Galadin's Botched Mage Summoning
Galadin's expected scenario went something like this. As a scholar of deep learning and common sense, the bureaucrat Galadin would flawlessly perform the most crucial ritual upon encountering an unfamiliar mage: the Mage Summoning.
'This fake mage! Let's see if you don't burn up proper!'
'Calling me a fake mage? Unforgivable! Behold my badass magic!'
'Oh! Impressive. You're no fraud after all?'
Then, moved by Galadin's profound knowledge, the mage would say:
'I've never seen anyone perform the Mage Summoning so perfectly! Who are you, and where do you hail from?'
'I am Galadin, servant of Baron Drbosi. Mage! I offer you a chance to serve the baron!'
'Oho! Baron Drbosi! I shall gladly follow you!'
...And with that, Galadin would whistle triumphantly as he led the mage back to the territory. It was a perfect plan. In theory, at least.
But reality didn't unfold as Galadin had foreseen.
'What? How did he know?'
Ian genuinely thought his fake magic potion scam had been exposed. He was panicking... until
Hold on?
He quickly grasped the situation and regained his composure.
He's not drawing his sword?
This was the medieval era. Where the sword outranked the law, and even judges had to carry blades just to enforce it in this romantic(?) age of grit. For a guy like that uncle over there to vent his grievances from afar with mere words... it was far too peaceful and gentlemanly.
If he were truly a victim of Ian's fake potions, he'd have brought a horde of mercenaries and unleashed a volley of crossbow bolts while bellowing:
Ian Eredis Raven, you con artist!
Only then would Ian have realized, Ah, this guy's suffered because of me.
But shouting 'You bastard!' without loosing a single arrow? That wasn't very medieval at all.
It was the kind of protest a modern person might accept. Folks steeped in law and morality saw violence in protests as cruel and barbaric.
But Ian was already adapting to medieval thinking. When he heard 'You bastard!', his first thought wasn't 'Sorry! My bad!' but Why isn't he drawing his sword?
Which means...
Ian narrowed his eyes, observing the man. Cursing with his mouth but not nocking an arrow with his hands? It likely meant he wasn't that angry at Ian. Just a performative show to provoke him.
He called me 'Mage Raven.'
The man knew Ian was a mage. Ian recalled his experiences as a mage so far—the times he'd been insulted. And it clicked.
...Mage Summoning?
The man was inviting him as a mage!
Realizing this, Ian was dumbfounded.
No way... what kind of invitation is this?
Ian seethed at this medieval "hospitality"—hurling insults at a stranger and calling it an invite. Mages were good, kind souls at heart, but if everyone treated them like this, no wonder they turned grumpy. Constant abuse from the get-go would sour even the sanest mage. And then people whine, 'Mages are so mean~'?
Ian's mage sensibilities exploded.
"Belenca. Get this lunatic out of my sight."
"Mm. Got it."
Belenca shot him a glance like Is this okay? but seeing Ian's foul mood, she drew her sword and charged the man.
"Wait! Stand down, knight! I am Konian, son of—"
"Out of the way."
"Gah!"
The man's guard knight stepped forward, but he was no match for Belenca. Having dispatched the guard (...), she went for Uncle Number One next.
The panicked uncle shouted,
"I-I'm not crazy! Mage Raven! Th-there's no law that says you can treat me like this!"
Ian halted Belenca and stepped forward.
"Like this? And what exactly is 'like this'?"
"Do you truly not know? I was merely performing the Mage Summoning!"
As expected. It was a Mage Summoning attempt.
But Ian, already heated, wasn't hearing the man's excuses.
At the man's not-quite-an-excuse, Ian let out a scoffing laugh.
"Why'd you go and do a Mage Summoning on your own accord?"
"Ac-cording to history and records... the Golden Empire's norms..."
"Bullshit. You think it's a thousand years ago? This is the Holy Empire, old man. Not the Golden Empire."
Ian unleashed casual profanity at the man without restraint. But no one thought it odd.
As Ian said, it was the mage's prerogative whether to accept a Mage Summoning.
Why call it a Mage Summoning? It was a procedure to honor a mage. For it to proceed, both parties needed sufficient social standing, and onlookers had to be worthy witnesses.
Hurling abuse without even introducing yourself? That wasn't a summoning—it was just verbal abuse.
Crucially, even in ideal conditions with all variables aligned, if the mage said no, that was that. Sure, backing out when the crowd expected a show was bad for the mage's image—being seen as weird was uncool in any era.
But refusing in a mess like this? Zero issues.
The purpose was to verify the mage's skills and show off to the public—not to trade insults.
In short, the man didn't know how to do a proper Mage Summoning.
"I am Galadin, servant of Baron Drbosi! Show some respect, mage!"
As Galadin—formerly Uncle Number One—stuck to his guns stiffly, Ian's mood truly soured. He'd been willing to forgive it as ignorance... but with the man doubling down like a nature doc instead of a variety show, Ian switched to doc mode too.
"Ah, I see. My apologies, Galadin. I was too rude upon our first meeting."
Ian bowed first, and a smile crept onto Galadin's face. Relief at seeing the compliant mage. At least he knows manners!
But it was a misunderstanding.
"As you said, Galadin, I'm just a con artist peddling fake potions... so I owe you an apology."
"...Hm?"
"Sorry for selling fake potions."
No lies there. Ian had sold fakes and was a con artist.
But no one there believed him...!
"Treating Ian like a con artist?!"
"Who the hell is this guy?"
To the people of Talian territory, Mage Ian was a once-in-a-millennium genius who even defied the gods.
For such a mage to claim he'd sold fake potions? Absurd!
The mood had been primed for a Mage Summoning moments ago. But Ian's serious response made Galadin's words hit as serious insults.
As the crowd turned hostile, Galadin panicked.
"N-no, what are you saying all of a sudden?! Raven!"
"Sorry for the fake potions."
Galadin was baffled. A mage denying his own creation? Why?
Then it dawned: Ian was sulking over the earlier incident...!
Seen a grumpier bastard?
Galadin's 'fake potion' claim was, of course, fabricated for the summoning—an empty insult.
But Ian's "apology" turned it into a grave offense. The onlookers were outraged.
"Who does that punk think he is, calling the mage a con?"
"Fucking asshole!"
"String him up?!"
The mercenaries who'd fought Graym's army alongside Ian reacted fiercest.
Our mage's potions fake? No way!
They spoke up out of respect and fondness for Ian. Definitely not because they worried their own potions might be duds.
Lucy, Ingrian, and Belenca shot dark looks too.
"We shouldn't serve his kind anymore."
"Servant of Baron Drbosi, was it? Judging by the attitude, the baron's no great shakes either."
With things spiraling, Galadin was hopping mad with injustice.
I only did a Mage Summoning! Everyone does it—why pick on me?!
How to fix this...!
Cornered, Galadin didn't flee. Instead, he bowed to Ian in apology.
"S-sorry! I didn't know any better! I thought that was how you summon a mage!"
Knowing when to own up put him ahead of shameless modern folk. Though desperation played a part too.
Galadin had to bring Ian to Baron Drbosi. Botch a mage chat and lose the chance to save the baron? Even a fool wouldn't fumble that.
He wasn't versed in customs like Mage Summoning, but Galadin was a diligent scholar-official.
As Galadin groveled, Ian sighed deeply. Not a bad guy, just... very green.
"Mage Summoning. You don't know how, do you?"
"I... read about it in books."
"Book knowledge isn't everything, old man."
There'd been noise, but with the apology accepted, Ian saw no need to press further. Guy came from afar—might as well hear him out.
"Head to Talian Hall first," Lucy said, leading the way.
Galadin explained the crisis afflicting Baron Drbosi. Ian grasped it easily.
"So... you want to know why the baron collapsed?"
"Yes. I suspect some magical curse."
A hunch he'd held since medicines and prayers failed.
Lucy chimed in. "You mean someone deliberately made the baron ill?"
Galadin nodded. A disease would've shown improvement with treatment, but the baron's condition hadn't budged. Hence, he figured dark magic.
But the real mages—Ian and Ingrian—couldn't fully agree.
"Could be a disease you don't know."
"Professor's right. Assuming mysteries every time you can't pinpoint a cause is foolish."
Still, they partly concurred. It could involve a mystery.
Disease or magic? Had to examine in person.
Even if deliberate, whether via mystery-magic needed confirmation.
"Please, Mage Ian! Check the baron yourself!"
Ian pondered. No med school background—even modern folks couldn't heal strangers willy-nilly. They went to docs and took pills. No medical expertise here.
So for a real illness, Ian was powerless.
But if mystery-related? Different story. New mystery meant skill points. Luck might yield new spells.
"A visit seems fine."
Ingrian viewed the request positively.
"Why?"
"Hm. Not curious? About what's tormenting Baron Drbosi."
Mage-like curiosity.
Ian agreed, somewhat. Rolling as a mage had sparked his own thirst for unknowns.
"Curious, yeah."
"Nobles in your pocket? Endless uses. Future aid, name recognition."
Ingrian was power-oriented. Unlike wandering Eredis, pure-mystery seeker, he valued ties to the elite for funding.
Ian couldn't ignore a magic prof's advice.
Won't take long.
Nothing pressing in Talian anyway. A quick check? Sure.
"Alright. Let's go."
"...! Thank you! Truly!"
Ian decided to make a short detour to Drbosi Barony.