This Really Is...
"This really is..." Ian shook his head.
To Ian, who had lived as an average modern citizen, the power struggles of medieval elites felt utterly alien. If he had been born the youngest son of a chaebol family, maybe he could have understood the ruthlessness of power. But as plain old citizen Ian in both his past and present lives, he couldn't grasp the mindset of those in power. What the hell was power anyway? What made it so great that it drove someone to exile their son-in-law and poison their own father-in-law?
Watching a bride-to-be in danger of being kidnapped by her fiancé stirred an indescribable feeling. But regardless, Ian realized he held a crucial key piece in his hands.
"Yeah. I heard your story."
As Ian made to stand casually, Lucy gripped his hand tightly, refusing to let go. It was time to pay the viewing fee for this medieval soap opera.
"If anyone else finds out about this, I'm dead."
"Come on, dead? Just marry the guy..."
"I'd rather die than marry that bastard!"
Ian shut his mouth at her cry laced with raw emotion. Fair enough. Living side by side with the man who killed her parents? The thought alone was horrifying.
"Then why tell me?"
"...You saw it yourself. The pursuers are already on my tail."
Lucy's eyes reddened. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks.
"I don't have the confidence to escape alone anymore..."
She wiped her tears with a sniffle and declared firmly.
"Mage Ian! Help me escape! I swear on the honor of House Talian! I'll reward you properly for your efforts!"
Ian scratched his cheek.
"Hmm. Ever think I might just sell you out?"
"That scumbag would toss you a few silver coins and call it done. But I can give you everything."
"Everything?"
Lucy's face was stern as she spoke.
"If you want, I can give you House Talian too."
Her expression was rigid, but her voice trembled pitifully.
House Talian... Even as a mage, Ian wasn't fool enough to miss the implication. Handing over House Talian meant marrying him. It was offering exactly what a mercenary captain might crave right into Ian's lap.
No room for doubt—this was a massive opportunity. His origins were hazy now, but Ian had originally been a serf's son. Born a serf's son in a medieval fantasy world and becoming a quasi-noble at a young age? Undeniably a huge success.
For Ian the serf's son, third of his name, absolutely. But...
For Ian Eredis Raven, disciple of the mage Eredis? What then?
Switching classes to noble isn't a bad deal. Ian had talent in magic. Or more precisely, "the ability to handle the Status Window." Sure, living as a noble and playing politics sounded fine. But since he'd been reborn in a fantasy world, shouldn't he see magic through to the end?
Thinking that far, Ian let out a smirk. Greed not stirring even with social ascension dangled before him. Maybe he was a natural-born mage after all.
Ian sorted his thoughts. Helping Lucy would definitely build his experience as a mage. And it was a prime chance to earn travel funds. He needed money anyway. Even if Eredis had shoved a pile on him, more was always better. Way more cost-effective than scraping by as a sellsword later due to broke-ness.
Help shake the pursuers, then tell her to fend for herself after. Ian said to Lucy,
"Honestly, my advice? If you need an escort, hire someone who knows a sword. Mages aren't fighters."
Mages explored mysteries and conversed with the world—not mindless killing machines.
"Then..." Lucy clenched her fists, voice breaking.
Ian continued,
"But if you pay up, I'll help you escape. You're on your own after."
"Sob... sniff..."
Lucy burst into heartbroken tears. Ian panicked a bit.
Even after I said I'd help, she's bawling...
"Thank you! Ian! So... so much...!"
Lucy hugged him tight and sobbed until she collapsed from exhaustion. Only then did Ian truly register that the girl before him was just an eighteen-year-old woman who had barely become an adult. Not the noble lady of House Talian, but a girl forced to flee a murderer after her parents' assassination.
Ian lent her his shoulder until she calmed.
[The story dragged on, friend.]
As Ian stepped out of the nest, the drake—who'd been sunbathing—greeted him. Longtail wasn't a complete cold-blooded reptile, but his scaly nature still favored basking.
"[Ah, Longtail.]"
[How's your body holding up?]
"[Well...]"
Truth be told, Ian had known his condition the moment he woke. Courtesy of his master Eredis's teachings.
'Contacting mysteries beyond a mage's capacity strains the body.'
'Ah, but at your current level, no worries there!'
'Once you gain experience and bond deeply with mysteries, don't overreach beyond your limits!'
Ian figured out why he'd passed out: spamming level 3 Summoning to chat with Longtail. He'd force-leveled via the skill window, so his body hadn't adapted yet.
"[Used too much power understanding you.]"
[Like that!]
Longtail got it instantly. Ian's magic had enabled their smooth talks till now. No surprise it took a toll.
"[Guess it's time to head down. You've got your own stuff too.]"
[Right. Go on!]
Longtail had no intention of pushing magic on his hurt friend.
[Take a few gems from the nest. No refusing after yesterday's gift.]
"[Wasn't gonna. If you're giving, I'll take.]"
Ian grinned and pocketed some gems—crafted ones looted from humans, not raw lumps. Pretty, valuable, and handy for magic rituals. Useful gift.
As Ian grabbed them, Longtail lowered his body for easy mounting. Planning to carry him down the mountain.
[Ian's woman! Hop on too!]
Lucy shrank before the growling drake. Ian skipped translating.
"Lucy. Hop on quick."
"Uh, no... Is it... safe? Won't it eat us..."
Lucy eyed him anxiously.
"What if it goes berserk?"
"Pfft."
Ian laughed in disbelief. Control? Screw that. Longtail wasn't ferrying him for any such reason. No point explaining to a non-mage.
"100% safe. Just get on."
"Ugh... okay..."
Ian offered a hand. Lucy mounted and clung to his waist like glue. Scared stiff, apparently.
[Hold tight!]
The drake lumbered forward, shaking the ground like a landslide. Thud, thud... The wingless dragon's steps sent tremors through the earth.
Rabbitfoot Trading Company faced an unprecedented crisis since its founding.
"Boss! Let's just bail!"
"No, we should wait, right?!"
The caravan master, Rick, sighed bitterly at his divided company.
Aah. How to navigate this mess?
After Mage Ian vanished with the drake, the next day dawned without his return. The caravan split: wait for Ian or cut losses.
Having followed his last order overnight, the horror show broke their will.
'Mercs! You alive?'
'...'
'Mercs?'
The traders searched for hidden mercenaries. Bandit raid or not, pros like them guarded their necks—fled at worst, not dead.
But the sight awaiting them was gruesome.
'Heavens...'
Darkness hid fierce battle; all lay wound-riddled, cold corpses.
Seasoned wanderers, they sensed something fishy. Bandits equaled XP. Fantasy world's goblin-tier exp shuttles. Sure, mercs, bandits, goblins scrapped at battle caste bottom, but mercs had higher peaks.
Captain John? "Bloodied John," a name merc. If even he fled not and died...
Two options: bandits were bandit-slaying pros. Or not bandits at all.
Either way, nightmare for the caravan.
"You saw the drake yesterday! Who'd bandit with that around?"
"What sane bandits? They're coming, guaranteed!"
Both sides had points. No sense banditing near drake. But expecting sense from bandits was dumb.
Clash peaked.
"Rick!"
"Rick!"
Decision on Rick. Evac safely? Or honor with mage?
"Ugh."
Rick groaned. All on him—power's pain.
He chose.
"Wait for the mage!"
"No, Rick!"
"As the master says!"
Rick picked waiting. No grand reason—just butter up Ian for noble deals. Risky, but he trusted Ian's power.
Darkness-summoning, wind-taming, fire-bursting magic! Fearless drake-bellowing charisma! No way that guy followed a drake to die cocky.
Something delayed him, probably.
Ten minutes post-decision.
"Gah! Boss! Bandits!"
"What? Fucking hell...!"
Rick cursed his past self.
Shoulda ditched!
"Everyone freeze. Drop weapons, hands up."
"Mercy, bandit lords! Spare our lives! Take all we got!"
"Don't want it!"
"???"
Drake-haunted mountain bandits? Unhinged, rejecting loot!
"We know the dark-blue-haired woman is here."
"Dark-blue... hair?"
"Yeah. Night-sky color. Pretty."
Hunting normals? Big nose, long ears, mole. Beauties? Beauty's the trait. Rare one. Fiction's hot spies? Bull. Too conspicuous.
"Ah! Cathy! It's Cathy!"
"Cathy? Hm..."
Slavers, not bandits! Rick nodded.
"Where's the bitch?"
"...?"
Workers panicked. Knew Cathy ditched, but...
Why still missing?
"Uh, dunno. Where'd she go...?"
A slaver kicked Rick's chest.
"Oof!"
Ribs screamed—exaggerated, unbroken.
"Hmph! Tight-lipped? Bribed, huh."
"Wh-what bribe?! We got zilch!"
"Liar!"
Another kick; tears welled. Injustice burned.
Bribed wouldn't sting... Cathy was broke traveler—why bribe?
"Where's Cathy?! Spill!"
"Dunno! Swear!"
"Ha. Tough guy, eh?"
As fist rose—
Thud, thud...
All felt unnatural quake. Drake approach.
"..."
Slavers zipped lips in sync. Drake snack otherwise.
But then—
"Aaaah! Mage! Maaaage!"
"You mad?!"
Rick wailed world's most wronged scream. Genuine, bone-deep—poignant. And loud.
"Shut it!"
Slavers quaked, muffling him—drake incoming.
Too late.
"...Run!"
Last night redux; slavers bolted again.