The Baron's Ghostly Return
Ian briefly outlined his plan. The late Talian Baron. And the graveyard. Unauthorized intruders. Put those together just right, and they might yield something delightfully spooky.
In short, they were going to impersonate the ghost of Talian.
"Oh ho. Not a bad idea... but aren't we risking some divine punishment or something?"
"Punishment? What punishment?"
Belenca eyed Ian with faint concern. The idea of haunting the graveyard as a ghost to scare off the enemies was solid enough. But wasn't it dangerous? What Ian had in mind felt almost like a form of necromancy. What if his fake ghost act drew out a real one?
But Ian brushed it off.
"It's fine, it's fine. We're just pretending, okay?"
"Hmm. If you say so."
"You the mage here? Or am I?"
Belenca nodded. Ian was right a hundred times over. He was the mage, not her.
Lucy agreed with the plan too.
"If the real ancestors show up, I'll sweet-talk 'em, no problem!"
"..."
Ian gave Lucy a dubious look. What if the ancestral ghosts took one look at her and got even madder? Who knew.
"It's dark enough now. Let's give it a shot—if it flops, we bail."
With a light heart, Ian summoned the shadows. The mage's prank was underway.
Ian's plan was simple. He'd come up with it on the fly, no fancy techniques involved, so he wasn't entirely confident. But he trusted medieval mindsets more than his own scheme. If he conjured a living, breathing ghost right in front of them, would medieval folk buy it? Hell no? Wait, actually—modern people would freak if a patch of inky darkness took human shape and shambled around. Medieval folks? Forget it.
"Ian! Bonfire's lit!"
"Perfect."
Ian positioned himself just right in front of the roaring flames. With the light source at his front, a long, pitch-black shadow stretched out behind him. He closed his eyes and focused on the voices murmuring from the shrouded darkness.
"Kids! Hiding here's not stingy at all!"
"Hehe. Nice. Right here."
The bonfire's light bore down, and the darkness huddled behind Ian's back—that was the shadow. Ian projected his will onto it.
Move...!
At the same time, mystical words in the Maronius Language flowed from his lips.
"Shadow! Obey and move!"
⟨ Shadow Command ⟩
"Move?"
"Eek. But we hate the light..."
"We just wanna stay here."
"..."
Kids. Listen for once. The darkness felt like a bunch of disobedient kindergarteners. They hid from light for fun, loved huddling together...
"But Ian's asking nicely...!"
"Yeah! Gotta move now so we can play more at night!"
Play? With me? You guys? Ian had never heard such nonsense, but the shadows chattered on regardless.
"Whoa. It's moving."
"...Magic sure is something else."
Lucy and Belenca murmured in low awe. As Ian chanted the spell, his shadow began to move on its own.
Umbrakinesis: Shadow Manipulation
Make your shadow move and act on its own. Perfect for shadow puppets.
However it happened, Ian maneuvered the shadow into a pitch-black doppelganger. He raised his arm—and the shadow mirrored him.
"Ooh."
"Dance! Do a dance, Ian!"
Lucy shouted, and before he knew it, Ian was grooving—Dancing Ian style. His shadow joined in with gleeful twists.
"So that's how we're faking the ghost?"
"Yep. Belenca, got that helmet? Mind lending it?"
"...You wanna wear it?"
Ian wanted to borrow the voice-modulating feature(?) on Belenca's helmet. Perfect for a creepy, echoing voice.
But Belenca hesitated, then refused.
"Nah. I can just talk for it."
"Yeah? Cool. Figured you'd hate doing a guy's voice."
"..."
Belenca glanced between her helmet and Ian. A man's voice felt a bit off. But she didn't want to lend it out either. Not that she was thinking of Ian or anything... but his lips and breath on something she wore on her face...
"Nope! My helmet's not for lending!"
"Uh, sure. Fine. You do the ghost voice then."
Belenca: Ghost role—assigned.
"Ian! What about me?"
"Uh... cheerleader?"
"Got it! Go, Ian! You got this!"
"..."
Not super motivating. Lucy: Cheer role—assigned.
Ian sent the writhing shadow toward the grave-robbing sentries. Belenca, cloaked in stealth, crept after it. The sun had fully set. The ghost of Talian Baron had come to reclaim his graveyard...
Medieval folk believed in a ton of superstitions. It stemmed from information imbalances and uncertainty. Specialists who studied phenomena were rare, and they hoarded their knowledge from the masses. Knowledge monopolies were the norm back then. Modern internet society was the freak anomaly—back then, precious info stayed yours.
Think of those scam texts: "Earn 10 mil a month with this hot stock tip? Sharing exclusively this month only? Wow, sign me up!" Sure, suckers fell for it, but most knew better. If it was that good, why share with strangers? You'd keep it. YouTube was a mutation—views meant spilling everything, 80% useful. But no YouTube, no net in medieval times. Zero sharing plus zero verification? A perfect storm of delusion.
"Hey, whatcha doing there?"
"Drawing a holy ward. Why?"
Medieval bad habit: If it looked legit on the surface, they bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Grave robber #1 scribbled something on the ground. Ian would've been shocked—it resembled Maronius script, the magic language. Not precise enough to draw a mystery's attention, strokes missing and mangled, but it was legit Asha, meaning "god."
"What's that?"
No way a lowly robber got proper schooling. He'd shelled out big bucks to a market fortune-teller for a "ghost-repelling ward."
"Write this on the ground, and no ghost'll come near!"
"Ooh! Thanks, prophet!"
"Told ya—it's a holy ward, you illiterate hack."
"Pfft. Show-off just 'cause you went to school."
The robber smirked. As a kid, he'd been an elite medieval—er, he'd run errands for nobles and picked up letters over their shoulders. He never missed a chance to brag: "Studied at the Vautrice Academy as a boy." Not a total lie. He'd aped scholars' mannerisms, speech, vibe. That's how he charmed them into teaching him ghost wards.
"Draw this every night near tombs. Keeps ghosts away."
"Ooh."
His ghost-repelling ward? Total fake, Wonhyo's skull-water scam. Useless? Nah—even the fake had enlightened Wonhyo. Drawing it... helped him sleep. Calmed the nerves. Grave-robbing made him paranoid about ghosts and curses. He knew his work was filthy.
"Sigh. Honestly, hate this job."
Thinking the ward a barrier, another robber plopped down nearby. Chat time.
"Talian's an old noble line. Heard the first baron hooked up with some fairy queen..."
"Ah, that legend."
"What? Spill—what ya know?"
Sentries ignored their post while the bosses looted inside. Classic—slacking when the boss ain't looking. Medieval or modern, addictive as hell. Gossip for pay? Sweet.
"First baron turned down the fairy queen's proposal, so..."
"Fairies warded the tombs, so..."
"Queen necromanced the dead baron back, so..."
Bullshit piled up. Some were legend templates with "baron" swapped in; others accidentally nailed truth. No fact-checking, just fun. Time flew!
Keep yapping, nap, wake to done job, collect pay, home—easy gig.
"...So the baron's ghost...!"
"Yo, hold up. Look over there."
Mid-tale, someone pointed into the dark.
"...What the hell?"
Robbers plunged into confusion. Something slithered in the shadows? Indistinct, but humanoid...?
"Gh-gh-ghost...!"
"A ghost? That thing?!"
Every eye underlined with dark circles swore, "I saw it clear as day!" One guy's wrong? His bad. All wrong? They saw what they shouldn't.
"E-everyone! Here! Huddle up!"
The robber yelled, hands shaking. Underfoot: his ghost ward.
Something rose smoothly from the dark. Definitely human-shaped. Pitch black head to toe—like a living shadow.
Robbers trembled, clutching hands. True friends in tough times—and they were all true friends now.
Then the shadow bellowed.
Terror-struck, one hurled a rock.
"B-back off!"
It passed harmlessly through. Intangible foe. Pure terror.
Whoosh! Wind howled, snuffing every torch. Robbers lost it.
"The baron! It's the baron! Talian Baron's back!"
"Run!"
"Idiot! Where to? Running gets you killed!"
Unlike reality, this world teemed with casual supernatural horrors. Field critters were orc-level threats. No doubt: black humanoid blob = baron's ghost.
The "baron's ghost" roared. Most ditched weapons and bolted!
"Sorry! We deserve death!"
"I'll be good from now on, please spare me!"
"Great spirits above, protect me!"
Robbers knew their immorality. How brazen could tomb-looters be? Ghost in their fragile state? Minds snapped.
One stayed—legs gave out. Perfect textbook cowardice pose, he chanted:
"In God's name, begone! In God's name, begone! In God's name, begone..."
Fortune-teller's spell with the ward. Guaranteed ghost-banisher.
The baron's ghost stared at the mumbler.
Please...!
Then—the impossible. The ghost turned and shuffled away!
Wha—?!
The robber sprang up, stunned. It worked! Real ghost repelled!
"Th-the heavens protected me!"
Overwhelmed by sudden faith, he knelt. Sure, daily sins, zero prayers—but heaven hadn't abandoned him!
"Thank you, O Heavens! I'll pray more and tithe big from now on!"
He shouted. A whisper tickled his ear.
"Hey. There's shameless, and then you. Think I'd help a guy like you?"
"And that script? Wrong. Missing four strokes. Lazy much?"
The darkness faded. Faint moonlight lit the scene. There stood...
"Surrender nice and quiet, and I'll let you live."
A tall knight with long blonde hair tied back. Belenca.