Aigoo~ Mr. Mage~
With a thunderous roar that shook the very earth, the drake revealed its massive bulk. The Rabbit Foot caravan folk who suddenly found themselves face-to-face with it instinctively froze in terror. They knew the mage Ian had vanished with the drake, but what if things had gone south over some trivial mishap? And if this beast wasn't under the mage's control?
Well, what could they do? Run for their lives first. If they couldn't escape, then they'd die.
But fortunately, the drake was indeed with the mage—perched right on its back, no less.
...So cool! Rick gazed up at the mage astride the drake with fervent admiration in his eyes. What kind of wizardry had he pulled off overnight to earn a ride on its back? The mage's nonchalant expression (though in truth, he looked like he was on the verge of collapse from exhaustion) astride the beast stirred something deep in a man's romantic soul.
Mages are mages, alright!
The drake politely lowered its head to make it easy for Ian to dismount.
"Rick. There were some folks fleeing that way earlier. Who were they?"
"Ah! Those bastards! Total scum—human traffickers, rotten to the core!"
"Human traffickers?"
Rick rattled off the recent events. The traffickers had come sniffing for Cash, but luckily she'd been absent, so everyone escaped unscathed.
"Ah! Cash! Thank goodness!"
Rick let out a sigh of relief upon spotting Cash (Lucy) with Ian.
"Isn't that too much? They're Church of the Heavenly Gods folk, same as us!"
Belated indignation surged, and Rick grumbled.
In this medieval fantasy world, the massive Church of the Heavenly Gods stood firm as a spiritual pillar. Like any religion, it preached "how to live righteously in this filthy world," boiled down to commandments like "don't do this."
One such commandment: "Do not enslave fellow Church members."
Most believers followed it strictly, but traffickers and slavers ignored it due to their line of work—earning them the Church's loathing as "filthy slavers."
"Slavers gonna slave."
"Right? Ptooey! May heavenly wrath strike 'em down!"
Rick spat curses at the traffickers, grudge lingering.
Lucy’s face soured at the profanity. It wasn't great news for Ian either.
They saw the mage and the drake... and they're still not backing off?
The traffickers—no, Lucy's pursuers—had grit worth admiring. At this point, Ian wondered what the fake baron had promised them for capturing her.
This won't do.
Letting them go like this would guarantee tails following them 100%. Lacking confidence in shaking a horde of pursuers, Ian decided on a measure here.
[Longtail. Could you do me one favor?]
[Of course. Speak freely, friend.]
[Chase off some people for me. Kill them if needed.]
Ian felt uneasy mentioning murder. But it was unavoidable. These foes had already slain mercenaries. Would they have spared Ian? Without the drake, he'd likely be dead too.
This was a medieval fantasy world where killing was routine. To survive as its denizen, one had to grow accustomed to murder—making it an efficient option when needed.
[Ah, those humans from before.]
[You know who?]
[Of course. Kill a few, chase off the rest?]
[Please.]
Longtail gladly accepted Ian's request.
[For a friend's request, gladly.]
Longtail moved to eliminate the pursuers at Ian's behest. The caravan workers marveled at the mage commanding the drake with mere words—his mystical prowess on full display.
Whoa... did you see that?
He's treating the drake like a limb!
What a skilled mage!
Ian had just asked nicely, but to ordinary eyes, it looked like profound magic. Who wouldn't be awed by a man issuing orders to a house-sized beast?
"Ian!"
Finishing his chat with Longtail, Ian swayed unsteadily. Overuse of the Maronius Language had taken its toll. Lucy rushed to support him.
"You okay? Does it hurt bad?"
Watching, Rick nodded.
They seemed oddly close. Guess they're an item.
Rick knew Lucy wasn't ordinary, though he had no clue she was a fugitive noble.
Ian descended the mountain slowly, aided by the caravan workers. Even atop the baggage cart, no one complained.
Along the way, he learned the drake was diligently hunting humans—a function of his Summoning skill.
Eleven already...
Of the 14 identified pursuers, 11 had fallen to the drake before a day passed. Despite its bulk, the drake was shockingly fast—wingless, but capable of 60 km/h sprints. And this was its home turf. Even a mutt defends its yard fiercely; for "Longtail the House Owner" of a premium Earth Dragon Mountain nest, it was just a playground slide.
A one-sided massacre ensued. Longtail meant to kill "just enough," but humans were so frail he accidentally offed them all due to poor power control.
Your drake has slain a human.
Another one.
The Status Window popped up at regular intervals. Summoning relayed the drake's status and actions nonstop. Ian could even transmit his will across distances if desired.
But it wasn't like RPGs—no "Poof! Drake summoned!" This was inherent to summoning: calling something to you. How it arrived was its business. Like summoning a ghost—it walks itself over; the summoner doesn't fetch it.
If Ian summoned Longtail? It'd walk. Or run if urgent. That was Summoning's limit.
Formless or interdimensional beings would teleport on call, but physical monsters like drakes required spatial magic combos for instant summons.
Can't be helped.
Without learning teleportation from a chronomancer, summoning mid-city was impossible. But Ian wasn't too bummed. The drake was powerful, but impractical to tote around. Longtail himself was busy reclaiming his "girlfriend" from NTR. And feeding/housing that bulk? Only viable with noble backing. Not for a mystery-hunting wanderer.
"Mr. Mage, sir. Village just ahead."
[Ian. All visible humans chased off.]
[Thanks, Longtail. You've saved me a ton of trouble.]
[Heh. That's what friends are for.]
In truth, only a couple were chased; the rest were slain. Anyway, the fake baron's pursuers were routed. No more would dare cross Earth Dragon Mountain.
[Time to part.]
[Short time, but fun and grateful, friend.]
[Hope you meet a sleek-scaled drake.]
At the mountain's edge, Ian bid the drake farewell. A chance encounter had forged a solid friendship—the joy of travel.
[Ian. You're into the world's mysteries, right?]
[Huh?]
Though it wouldn't follow beyond the range, the drake shared a tip for the solo traveler.
[Heard there's a frost phoenix somewhere in the northern ice mountains.]
Frost phoenix. A monster type: literally an "undying bird." It turns to an egg upon death, reborn anew. Contrary to common lore, not all were fire-based—ice, wind, rock variants adapted to habitats. The "fire" in phoenix was "immortality," not flames.
[Mages hunt phoenixes... Might interest you?]
The drake didn't know why mages sought frost phoenixes—just rumors from other drakes. It shared anyway, as Ian was a human mage. Trouble was, Ian barely knew their value either.
Could I make it a summon?
With Summoning at level 3, taming one seemed feasible. Or just experience the mystery for bonus skill points.
[Thanks. I'll check it out.]
[My friend Whitefang lives in the ice mountains—ask him for help. Mention me; he'll be kind.]
[Whitefang. Got it.]
Ian's group now trudged a flat plain. They'd crossed Earth Dragon Mountain.
As Ian lingered in farewell's afterglow, a sharp smack! echoed from somewhere. Drama tropes pegged it as a slap.
By the time Ian looked up, caravan workers swarmed the source.
"Cut it out!"
"What the hell's this?!"
The source: two women. Emily and Lucy, hair disheveled, glaring daggers.
"You filthy whore!" Emily snarled at Lucy.
"You're the whore!" Lucy shot back.
"You...! What'd you call me, you bitch?!"
Facts, surprisingly. Emily was a working pro prostitute. Lowly compared to nobles like Lucy.
But Lucy played commoner. Her full name: Lucy Talian. Hiding nobility.
Clueless Emily hurled insults freely. Lucy held back—exposure meant headaches.
Thus, an absurd matchup ignited.
"What's their deal?"
Ian appeared; Emily whined nasally, clinging instantly. Pro moves—no hesitation.
"Mr. Mage~ This girl's picking on me~"
"...Who's the one who started?!" Lucy cried, indignant.
Lucy was right. Since her return with Ian, Emily nitpicked with malice.
Reason: jealousy. Emily had tended the mage en route, flirting whenever possible. Then this stray cat stole him and bolted—infuriating.
"Mr. Mage~ She's the wrong one, right~?"
"Ian. Who do you think's right?"
Caught in dual glares, Ian sighed deeply.
Why dump this on me, damn it.
The workers knew who'd win: pretty-but-pro-whore-who-slept-with-mercs vs elegant beauty claiming nobility.
Sigh. Know your place.
Women, always fishing for high-status marks.
Emily sensed the sour looks but pressed on. Women must stand firm sometimes, even slim odds—like snagging an upward marriage! Mage Ian might be her life's peak catch.
"Fighting over nonsense? You two act like three-year-olds?"
"Ian." Lucy pouted, pointing to her red, swollen cheek—Emily's handiwork.
Sigh.
Ian was Lucy's escort. Odd for a mage, but her wish. Duty called, annoyingly.
"Emily. Apologize to Lucy. And leave her alone from now on."
"...Mr. Mage!"
Emily looked shocked. Workers nodded—expected, sans Emily.
"I-I'm trying so hard for you! But that bitch banters casually! Ah! Mr. Mage, no way...? You like rude types...? Ah!"
"???"
"You fucking asshole, Ian!"
Before Emily finished, workers swarmed, gagging her.
"Shut it, you psycho bitch! Wanna die alone?!"
"Mmph! I know men... mmph! Mr. Mage likes rough handling...! Mmph!"
"So shut up already!"
As Emily thrashed, Lucy sidled to Ian, linking arms naturally. He barely noticed.
"What's her sudden meltdown?"
Ian asked; Lucy grinned.
"Dunno. Syphilis maybe."