Episode 111: Ian's Simple Plan

Ian's plan was simple. There seemed to be a rift between Ragnar and the shaman, so he'd exploit that gap to expand his own influence. The tribe's people didn't know the first thing about mysteries or what magic really was. Whatever Ian said, they'd just go, "Ah, I guess that's how it is~" and accept it.

In the modern world where smartphones were widespread and the internet ubiquitous, it was hard for information bias to take hold. But the world had always been one where information spread unevenly and skewed. Tricking people's eyes and ears, twisting situations to your advantage—that was the power of a mage.

"I-Ian?!"

Takarion, locked in the beast pen, spotted Ian and his face twisted in shock. It wasn't like the barbarians were some cruel monsters who'd toss him in there out of sadism. They just didn't have anywhere else to put him. Northerners didn't build prisons; they exiled or executed criminals. But even setting aside those minor details, Takarion looked truly pathetic and pitiful. How could you not feel sympathy seeing a man caged up like a beast?

"Hey there, Takarion. Still alive, huh."

"Lord of the Heavens! Why are you here...!"

"Came to bust you out, for now."

Ian flashed a grin, and Takarion covered his face with hands the size of pot lids, bursting into sobs.

"Waaahh!"

Ian smirked at the sight. Takarion's face was half-ruined from all the hardship, but his body was so bulky to begin with that even halved, he still weighed as much as an average guy. Still, the weight loss did make him look sharper.

"Looking good now that you've slimmed down."

Takarion, finally catching his breath after a good cry, stammered, "S-so... when do I get to go back to the Empire?"

It was a roundabout jab at why Ian hadn't shown up dangling a key like some hero. If you're gonna rescue someone, at least do it with flair—flash the key and bam! But Ian knew how desperate and eager Takarion was, so he let it slide.

"Dunno. Gotta try and see..."

"Try...? You mean you can't actually get me out?!"

"Eh, don't worry. I'll give it my best shot."

Ian grinned at him again. "But in return, you'll have to put in some work too, Takarion."

"W-work...?"

"You're a holy monk, right? Honestly, I devoured the Gospel of Saint Marcus—it was a total page-turner. Number one life pick in my heart. Congrats, Takarion."

"What the...?"

Takarion's mind went half-blank, dazzled by Ian's flashy nonsense. But whatever the details, it was clear Ian was on his side and working for him.

"First things first... gotta deal with that guy."

A man who looked anything but ordinary was approaching. Ian took a slow breath. A mage by trade, but versed in agitation, scams, MLMs, and all sorts of petty crimes, Ian was about to pull off another "mage move." But he didn't hate these moments. Acting fair and honest? That wasn't mage-like at all. Mages were ever-changing, unpredictable beings. Lately, Ian had started enjoying these reveals of new sides to himself. Proof he was becoming a proper mage.

"Ragnaaaar! What in the hells is this?!"

The man bellowed at the top of his lungs, his voice so booming you could've sworn he was a theater actor.

"Ah, Pyra. You're here."

Ragnar gave a lazy wave, then turned straight to Ian. "That's the guy. Shaman Pyra."

Ragnar was blatantly signaling he wanted something from Ian. It wasn't hard to guess what. Shaman Pyra—as a shaman, he held a unique position in the tribe, untouchable even by the chief. Ragnar couldn't strike at Pyra directly. But Ian? If he called out Pyra's incompetence as a fellow "shaman" (not really), there'd be no issue. Ragnar wanted Ian to undermine Pyra's authority. A golden opportunity had rolled right into Ian's lap. Topple Pyra, and Takarion's fate would be Ian's to decide.

"I warned you! That Empire dog brings disaster! Chase him out now!"

"Hm. We've been over this."

Ragnar dismissed Pyra openly. Pyra was floored. The next chief was siding with some rootless sky-worshipping outsider over the tribe's shaman?!

'Damn his stubborn shit!'

Pyra had sensed Ragnar's dislike since failing to predict the Great Hunt Festival's flop. But to rub it in his face like this?! Pyra whispered fiercely where Ian couldn't hear—too embarrassing for outsiders.

"Ragnar, it's not too late. Boot that Empire rat now!"

"He's Warrior Sigr's guest. Kicking him out for no reason would piss off the warriors."

"You saying don't make the chief's potion? Right now?"

Pyra poked a sore spot, and Ragnar growled back in a whisper. "If you were gonna make it, you'd have done it already!"

"You frustrating bastard...! Back then, the augury came out bad! I told you!"

Ragnar raised his voice, patience ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gone. "Shut it, you useless shaman! You think I'll let you jerk me around forever? Big mistake!"

"It's not jerking you around—the augury...!"

Pyra got it. Ragnar thought Pyra was manipulating him and the tribe using auguries as an excuse! And honestly, Pyra had no defense there. He'd twisted a few readings his way now and then. He was human, after all. With skills to fool people easily, staying 100% honest 365 days a year was tough.

'No reasoning with him.'

Pyra eyed the black-haired Empire man. He was the root of this. Pyra was a skilled shaman by his own reckoning—respected by others too. He'd prove it with raw power, purge this impurity himself. Show everyone his prowess, expose the Empire boy's incompetence, and his authority would rebound. Ragnar would fall in line. And Pyra's gut told him that calm young man approaching thought the exact same thing...!

"You the one peddling bullshit about making potions from human hearts?"

The black-haired Empire mage, Ian, spoke up, and every barbarian gasped in horror.

What? Heart potions are... bullshit?! No way! Hearts are a proven tonic—that's common sense!

The barbarians' world teetered. They turned desperate eyes to Shaman Pyra, the only hero who could save their Barbarian Universe!

"Ha! Mocking the Elixir of Life? What an ignorant fool!"

"Ooh!"

Thud! Pyra slammed his staff down. Northern mysteries surged and faded in response to the shaman's will. Magic was conveying one's will to the mysteries. Handlers of mysteries were will experts. Pyra's firm belief swayed the barbarians; their eyes hardened with resolve.

"Hear me, ignorant Empire fool! Since ancient times, the heart is the vessel of life! Symbol of life! The Elixir of Life is brewed from the life force pooled in that vessel! How dare you call it ineffective?!"

"Right on!"

"Grab the axes! Split that sky-rat's chest and rip out his heart!"

The northerners, fired up by Pyra's will, spewed truly barbaric lines. Ian was mildly surprised. Magic was advanced scholarship, shamanism a murky mix of faith and magic—as proven by Monk Isila. Magic handled mysteries more easily than shamanism. Fact. Ian figured shamans were no big ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deal. But Pyra's will was no joke. A serious opponent. Still, Ian was a seasoned scammer forged in petty crimes. Shamelessness at pro level!

"Just one question. Why do you think the heart's the vessel of life?"

"What? You call that a question...?"

"Ah, you don't know. Mind if I explain instead?"

Pyra snapped back at the provocation, refusing to lose tempo. "The heart's the sacred organ that produces blood! Obviously the vessel of life!"

"Well, blood's actually made in the bones..."

"???"

Pyra squinted. Blood from bones? What nonsense! Everyone knew hearts pumped blood—obviously made there!

"Fine, let's say it's roughly from the heart. Northerners must be built different. Whatever."

"It's not 'roughly'—it's fact!"

"Tch. Don't bruise a STEM guy's pride."

Ian, a former science nerd in his past life, itched to debunk illogical, unscientific crap. Not a med student but a math hopeful number freak, he obsessed over "scientific" like any STEM type.

Ugh... those anti-EMF stickers are useless... please stop praising plants with that smug face...

But as an isekai mage, he'd let go a lot. Not arguing "blood's made in the heart" was proof.

"Eating hearts makes you healthy, right?"

"Yes!"

"Then eating eyes improves eyesight?"

"...?"

Pyra gaped. Ian's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠logic was pure kid stuff!

"Arms make arms strong, legs make legs strong..."

"W-what bullshit is this?!"

Pyra dismissed it outright. Eating eyes for eyesight? Like that old "fish eyes good for eyes~" pseudoscience. From traditional medicine's "like cures like." Barbarians lacked that context, viewing it through souls and mysteries. But scientifically? Baseless crap. Eating fish eyes all day wouldn't fix your vision.

"You know it's bullshit too. Eating hearts makes you healthy? Then why hospitals, why doctors? Just crack open your neighbor's chest for a hot bowl when sick."

"..."

"In the Empire, we call what you do 'barbarian acts.' Peddling unproven medicine, churning out innocent victims!"

Oberon flapped onto Ian's shoulder. The northerners jumped.

"A raven!"

"Hrundal's messenger!"

Ian didn't know, but northerners revered ravens as sacred. Not magical, mind you—Oberon proved that. But smart, useful birds. Talk? Even better.

"Caw! Bullshit! Bullshit!"

Oberon squawked "bullshit" in human tongue, shocking them further. Teaching a raven to talk? That shaman's legit!

Ian yelled, "See! Even a passing Empire raven knows it's bullshit!"

"Caw! Bullshit!"

"...A raven saying that..."

"Hearts don't work?"

The northerners started taking Ian seriously. Pyra panicked. As an intuitive shaman touching mysteries via hints, a Hrundal-symbol raven appearing now... Was the god warning him to back off?

'...No way.'

Pyra gritted his teeth unconsciously. No way the northern god sided with an Empire punk. He ignored his shaman instincts—a taboo for mystery-handlers. Mysteries always signaled humans; people just missed them.

"An Empire fool clueless on mysteries...! Daring to judge my shamanism?!"

With thunderous shout, Pyra drew an Arcana card. The Tower.

"Behold, whelp! Hrundal demands your downfall!"

Indescribable mysteries churned around Pyra. Northerners knelt instinctively, gazing in awe at the shaman wielding them.

"Ooh!"

"Hrundal!"

Right then, amid the surging mysteries, Ian heard a grotesque, horrific voice. Like a thousand hammers and anvils clashing in dissonance—a wondrous cacophony.

'Fuck.'

Ian felt a drop of nosebleed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trickle. He didn't know what mystery Pyra's Arcana card summoned. But one thing was sure: it wasn't friendly to humans!

"Shaman. Send that mystery back. Now."

"What?"

Ian wiped his bloody nose. "We can't handle it... Send it back, I said."