Episode 72: A Mage Forgetting Maronius Language? Impossible.
Ian had slaved away studying nothing but the Maronius Language for six or seven years straight. Sure, there were those thrilling detours into Eredis's Namuwiki rabbit holes now and then, but that didn't change the fact that he'd poured his soul into it.
Yet here was a mage who couldn't even understand the Maronius Language? Yeah, right.
Come to think of it.
Once the suspicion took root, a chain of new questions followed hot on its heels.
She called herself a pyromancer, but all she did was put on fireworks shows. That was suspicious enough. Ian knew firsthand how tough pyrokinesis was—he'd studied it himself. You had to start with a flame, but in a world without lighters or fire steels, conjuring one from nothing was damn near impossible. Beginner pyromancers never strayed far from a fire source or carried embers with them everywhere.
Ian had figured Kira just struggled to light fires, so she stuck to fireworks. They were flames, after all. Way easier than flint and steel—a perfect starter tool for pyrokinesis. That's why she lugged around bags of them.
But if she didn't even know Maronius Language... did she just go around shooting fireworks and calling it magic?
Ian's suspicion crystallized into certainty.
Ah. This girl's a con artist. A real one.
Suddenly, it all clicked. Her plea not to spread rumors about her being a mage. Her inability to break free from the baron on her own.
One doubt only grew stronger, though.
...So what's with the vampire bit?
Pretending to tangle with vampires when she couldn't even cast spells? Ballsy in all the wrong ways.
"Unbelievable."
"..."
Kira visibly flinched. Ian clicked his tongue at her.
Damn, she'd pulled off the mage cosplay pretty well. She was lucky no one had called her bluff before—this was the only explanation.
"S-sorry."
Kira stammered in a tiny voice.
"I'm sorry..."
"..."
The guards were watching, so she couldn't even apologize properly.
She's definitely guilty of some insane stunt.
By now, Ian was more curious than anything. What kind of backstory made her dress up as a mage, only to get nabbed by bandits?
Unlike Kira, who looked like she wanted to melt into the ground, Ian felt nothing. She thought she'd committed a capital crime, but to him? She was a nobody.
Sure, she'd gotten caught scamming. But Ian hadn't lost anything. Real nobles might foam at the mouth hearing this, but so what? He wasn't the guardian of law and order.
He didn't know the full story, but he decided to pull Kira out of Damon Baron's clutches anyway. For one thing, those fireworks she carried looked intriguing and useful. If she stayed with the baron, he'd confiscate them—and probably her life too. So Ian would get her out, snag some fireworks, and call it even. If possible, he'd pry some gunpowder secrets out of her too.
"Whatever. No time—let's just get out first."
"Uh... okay."
Kira mumbled meekly. Without her mage persona, she seemed downright fragile.
Pfft. Ian shook his head. Nah, it was just her face. A truly timid person wouldn't risk their neck scamming as a mage.
"Hey! You lot, come here a sec."
"Us, sir?"
"Who else? You see anyone else around?"
Ian barked at the bandits sneaking closer to eavesdrop. They froze, faces twisting in bewilderment.
Oho. Fresh reaction.
Ian realized: this really was the boonies. They knew zilch about mages.
"What's with those looks?"
"N-no, it's just..."
They couldn't outright say, Your mouth's got no filter—what's with the attitude? So they hemmed and hawed, looking wronged.
Ian felt a twinge of injustice. Mages talk like this. You're the weird ones!
"Got beef? Spit it out. I'm Sweet Carrot at a piping-hot 100 degrees, after all."
"...?"
As Ian rambled, Belenca sidled up beside him.
"Spouting nonsense again. Have you forgotten how stupid you are too?"
"What... you're the one talking crap right now."
"Pick words for your audience's level, please. Minus Kira, no one here gets you."
Ian whistled low. Even Kira probably wouldn't get it. Ever tried Carrot Market?
But Kira managed her expression masterfully. In one second, she was back to Mage Kira.
"Hmph. Just an old idiom. Ignore it."
It wasn't an idiom.
"Oho. You get Ian's nonsense?"
"Contradiction. It's not nonsense if I get it. Though only studious types would."
Like 100-degree carrot heat?
Ian was impressed. Her magic might be fake, but her bravado was pure mage. No wonder she pulled off the cons.
As the mage and knight bantered, the bandits naturally fell silent. Who were lowly thugs to interrupt highborn chit-chat?
Ian had seamlessly asserted the class divide. Once they saw him as "above," they'd tread carefully.
Good enough.
With them cowed, Ian commanded:
"Go fetch the baron."
"The baron... here?"
"Gonna make me repeat myself?"
Ian glared; Kira and Belenca followed suit. No sane bandit would snap back with, Nah, why should I?
"Right away."
Moments later, the bandit hauled in their boss: Damon Baron.
"Baron. Let's talk."
"Talk? Suddenly?"
Damon was baffled but cleared the area as Ian wanted, sending his men away.
Kira grabbed Ian's arm, trembling.
"Wh-what's the plan...? Magic after all...?"
Seeing her shake brought back memories. Ian was convinced: Damn, she's a pro actress.
Bare-faced Kira looked so innocent, it was like a different person. All that arrogance was pure facade. No wonder fans get crushed by celebrity gaps.
"What magic in this spot?"
"I dunno... mind control or something...?"
Ooh, hypnosis app. But if she could do mind tricks, would she be here?
Ian survived on pure skill—no isekai cheats like hypnosis apps. Well, he bent truth a bit, but still.
"Nah, nothing like that."
"Then...?"
"Just ask him to let us go?"
"???"
Kira's face screamed recklessness. But that was a non-mage view.
Fake-mage Kira could ham it up but balked at real gambles—lacking the skills to back it.
Ian was a real mage. His swagger was next-level.
To the baron alone, Ian said bluntly:
"Damon Baron. Kira says you've been real sweet on her lately?"
"That's..."
The baron glanced at Kira, catching the drift.
Caught off-guard, Kira panicked—for a second. But the pro con artist and clown recovered instantly.
"Sweet on me? Who said that?"
She glared arrogantly. "I just went along 'cause I didn't wanna burn some random to death."
Pyromaniac bullshit. People aren't ants!
Damon blanched, but Ian nodded sagely. Ah, gotcha vibe.
"Damn, you held back. Can't go torching folks. Nope."
"Almost did a few times, but nothing too annoying."
As the "evil mages" tag-teamed the scam, honest bandit Damon couldn't spot the lie. He knew Kira was legit powerful, but putting up with her? Almost setting fires multiple times???
Ian set the hook; Kira reeled flawlessly. First-time duo, perfect sync. Eiffel Tower street act ready.
Damon's brain shorted from the mages' tongue-lashing circus. Judgment clouded.
"So anyway, Baron. We'll take Kira with us as we head out."
"...Hold up."
He reacted late to losing a member. Gang boss instincts.
"What? She found a travel buddy—why the hold-up?"
Kira snapped; Damon flinched but held firm. Ian tensed too.
Smart guys hesitate; dumb ones charge. If Damon called muscle, shit got messy.
"Kira, if you leave, the domain's in danger!"
"So? Don't dump that on me."
"I've treated you great! Ditching without lending power—what about my investment?!"
Ian got it: Damon eyed her "pyrokinesis" for domain security. Short-sighted pleb thinking.
"Who asked for investment?! You just yelled I was your ally!"
"But now you're..."
Voices rose. Ian timed his intervention:
"Enough, both of you!"
"..."
Crystal clear: Damon was an idiot.
"Baron—or self-proclaimed baron."
"...What?"
"Let's speak plainly. Calling yourself baron doesn't make it so. Then Mud Baron counts too, right?"
"Who's that?"
"Grave robber type. But to me, you're both the same."
Damon bristled at the insult, but Ian pressed:
"Self-proclaimed baron. Who owns imperial land?"
"What're you..."
Damon blinked stupidly. "The lord's, ain't it?"
"Wrong. The emperor owns the empire."
"Emperor???"
He didn't grasp the basics. Not simple for medieval folk, though.
Villagers saw lords collecting taxes, judging, conscripting. Owner, right?
Nope. Emperor's land, loaned to vassals. They passed it down instead of returning—centuries later, "mine."
Like fairies claiming Anorilsil after using it.
"No owner on my land, and it's emperor's???"
"Why no owner?"
"No people, no owner!"
"Law's weird like that."
"..."
Damon looked hammered. Moderns get deeds; medievals need bodies and taxes for "domain."
"You're a squatter. Hundred mages couldn't stop an army. And your spot's prime real estate."
"But with skilled archers and a pyromancer holding...!"
"Enemies lack archers and mages? Talk sense."
Sigh. How to explain to this brute?
Ian sketched a rough map on the ground.
"Talian here, Catania up top. Drbosi that way..."
"Ingmar too."
"Ah. Ingmar...?"
Ian eyed Kira. Scammed there, huh.
Courteously, he listed local powers for the fake baron. Most he knew—local boss intel.
"Go swear fealty."
Ian stated flatly. Only way for a backwater holdout.
Damon got it all. He sighed.
"Fled noble dogs for freedom... now walk back into their arms myself?"
Ian patted his shoulder.
"That's the world."
Every era has its kings. Here, just lords and nobles.