The Custom of Calling the Mage
Ian yawned hugely as he watched the manticore's massive body burn away. No matter how enormous the monster was, once it was set ablaze, it couldn't put up any resistance and just died. With its muscles melting and respiratory system ruined, it had no way left to muster its strength. Fire is that terrifying, so everyone—awake or asleep—be careful around flames.
“Aigoo! Thank you! Thank you, sirs!”
The knights bustled about, tending to the farmers. The farmers, who had come back from the brink of death, shed tears as they offered their gratitude. Mani had also shone by detoxifying the manticore's poison. Since some of the farmers were neighbors to Mani, they weren't stingy with their thanks.
But... no one approached Ian.
Well, one person did.
“Um... thank you for your help, mage.”
“...Ah. Yeah. Sure.”
But Ian, an INFP, didn't enjoy meeting strangers. His lukewarm response made the farmer shrink back in fear.
Honestly, Ian's appearance screamed mage now. The suspicious staff, the raven perched on his shoulder, and that pitch-black hair like the raven itself!
“Ah, Oberon. You're heavy—get down.”
“Light my ass. You're as big as a chicken.”
...And then there was that bizarre sight of him chatting with the raven! The farmer slipped away before he could offend Ian. That mage had just burned a manticore alive, after all. What if he torched him on a whim? The fear hit him just like that.
For those reasons, Ian didn't receive the farmers' thanks. But he didn't care at all. He hadn't done it for gratitude in the first place.
“Ian, you did well.”
“Nah, I didn't do anything. You had it way tougher, Elder.”
Ian grinned at the Elder's words. He knew physical labor was the knights' job, but sitting back and letting them handle it while he savored the mage's sweet life felt like pure honey. Damn. Learning was hell, but now? Pure bliss. Everyone, become a mage. Do it twice.
“If you hadn't helped, we'd still be wandering around hunting for that manticore.”
The Elder bowed his head. Ian jumped up in surprise. As someone from a Confucian city in his past life, he wasn't used to an elder bowing before him.
“N-no, I just came because Mani told me to tag along.”
“Haha, if you say so.”
The Elder chuckled happily at the fidgeting mage. Humility and mage were words that didn't match—like horns and words—but just as unicorns existed, so did humble mages. Ian was living proof.
Tremendous skill paired with humble character... both points that would appeal to nobles.
He's going to be a big deal someday. The Elder was convinced Ian would become a famous mage. If he played his cards right with the right lord, he'd rival a great noble in power.
“Since things went well, stay in the village tonight. The count will probably send someone soon.”
The Santiago Knights and the two mages lodged in a nearby farming village. Just as the Elder predicted, the count's messenger arrived to confirm the manticore's corpse.
“His Excellency the Count commands that we escort the honored guests to the castle!”
“Haha, when he singles us out like that, how can we refuse?”
Ian's group headed to the count's castle. The Count Catania himself, along with his retainers, priests, and... even Lucy Talian, were already out to welcome them.
“Welcome! Brave warriors!”
Count Catania greeted the group with a generous smile.
# To celebrate the warriors' safe slaying of the beast, the count threw a grand feast. Servants sweated buckets roasting whole pigs, while knights laughed, shouted, and devoured meat and ale. The mood was bound to be electric.
First, Count Catania. The count had nearly had a territory-wide headache resolved for practically free. Considering his initial hunters had failed, this was a massive win. His coffers were safe, and the monster was dead—how could he not be thrilled?
Then the territory's priests. They were the ones who recommended the Santiago Knights, so their egos were sky-high. Monster slain, no cost to the count—they were over the moon.
Finally, the Santiago Knights. They'd risked their lives for the kill, so fitting rewards were coming. How excited could they get?
“To face a monster in heaven's name! What righteous souls! Haha!”
“You're too kind, Count!”
The more worldly Santiago knights had snagged seats by the count, exchanging drinks and toasts.
“Hah, hearing of your exploits is truly astonishing.”
Buzzed on wine, Count Catania lavished praise on the knights. Who hated compliments? The knights beamed, listening demurely.
“It's such a shame. If I had brave knights like you by my side, I'd feel so secure...”
“...”
“But how could I drag knights who follow heaven's will into the mortal world's muck?!”
The count delivered his prepared lines, eyeing the knights' reactions. Pretending to be drunk while praising them, then lamenting dramatically—it was all calculated. Not every capital knight was purely devout. They were human too, craving power, wealth, women. Seeing some waver, the count smirked inwardly. A few looked ready to fold with a push. No need to rush; he pivoted topics.
“Mage Mani, thank you for aiding these brave knights. I'll handle compensating the farmers for their ruined barley fields.”
“I didn't do it for your sake, Count. If you'd paid more attention, I wouldn't have had to step in!”
Mani, who'd joined the hunt reluctantly due to the priests, was in a sour mood. Knowing this, the count didn't prod further.
“It's done now, isn't it?”
“Hmph, whatever.”
The count glanced at Ian beside Mani and stood. A clearly unfamiliar mage... time for that custom.
“But I see a wanderer who entered my palace without permission?”
The count stared at Ian. Your turn, mage.
But Ian was too busy stuffing his face to notice what the count said.
Oberon cawed loudly.
“What?”
Ian was replying to Oberon, but those who couldn't hear the raven naturally thought he was answering the count.
Oho, straight to casual speech.
What boldness! That mage!
The count, not expecting the young punk to drop honorifics, was slightly flustered. But viewing it as part of the custom, he steadied himself.
“...I never invited you as a guest, so get out, raven.”
“Hey, Oberon. He's telling you to scram.”
“Nah, no way he's telling me to leave.”
The knights were used to it by now, but to the count and retainers, it was eerie. A mage conversing with a raven! To outsiders, he'd look like a lunatic muttering to a bird.
What's with that mage...?
He's talking to the raven.
Talking? To a bird?
It's a mage.
Huh. Right...
The knights who'd seen Ian command the bird to track the manticore got it, but the count and retainers were clueless about his magic. Especially the count.
“Er... impressive magic.”
Because... Ian's display didn't look much like magic! Sure, it seemed like he'd followed the “calling the mage” custom by showing a trick. But what the hell kind of magic was that? Ventriloquism?
Talking to animals was definitely magic, so the mage had shown his skill. But such an ambiguous display left no way to tell fraud from real.
Considering the custom's purpose was weeding out noble-clinging con artists, this wasn't a success. Logically, it should end there. Fraud or not, who cared? He traveled with the Santiago Knights and sat by Mage Mani.
But there's always that one idiot who derails things.
“Your Excellency, scum like that needs a thrashing and chasing off!”
“...?”
Ian and the count both scowled at the retainer. One vassal had decided the “calling” wasn't enough. This could be a grave insult to a mage. Who'd feel good getting fraud-labeled after showing magic?
But the count didn't stop him. Because... he was curious too! To the count, Ian needed to show something more impressive (hence why idiots are the worst). With nothing flashy, Ian seemed like a third-rate mage.
“Hm, you're right. I can't tell if he truly speaks to the raven or just pretends. And if that's all—chatting with a bird—it's surely paltry, worthless magic.”
“...”
Ian, who'd been listening quietly, felt a twinge of annoyance. He hadn't shown much, true, but summoning wasn't some trash magic to dismiss like that.
Disrespecting summoners now? Magic's a joke to you?
Think summoning's easy 'cause it's just bullshitting with a raven?
If Ian showed real magic here...
Wait, why should I?
The thought hit him. Why should he play clown for the count? What did Ian lack? He'd get paid by Lucy and bounce. She was the only one whose opinion mattered.
“Mm. I see.”
Performing like a zoo monkey held no appeal. So Ian stood.
“I get it—my skills are worthless. No more tricks to show, so I'll take my leave.”
“...?”
The feast hall froze at Ian's abrupt move. The count and that vassal panicked most.
“N-no, mage!”
But the water was spilled. As Ian headed for the exit, the first to react was Mage Mani.
“I can't stand by anymore!”
Thud!
“My skills are worthless too, so I'll head back to the woods!”
“Why are you doing this?!”
“You despise lowly mage tricks—how could I stay on this land?!”
Mani shot up, screeching in his shrill voice. Ian tilted his head at him.
What's his deal?
Ian got why he was pissed, but not Mani. But this was mage tradition. Insult one mage, they all rise in protest—the beautiful custom of mages throwing tantrums together!
How dare they... insult Eredis's disciple?
Mani's view of the count dropped a notch.
“Count, your words went too far.”
The Elder glared at the count. A mere ex-mercenary glaring at a count was unthinkable, but the Elder exuded such intense aura that it happened. No one could mistake him for ordinary!
“Without Ian's magic, the manticore hunt would've failed. Is that how you speak of it?”
Finally, the Dehitri brothers stood.
“Brother Ian's magic is far from worthless. He called on heaven's power to heal my wounds. Proof of his deep knowledge and faith in heaven's will.”
The priests gasped at Dehitri's words.
“Mage Ian is a cleric?!”
The Santiago Knights piled on, testifying to Ian's Divine Magic. How diligently he studied scriptures, heeded heaven's word, performed miracles...
The priests flipped like pancakes.
“Ahem... we didn't mean offense to one who studies heaven's will...”
Mages and priests didn't get along, but Ian was the exception. He'd studied scriptures and witnessed the Divine mystery through it!
Count Catania paled, grasping the gravity.
I'm screwed...!
He never dreamed a mage would quit the custom first. Regret flooded in. How offensive must he have been for the mage to walk first!
The count felt his idiocy to his bones. Damn, should've stuck to verse one!
To salvage, he turned to Ian. Time-honored fixes for mistakes: apologize or suicide. With internet trends making the latter trendy (“Better die than apologize!”), but this was still a medieval fantasy where common sense lived. As a count worth his salt, Catania knew to bow for political gain.
“Mage Ian! My fault! All my foolish mistake—forgive me, quell your anger!”
The count bent at a perfect 90 degrees. For a man not a folding phone, that was impressive in many ways.
With the count bowing personally, Ian couldn't ignore it.
“Enough, stand up.”
“But...!”
“If you're not up in 3 seconds, I'm going home.”
The count looked up; Ian slowly sat. The count sighed in relief.
Sacrificing his back... he'd changed his future...!
With the mage-calling roughly wrapped, the feast resumed. Throughout, the count and retainers watched Ian tensely, never looking away. The whims of mages were terrifying...