Archmage Bertolt
Archmage Bertolt. The title of Archmage was an official position from the ancient Golden Empire. Mages existed even back in the Golden Empire era (in fact, that was their golden age). The Archmage was the highest rank in the imperial magic department, serving as a wise advisor who assisted the governor-general and the consuls in running the empire.
The Archmage was originally an official title from the Golden Empire. Yet Bertolt was from the Holy Empire. The reason he could brazenly flaunt the title of Archmage was... because the organization he belonged to, the Golden Rule Research Society, was utterly obsessed with Golden Empire nostalgia.
Why, when you're high on that kind of intense "nostalgia drug," don't you end up slapping on all sorts of weird old titles? Just like how, back in the days of the Japanese Empire in real life, black-haired folks strutted around calling themselves counts or viscounts.
"We're the legitimate successors to the ancient Golden Empire!"
"So let's use Golden Empire-style titles too!"
In the Golden Empire, the number "thousand" was used in a sense similar to "superior" or "awesome." So, an Archmage was basically just a super-duper outstanding mage. The name itself screamed pretentious middle-school syndrome soaked in ancient empire hype.
But Bertolt's skills were the real deal.
"The freak who roams around searching for Golden Empire tombs."
Bertolt belonged to the Golden Rule Research Society and was a black mage, but like most mages, he was a bit off in the head. He traveled across the empire, collecting the bones of soldiers who had died during the Golden Empire era. All for the goal of resurrecting them as an undead army (...).
Thus, the Holy Empire's nobles didn't acknowledge Bertolt. Why revive those guys now, after the Golden Empire had fallen ages ago? To steal our land?!
But conversely, Bertolt's undead army became a valuable asset for the Golden Rule Research Society. That gave him a solid position within the group.
"Even if it's not his real body..."
Bertolt was an exceptional mage with rock-solid skills. Yet Ian had wiped him out in one shot with a single spell. A bizarre magic that even Sir Rshah had never seen before.
Sir Rshah couldn't help but be impressed by Ian's magic.
"Impressive work, Ian."
He sincerely praised Ian's prowess. As someone who dabbled in magic himself, Sir Rshah knew just how extraordinary Ian's spell had been.
But Ian himself was a bit underwhelmed.
"They said he was a famous mage from the Golden Rule Research Society... but he wasn't all that tough."
Ian had been on high alert. When his opponent went down so anticlimactically, it left him feeling oddly cheated.
If Bertolt had heard that, he would've frothed at the mouth.
"Archmage Bertolt, right? Weaker than I thought."
"???"
Sir Rshah was momentarily dumbfounded by Ian's words. What? Some kind of mind game?
"Didn't you see the power of death he had gathered?"
"I saw it. But it didn't do jack."
That's because you blasted lightning right into the guy's skull, Sir Rshah thought. He couldn't quite grasp what was going through Ian's head. It was like watching a swordsman cut down a formidable foe and then complain, "I poked his throat and he just died? Lame."
Wasn't it weirder to expect someone to survive a lightning bolt?
"...Must be a mage thing?"
Sir Rshah chalked it up to that on his own. Yeah, mages were all weirdos anyway.
"Right. What you took out was just Bertolt's possessed puppet. His real body is hiding somewhere around here. Maybe even charging in with undead at his side."
Sir Rshah spoke calmly. Of course, the odds of Bertolt launching a full assault were low. The village had Sir Rshah and the Men at Arms stationed, plus two mages and one knight. And a big dumb brute who could join the fray.
It wasn't like they were hiding some Golden Rule Research Society secret treasure here. No way he'd be crazy enough to throw his army at them.
Though mages were quirky enough that he might charge in a fit of rage. Still, Bertolt was a cunning black mage. Just look at how he'd tried to seduce Maria with his sleazy schemes. Now that his perfect ambush had failed, he wouldn't show himself recklessly.
"Night is the time of the restless dead. Maintain vigilance until dawn."
"Yes, sir!"
Sir Rshah's soldiers bellowed in unison.
That night, the villagers huddled together under Sir Rshah's protection. The lord, the young lord, and even their retainers welcomed it.
Ian was slightly baffled.
"Isn't this their land?"
The homeowners taking shelter under a guest's watch? And grinning like idiots about it?
"Wow! As expected of Sir Rshah! The Church's treasure! The shining silver paladin!"
"You must have energy to spare. Shut up and sleep."
The young lord was glued to Sir Rshah's side, spewing flattery. Belenca said flatly,
"Textbook incompetent noble. Those types fumbling around isn't new."
In the empire, noble titles were fiercely protected—to check the emperor's power. In principle, all imperial land belonged to the emperor. But with the vast territory and sparse population, administrative limits meant land was "lent out."
So even if the emperor reclaimed it, there was no issue in theory. But in practice? Massive problems.
Nobles didn't want to give up their turf. If the emperor asked nicely, they'd ignore him. He needed a rock-solid reason to take it back.
And nobles desperate to keep their land lived with "That's unfair~" on their lips, so it took extreme justification to strip them.
They'd turned the founding emperor's "generosity" into a "right." So even the dumbest, laziest, most unlikable noble could hold their land if born into it.
Strip it for incompetence? That'd infringe on sacred noble rights, and the others would swarm like bees.
Thus, rural frontier nobles wielded king-like power. No matter how slothful, they wouldn't get booted. Who were other nobles to meddle in their domain?
Unless they begged to lose it with some insane scandal, they were iron rice bowls.
"In a way, it's cunning. Solved the territory's security issue without spending a dime."
A strong, prideful noble would've hated Sir Rshah's visit. "This is my land—why's the pope's army wandering around?"
But the young lord was shaking his tambourine like a pro... and in the end, they'd gotten rid of the pesky necromancer for free.
Industry term for it? "Freebie."
"As expected of Sir Rshah!"
"I said sleep."
Sir Rshah eyed the young lord with a fed-up glare. But the kid kept lobbing flattery like a persistent salesman.
Sir Rshah wasn't a compliment dumpster. It was starting to feel like harassment.
"Let's crash for now."
"Yeah. What a damn long day."
Ian set up camp in a quiet, shadowy corner. He didn't like camping out when there were plenty of intact houses. But what could he do? With unknown threats lurking beyond the dark woods, joining the group huddle made sense. If Bertolt ambushed again, he'd need to fight back.
"Ah! Ian! Come on over!"
Kira had whipped up a late-night stew from jerky and flour. Starved from all the yelling, Ian grabbed a bowl and plopped down.
Sipping his stew, Ian eyed the unfamiliar guest.
"..."
A black-haired beauty sat beside Kira, quietly eating her stew. Maria.
The misunderstandings around Maria had cleared up. The villagers knew she hadn't killed anyone. But she hadn't returned to their midst.
The rumors were gone, but the emotional scars lingered.
"No trouble?"
"Nope. No shady folks."
Ian's camp had extra torches planted around—Kira's precaution. If anyone suspicious approached, they'd turn into flamethrowers.
"What a pain."
Belenca grumbled while ladling a huge helping of stew into Jooabil's bowl.
Ian's homeland was in the empire's northwest. Even in the sparsely populated imperial lands, it was a backwater. Creepy chronomancers wandered, but necromancers were rare.
Head south, and bam—black mages everywhere. The south was definitely rougher than the north.
"Ian. After rescuing Professor Ingleian, how about we just leave the empire altogether?"
"Where do you wanna go?"
"Roland Kingdom? Or we could check out the Coral Sea."
Belenca's suggestion was unexpected.
"Thought you'd say let's profit off the war."
"It hasn't even started. And seeing all these black mages is bad luck. We should all live long lives."
Ian nodded. Dying in a pointless spat with a black mage would be the most ridiculous way to go.
Mages stuck together by nature. The more overlapping mysteries they handled, the better they clicked. What could you even say to necromancers or demon summoners?
Ian chatted idly with his companions for a bit. Then he felt a quiet gaze.
"..."
Maria, having polished off her bowl, was staring at him silently.
"Ah. Want seconds?"
As Ian reached for the stew pot, Maria shook her head.
"I've had plenty. More importantly..."
"Really? That was just one ladle."
Kira chimed in from the side. She'd definitely eaten light out of politeness.
Ian grinned. "She says she's good. Want more? Plenty to go around."
Ian was the owner of magical authority that could conjure food anytime. Burst into any house yelling "I'm the mage Ian," and flour and eggs would flow like water.
If that wasn't authority, what was?
"Then, gladly..."
Maria shyly held out her bowl. As expected, she'd refused at first to be polite.
She parted her lips slightly and took a spoonful.
"Delicious as always."
"For real?"
"Yes. Truly. It's as good as the stew my grandmother used to make."
"..."
An awkward air passed briefly.
Maria continued nonchalantly. "Grandma would say she was a princess of a small kingdom, senile as she was. But it was a lie, of course. The stew's taste proves it."
"The stew?"
Ian played along, and Maria beamed.
"Yes. No princess of a nation could make stew this good. She must've been a cook."
Ian leaned back comfortably, arms crossed.
"Got a question."
"Ask away."
"Your speech? Accent? Learned from grandma?"
Maria nodded. "Yes. A bit unique, right? She said it was courtly... Hehe. From someone who'd never crossed a palace threshold."
Then Kira shot a subtle glance. An affirming look.
Meaning Maria's manner of speaking resembled real court nobility.
Maybe?
Ian felt a spark of curiosity. A slim possibility, but maybe her adoptive grandma really had been a princess of some minor realm.