Deception at Dusk
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the innkeeper announced that the bath was ready. To make matters worse, dinner was ready at the exact same moment.
"Come on, couldn't you have timed these separately...?"
Ian protested, but the innkeeper shot him a look of utter disbelief.
"Wasn't it you who wanted the bath that pushed back dinner time?"
Ian was the only guest at the inn who had requested a bath. Preparing a tub just for him had delayed the meal. Understanding the situation, Ian couldn't argue back.
"Don't just stand there—go light the fire."
"Me?"
"I fetched the water, lent you the cauldron, even chopped the firewood. Can't you at least start the damn fire?"
The glares from the other guests were downright murderous. They were pissed about the delayed dinner, all because of Ian. Especially the burly group huddled at one table—their eyes were the fiercest. They looked like seasoned mercenaries, every one of them with arms like tree trunks, exuding raw menace.
"What's that guy's deal? The innkeeper's son or something?"
"Just bear with it. You wanna turn this place into a battlefield?"
As the atmosphere grew tense, Ian finally did as the innkeeper ordered.
"Lucy. I'm going to take my bath, so behave yourself."
"Okay! I'll eat first and head up to the second floor!"
Not thrilled about it, Ian trudged out to the backyard. Damn this medieval era. Even taking a bath had to be such a hassle.
"Sigh."
As Ian transferred the embers from the kitchen to the stove, a man in the shadowy corner quietly watched him.
Things are going suspiciously well.
The moment Ian stepped out of the inn, troublemaker Willy signaled to his buddies that their chance had come. His original plan was to wait until things quieted down, then lure the pair out discreetly for the deed. But with the man separated from the woman, this was an even better opportunity.
Let's go!
The handsomest of Willy's friends slipped into the Misty Inn.
Meanwhile, with Ian's nagging out of earshot, Lucy eagerly shed her robe and dug into dinner.
Ian worries too much.
She wanted to relax comfortably at the inn, but constantly hiding her face under that robe had been stifling. Sure, wearing it made sense before crossing Earth Dragon Mountain due to pursuers. But did she really need to keep it on all the way to River Bill?
As Lucy's stunning face came into view, she felt the men's gazes subtly converging. She secretly savored it.
Heh. Like my face that much, you commoners?
It felt like the old days, basking in noble adulation. Twisted as it was, it patched up her ego, however crudely.
But Lucy had no idea that among those stares, some harbored wicked intent.
She's the real deal?
Willy's friend gawked at Lucy's elegant beauty. He'd figured Willy was just bragging... but here was an incredibly gorgeous woman, staying alone at the inn!
Flashing his "sincere smile"—the one that charmed village girls and lowered women's guards—he approached her.
"Beautiful miss. You're traveling with that black-haired fellow, right?"
"...? Who are you?"
A stranger, but mentioning Ian made her drop her guard without thinking.
This is going smoothly.
"I'm an errand boy he hired. He gave me coin to pass on a very important secret to you."
He pulled out a pre-prepared coin as proof to gild his boldfaced lie.
Hearing that Ian had paid someone to deliver a message, Lucy bought it hook, line, and sinker.
"An important message? What is it?!"
"I'm just the errand boy, so I don't know the details... but he said to come to the wharf right away."
"The wharf? Where's that...?"
"It's urgent—I'll guide you."
He even helped tidy her attire, luring her out of the inn. To keep her from second-guessing, his waiting accomplices flanked her immediately, blocking her view and sowing chaos with their racket.
"Hurry! Faster!"
"He said it's urgent! We gotta run!"
With the wind-up men feeding her nonsense, Lucy panicked preemptively.
Pursuers? Did he run into trackers?
Her first thought was the baron's (fake) men. Had they already infiltrated River Bill? Then what about Ian...?
But after a few steps, something felt off.
...Why would a guy heading to bathe suddenly meet trackers?
Running into pursuers mid-bath prep? That didn't add up. And if he had, he'd rush back to the inn, not send a paid messenger...
"Huh?"
Turning a dark alley corner, Lucy froze at the sight beyond the inn's backyard fence.
There, in the backyard, was Ian diligently stoking the fire under a massive cauldron...!
Why was the "wharf-bound" Ian right there?
"Wait—!"
As Lucy tried to stop, the thugs displayed impressive teamwork, hoisting her up. One clamped her mouth with cloth, the others stuffed her struggling form into a prepared sack.
The classic sack kidnapping—timeless across eras. As recorded even in ancient chronicles.
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
In the blink of an eye, they had Lucy. The thugs bolted toward the real river wharf, planning to "borrow" a boat, drift on the water, and enjoy some poetic intimacy with her. (For the record, "cloud-rain passion" means sex. Whenever classical lit waxes on about such matters, just think "they did it" and move on. In The Tale of Chunhyang, Yi Mongryong and Spring Maiden swap cloud-rain every eye-lock; picture a live-action adaptation... well, you get it.)
Anyway. The thugs had Lucy as planned. Now it was Willy's turn.
He'd been covertly watching Ian, ready to knock him out and flee if things went south. With the kidnapping a success, all that remained was slipping away.
But Lucy's final, scream-like wail in that split second ruined everything.
"Lucy?"
Ian caught her scream! Lifting his head, he sensed something sinister unfolding beyond the fence.
And he was floored. He'd only looked away for a moment—how the hell had they snatched Lucy already?
Guess I'm done taking escort gigs.
He'd only aped the fantasy trope of VIP protection. Who knew bodyguard duty was such a stressor? Especially with a pretty damsel as the charge!
Like freakin' Princess Peach.
To Ian, Lucy was a dark-blue-haired Peach. Closer to Princess Prinprin from Devil Castle Village, if anything.
Ian lunged toward the fence to save her.
That was when—
"Raaagh!"
Something burst from the bushes. A stranger—unkempt like a jobless slob months overdue for a haircut—swung a club at Ian.
Assassin...?
Ian faltered at the sudden attack. The baron's (fake) hitman? But what assassin looked this pathetic?
The answer was simple: no assassin. Just a local slacker hot for some cloud-rain with Lucy.
Proof? The incoming club was crude and feeble—giving Ian time to prepare magic!
Ian closed his eyes, attuning to the mysteries' voices.
A mage who picks a spell like "Guess I'll use this one~" and casts it has some skill. Renowned wizards like Eredis could unleash any spell at will. But greenhorn Ian couldn't cast freely. Like when his earth magic failed fixing Longtail's house, if a mystery refused aid, the spell flopped.
Thus, Ian scanned mysteries willing to lend power now.
[Human! The light is fading!]
[Perfect time to play!]
[Wanna play together?]
Darkness responded first. Ian oddly synced well with it. Barely any chats, yet it eagerly conversed.
Is this the affinity Master mentioned?
Like talents vary, so does mystery affinity. Darkness was primed for Ian—no need to call others.
"Darkness!"
Grabbing a stick from the ground, Ian summoned thick shadows. Blackness pooled around him, turning dusk into pitch midnight.
"Wha... what?"
Pro slacker and troublemaker Willy lost Ian in the abrupt dark, panicking like he'd gone blind. He froze.
Whack!
Ian clubbed the defenseless Willy. Mage or not, physical force downed foes. Yes, Ian was a force mage (coerced). Like Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings bashing with his staff—Ian carried the orthodox torch.
Thwack! Thwack!
"Ow! Agh!"
Beaten silly in the void, Willy panicked so hard he lost judgment—thinking his "blindness" was real, not Ian's magic!
"I surrender! Mercy!"
Thwack! Thwack!
"Someone save me! My eyes! I'm blind!"
This bastard?
As Willy wailed, onlookers gathered. Ian dispelled the dark, seizing his collar.
"You with those bastards?!"
"Huh...? My eyes...? I can see again?"
Thwack!
"Answer me!"
As Ian pressed, a low, authoritative voice halted him.
"That's enough—stand down, young man."
Perfect timing. Ian was about to ditch Willy and chase Lucy anyway.
But as he moved, a dagger whistled from behind, embedding in the fence.
"..."
Sharp, precise throw—not amateur work.
Ian turned slowly.
Oh, hell...
There stood the burly inn mercenaries, en masse, weapons drawn.
A white-haired, robust elder stepped forward.
"That darkness earlier... your doing?"
White hair and brawn? No ordinary geezer. His eyes gleamed predatory, promising decapitation for funny business. Murderous intent thick in the air.
Ian had no trick to block flying blades. Even top mages died to steel. This world's wizards were just exotic linguists—not invincible supermen.
No choice—Ian began mage work: talking his way out.
"Yes. I'm the mage who summoned the darkness."
Willy clung to the elder's leg, whining.
"S-save me, milord! That mad wizard tried to kill me!"
"...Is that true?"
The elder's killing glare chilled Ian's spine—but bearable. He'd weathered drake killing intent (unknowingly boosting his nerve).
Ian smirked.
"Elder. Lend me that sword?"
"Sword?"
Ian eyed Willy coldly.
"So I can really kill this bastard."
"..."
The armed brutes shifted uneasily at Ian's words.