Bath? A Bath, You Say?
In this world after the empire's fall, only the northerners made a habit of bathing. It wasn't some influence from the empire; it was just their custom from way back. Northern warriors considered it a virtue to wash in the river every weekly holiday. But the true origin of bathing lay with the Golden Empire, of course. The ancient imperials loved their baths too. True to their pre-apocalypse civilized ways, they used over-the-top technology like aqueducts to supply clean water to public bathhouses. A far cry from the barbaric northerners scrubbing in cold river water, you might say.
But the people of the current Holy Empire weren't big on bathing. Despite the name, it wasn't the same as the ancient Golden Empire—different race, different history. The pope had just acknowledged it as an empire, that's all. Take Lucy: she only bathed on special occasions. So young lord Bernard of River Bill took a good long while to process the scene before him.
Things are chaotic around here, and the knights and mage are weirdly chummy. The mage had summed it up with a casual "bathing," but there was clearly more to it.
Bernard was the young lord of River Bill. If something had gone down, he had every right to get a report—even if it involved travelers instead of locals. Lords had judicial authority, after all.
"Mage! Give me a more detailed report!"
Bernard declared it boldly. He had every right to.
The mage, Ian, replied with breezy calm. "Your lordship, care to explain instead?"
"Gladly."
Bernard was floored when a gray-haired old man stepped forward.
What the...? I'd clearly ordered the mage to report. And now he's delegating to someone else right in front of me? Insult! This is an outright insult! In his fifteen years of life, this was the first time he'd been treated like this!
How dare he! Is he looking down on me?!
There were things you could do in front of a noble and things you couldn't. The mage's behavior blatantly crossed the line. Nobles didn't tolerate insults. Those who insulted nobles paid in blood.
"Now, now, young lordship. Here's what happened..."
"Who are you?"
The old man bowed calmly at Bernard's question. "Just call me Elder. Used to roll with mercenaries back in the day; now I'm retired and help out the young folks with odd jobs."
"Elder..."
Obviously a nickname or alias. Elder meant old man or village elder. Who names themselves "Old Man"? It was as lazy as a Korean "Old Man Kim."
"Elder, huh?"
"Yes, young lordship. So, the reason this fellow was in the bathwater is..."
"Why are you answering my question?"
Bernard cut him off, and Elder winced ever so slightly—not overt, but the displeasure was clear.
"I asked the mage."
"He's the mage, isn't he? I'll answer for..."
"No! I want to hear it straight from the mage!"
Bernard shouted, and Elder tilted his head, pondering. But soon enough, he got it. A noble wanting to speak directly to a mage...? Ah.
"Oh, I see."
Elder grinned. At the same time, Sir Hanson whispered urgently.
"Young lordship, leave the mage be and question the mercenary instead."
"Quiet!"
Bernard snapped, and Sir Hanson felt a stab of pain—like a skull mark slamming into his chest. No, more frustration than pain. Did this brat even grasp what he was saying?! A noble picking a fight with a mage first meant...!
"Mage! I am the rightful heir to River Bill, of the Kalz family! How dare you receive your lord naked! Get out of the water, dress yourself, and show some respect—now!"
"..."
Elder chuckled softly, and Sir Hanson covered his face with his hand. Ahh. The kid had done it...
Ian stared at Bernard's face for a moment before tossing out a single word.
"Now?"
"..."
Bernard looked incredulous, while everyone else wore a "yep, called it" expression.
"Yes! Right now!"
"Pass."
Elder muttered under his breath. "Here we go."
Mages got higher marks the crankier they acted. And there was only one reason a noble picked a fight with one: to test the level of that crankiness.
Noble provokes, mage snaps back... This was the ancient imperial noble custom known as Mage Calling.
Lucy Talian was a noble. Sure, she did some dimwitted things now and then, but she'd been raised with all sorts of education from her noble parents. It was no surprise that "how to act around mages" was one of her lessons.
Lucy had broken down what she knew about handling mages and reverse-engineered it into "how mages act around nobles" to teach Ian.
When a noble met a mage, they put on a show called Mage Calling.
"Mage Calling?"
"Yeah. Mage Calling is basically a way to vet a mage."
The origins of Mage Calling weren't clear, but it was said to date back to the era of Great Mage Maronius (yep, the guy who made the Maronius Language). Back when magic was still novel, fake mages were everywhere. They'd pretend to know dangerous spells, intimidate nobles, and scam big money. So nobles invented a procedure: deliberately provoke the mage to check their skills. That was Mage Calling.
A noble meeting a strange mage would publicly insult and humiliate them. The mage either slinks away quietly or demonstrates their power and scolds the noble in turn. If they slink off, they're either unskilled or a fraud. If they show their stuff, the noble apologizes profusely and treats them like royalty.
This "show" caught on during the Golden Empire era and became a noble custom. Skip it, and you'd be seen as not properly honoring the mage. Even commoners got wind of it—quiet, meek mages were assumed to be weak.
"That's why I thought you were some no-name mage when we first met."
"..."
From Ian's perspective, it was an exhausting custom. Anyway, right now, as Bernard grumbled and raised his voice, Ian figured that ritual had begun.
That's gotta be Mage Calling, right?
"Mage! I am the rightful heir to River Bill, of the Kalz family! How dare you receive your lord naked! Get out of the water, dress yourself, and show some respect—now!"
The middle-schooler-sized kid's yelling grated on Ian's nerves. (Bernard was hitting puberty, by the way. Pubescent boys' voices were a horror beyond words.) Ian's inner crankiness bubbled up naturally.
"Now?"
"...Yes! Right now!"
"Pass."
Bernard looked shocked, and Ian was impressed. Oho, decent acting chops. Can't let him outshine me. Inspired by Bernard's performance, Ian threw himself into the cranky mage role.
"Why should I? Milord noble. Am I your underling or what?"
"H-How dare you! D-Do you know who you're talking to?!"
"You, obviously. Little baron wannabe. Who are you to order me around? Some sub-baron punk."
Hahahaha! The onlookers burst out laughing. Mage Calling wasn't an everyday spectacle—especially the part where nobles got legally roasted. That's why they usually did it in private with retainers only. Obvious reason: embarrassment. Nobody normal liked getting chewed out in public except masochists.
But Bernard had kicked off Mage Calling in the crowded inn backyard. No way folks would miss this prime entertainment. Passersby gathered in clusters to watch. The recent commotion had drawn a massive crowd.
Hearing the lowly commoners' laughter, Bernard's face turned beet red.
Th-These idiots! Are they all crazy?! How could they laugh at their baron getting reamed?! Huh?! Do they all wanna be executed?!
Sir Hanson sighed deeply at Bernard's flushed face. This moron... Starting a noble's insult in the middle of a crowded street? The outcome was obvious. Did he think the mage would bow and scrape just 'cause he yelled? Nah—"Oh, Mage Calling! Nice!" and flip the script!
In Mage Calling, the noble was the punching bag. Unchangeable rule, even for the emperor. Break it mid-ritual, and word spread like wildfire among mages: "That guy's a dick." No future for nobles who pissed off mages. Eternal truth since magic's birth.
"Sir Hanson! Drag that arrogant mage out now! Make him kneel before me!"
"..."
The laughing crowd's faces soured a bit. That crossed a clear line. Not the flow they wanted. Mage Calling was a show, so public opinion mattered—and that tied straight to the noble's face.
Sir Hanson jumped in to salvage before it worsened.
"Young lordship."
"What?!"
"That's not how you do it."
"...?"
"Mage Calling. That's not how it works."
"M-Mage Calling?"
Spot on, but yeah. Bernard didn't know Mage Calling—didn't even realize he was doing it...
Sir Hanson sighed and stepped forward. He hated being a spectacle, but employees cleaned up the boss's messes. What could he do? If he hated it, become the boss.
Sir Hanson cleared his throat and advanced.
"Ahem. Hear me, mage! Your unseemly appearance suggests you're no true mage! It's not too late—begone before the sub-baron unleashes his wrath!"
Textbook, clean, perfect line. The crowd grinned, the knights grinned, Lucy and Ian grinned. Ooh, he knows his stuff.
Every show had grammar. Follow it well, and it's a masterpiece; botch it, and it's kindling. "The knowing flavor is terrifying," as they say. Hanson's line was pure knowing flavor. Delicious.
"What? You calling me a fraud?!"
Ian shouted, flashing back to his childhood. Come to think of it, he'd told his master right away, "You don't seem like a real mage." Mini Mage Calling, huh? Ian felt a twinge of guilt.
"[Rampage!]"
⟨ Aerokinesis ⟩
Ian uttered the words of the Maronius Language, and the surrounding mysteries churned wildly. Winds howled in, the fireplace exploded, sand crept across the ground.
"Ooh!"
"The mage is pissed!"
The crowd erupted in standing ovation, synchronized like pros. Show climax: enraged mage flexes, now noble shows respect.
"Enough! We see your power! We apologize for our rudeness!"
Sir Hanson bellowed, and Ian cut the magic. He wasn't really mad or sorry, but one side apologized, the other accepted. Mage Calling over.
"We humbly beg pardon for failing to recognize a mage of your caliber."
"Better late than never."
Ian delivered it mage-style. Maybe a tad rude? But the crowd was all "Hell yeah, that's a mage! Haw haw!" so Ian nodded to himself. These people were all nuts.
"...Young lordship."
Sir Hanson poked the dazed Bernard's back.
"Uh, yeah?"
Bernard was shell-shocked from his first real magic—nature bending to human will was mind-blowing.
Huh. Not impressed enough? Ian tilted his head at the lukewarm reaction. Mage Calling done, right? Ah, got it. Wants more magic show!
"Hey, brat!"
"M-Me?"
"Yeah, you! Zoning out like an idiot—what, wanna taste my magic?"
Ian summoned pitch-black darkness around his fingertips. Time to wrap this up. It looked like a nasty curse at a glance, but anyone who'd seen his Umbrakinesis knew it was harmless shadow. But for first-timer Bernard, it was pure terror—skin-crawling evil that'd rot flesh on touch!
Bernard stared at Ian in horror. Black hair, black eyes—he looked like a harbinger of doom.
"I-I'm young lord Bernard! T-Touch me, and my father won't let you...!"
"Grown-ass man still crying for daddy? No shame? Or just kid enough not to care?"
Hahahahaha! Commoners jeered. Bernard, sensitive teen that he was, flushed crimson. Puberty meant poor emotional control.
"...Hic."
"???"
"Waaah~!"
Overwhelmed by surging grievance, Bernard burst into tears. Ian panicked for real.
Wait, why's the kid crying?! Not in the script!
The old man called Elder roared with laughter nearby.
"You're one cranky bastard! Even so, making the young lord cry in public! Haw haw haw!"
"Shut it, you crazy geezer. Funny to you?"
Ian swallowed hard. This is bad. Gonna get the death penalty from pissed-off Baron Kalz?}