Meanwhile, as Ian Hunts the Manticore
Lucy Talian had already met with the earl and finished discussing their future plans.
"...So I barely managed to escape on my own."
At first, Lucy had steeled her resolve, vowing never to be swayed. But as she began recounting her parents' murder, her determination crumbled rapidly. It was unavoidable. She was just an eighteen-year-old girl.
By the time she got to her escape from the territory, Lucy could no longer contain her emotions. Watching his niece sob with tears streaming down her face, Earl Catania felt a swirl of complex emotions.
'I warned them to beware those greedy bastards...'
The murdered Baroness Talian was the earl's younger sister. Even if she had married young, family was family. To say he felt nothing would be a lie. The earl pitied his deceased sister and her orphaned daughter. At the same time, fury burned toward the usurper mercenary who had slain the baron and his wife and tried to force a wedding with Lucy.
Whatever wrongs the baron couple had committed, they were the ones who ended up dead. The earl had perfect justification in avenging his sister.
'...Making Lucy the baron isn't a bad idea.'
Interfering in another family's title succession was blatant meddling in internal affairs. But if Lucy requested help first, it changed everything. The earl quickly ran the calculations. Secure the territory with Lucy at the forefront, marry her off to one of his retainers, and Talian Barony would naturally fall under Earl Catania's influence. In these chaotic times, it was a prime opportunity to expand his power under a righteous banner.
"I understand everything you've been through, Lucy."
"Earl...?"
"Call me uncle, not earl."
"...!"
The earl's kind demeanor genuinely moved Lucy. It was the product of her rich sensitivity.
"Don't worry about a thing anymore. I'll make sure to avenge your mother."
"U-Uncle...!"
The earl didn't drone on with petty conditions like 'If I help you, the price will be this and that.' Such talk would only heighten her wariness. He could demand what he wanted after everything was settled. By then, with his army occupying Talian territory, what choice would Lucy have? All while playing the role of the 'kind-hearted uncle.' Avenging his sister. Raising an army 'voluntarily.' That was the ideal picture.
Once it was all over, a subtle threat—not quite a threat—of 'After all I've done for you, can't you grant your uncle this one request?' would seal the deal. The earl comforted the tearfully grateful Lucy and methodically began war preparations.
After the Santiago Knight Order departed, Earl Catania gathered his retainers, knights, and the mage Ian, then made his declaration.
"You all know my niece's story by now! I will punish the vile usurper Greim and restore order to this land!"
"Long live Earl Catania!"
Under Earl Catania's banner, some four hundred mercenaries assembled.
Wars in this era were mostly fought by mercenaries. Standing armies were expensive and hard to maintain. Mercenaries, on the other hand, became usable troops the moment you paid them. They were essential for territorial skirmishes, as no lord wanted to sacrifice valuable peasants (read: money sources) in power struggles among the elite.
"What do you think, Raven?"
Earl Catania kept Ian at his side, proudly showing off his army. It was a hallmark of era's lords to parade around with a mage in tow.
"With this force, sweeping aside a mere usurper should be a breeze, no?"
The earl glanced at Ian with subtle expectation, borrowing the mage's wisdom—as was common in old tales, where mages often advised rulers.
"Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Ian knew zilch about military matters, so he had no real advice. War was for mercenaries and knights, the experts. Leave it to them. He spouted basic common sense instead.
"It's an impressive army, but with so many men, pay attention to food supplies. And if it rains, watch for disease outbreaks."
"Hmm... So, no defeats if disease is avoided. Got it."
Ian had just stated the obvious, but surprisingly, the earl nodded approvingly.
"Raven, I'd like you to be my eyes from here on."
The earl made no secret of wanting to keep Ian close as a magical advisor. Ian understood the appeal, but it was just a hassle for him.
"I'll help where I can."
"Good. I look forward to your contributions."
Ian shrugged. Contributions? He'd gotten a magic scroll as payment. He was tagging along to earn his keep, nothing more. The actual fighting was for knights and mercenaries. Ian's role on the battlefield would be minimal.
"Ian!"
Lucy had joined the expedition too. Her role? Mascot. More precisely, the living justification for the campaign. It made sense for the rightful heir to accompany the army reclaiming her stolen land.
"Hehe, the end's in sight!"
"...Didn't we just leave yesterday?"
Barely underway, and Lucy was acting like victory was already theirs. Ian could somewhat follow her logic. Intel pegged usurper Greim's forces at around 150. Even scraping together more with his mercenary rep, he wouldn't top 200. Against the earl's 400? Simple math said it was over before it started.
"So what? We've got the numbers and a mage."
"Fair point."
Lucy was already playing baroness, promising spoils from a territory she didn't yet hold.
"Hmm... What should I reward Ian with for all his help~? Gold? Nah, you've gotten plenty already. Sick of it?"
Me? Ian stared at her in bewilderment, but Lucy had decided he was some aloof mage indifferent to coin. His casual attitude toward money played into it. Truth was, Ian wasn't hurting for cash—Eredis's travel funds still lingered. But hey, more was always better!
Oblivious, Lucy skipped straight past gold.
"Ah! There's something you'd love. Want that?"
"What's that?"
"The magic sword used by the first Talian baron!"
"...?"
"Anorilsil. Forged with the power of sun and moon!"
Lucy chattered on about her family's legend. The founding baron, in his youth, had loved a fairy. While battling goblins threatening the fairy forest, the fairies gifted him a sword infused with solar and lunar power. He slew the goblins and became their savior... or so the tale went.
'What is this, some ancient fantasy novel?'
It was cringey old-school stuff. Pure 1900s Anglo fantasy vibe. Tolkien fanfic, maybe? Midway through, a thought struck Ian.
"Wait... Anorilsil? If it's such an awesome magic sword, why's your family still just barons?"
"W-What do you mean 'just barons'? That's rude! Insulting, even!"
Ian shook his head. Obvious scam. They'd trot out some Bronze Age relic like 'Behold, Anorilsil~' He'd clocked the worn-out storytelling. If Anorilsil was legit, Talian wouldn't be stuck at baron.
"It's over four hundred years old anyway!"
"Huh. Your family's older than I thought."
"And... and!" Lucy's cheeks flushed.
"Anorilsil's... in the first baron's tomb."
"What?"
Ian blinked in shock. A magic sword as a gift? Sounded like it hung on the wall, but... in a tomb?
As Ian yelped, Lucy's face reddened further.
"S-So to get it... we'd have to open the grave."
"Whoa..."
Ian snapped to attention. The founder sealed it in his own tomb, and descendants just dig it up to divvy as rewards? Medieval folks' ethics or what?
"Fuck, is your ancestor's grave a time capsule? Open and close whenever you feel like it?"
"I'm the baron—what's the problem?!"
Ah. Ian sighed deeply. Raiding graves for treasure? As a guy from a Confucian culture where ancestors' teachings breathed life, it was a shocking proposition. And reopening a sealed tomb? No easy feat. If it were, that unlucky tomb raider Oppert wouldn't have just dug futilely in Joseon and slunk home.
Fantasy novels always made graveyards monster-infested trap dungeons. Was Lucy plotting to shove him in one to avoid paying up...?
"And you're not baron yet..."
"I am! Just haven't inherited formally! So I decide what happens to my land's treasures!"
Ian tsked. Scheming to sell off heirlooms the moment she got the title (not yet)—Talian line probably ended with Lucy.
"It's a magic sword, right? Treasure. You sure it's okay to give it to a wandering mage like me?"
Genuinely worried now, Ian lectured her earnestly.
"Sounds valuable. Use it for the family? Better than bragging as baron and blowing it all."
"..."
Lucy clamped her lips, glaring silently. She seemed about to speak... then shook her head and yelled.
"...I'm saying I'd give you that precious thing! You idiot!"
"Lucy!"
Lucy stormed off like a romance novel heroine after spilling her heart. Left alone, Ian scratched his head awkwardly.
Did I say something harsh? But no matter how he thought, gifting family heirlooms to strangers felt off. Even as reward for his troubles, asking for a magic sword felt tacky.
For the first time in his life marching to real war, Ian felt a tiny thrill. Wow! Medieval warfare! Troops marching to enemy lands!
But that excitement lasted less than three days.
War wasn't all that special. Marching was boring beyond imagination. In games or movies, epic BGM would swell, unfolding soldier and general stories before battle. Reality? No majestic score. Just suffocating silence, awkwardness, and exhausted troops' grumbling.
Mercenary bands stuck to their own, sharing insider chatter. Strangers from other units eyed each other like nosy neighbors—total detachment. Uniforms? Patchwork. Armor? Mismatched. And zero "earl's army" esprit de corps. A ragged, sewn-together rabble.
This was the "army" summoned by a medieval fantasy "earl."
'Wonder if they'll even fight properly.'
Mercenaries ate steel for a living, so they'd charge enemies. But combat prowess...? Ian had enough world time to know the makeup: over half were lazy peasant runaways. Folks in straw hats wielding flails yelling 'Hi, I'm a mercenary~' They were meat shields, extras buying time for geared veterans.
Peasants stayed peasants even as mercs. Small comfort: four hundred heads.
"Ian, whatcha doing?"
"Boiling spoons."
No mercenary dared approach the mage Ian first. He'd changed since his early days. Staff, pet raven—no need to announce 'I'm a mage.' They knew.
"...Boiling spoons? Why?"
Ian's only company: the earl or Lucy. She dropped by when bored.
"You... gonna eat 'em?"
Lucy unwittingly spread tales of Ian's "eccentricities." Mercs saw him simmering spoons in a pot and muttered 'Mage is boiling spoon soup...!'
Of course, Ian wasn't that mad. He sighed at Lucy's horrified face.
"It's... sterilization."
"Sterili-what?"
"Killing tiny invisible bugs..."
"Th-Those exist?!"
Ahh. They didn't know. Barbaric isekai folk.
This was sterilization. Germ-killing. Ian explained kindly, but Lucy didn't get it.
"If they're invisible... how do they even live?"
Good question. Ian barely knew microbiology himself. Pasteur said so, so whatever. Lucky him—a mage. Ultimate bullshit pass.
"That's the mystery for ya."
"Oh... right!"
Lucy fetched her spoon to boil too. Bubbles rose in the "spoon broth." Onlooker mercs approached.
"Uh... Mage sir. Could you boil ours too?"
They offered salt-cured meat. Desperate for magical mystery soup.
'...Not soup, dammit.'
It'd take centuries for medieval rubes to grasp Ian.