumed peasants were simple folk who just obeyed whatever instructions came down from above was making a huge mistake.

Petitions like this poured in day after day, and if you didn't resolve them, the complainant would show up asking why not, and what happened.

I once thought I could just ignore this stuff. But Laura's words, delivered while she stared me down with dead fish eyes, still echoed in my head.

- My lord... if you keep ignoring petitions like these, do you think those people will still feel they need to stay in this manor? Or won't they?

- They won't feel they need to, I suppose.

- Correct. And what do people who no longer feel they need to stay somewhere do?

- They leave.

- Correct. And once they leave, one by one — can the manor sustain itself, or not?

- ...It can't.

- Correct! Then treat them well, my lord. Most of these villagers are serfs, bound to you in name — but that never meant they'd simply sit still and accept unreasonable treatment.

Gulp. The thought of that whole crowd of people coming after me with torches and farm tools sent a small chill down my spine.

"I need people to help me. No — I need people, plural."

My domain, Crow's Head Valley, wasn't a large estate. Classify it as large, medium, or small, and it fell squarely into 'small'.

And yet here I was, run off my feet. With just the two of us — Laura and me — we were clearly hitting our limit.

Having relearned just how precious and desperately needed labor was, I stayed up late into the night that day, pushing through as many documents as I possibly could before sleep took me.

Thankfully, the monsters seemed to have some sense of timing too — that night passed without incident.

"Ahh, I slept so well... no, actually, I didn't sleep at all."

The next morning, I climbed out of my straw-stuffed bed in the bedroom and conjured a large droplet of water into my palm. Then I slapped it straight onto my face.

Splat! The droplet burst and scattered... no, actually, it didn't scatter at all — it spread thin across my entire face like a sheet mask.

In that state I washed up, opened a little bottle of crushed mint mixed with various herbs, smeared it on my teeth, scrubbed with a pig-bristle toothbrush, and rinsed my mouth. That was how my mornings began.

"Ugh, this feels awful. Listerine... I miss you so damn much."

That said, by the time I finished grumbling, I was already fully dressed and ready to head to my office.

And by 'dressed', I mean worn trousers, boots, a tunic, and an old green cloak thrown over it all. The former lord's hand-me-downs, apparently.

They say humans are creatures of adaptation — and I suppose I was still human, because this life was slowly starting to feel normal...

Arriving at my office, I picked through the leftover petitions from yesterday. Even if I couldn't resolve them myself, I needed a feel for which ones mattered and which didn't.

Then it hit me — that system message I'd seen before. The one that said Fire-related magic has grown by one stage.

I'd had no idea what "grown" was supposed to mean, so I'd kept fire magic sealed away ever since, but...

"Should I... give it a try?"

I was alone, so there was no risk of being seen. Just for a moment — just a tiny spark, to see how much stronger it had gotten. With that thought, I turned away from the door and snapped my fingers.

As always, a scarlet flame rose from the tip of my index finger. 'Huh, no difference at all?' I was just thinking that when I felt something strange.

"Huh?"

It wasn't just the fire — I could sense the air shimmering around it. When I carefully cupped that air in my hand and kneaded it, a warmth spread out through my whole body.

"I can control the surrounding temperature now...!"

I'd moved beyond simply wielding fire as a weapon — I could now command heat itself. Blanketing an entire room was still beyond me, but covering a single human body was well within reach.

"It was never like this when I dealt with other monsters... why now?"

With that confirmed, I thought back to the monsters I'd handled before — the goblins, the werewolves, and so on.

With those, it had just been A monster appeared!, then once I fought and won, Monster dealt with! — and that was the end of it.

"Could it be... because it was an elemental monster?"

Now that I thought about it, the Jack-o'-Lantern had been the first creature to wield a clear elemental force — fire.

If another monster appeared that manipulated fire, or one that wielded a different element entirely... would I grow even stronger as well?

"Busy, busy. Lord duties, mage duties... two bodies would really come in handy right about now."

I did have a clone spell, but the clone did nothing unless I gave it orders, and even then it couldn't handle anything complicated.

I had to remember: the magic I wielded was convenient and powerful, but it was never omnipotent.

One task led to another, and before I knew it, the morning sun was creeping toward afternoon...

"Why... isn't she here yet?"

A faint chill crept up my spine as I stared at Laura's still-empty desk. Could she have been crushed by the workload and run off in the night?

If Laura ran away from here, I was finished. Utterly, completely done for! My fingers were drumming frantically on the desk with my fingernails when I finally stood up.

Hurrying down the stairs, I ran into a soldier making his patrol rounds nearby. He snapped to attention and saluted.

"Good day to you, Lord Reus."

"Ah, Willer. Everything quiet?"

"Yes, all quiet, sir."

"So... has Laura come by any chance?"

"I haven't seen the chief aide, sir, but shall I ask the sentries in the other sections?"

"No, no. Keep up the good watch."

She hadn't even come near the keep? The odds that she'd fled were climbing by the second, and I sprinted off toward the village.

West side of the village, past the long bean field, right beside it — that's what she'd said. It wasn't a big place, so I found her house quickly.

Knock, knock. I rapped on Laura's door, but no response came. Just as the worst possible endings started flickering through my mind—

"Yes... coming."

A weak voice sounded from inside, and the door cracked open. Through the gap appeared Laura, wrapped in a blanket, pale-faced and shivering.

"Laura, you..."

This was nothing like her usual confident, sharp-edged self. Her damp black bob clung to her face, soaked with cold sweat.

"I'm... sorry, my lord. Last evening my body suddenly took a turn for the worse, and... I only just came to..."

One look said it all — a bad case of fever and chills. She hadn't run off, thank god, but her being sick was a serious problem in its own right.

"I'll try to... make it in by the afternoon somehow. So..."

"No, it's fine. Rest properly, and don't you dare come in until you're fully recovered."

"I can't just do that—"

"I said rest, didn't I? Forcing yourself to work while sick gets you nowhere."

While pretending to pat her shoulder in comfort, I quietly used the magic I'd just acquired, raising the air temperature around her body slightly above normal.

"Oh...?"

"Hm? What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just... my body feels... warm somehow..."

"A sign of recovery, then! Now, get back inside!"

"Yes... thank you, my lord."

I had to admit, this weakened, sick version of her was rather more endearing than her usual sharp-tongued self... but this was hardly the situation to be entertaining such cozy thoughts.

I could test out the new magic's effects a little longer. I'd give her until tomorrow. Please get well soon, Laura.

With that errand done, I headed off to check whether the fence around the grazing ground — the one a ram had smashed through a while back — had been repaired.

"You lot, did you see it?"

"See what?"

"The lord. Sneaking off, all by himself, to the chief aide's house."

"Eh? No, really?"

"I'm telling you. Saw it with these two eyes. The two of 'em talked at the door a bit, and then the lord just scurried right back!"

A chorus of knowing "Ahh~"s rippled through the farmers working the field.

"Well, well."

"Of course, of course."

"Makes sense, don't it? That's how the young ones carry on."

"But is it proper, the lord and his chief aide carryin' on like that?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Two young folks, after all."

And so, without either of the parties involved having any idea, a very strange misunderstanding began its slow, quiet spread.

"Halt! Who goes there! This is Crow's Head Valley! Dismount!!"

"Now, now, no need for such suspicion, good men. I'll dismount, as you see. Typical of the backwoods, I must say..."

Two days later, in the morning, an unfamiliar guest appeared near the border of Crow's Head Valley. A guest, no less, riding a horse — he dismounted onto the ground and bellowed boldly at the soldiers.

"I am Mulat! I bear a message from Baron Karaton, lord of Wood Pigeon's Perch, addressed to Reus, lord of Crow's Head Valley!"