Many If Many, Few If Few
Ian had wrapped up all his business in the north. Now it was time to head back to the empire.
He met with those who'd helped him during his stay and bid them farewell.
"May Hrun Dal's blessing be with you."
Shaman Pyra had followed him all the way to the distant port to see him off.
"Glad everything worked out, Ian."
"Come visit again sometime!"
From the Sky Claw tribe, Priest Madagal and Gunnarr came out as representatives to see him off.
The entire north was currently caught up in a great hunt festival, delayed by half a season. With the mountain king dead, they were finally rounding up all the beasts he'd hoarded away.
The ominous tension that had hung over the north was gone, replaced by the feverish heat of the hunt.
Thanks to all the work that came with it, only those with free time could spare to see him off. Ian felt no regrets whatsoever.
He'd gained plenty of magic, stocked up on elixirs, and even safely retrieved Takarion to bring back with him.
"Ian."
As Ian headed toward Kira's cabin, he turned at the sound of someone calling his name.
Belenca, dressed in casual clothes, waved to him from the bow.
At first, Ian had been a bit bothered by Belenca wearing women's attire. Why? Because of that old cliché about sailors hating women aboard ship. Ships were feminine, so another woman aboard would make her jealous... or something like that, he'd heard.
Belenca hailed from the continent and wasn't familiar with the sea. Ian figured she didn't know sailor culture and was just wearing whatever.
'Lady Belenca? Why is Lady Belenca...?'
'No, her outfit...'
'? What's wrong with her outfit?'
When he asked the crew, they couldn't have cared less about a woman on board. Ian grumbled to himself.
Movies, dramas, novels. You damn liars.
Women on ships were no big deal at all.
In truth, the superstition Ian recalled was only half right. Old-time sailors definitely hadn't liked women aboard.
The reason was simple: women were always a source of conflict.
After the age of great voyages, when long ocean trips became feasible, crews had to spend far more time at sea. Months or even years cooped up in cramped quarters.
Throw a woman into that mix for all that time? Disaster waiting to happen.
So female sailors weren't welcome.
But ships in this era weren't built for long hauls yet. In coastal fishing villages, women crew members were common.
And Belenca wasn't even crew—she was just a passenger. No reason for the sailors to bat an eye.
So there she stood in her dress, facing the sea breeze. A young woman with long golden hair fluttering ethereally.
She looked like something out of an AI-generated classical illustration—timeless and beautiful.
"Ian. Heading back to the empire now, right?"
"Yeah."
"We'll stop at the Blue Key Monastery first."
Ian nodded. As Belenca said, the monastery was their top priority. Only after properly returning Takarion would his mission be complete.
"After the monastery, where to?"
Belenca was curious about what came next.
Ian's original destination had been the empire's north. But he'd gone too far north this time. It wouldn't be odd if he looped back up there.
But Ian had zero interest in wandering the imperial north again. The only thing there worth noting was the chronomancer circle—and they'd come to him when the time was right. No need to seek them out.
He'd already found the Mystery of the Snowfields in barbarian lands...
"Thinking of looking into dragons."
"Dragons?"
A dragon held the materials to upgrade Anorilsil. If rumors surfaced, Ian planned to check them out.
Research only, of course. Dragons were dangerous; charging in blindly was a one-way ticket to the afterlife.
"Then we'll need to gather intel."
"Exactly."
"Big cities would be best for that?"
"Probably?"
Belenca flashed a satisfied smile before Ian even finished.
"Perfect."
"What is?"
"Means we get to spend some coin."
She stuck out her hand boldly.
"Pay. Up. Now."
"..."
"Don't try stiffing me."
Belenca owed Ian a debt for her ransom. But that didn't mean he could work her for free without a dime.
Debt or no, a knight deserved upkeep expenses, right? Especially after tagging along to the north and fighting plenty of battles.
Her performance bonuses(?) had piled up nicely.
Knight pay consisted of daily wages plus combat-based bonuses. Belenca could claim anything beyond what went toward her debt.
"Right now? I don't have that much on me."
Ian panicked a little. He had ample travel funds, but not enough to cover her wages on the spot.
"That so? Then pay me later."
Belenca grinned and withdrew her hand, turning back to gaze at the sea like nothing happened.
Ian stared, surprised. She was meticulous about money. Hearing "no cash now" and backing off so easily?
Freelancers dreaded delayed pay as much as office workers. Especially with loose contracts—they could flip out over unpaid dues.
Noticing Ian's odd look, Belenca asked,
"What's with that face?"
"Nah... just feel bad."
She chuckled and clapped his shoulder.
"I'm not dumb enough to rage at a traveler short on cash. Besides, Ian—you're a mage. You can whip up money anytime."
True enough. Ian could earn her wages anywhere doing odd jobs.
Or, extremely speaking, yell "Gimme gold!" at any noble and walk away loaded. That's how mages were treated in the empire.
Mages were valued for their prowess.
But flipped around: that prowess made them untrustworthy. They could backstab with unimaginable tricks.
Common sense said Belenca shouldn't trust Ian.
A knight trusted a mage only at swordpoint.
"And..."
But she did.
"...you're not the type to break a promise."
Belenca scratched her cheek, mumbling awkwardly.
Ian realized she trusted him. Trust wasn't built overnight. She'd already accumulated enough to wait on him.
"Thanks. First thing when we hit a city, you'll get paid."
"Looking forward to it. Hope we get there soon."
Ian and Belenca smiled in unison.
On the voyage back to the empire, Ian taught Kira the Maronius Language.
"Teaching" was the word, but Ian found himself ridiculous. Who was he to teach, a total greenhorn himself?
Of course, no greenhorn like him existed. What novice survived a firestorm or communed with transcendent mysteries?
The real rookies cramming Maronius grammar like civil service exam prep at the Imperial Magic Academy would gape: "That's a novice?!"
Ian rarely met other mages, so he lacked perspective.
He wasn't confident teaching Kira properly. But he'd promised to teach her magic, so basics it was.
"Kira. Ready?"
"Yep!"
Kira burned with enthusiasm—literally scorching the deck.
"Kira! Focus!"
"...Oops!"
She snapped to, and the smoke stopped. Close call on burning the ship.
That was the issue with innate prodigies like Kira. Too close to the mysteries; mere excitement drew their gaze.
'She'll self-immolate at this rate.'
Ian shook his head at her talent.
Magic aptitude was more curse than blessing. You learned control before it killed you.
Especially risky with Pyrokinesis—bad luck and spontaneous combustion could claim you mid-breath.
Ian knew it for sure: Kira needed magic to survive.
"First day, so lightly—50 characters?"
"Fifty...? Isn't that a lot?"
"???"
Ian tilted his head like he'd misheard. Fifty's a lot? I learned a hundred a day at ten.
"Fifty's too much?"
"Memorizing all that... yeah."
Ian reeled mildly. Unbeknownst to him, mage training had warped his brain a tad.
A hundred daily? Normal for him.
He'd halved it for Kira, and still too much?
"Morning: memorize fifty. Afternoon: review. Practice sentences. Evening: review before bed. Perfect schedule."
He muttered mechanically.
Kira spotted the glint of madness in his eyes and freaked. What the hell, Ian? You're nuts!
His usual weirdness had human charm. But this study-plan drone? Total psycho.
Ian blinked at her shock, puzzled.
Truth was, his past-life "third-year hell" had numbed him to Eredis's intensity. Korean kids studied from dawn to dusk—that was "common sense."
Study habits ingrained, decent brain, status window cheats for memorization. He'd become a mage painlessly.
Kira, clueless, saw a monster. Geniuses are on another level. No wonder he's a mage.
"Uh..."
As she hesitated, Ian slashed the load.
Like workouts, studies started small to build sustainably. Overdo it on motivation, and burnout killed interest.
"Thirty then?"
Kira beamed unwittingly. No student hated less homework.
"Thanks, Ian!"
He nodded.
"Good. No book, so skipping that."
Ian chalked letters on a plank.
"This is heaven's ka."
"Earth's ham."
"World's uno."
Kira stared blankly as he wrote fluidly. He really memorized the whole Maronius Language...
Mastering it anew impressed her.
But she refocused. She had to memorize it all too—not just rote, but form sentences, converse with mysteries.
Becoming a mage was grueling. Why Imperial Magic Academy students holed up five, ten years studying.
'...But I'll do it!'
Kira steeled herself. Magic was her lifelong dream. Speak to the phoenix directly... her late "father" would approve.
"Hey! Kira! Deck's burning again!"
"Ack! Sorry!"
"Jeez. Hang on—I'll draw a magic circle to repel fire."
Ian etched a protective circle around her.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Kira took hers steadily.