Divine Magic and the Garlic Welcome
Ian decided to seriously memorize the holy scriptures, and the results came quickly.
Skill: Divine Magic
The ability to converse with the graceful, dignified, holy, and beautiful absolute ruler of this world. Nice, huh, Ian!
"..."
He had acquired the Divine Magic skill. But why was the description so snarky?
Ian examined the Divine Magic skill. Like other spells, it came with some advisory text.
Pay attention to the gods. Study more, understand more. The more interest you show, the happier they'll be – the graceful, dignified, holy, and beautiful ruler of this world.
A surge of anger boiled up inside him. Was the one who granted him this skill really a god? If so, did that mean this so-called god had dropped him into this strange world and was now cackling from on high, watching his every move and reaction?
Unless he elevated Divine Magic to a higher level and spoke directly to the god, he'd never know.
"Fucking hell."
He was pissed, but there was nothing he could do right now. All he could do was hunt down more mysteries, rack up more points, and strengthen Divine Magic.
Ian tossed the scriptures aside and stood up.
Without any major incidents, Ian's group set foot in the Catania Earldom. They did face a bandit ambush midway, but the Order of Saint Santiago made short work of them.
They usually acted so saintly that it was easy to forget, but on the battlefield, the Order of Saint Santiago were incarnations of violence.
"Brothers! Let us smite these wicked bandits!"
"Ooh!"
More than half the knights wore chain mail. People might think chain mail was second-rate compared to plate armor, but in this era, it was the pinnacle of protective gear. It could withstand not just sword slashes, but spear thrusts and hammer or axe blows to a degree. The only downside? It was expensive.
With their deep-pocketed patrons, most of the Order of Saint Santiago's knights were decked out in chain mail. Nearly forty bandits were swept away without meaningful resistance.
"Bandits with zero resistance... superconductors."
"?"
Truly worthy of being called medieval LK-99 manufacturers, the Order of Saint Santiago returned to Ian drenched in blood.
"Hey! Wizard! No trouble, right?"
"None at all."
What had Ian done during the fight? Nothing. Why waste mana on a sure win? Battle was the warriors' domain. Mages just watched.
"Jerks like that are everywhere you go."
Elder had swung his sword too, his whole body splattered in blood.
"No injuries?"
"That's my line."
Ian eyed Elder curiously. The knights in chain mail made sense, but this guy was in light cloth armor. No shield, just a sword dangling at his side... and not a scratch on him. Impressive.
"Heh heh. Even in my old age, I'm not about to get done in by brainless murderers like that."
Ian held back his questions. If the old man wanted to brag, he wouldn't have used a fake name.
Noticing Ian's restraint, Elder smiled.
"A wizard who curbs his curiosity. Rare sight."
"Why's that?"
"Wizards are clueless by nature. And they don't have to watch their step around anyone."
Ian nodded. The culture where eccentricity earned respect made it easy for mages to mouth off.
"Making a wizard hold back his curiosity? Kinda guilty now."
"Then spill it. What did you used to do, Elder?"
Elder grinned.
"Mercenary. In a pretty famous company."
"How famous?"
"Famous enough I need a fake name. Too many idiots charging at me headfirst just to make a name off mine."
Someone whose name alone rang bells—and sparked duel challenges for glory.
"Huh. Got it."
Ian's reaction was lukewarm. So what if he was a famous mercenary? Ian, the mage, had already absorbed a mage's mindset. No mystery involved? No interest.
Learning Elder was just a guy good with a sword killed Ian's curiosity dead. Elder looked baffled.
"First time I've gotten such a boring response."
"What do you want? Am I your personal comedian?"
"Heh heh. That sassy mouth confirms you're a wizard, alright."
Elder was slyly calling him out, but Ian ducked behind his "wizard shield." Yeah, I'm a wizard. Whatcha gonna do?
"Guess we'll meet that wizard who's supposed to help you soon."
Elder made a weird face at Ian's words. The kind he hadn't shown even while carving through bandits: This is awkward.
"Not the thing to say after dragging us this far, but... steel yourself."
"Why?"
"Gotta meet the wizard, right? You know wizards are prickly sorts."
Ian couldn't really relate. He knew two wizards: Eredis and himself. Neither was eccentric or weird. So the rumors felt like bullshit. This would be his first other mage. Were they really that bad?
"She'll be pissed. Probably try to chase us off over the awkward situation."
"Hmm..."
Ian had achieved his goal long ago. He'd safely escorted Lucy to the earldom; he could bail and meet the earl anytime. But the knights were different. They'd come to slay the manticore. A botched mage meeting would screw them.
"I'll try persuading her, but don't get your hopes up."
Ian grumbled, and Elder beamed.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They reached a fork. East led to the earl's castle. West to the forest where the manticore lurked.
"Normally, courtesy demands visiting the earl first, but..."
Elder gave a meaningful smile to the knights. Half wanted to pay respects; half didn't care. The worldly ones craved the audience. The Order of Saint Santiago belonged to a monastery—hard to join, easy to leave. Plenty hunted beasts for fame, then settled under a lord.
"Total time sink, right?"
"Yep."
Even the devout Deheeter brothers agreed. Dangerous manticore ahead? Wasting time was folly. The earl fans knew it too, so no outright complaints.
"Heh heh. Ian, what about you?"
"Me..."
Ian glanced at Lucy. His job ended the moment he delivered her safely. Negotiating with the earl was on her.
"Ian. I'll head off first."
As expected, Lucy skipped the manticore hunt. Even if she joined, she'd be dead weight without her noble blood. Better focus on what only she could do.
"You good solo?"
"Duh. What do you take me for?!"
Lucy gave the knights a quick farewell. No one minded her leaving, Ian included. Fighting a monster with baggage that walks away? Bonus.
"See you later. Ian."
Ian and the knights pressed on. Destination: the mage's home in a remote forest.
Mani Kemberbel was a mage. Unlike wandering mages, she preferred settling down—fitting for one who handled the mystery of plants.
Mages planted themselves near their mysteries to study them. Most mysteries were a bitch to comprehend. Even "easy" wind required witnessing massive storms or whirlwinds.
If someone said they were heading to storm-ravaged lands, you'd think "lunatic"—or just "mage."
In that sense, Mani's mystery—plants—was a comfy study. Just watch sprouts emerge and grow!
She'd wandered the continent young, researching flora. But nearing sixty, travel was too much. Now she was an old mage tending her own fields, growing what she liked.
Mani was elderly. And elders hate change.
"Mani Kemberbel! In the name of the gods! We need your help!"
One day, heavenly faith priests stormed her peaceful home. Mani despised them.
"What now? Another damn famine?"
The priests scowled at her rudeness. Sure, eccentric mages were skilled, but not everyone loved the attitude—especially priests who bowed to no one.
Priests served the greatest mystery: the heavenly god. Far above flames, frost, or wind. Even cold water has hierarchy. How dare low-mystery dabblers disrespect high-mystery servants!
Mages saw it differently. Priests liked mysteries; they didn't wield them. (Clerics aside, who were mage-priests.) The rest? Mystery fans. Arrogant posers demanding respect from real researchers!
Hence, mages and priests rarely got along.
"You'll just spout plant feelings bullshit and refuse anyway..."
"Shh. Quiet."
The priests grumbled loud enough to hear. As a plant mystery expert, Mani could revive dying crops. Famine hit? Priests came begging.
But she hated it. Life and death were natural. Humans crammed fields, force-fed nutrients for overgrown yields—then whined about harvests?
Yes, plant mage Mani was a plant rights activist. Like those pitying chickens, sheep, cows exploited by humans.
She pitied hybridized seeds and forced crops in dense fields. Human farms? Cruelty fields.
Farmers hated her right back—called her crazy. Without crops, who feeds folks? Ancestors dropping food from heaven?
She was a mage, so her "madness" was tolerable. That's why she lived unburned in the woods.
"Devout warriors will come to hunt the manticore. Aid them with your magic."
"And if I don't?"
"Don't forget: the church lent you this forest."
"...Fuck."
Dirty power players. Her magic greened plants fine, but stopped no arsonist mercenaries. Apolitical, no noble pals. No choice but to obey the church thugs.
Hmph! Think you can boss me? I've got pride!
She'd play compliant... but throw a "welcome party" for the knights. A sharp, zingy one.
If they passed? Full cooperation. Fail? Boot them scot-free!
"Kekekeke..."
Mani cackled like a witch, clutching white veggies in her kitchen. Her hands brimmed with "welcome" plants.
Could the knights stomach these?
Mani's choice: white, spicy... garlic.