Damon's Domain, Just as Expected
Damon Baron's domain was exactly as expected.
“Lord!”
“Aigoo! Has the lord arrived?!”
A clearing hacked out of the forest, dotted with dozens of ramshackle huts. Even the crudely stacked log palisade meant to fend off intruders... it was a straight-up bandit den.
There were fields they'd cleared and tilled, chickens and geese wandering about—but no amount of that could change the fact that it was built on a bandit foundation.
“Hahaha! Your lord's gone out and brought back the cash~”
“Long live the lord!”
A quick look around showed farming was just pocket change. Their real bread and butter was tolls from shaking down travelers. No mountain village could survive on agriculture alone—it was only natural.
“Nice vibe.”
“Still a bandit den.”
Ian grumbled half-heartedly, and Belenca flashed a grin.
“Different from your average bandits, though, right? They don't just slaughter every passerby.”
“Even if they squeeze 'protection money' out of folks?”
“Think of it as road usage fees. Not so bad. As locals, they'll keep the monsters in check too. Safer roads mean more merchants, better business.”
“A virtuous cycle, huh.”
'Neighborhood bandits' sounded sketchy, but this era was all about shaky foundations anyway. A bandit hideout could grow into a proper town someday. Hell, Damon might even become a famous name.
The moment Ian's group arrived at Damon's mountain 'hotel,' the excited room assignments began—and in the most medieval way possible.
“Alright, everyone, pick a house you like and crash there!”
“...?”
No way a cramped domain like this had an inn. They were just barging into whatever house caught their eye and bedding down for the night.
“Thank you, Lord!”
“Hehe, let's hurry!”
To Ian, it was absurd. Sure, call it a homestay if you wanted... but forced homestay was the problem.
But Ian was the only one who found it weird. The medieval locals took it in stride, marching mud-caked boots right into strangers' homes like it was nothing...!
Did you guys come from the GTA universe or what?
It went beyond rude—straight-up conscienceless.
Yet no villager dared defy their lord's decree. They just bowed their heads and prepped to host these sudden guests like it was normal.
“Mage Ian! You'll stay at my place!”
At some point, Damon Baron had slung an arm around Ian's shoulders like old pals. Total extortion-vibe move. Made Ian wonder if shoulder-bumps before a shakedown were hardwired into human DNA.
“Me?”
Ian tested the waters, half-suspecting some 'summon the mage' ritual. Better to play coy than commit and regret it.
But true to form as a self-proclaimed baron clueless about real nobility, Damon deflated instantly.
“Aw, just offering... If my shabby hut's not good enough, no hard feelings... It's the best one here, though...”
Ian backpedaled fast.
“I meant, is it okay if I accept the invite? Galadin's here too, you know.”
“Galadin? Who's that?”
“Uh... smart guy?”
“Looked like a dimwit.”
Damon's insight was chillingly spot-on. Knowledge didn't equal wisdom—plenty of book-smart types bombed in the real world. Galadin reeked of that archetype: Seoul U grad handed a top job, only to spectacularly screw it up.
“If you're inviting me, I'm in.”
“Hahaha! Crash at my place then!”
Sounded like the neighbor offering a couch for the night.
“Get buddy-buddy with our mage too!”
Her name was Kira, right? Ian met Kira's eyes briefly. She had that prickly, irritable look—textbook hysterical mage. Utterly disinterested, like Ian didn't even register.
If Ian knew nothing about mages, it might've stung. But after dealing with a few, he shrugged off her apathy. Mages were weirdos by default.
Eredis seemed normal to him, but by medieval standards? Kinda off. Wielding mighty spells yet ignoring worldly affairs.
Herb mage Mani was a grouch too. Boiling soup loaded with garlic to prank guests? Not sane.
Good thing Ian was Korean, or that'd be like serving mint-choco rice soup to honored company—a war crime.
And Professor Inglean. Caught grave-robbing. Ha.
Ian shook his head. Lineup of legendary nutjobs.
Guess the most normal mage is me, Ian Eredis Raven!
The one true sane mage. Q.E.D.
Ian nodded smugly, chuckling to himself. Kira shot him a side-eye, grumbling.
Mages are all supposed to be eccentrics. This guy's not right in the head either???
After scoping out his questionable 'homestay-or-guesthouse-whatever,' Ian stepped out for a tour of the domain—and ran into Belenca lurking nearby.
“Heard the news, Ian. Staying at the baron's place?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. Alright then.”
“...”
What's she gearing up for now? Ian eyed her steadily. Experience told him dragging words like that meant she had an agenda.
“Checked out some houses. For such a tiny domain, not exactly cozy spots.”
Ian nodded. Mountains + tiny village + medieval lifestyle = a hellish combo. Even by local standards, the living conditions were depressingly rough.
Monsters and predators prowled, so no free-range livestock. Not enough people for guards either. Nights got brutally cold, burning through firewood fast.
The villagers' genius fix? [Just bring the livestock inside—problem solved!]
Brilliant. And demonic.
It protected the animals and shared body heat for warmth... but meant sleeping under one roof with beasts! The stench! The noise!
Even medieval folk weren't aliens—they hated cohabiting with animals. They wanted separate quarters. But this place lacked the means... true rural rock-bottom.
Most houses were beast-sharing setups. Only three had proper barns—'normal' farmhouses. And one was Damon's.
Ian caught on. Belenca wanted a swap.
“What, your spot sucks?”
“Not complaining, but it's... bothersome.”
Ahem. Belenca cleared her throat.
“Ian. For the sake of our friendship so far, could you show some generosity and swap rooms...?”
“Nope. Not swapping. Go home.”
“Tch.”
Cut down cold, Belenca straightened up boldly.
“Then, per our contract, I demand a knight's rightful privileges from my liege.”
From friendship to fine print, huh.
“Swap rooms.”
Ian shrugged. Fair ask. Belenca fought for him, got perks in return. Standard knight contract. She rarely invoked them—folks usually treated her right.
But now? Good rooms went to the priest, Galadin, and Ian. As a woman first, knight second, Belenca inserting herself felt off. Still, she didn't want average peasant digs.
“Surprising.”
“What now?”
“Figured you'd burrow into sheep wool and sleep like a baby...”
“What do you take me for?”
Belenca stared, incredulous. Ian's occasional jabs always hit her delicate side like some high school drama.
What knight—girl or not—wanted a stinking barn for a bedroom? Sure, not from a two-handed-sword-wielding badass, but still.
“You sleep in the wool. Ever smelled a sheep up close?”
“Yeah. Saw some as a kid. Village had shepherds.”
“...”
Right. Farmer's son...
Belenca sometimes forgot, with Ian's polished act.
“Anyway. Formal demand to my employer: provide a soft bed and clean nightclothes. That's it.”
“Fine, I'll talk to the baron. If it flops...”
“I'll crash in your room.”
“?!”
“What. Why the face.”
Belenca pouted (a bit miffed).
“If you hate it, say so now.”
“Not hating it, just...”
Ian tilted his head. Is this okay?
Sorting a knight's lodging was a liege's duty. Temporary or not, Ian—having sworn Belenca's fealty—had to fix it.
Just say 'share my bed' and done.
Easiest fix: shove her in his room. Damon gave him prime space; plenty for two.
Problem? Ian hailed from the land of Eastern etiquette. Boys and girls separate after seven? Sharing a bed with a woman? Sketchy.
Even medieval standards would raise eyebrows. No one says it outright, but whispers of 'something something' between Ian and Belenca would fly.
Not damaging to rep, but Lucy's face popped up, making him flinch. Rumors twisted wild—who knew what reached her ears? 'Oh my, they're expecting~' territory.
Better snag separate digs. So Ian headed to Kira's room—to beg a room-share favor for Belenca.
As the baron's trusted mage, she had the biggest chamber.
“Kira? You in?”
Sage time hit. Wait, the baron's house. Asking to split rooms? Really?
Damon was dirt-poor, sure, but even medieval nobles' homes felt rundown to modern eyes. Talian Hall was top-tier by comparison.
“W-wait a sec!”
Thumping from inside. Ian nodded. Ah, tidying for guests. Girl thing—pigs' paradise till company calls.
He knew from his sister. Clean girls were rare; they just mastered hiding the mess...!
Ian waited patiently. Soon...
“Ahem.”
Kira crossed her arms, greeting him.
“What do you want all sudden? Mage? Thought we'd avoid each other while here.”
“...?”
“Why stand there like an idiot? Called me out to talk, right? Or should I go?”
Ian blanked on his script. Shock. Lucy used polite speech at first! And Kira wasn't some elder—same age-ish—spewing casuals on sight?
Ian had adapted deep to medieval fantasy mage life. Method acting 24/7.
His prized trait? Crankiness.
Unbeknownst, he'd passively embodied the 'mage eccentricity' medievals adored.
Now, a snippy mage appeared before him.
Mage Ian doesn't hold back.
He scrapped polite lines, slipping into familiar mage mode.
“Hey, Kira. You know me, right?”
“...Huh?”
“First time talking, yeah? Where'd you see me to tattle like that—oh! We're already buddies! Got a rude friend without knowing! Classic mage! Hahaha!”
“Uh, wait...”
“Why so formal now? We're pals! Yo, I put up with your attitude 'cause friends—otherwise, you'd be 'shanked ages ago~'!”
“...”
“Anyway, Kira. One favor, buddy-style?”
Kira bristled at Ian's manic barrage. Chills everywhere. Those mad eyes... guy was unhinged!
What kinda cranky mage is this!
All mages like that? Never met a real one...