Suspicions of Child Marriage
Ian thought Lady Serena must have had a child marriage. Child marriage, in a nutshell, meant getting hitched early—around thirteen or fourteen for the girl. From a modern perspective, it was an absurdly barbaric custom. A kid who might've just hit puberty, and you're marrying her? But humanity always exceeded modern expectations. It happened. Everywhere, across the world, without regard for region. In an era of short lifespans, adulthood came quicker, so marriages that seemed like child unions were often brushed off as "old enough."
Cultural or religious reasons played a part sometimes... but Lady Serena's case didn't fit any of that. With her brown hair and deep green eyes, she was the picture of an imperial woman, and her faith was undoubtedly the Church of the Heavenly God. Even in these savage times, the empire drew a hard line against pedophilia.
Ian figured Baron Drbosi must be one hell of a guy. But then he saw her kids, and his mind changed.
"Welcome, mage."
"We're honored to have you, Mage."
"???"
The eldest son was about Ian's age, and the daughter was a touch younger.
"Galadin, those kids... they're really Lady Serena's?"
"They are. Is there a problem?"
"Lady Serena's age..."
"Ah, she does look rather young."
Rather young? That was an understatement. Shockingly, Lady Serena hadn't had a child marriage. She was just blessed with insane anti-aging. If she'd been born in the modern world, she'd be snatched up for cosmetics ads on the spot.
"She's really the mother of those two?"
Belenca was stunned too upon hearing Serena's age. Unlike Ian, though, she didn't hold back.
"That woman... did she make a pact with a demon or something?"
"..."
Galadin looked baffled but said nothing. Knights in this era could be rude; it wasn't a one-off.
"You think not?"
"No solid proof."
"...True enough."
Lady Serena's miraculous youth preservation would normally be hailed as a divine blessing. But with Baron Drbosi bedridden, it was just ammo for attacks. Her enemies whispered that she'd bought her youth from a demon, offering the baron in trade.
"You must be tired from the long journey. Rest first, and we'll talk later."
Ian followed the two ladies into Baron Drbosi's castle.
The first thing that hit him was how crowded it was. The territories he'd visited so far were all rural backwaters, with clear separations between serfs and the lord's residence. The vibe was always laid-back. But Drbosi Barony was different. Built smack in the middle of the river like Yeouido, it forced dense living. People were everywhere you looked—way busier than River Bill.
Ian wasn't the only one feeling the energy.
"Lots of folks here. How many live in this place?"
Belenca seemed mildly surprised by the bustle, despite her travels. She hailed from Winz County, famous for its cold and sparse population.
Galadin beamed proudly. "We topped two thousand last year."
"Whoa, two thousand?!"
"Impressive."
"No wonder it feels so lively!"
The Talian crew gasped at Galadin's explanation. Whoa! Two thousand people here! Won't the island sink?! But while the pure medieval folk reeled, Ian stayed chill.
Ah, population two thousand? Pretty decent for medieval times.
Ian had learned early on just how pitifully low populations were in this medieval fantasy world. The empire's busiest city—under Duke Hastría's direct rule—had seventy thousand souls. Source: his walking Wikipedia, Teacher Eredis. Seventy thousand was laughable to a modern eye, but here? Massive. A coral sea city-state down south scraped by with about a hundred thousand, so a ducal city matched that...
...but yeah, still pathetic. For reference, Seoul had ten million. If every Seoulite spat once, Drbosi's residents would drown.
Compared to gleaming modern cities, sure, it sucked. But post-apocalypse? A survivor group of two thousand? Not bad.
Galadin eyed Ian hopefully, figuring the castle's grandeur would make him settle down. Fat chance—Ian wouldn't be wowed by this mini drama-set residence. He'd need a ducal metropolis to think, Whoa, this feels like a movie medieval city.
As they chatted idly amid the crowds, Ian froze rounding a corner. Wait, it felt like a castle up till now, but that's... a fish market. No, subway line one vibes?
The hallway was packed. People mumbling prayers, some sprawled out asleep. Was this a homeless shelter—
"This is the baron's bedroom."
"..."
Ian nearly blurted his shelter guess but gaped at Galadin's words instead. Why were all these vagrants clogging the baron's bedroom door? Their identities soon clicked.
"Oh! Brother! Long time no see!"
"Brother...?"
Talian's priest greeted them warmly. Ah, they were clerics and monks from everywhere, drawn to cure the baron with prayers and miracles—to make names as heavenly healers. Priest hopefuls(?).
"Any progress?"
Talian's priest asked, and the others shook their heads.
"Not sure. Potions and prayers do nothing."
"Maybe demonic work..."
"Our devotion must be lacking."
They'd thrown everything at it: holy water, burned herbs, nourishing foods... nonstop scripture readings from dawn till dusk. But the illness didn't budge.
Maybe that's why it's not getting better, you clowns?
Ian eyed them skeptically. They meant well, but to him, it was all useless.
If it was terminal, would fancy foods fix it? A curse might be a mercy—at least prayers could work.
"And who's this...?"
"Ian Eredis Raven. A diligent and steadfast mage."
"Mage Raven! The one who brewed potions by heaven's grace!"
"???"
Ian tilted his head at the sudden hype. Sure, he'd whipped up "potions" (read: saltwater) to boost soldier morale once. But how'd clerics know?
One grabbed his hand warmly. "Heard all about you. Helped the Santiago Knights hunt a manticore, right?"
"Yeah."
Nothing major. Ian mostly fiddled with spells from the back. Easy to forget how effective those fiddles were. He hadn't broken a sweat—the knights did the grunt work.
"The Santiago Knights sang your praises nonstop!"
"You know them?"
"Of course! How could I not know those faithful brothers? They just felled a troll in the woods!"
Ian nodded at the knightly update. Still monster-hunting. Good they're thriving.
"Everyone agreed: Mage Ian's a devout fellow! Studied scriptures together, they said..."
"Just read aloud together."
The clerics swarmed with sparkling eyes. Ian felt a chill—personal space invaded.
He didn't realize it, but to them, he screamed fresh noob. Look at him! Brand-new to faith's mysteries! So chirpy and cute!
Few bridged magic and faith. Heaven's spirits rarely answered mortal calls, killing mages' motivation. Only stubborn patience and rock-solid belief coaxed a reply—if you were devout enough.
Religious folk shunned Maronius Language studies. Why waste time on ancient tongue when pure faith connected you to heaven? They saw it as corrupt mage-speak.
I work miracles with faith alone. You? Begging in Maronius? Cheat! Fake believer.
It grated, so some skipped it outright. But mage-first converts like Ian? Total approval. Knows the world's mysteries? But heaven's the greatest. You've seen the light. Welcome.
(Truth: Ian studied to shut up the nagging goddess-thing. Clerics didn't know.)
"Right, here to check the baron?"
They craved debate, but Galadin's glare made them scatter.
"Ian, I beg you sincerely. Examine him thoroughly."
Galadin gripped his hand. Easy to forget amid his flubs, but he was a bigwig here. Genuine worry.
Ian liked that effort. For the guy's mad dash to fetch him, he'd check meticulously.
"I promise. I'll do my best."
Galadin joined the clerics in prayer. Ian entered the bedroom with Kira.
"Why me..."
Kira whined, but Ian ignored her. Street rat origins—might know something.
"Why not? You're a mage too."
"I-I quit! You said drop the mage act!"
"Kidding. Just in case, take a look."
"...I'll trust you, Ian. Only you."
Ian inhaled deeply, sniffing the room. Faint incense. No foul odors—good hygiene. The baron looked gaunt-cheeked but otherwise normal. Just exhausted sleep. Not healthy, though. Dying, plain and simple.
Looks like a withered old man.
Ian pictured a frail elder, vitality gone, awaiting death. Wrinkled face? You'd swear natural end, not illness or curse.
He focused, listening for mysteries' voices.
...
Only the usual chatter—wind, earth, shadow, etc. No special mystery.
Either his skill fell short, or no mystery involved.
But as an isekai cheater, a new mystery would've pinged his Status Window with progress. So...
Not a mystery? Just physical illness?
Non-magical death wasn't his wheelhouse. Med student territory.
Sorry, Galadin.
Decision: Watch a few days. If stumped, bail and continue journey.
"Kira? Thoughts?"
"...None."
As expected. Kira knew zilch. But on his vibe:
"He looks... drained of life force."
Ian flashed to one face: suspiciously youthful Lady Serena—
Then hallway commotion erupted.
Ian and Kira emerged to bickering blasts.
"Is that any way to talk to me?!"
"Why? Guilty conscience?"
Ladies Serena and Catherine. Ian instinctively rooted for Serena—cuter, prettier. (Catherine's sharp features and black hair screamed villainess.) With Serena's youth, she even evoked evil stepmom vibes.
Other medievals backed Catherine, though. Logical reason:
"With rumors she stole the baron's youth rampant, insisting on seeing him is highly suspicious..."
Serena's agelessness drew doubt. Catherine voiced it; Serena slapped back.
Smack! Literal counter.
Serena's delicate hand cracked Catherine's cheek.
"Who's spreading that crap?!"
"Lady Serena!"
"Calm down!"
Clerics rushed to separate them—after enjoying the show.
Ian sighed inwardly. Damn, missed the opener.
He spoke up. "Both of you, knock it off."