Fanatic Debates and a Daring River Rescue
The burly thugs, realizing this wasn't a simple situation, didn't move a muscle. It was a positive development for Ian.
"Hey, young man. Did you do something awful to that mage friend of yours?"
"N-no?!"
Willie panicked for a moment before shaking his head desperately.
"Absolutely not! Suddenly, out of nowhere, that mage attacked me...!"
"Attacked you while you were just standing there? Without any reason?"
"Yes! That's right!"
Ian let out a disbelieving chuckle. Was this guy seriously saying that? No three-year-old would buy it...
"That could happen."
"?!"
He bought it?
This time, Ian was the one caught off guard. The crazy old man was seriously considering Willie's deranged nonsense! Were all medieval folks operating on medieval intelligence levels?
"Mages are perfectly capable of that sort of thing."
No sooner had the old man finished speaking than the thugs nodded in unison, as if they'd rehearsed it. Ian was even more dumbfounded. What the hell do these idiots think mages are?
"What do you mean 'perfectly capable'? Look here, sir. Not everything that comes out of your mouth is true! It has to make sense!"
Ian snapped in frustration, then immediately regretted it. What if the old nutcase got pissed and swung his sword? But his worry was unfounded. The old man just smiled warmly at Ian's outburst.
"Cursing like that? You must be a proper mage with some real skill."
Ah, right. That's how mages were treated around here. Nothing special.
This time, one of the thugs stepped forward.
"Mage! Why did you attack that man?"
"Because this bastard charged at me?"
"Did that mean you had to resort to vile magic?"
Vile?
"...Where's the 'vile' in my magic?"
Ian nearly faceplanted at the thug's logic.
"Shrouding the area in darkness means defying the sun, the eye of the heavens! If you're truly righteous, you should fight under the sacred sky, not slink away into the shadows like a coward. Unless you're hiding wicked intentions!"
"..."
Ian was speechless. Did he really need to explain the tactical advantages of darkness to this moron? No, that wasn't it. This was off-topic. The core issue was that 'darkness rejects the sun, making it cowardly.' This wasn't tactics—it was religion. The Church of the Heavenly Lord.
Ian realized the thugs were zealots of the Church of the Heavenly Lord.
Fucking medieval world.
Yeah, you needed armed fanatics for that authentic medieval fantasy vibe. Grumbling inwardly, Ian fired back anyway.
"Day and night coexist in this world, don't they? If the heavens will brightness, then why does night exist?"
"...Well."
"Just as the sun creates light, its absence creates darkness—that's the principle of the heavens. I'm not inventing new laws; I'm just borrowing the heavens' own mystery. Is that wrong?"
"..."
The thug retreated with a sullen expression, at a loss for words. Ian was even more incredulous. That shallow? What kind of half-assed studying made these guys priests...?
Thug Number Two stepped up.
"Night is a trial created by the Lord to test our faith—whether it wavers without His gaze!"
Oh ho. That sounded plausible. Trials? Religious folks loved that stuff.
"Thus, we cease activity at sunset and avoid wicked, cowardly deeds. Your magic mimics night with darkness—utterly evil!"
The thugs burst into applause.
"As expected of Brother Borde."
"His knowledge matches his faith."
Ian sighed deeply.
"The heavens granted me my magic, and per His will, I merely imposed a trial on that wicked bastard. He's the type who swings a club at innocents, after all."
"..."
Thug Number Two slunk back sheepishly.
"Our Brother Borde..."
"That mage... he's no ordinary guy."
Ian just wished this idiotic charade would end soon. But religious fanatics, stubborn as corpses, didn't know the word "quit." Thug Number Three advanced, his eyes sparkling with pure fanatic gleam.
"The Lord may permit darkness, but not petty vengeance! How can ambushing foes in shadows be called a divine trial?"
Clap clap clap!
"Well said, Brother Dihtri!"
"Wise words indeed. What will you say now, mage?"
...These bastards.
Ian noticed the thugs were enjoying this nutrient-void debate. He needed to find Lucy pronto...!
But do I even have to?
Ian tilted his head but concluded yes. He hadn't gotten paid yet, and the reward was undecided... but a promise was a promise, and ignoring it felt off.
"If my actions were truly base, the Lord would have stripped my darkness Himself. Since He allowed both my shadows and my judgment, it's akin to a trial He imposed through me."
"..."
Thug Number Three faltered briefly, groaning to himself before his eyes lit up again.
"That's... you're right."
The others nodded.
"We misunderstood."
"Indeed, without His permission, how could darkness fall beneath the sun?"
"This too is the heavens' will! Hahaha!"
"Praise the Great One!"
"..."
Crazy medieval idiots.
"Heh, you've got a silver tongue. Studied theology?"
"Theology? Nah, it's just their level... Wait, no—this isn't the time."
Ian's eyes sharpened.
"My... little sister was kidnapped. And this bastard jumped me at the same time."
"Little sister?"
The old man's eyes gleamed too. It was Ian who'd suggested the "sister" cover—their similar hair colors made it believable. Lucy had pushed for "fiancée instead," but Ian shot back, "Come off it, Lucy. Shut up and eat."
"Dihtri."
"Yes, master!"
"Stay here and watch that man."
The clear-eyed fanatic saluted crisply—trustworthy enough to bring tears.
"Sorry for wasting your time, mage lad. We thought you were some rampaging tyrant."
Ian considered throwing a mage-like tantrum but eyed the longsword at the old man's hip and thought better. That thing taught even mages manners.
"...Misunderstanding cleared. We're good."
"As atonement, we'll help until it's done. Finding your lost sister, right?"
Before Ian could reply, the thugs smashed the fence (???) and charged into the street. Terrified onlookers pointed the suspicious folks' escape route.
"The docks! They went to the docks!"
Not Naruto. Docks meant the small wharf for boarding boats along the river. Common in River Bill, built along the waterway.
"Righteous citizens!"
The old man bellowed a speech.
"Have you seen this traveler's sister? A fine young man weeps for his lost kin! We need your aid!"
"Oh no..."
"Lost his sister?"
"Let's help search!"
The fight spectators now joined the hunt. Lucy had Ian, the old man, thugs, and villagers all slaving away. In some way, she was a genius. A genius nuisance.
"There! That's them!"
The mass search paid off—they spotted Lucy's kidnappers. As evening neared, that boat heading downriver! Lucy and the thugs were surely aboard.
"Oh dear, what now..."
Some villagers stomped anxiously. They'd found the kidnappers, but the boat had drifted too far to catch. Launching after sunset was dangerous. No one would rashly pursue.
But not for the old man and his thugs.
"Who are you men?"
"Swords of Santiago!"
"And who is Santiago?"
"The saint who protects travelers and the common folk!"
Ian jumped at the booming voices beside him. What the hell?
"Right. You're the Knights of Saint Santiago—guardians of travelers, helpers of the needy in distress."
"Ooh!"
"Knights! Will you brave the perilous night with me to save an unnamed maiden?"
"Gladly!"
Knight order of Saint Santiago? He figured they weren't ordinary travelers. But a knight order? Ian's first since arriving in this medieval fantasy world. Honestly, impressive. Real knights fought for the weak, acted on honor... kinda cool?
Ian approached the old man.
"Sir, no need for a risky boat chase."
"Heh, no need for formalities. Speak freely, as suits your nature."
"...?"
Ian tilted his head. This is my nature.
"Villagers mentioned a grappling hook."
"Grappling hook?"
Now the old man tilted his head. Docks had those for boats, obviously. So what?
"I'll pull the boat in—hook it then."
"Pull the boat...?"
The old man pondered, then gaped in disbelief.
"You... you can wield Hydrokinesis?"
Ian was mildly surprised.
"How'd you know the term Hydrokinesis?"
"Of course I do... how old do you think I am?"
The old man was forty-six, a veteran warrior who'd roamed battlefields for decades. He'd witnessed mages' spells aplenty. Mages were the battlefield itself—summoning winds, erupting flames, twisting earth, altering weather. Gods on the field.
"But aren't you an Umbrakinesis mage?"
He'd assumed from the darkness.
"Umbrakinesis mage, yeah—but I handle Hydrokinesis too."
"Is that possible?"
"Huh?"
The old man figured Ian was bluffing. By his knowledge, mages specialized in one school. Battlefield mages stuck to their specialty: pyromancers to fire, hydromancers to water. Rare polymaths existed, but they were precious.
Ian got it and chuckled.
"Ah, if you're deep into one school, yeah. But I haven't specialized yet."
"No specialization... what does that mean?"
Ian decided to lecture on mages today.
"Means I haven't mastered any specific Maronius dialect. Just dipped my toes into several schools."
"...?"
The old man was more confused. Dipping toes meant basic novice level—no real spells yet. A toe-dipper summoning that darkness from nothing?
Ian opted to show, not tell, chanting fluidly in the Maronius tongue.
"River!"
"To me!"
⟨ Hydrokinesis ⟩
Ian focused on the distant skiff drifting away. The sharp Maronius chant echoed. Villagers, knights, and the old man all shivered, sensing the unknown power radiating from Ian.
"Heavens!"
"Look at that!"
As the spell ended, the river churned against its flow, surging toward Ian! Villagers gawked in shock. The old man reeled too. Only the Saint Santiago Knights stayed unfazed.
Villagers beheld a river flowing upstream for the first time—What the hell is that? How?!
The old man had his own shock.
That's... beyond battlefield hydromancer level.
Noble-hired war mages couldn't casually pull that off. And this was "novice" level?
"Uwaaaah!"
Splash!
Fierce waves crashed over the docks. Unlucky spectators tumbled into the river. The kidnappers' skiff hurtled back to the dock in a blink.
"Grappling hook!"
The knights, viewing the magic as mere trickery, acted calmly. Folks scrambled for hooks. The skiff was swiftly secured.
Kidnappers bound one by one, Lucy rescued safe.
"Waaah~ Ian~"
Snot- and tear-streaked Lucy wailed into Ian's arms. Everyone—villagers, knights—stared at him. The old man grinned.
"What're you waiting for? Your sister's waiting."
"..."
Not thrilled, but Ian gently hugged the filthy Lucy. She reeked of river water.
Back home... bath first.
# Ian resolved to finish his interrupted bath.
No sooner had he mentioned it than the Saint Santiago Knights leaped up.
"Purification! Our specialty!"
"...?"
Expecting nonsense, Ian listened to the old man's explanation.
"The Knights of Saint Santiago revere the ancient Golden Empire's laws, loving ritual baths. If you're no good at it, let them handle."
Absurd to Ian.
"Wait, who sucks at bathing...?"
"Kuul..."
Ian eyed Lucy, facedown snoring on the table. Hm. Some skip baths, so some suck at 'em.
"Mage brother wants a bath? How can we not help!"
"Oil! Fetch the oils!"
Stop, you lunatics...
Before Ian could intervene, the knights volunteered as bath attendants.
"They want to befriend you—don't push 'em away."
Shrugging off Ian's magic but fired up by their brief theology chat, they craved more debate. Ian found it extremely annoying but couldn't shoo them. The old man would flip. Oddly nagging conscience.
Thus, Ian prepared to bathe attended by nearly ten dudes... when
"What the hell are you doing?!"
A young man, looking younger than Ian, burst in yelling. Fine clothes screamed rich kid...
Ah, shit—is bathing illegal?
Worrying about fines inwardly, Ian replied.
"...Taking a bath?"
"???"