A Question of Manners
"One thing I'm curious about."
"What?"
As they headed to the inn, Lucy tossed out a casual question.
"Why do you use polite speech with commoners? Is it some kind of concept?"
To Lucy, Ian's behavior seemed downright weird. Mages in the empire were practically nobility—why on earth would he bow and scrape to lowly peasants? Lucy had only seen a mage once in her life, and that guy had been polite solely to her lordly parents while barking orders at the servants. No wonder Ian struck her as odd.
And yeah, Ian was odd.
"What? I'm a commoner. Farmer's son Ian."
"You're a mage."
"So?"
"..."
As a mage from peasant stock, Ian existed outside the usual social norms. Polite or rude, it didn't matter—no one could touch him.
"No real reason. Just copying my master."
"Ian's master... Eredis?"
"Hey. Call her Eredis nim. Don't be rude."
"...Sorry. Eredis nim told you to?"
The mage Eredis was down-to-earth and polite. So much so that she'd even used honorifics with Ian's serf parents. Ian respected her character for it. Plus, he hadn't fully shed his modern sensibilities yet—bossing around commoners just felt off. Sure, he'd adapt to empire ways eventually.
"And what, I can't use polite speech if I want to? It's my call."
"No, it's just... no problem."
If a noble used honorifics with peasants, they'd be seen as a bit unhinged. It broke the world's unspoken rules. Like Lucy's reaction—a mage being polite was weird. But mages got a pass. Hell, it was a plus. The weirder a mage acted, the higher people rated them!
The more "normal" you seemed, the more folks dismissed your skills.
Tsk tsk. No real power, so he plays nice!
But the more eccentric, the more awe:
Whoa! How badass must he be to act that crazy!
From a mage's view, it was bullshit on the level of "sleeping with a fan on will kill you." But in an era where myths blurred with truth, sometimes you rolled with the rumors, true or not.
Take Eredis. Her casual politeness extended to peasants, but no one batted an eye!
Wow! Polite to commoners? She's the real deal—super eccentric!
Lucy decided to let Ian's speech slide. If the mage himself wanted it that way, whatever.
"This must be the inn."
"Oh. Looks like a real inn."
River Bill's inn matched Ian's mental image of a medieval fantasy tavern: brick walls, wide-open windows, two stories tall. Stepping inside brought a cozy warmth—fireplace-slash-hearth doing its job. Western architecture thrived on these fireplaces; heat from the ground floor rose to the upper levels, making multi-story heating viable.
Eastern buildings, like those in Joseon, couldn't pull that off with their underfloor ondol systems—anything over one story meant crap heating. That's why Joseon inns were wide and flat. Fantasy inns? Cozy two-level havens.
"Welcome!"
The innkeeper wasn't a burly bearded dude. Ian felt a twinge of disappointment. She was a middle-aged woman.
"Staying the night?"
"Yeah. One or two nights..."
"Beds upstairs. Watch for thieves."
The innkeeper rattled off her spiel like a pro. River Bill hugged the river, so travelers were common—merchants like the Rabbitfoot caravan dropped by often. She knew the drill.
"Ma'am, got baths?"
"Bath? We can manage, but..."
Ian requested a bath, and she naturally tacked on a fee. Baths weren't standard; inns lacked proper facilities. It was boil water in a laundry tub over a fire and swap clothes for body. Fetching water and burning wood cost labor.
"Bath, room, meals. For two."
Ian had cash to burn. Eredis's travel funds were still plenty, and Longtail's gems sat unsold. When those ran low, sell a gem in a city for refill.
"Oh! Right away!"
The innkeeper's face lit up at the coin. The golden smile of capitalism.
"That girl too?"
Lucy, eavesdropping, protested.
"I'm not bathing!"
Ian shot back, half-amused, half-annoyed.
"Not even asking for your money. Why? You dirty too?"
"That's part of it!"
She didn't deny it. Ian's disbelief deepened.
Lucy's face flushed as she yelled indignantly.
"Do I have to say it out loud?"
Baths were in the backyard—wide-open outdoors. Steam rising from the tub with a person inside? A pretty girl? Gawkers would swarm. The innkeeper wouldn't mind; she'd love the crowd.
"Ah."
Ian got it. In this era, bathing was borderline public humiliation play. For a guy like him, no biggie—laugh it off. For Lucy? Impossible, dead or alive.
"Just me, then."
Ian finally understood why folks here skipped baths. No privacy even if you paid—public spectacle wasn't worth it for most.
"Why even bathe in a dump like this?"
"Feels gross otherwise."
"You're weird. Mage thing?"
"..."
To Lucy, Ian's habits looked like eccentric mage quirks. But hey, mages were eccentric. Ah! Mages love stripping naked in public! (No.)
"Whatever. Let's eat."
"Yeah!"
Lucy grinned, doffing her robe. Night-sky dark blue-black hair cascaded like a waterfall. Every guy in the inn snapped their gaze to her.
Shit.
Ian hurriedly covered her face.
"Lucy. Robe back on."
"It's Cash, not Lucy. And why the robe?"
"No backtalk. Put it on."
"No way. It's stuffy."
Lucy pouted. Adorably, cutely... nauseatingly so. Did she even remember she was a fugitive?
"Wanna stir up trouble?"
"Hmph. Who's gonna recognize me here? And you've got my back, Ian. Can't even handle some thugs?"
"Fucking genius. Yeah. I can't."
"...For real?"
Lucy blinked in shock. Sure, Ian could handle a few thugs easy. But magic limited him to two or three at once. More than that? Overwhelmed. Big spells or noble backup needed—but that drew unwanted eyes. Bad outcome.
So he bluffed weakness.
"Guess not..."
Lucy pouted harder, re-robing.
"My guard's a wimp."
"..."
She roasted him while twisting the knife. Ian seriously pondered ditching her. Felt like babysitting a bratty sister.
...Glaring at Lucy, he missed it. A few men eyeing her with gleaming malice.
Dark alley.
River Bill's troublemaker, bushy-haired Willie, chatted excitedly with his crew.
"Bullshitting again?"
"For real! That chick! Fucking gorgeous!"
"Pretty's relative..."
Willie was a pro punk—troublemaking was his job. He lounged around, lazy as hell. No work, no helping. Fought decently, so he'd take cash to beat folks up. Kid brawler turned expert—no guards dragged him off, 'cause clients loved results. Scraped by that way.
Folks nagged him to grow up and work, but lazy-born Willie? Grab a weapon and bolt before farming. No farmer bone in him.
"She had just one companion. Some scrawny bookworm-looking fuck."
Willie recalled the inn traveler. Night-sky raven hair—prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Noble lady vibes! Her companion? Unlucky-looking nerd. Black hair suggested kin, but pasty-white face screamed shut-in. No sun, frail build. Total pussy.
"Didn't seem like they'd stay long."
No baggage, solo traveler—no reason to linger. She'd bounce in a day or two. Imagining her gone tomorrow, Willie buzzed.
"So here's the thing..."
His eyes gleamed; buddies got it. Wordless understanding. Soulmate level.
"Let's rape her?"
"Bingo!"
Clap! Explosive high-five. Strong Baekho and Seo Taewoong reborn—basketball swapped for gang rape. Utter scum.
To Willie, raven-haired beauty Lucy Talian was prime prey. Outsider first—no backup. Sure, kin might show late, but bolt by then. Medieval NEET rarity like Willie? Running was nothing.
Same-village girls? Dads, bros, uncles, neighbors swarm for justice. But outsider hottie? Drag to shadows, fuck, done. Who stops it? Victim's cries? To a known shit like Willie? Fat chance.
Even civilized 21st-century Earth: solo woman hiking woods? Friends warn off. Same for sketchy foreign spots like India.
"Damn. That hot? Worth a shot?"
Buddies on board, Willie grinned.
"My boys!"