Unlike the Lords, Knights Don't Like Mages
Unlike the lords, knights didn't care much for mages. First off, mages pulled dirty tricks on the battlefield. Second, they had to share the glory with them. Knights generally despised mages. But openly shunning them would bring hellish backlash, so they just badmouthed them behind their backs where no one would see.
"Hey, mage."
A knight approached Ian out of nowhere and spoke up.
"I hear you've been spreading seditious rumors among the common folk."
"Seditious rumors?"
"The ones saying if Graim becomes lord, the land will rot and wither."
Ah. That nonsense. Ian nodded readily.
"Yeah, that's me. So what?"
The knight narrowed his eyes and glared at Ian once he confirmed it. And the reason? It was a doozy.
"Mage Ian. Isn't that a bit too powerful a curse to be tossing around so freely?"
"...?"
"If the land really rots away, how do you plan to deal with the aftermath?"
What the—? Don't use curses that are too strong. They might actually work...? Is that it?
Ian's brain short-circuited for a moment. He couldn't make sense of the knight's words.
"Uh... so, you're saying what if the land actually rots?"
"Exactly."
Ian waved it off with a laugh. His face smiled, but inside, he was cursing the dumbass knight. This is why uneducated idiots are the worst.
"Ah, sounds like there's a misunderstanding. The land won't rot."
"Why not?"
"Because the whole curse thing is total bullshit."
"...Bullshit?"
These thick-headed knights—and the ignorant peasants—had fallen for the black propaganda Ian spread just to fool the rubes. He inwardly cursed their pathetic intellect, but honestly, it wasn't the knights' fault. That was just the average level of information in this era.
To modern folks drowning in smartphones and media, knowledge was like a toy—something you could grab effortlessly by opening Namu Wiki. The kind of toy YouTubers played with in shorts like "Secrets of ~ You Never Knew."
But in this medieval fantasy world, where info was scarce as hell, rumors became truth the moment you heard them. No way to verify jack.
That's why medieval folks lied their asses off without shame. Get duped by enough outrageous bullshit, and eventually, people learned to filter it out.
The problem was bullshit like this—biased knowledge leading to absurd misunderstandings.
"Can you swear by that?"
Swear my ass. Ian stared at the knight in disbelief, but the guy's eyes burned with weird conviction.
"Don't go back on your word later."
What the hell's this guy's problem? Ian wondered if the count's knight had eaten something bad. But the real headache hit after the army reached Graim's mountain stronghold.
"Your Excellency! We refuse to stand on such a dishonorable battlefield!"
The count's knights... had collectively gone on strike.
"You're all serious?"
The count eyed the knights and Ian alternately with a strange look. Combining that gaze with the knights' odd demeanor, Ian reached a conclusion.
...No way?
"Mage Ian has been loudly proclaiming that a curse will befall this land. That's as good as inviting one!"
"If word spreads that we're fighting alongside a curse-summoning mage, our honor gets dragged through the mud, Your Excellency."
The knights' aim was crystal clear. They wanted Ian sidelined from this war!
"No, the curse is all bullshit. What am I supposed to do if you fall for the rumors I spread?"
Ian tried reasoning logically, but the knights wouldn't hear it.
"Why should we trust a mage's word?"
"He's clearly trying to deceive us with his sneaky tricks!"
Their logic? Ian was smart. He knew more than them, so they couldn't spot his lies. Conclusion: Everything he says is bullshit...?
Crazy barbarian fucks.
From Ian's perspective, it was maddening, but he had no sharp comeback. Knights were the stars of war. Even if mages shaped the battlefield, swordsmen did the swinging. When knights dug in like this, the lord had no choice but to side with them. No mages was inconvenient; no knights meant no battle at all.
"Hmm..."
The count knew it too. He kept sneaking glances at Ian while placating the knights' tantrum.
Once Ian got the vibe, he didn't want to stick around the tent anymore.
"If my presence bothers you that much, I'll step aside."
"..."
"But don't expect my help no matter how this goes."
Half-seriously pissed, Ian stormed out. Only one person chased after him: Lucy Talian.
"Ian!"
Lucy looked mortified, fidgeting awkwardly. Ian studied her closely. If that was an act to placate him, she had lord material in her.
...But it didn't seem fake. From what he'd seen, Lucy wasn't the plotting type.
"S-sorry. The knights suddenly picked a fight with you and..."
Oddly, her apology eased Ian's mind a bit. Maybe because he knew it was genuine regret, not theater.
"Eh, it's fine. I'm not that mad."
"...Really?"
Ian nodded. Saying it didn't bug him at all would be a lie, but he truly wasn't furious.
Obsessing over battlefield glory or loot? That was for warriors. Ian was a mage. Once this wrapped up, snagging the magic sword from Lucy was plenty.
"Skipping the fight isn't a big deal. What's a mystery gonna do in a corpse-strewn slaughterhouse anyway?"
"But..."
Lucy fretted, wringing her hands.
"You'll miss your chance at glory."
Ian chuckled and patted her head.
"What good's glory? The sword you're giving me is enough."
"Ian...!"
Lucy's eyes welled up as she gazed at his magnanimity.
"I'll make sure to get that magic sword for you! I-if it's not enough, marry me and take the domain..."
"Nah. Pass. Hard pass."
Upon hearing Count Catania was coming, the usurper Graim hunkered down in a nearby mountain stronghold with his men. If the count had marched in slaughtering civilians, Graim would've gritted his teeth and charged out to fight.
But the count advanced peacefully, sending a mage ahead to spread vicious rumors slandering Graim: that a curse would strike the land if he became lord.
Talian's folk turned against Graim because of it, forcing him to retreat to the stronghold for defense.
"Enemy numbers... around four hundred, huh."
The ex-mercenary captain Graim sized them up at a glance. Four hundred meant mostly mercenaries. He couldn't conscript peasants for a personal squabble.
Fewer foes was good, but four hundred was still a lot.
"You ain't scared, are ya, boss?"
His men gathered around—comrades from the mercenary days, closer than family now.
"Me? Graim of the single blade?"
Graim flashed a sharp grin at them. He'd braced for violence since offing the Talian couple. In that sense, Count Catania's army was no crisis—it was opportunity. A chance to be recognized as the domain's new master!
Lucy Talian siding with the count was obvious, so victory here meant negotiating her into his hands. That would seal Graim's triumph.
He had two hundred men, plus a couple wandering knights from outside. Especially the "Black Knight" from the East—unbelievably skilled for a few silver coins.
"Four hundred or four thousand—it don't matter! Anyone who draws steel on me, Graim, gets fucked up!"
"Ooh!"
Graim fired up his comrades. The ex-merc had lost his fear ages ago. If he'd had any left, he never would've killed the baron couple and seized the land.
But in this chaotic era, Graim-types were everywhere. Fail, and you're history's fool; succeed, and you're a world-shaking revolutionary.
"Hey, knights! Shape up! Nail this, and I'll carve you off some prime land!"
The wandering knights nodded. Half-baked lord or not, Graim was still one. Hired muscle would help.
"Boss! They're climbing!"
Graim checked his helmet and armor, then strode to the battlefield.
"Alright, let's go!"
Graim and his mercenaries advanced. Now, the ex-mercs' jolly rebellion kicked off!
Noon, sun high. "Baron" Graim's army and Count Catania's lined up across the hill, facing off.
Armies clashing head-on in open fields. A pitched battle, or general engagement.
Terrain favored Graim—much higher ground, looking down on the foe.
The count's forces split into three groups of about a hundred: left flank, right flank, center.
"Overwhelming, for sure."
Count's knight Sir Dikedo stood by Ian, commenting. Age kept him on guard duty for the count and VIPs, giving young knights their shot at glory.
"Looks that way."
Four hundred versus two hundred. Even to war-ignorant Ian, the count's side seemed dominant. They could win handily without his magic support.
Truth be told, even if Ian jumped in, he couldn't do much. No fire-starting or earthquakes here. Best he could muster was shadows... but under this blazing sun? Good luck.
But who needed magic with that troop gap? Win, and done. No separating magic from numbers.
Ian, Lucy, and the count watched calmly—war noobs all. Ian, hyped for the rare spectacle, desperately craved popcorn.
"Ooh, here they go."
The armies smashed together ferociously. Contrary to expectations of a count's rout, Graim's men held firm.
Damn, they're way better than expected. Ian, impressed, said to Sir Dikedo:
"Ex-mercs, right? Holding their own against knights like pros."
"..."
World's best shows: fire-watching and fight-watching. Ian was having a blast. Like a movie.
But while thoughtless Ian grinned, Sir Dikedo's face darkened. The enemy was fighting way better than anticipated.