That's All for Today
Ian clapped his hands. "That's it for today." Kira collapsed onto the bed like she'd fainted.
The Maronius Language was the tongue of magic. Even without directly communing with the mysteries, it had the power to fray nerves and sap concentration. Kira, just starting out with the Maronius Language, felt her mental energy draining and her head spinning from the sheer force of even the basic words.
"You okay?"
"Yeah..."
Her words said she was fine, but her face screamed otherwise. Ian clicked his tongue in sympathy.
Huh? But back in the day...
I learned a hundred characters a day and still had time for extra lessons with my master~
If Kira heard that, she'd feel seriously hard done by. Ian, you're a genius! Ian would never admit it, but the truth was he had freakish magical talent that defied common sense. Sure, he chalked it up to his Status Window letting him cheat, but raw talent was doing most of the heavy lifting.
"It's tough... but kinda fun anyway."
Kira mumbled it with her exhausted face. Ian grinned.
Finding studying fun was a very good sign. Interest was a hell of a motivator.
"Glad you're enjoying it."
Ian said, eyeing the messy wooden block. She'd erased and rewritten on it a dozen times. No paper around, so Kira was learning her letters with chalk and a wood scrap. Ian was struck anew by the glory of a proper stationery shop—not the kind selling colored paper and glue, but the real deal with pens and paper for everything. No writing tools, no proper study! What a hilariously primitive world; it nearly brought a tear to his eye.
"Let's pause lessons for a bit."
The ship had already docked in the Empire. Ian figured he'd pick up a magic book in the big city. Magic books weren't just a matter of cash, but as a mage with Eredis's name to drop, he could probably snag a basic one.
"Yay!"
Kira's reply was way too chipper. Ian eyed her suspiciously.
Hmm. Way too happy about a break, huh? Not that into studying after all?
It hadn't been that long since Ian graduated, but he'd already forgotten his student days. How thrilled would he have been if Eredis announced a day off?
"If you're gonna miss it, want some homework?"
At Ian's words, Kira's face fell instantly.
"Eek..."
Prof said class is canceled today, what a letdown... but assigned homework instead...
If Kira were a college student, she'd be rage-posting everytime memes right now. Watching her deflate, Ian felt a tiny thrill of petty joy.
What is this? The teacher's sadistic glee at doling out assignments?
Yeah, Ian was definitely corrupted.
"Ahem. All good stuff that'll build your skills!"
"Sure, sure..."
Ian chuckled as he brainstormed homework for her. A chill breeze swept in. The Empire's skies were as clear and crisp as ever.
When Ian arrived at the Blue Key Monastery, he could hear the racket from afar.
"Huh?"
Getting closer, he spotted they were warriors. A monastery paired with fighters might seem odd, but in this era, it was commonplace. Monasteries were gatherings for honing Celestial Church doctrine, perfect spots for battle-hardened types to drop in as a hobby.
The noise didn't faze Ian's attendants, who bolted ahead yelling.
"The honored guest has returned!"
"Honored guest?"
"Who's that?"
Ian had assumed word had spread, but the monastery seemed genuinely surprised by his return. Blame medieval roads for screwing up the messengers, no doubt.
"Ian! Takarion!"
Abbot Renus burst out in a panic. His face was pure desperation, like he was about to burst into tears as he grabbed Ian's pant leg.
"Aigoo! Why'd it take you so long to come back?!"
"...? Why? Something happen?"
"Not exactly! But I was dying of worry!"
Renus bellowed.
"Not a single letter?!"
"... Oh. Right."
Ian muttered a beat late. That short admission flipped Renus's world upside down.
"Ugh...! F-Forgot...!"
"Well, uh..."
Ian awkwardly looked away. Truth be told, writing a letter hadn't even crossed his mind. Letters? Ian was a modern guy from the smartphone-and-email era. Things were hectic up north anyway, and he figured Renus would reach out if needed. (Note: Ian's an INFP.) If it was urgent, they'd send a messenger, right? That insane logic had kept him from posting even one note.
"Good thing Father Madagal sent word midway! We'd have dispatched an expedition otherwise!"
"Expedition?"
Then some guy piped up to Ian.
"Oh, you just back from the north?"
"Yeah. So?"
Thud!
The man stomped excitedly.
"Perfect! You can guide us!"
"???"
"We're volunteers from all over, here to rescue Takarion of the Golden Finger! Been north, so you must've heard about him!"
"..."
Ian blankly stared at Renus.
What the hell? This idiot.
...Sorry about that, Ian.
Renus's face went beet red as he told the man,
"You got issues with your eyes and ears?"
"What're you on about?"
"Can't you see the guy behind me?"
The self-proclaimed Takarion Rescue Volunteer glanced at the man approaching from behind Ian—the very Takarion he swore to save.
"Whoever he is, he looks like a total bum."
"..."
And he didn't even recognize Takarion's face. Not surprising; Takarion had been holed up writing, no public appearances or portraits circulated. Even his fans seeing him for the first time was par for the course.
"That's Takarion."
"!!!"
Murmurs rippled out like waves.
"Takarion?"
"That's him?"
"That scrub?"
The would-be rescuers gossiped busily at the sight. Some even mocked his gaunt look as ugly.
"Takarion!"
But the monks were different. Led by Renus, the Blue Key brothers sensed his changed aura from afar and blinked in awe.
...He's different now. Takarion.
Renus, who'd watched him up close, clocked the shift immediately. He knew the old Takarion: arrogant, vain, greed incarnate. A writer whose gloomy alter ego, born from childhood trauma, fueled his prose.
Takarion's face always wore sleaze, envy, and raw desire.
But...
"You're finally back."
The shabby man approaching now showed none of that—no sleaze, no greed. Was it just hardship slimming him down? Cheeks hollowed to monkish severity?
Renus knew it wasn't that simple. Something had changed at Takarion's soul's core. Couldn't pin it exactly, but it was positive, no doubt.
Thud.
Takarion dropped to his knees the moment he entered the courtyard. Forehead to ground, he prayed silently.
"..."
Monks and guests alike held their breath, mesmerized.
When Takarion rose, an elderly monk waved cheerily.
"You rascal. Good trip?"
Brother Isilla called out.
"Yes. I'm back."
Takarion replied in a quiet, steadfast voice.
Ian asked Renus about the warriors.
Turned out they were just beggars.
"...Beggars?"
"More like beggars with swords."
Renus drawled. Ian, all too familiar with medieval norms, wasn't shocked anymore. Warriors crashing at monasteries? Standard fare.
Ah... yeah, that's the average fighter baseline.
They claimed to be righteous souls nationwide, rallied by news of Takarion's kidnapping.
Renus spilled the truth: they were mooching for free grub.
Storm the monastery vowing rescue. But logically, the monks wouldn't round them up and ship north—diplomacy issues, safety risks. So the beggars hung around, scarfing free monk chow and chanting "Save Takarion!" when bored.
"Ah, like activist groups?"
"Acti-what?"
"Y'know, folks who hype their relevance whenever funding's on the table."
Renus hadn't booted the "righteous beggars." If bad news came from the north, he'd send them as backup.
"So glad you're safe!"
Renus beamed genuinely. Ian couldn't tell if it was joy at his return or Takarion—the golden goose—resuming his gospel-writing. Probably the latter... but happy day, no need to pry.
"No time to waste!"
Renus hollered excitedly.
"Open the larders! Beer and sausages till we burst!"
"Woo!"
Ian threw up his hands in mock cheer. Beer! Sausages! He'd dissed medieval grub as barbarian slop before, but after real savage lands, it looked downright heavenly. Anything but frozen jerky!
That evening, as promised, the monastery threw a feast. Monks, sword-beggars—everyone got their share, eating wherever.
Ian shook his head at the beggar infestation. Monastery's loaded, huh. Still, true to form—feeding even those types.
Takarion was deep in chat with Brother Isilla till dusk. Belenca and Kira were girl-talking at the refectory. Left solo, Ian grabbed sausage and beer, wandering the grounds.
Tempted to chat up a random, but nah—pointless. As an introvert, Ian preferred his own company.
He found a quiet spot for a relaxed meal...
"Here you are."
Someone called out. Ian gawked at the face.
"Gerard?"
It was none other than the chronomancer Gerard, standing glumly with beer and sausage in hand.
"Took you longer than expected."
Longer? Ian shot back.
"You were waiting for me?"
"Yes."
What prophecy this time...
Ian paused. Gerard's face lacked that cryptic, future-seer vibe.
"Some foresight thing?"
"...No."
Gerard sighed.
"Errand from the Conclave. That's why I waited."
Ian's guess nailed it. Gerard wasn't here for prophecy—he was on Chronomancer Conclave business.