Precious Guest!
Precious guest! Stealing from the wagons had nothing to do with foiling the count's wicked schemes or needing cash.
Just... no smartphone, and I'm so bored....
To someone like me, hooked on the sweet dopamine hits of modern life, this medieval world might as well be a torture chamber.
And this is what happens to addicts in withdrawal.
Trussed up like a piñata, dangling helplessly before the terrifying Grand Duke.
It was an utterly humiliating spectacle—one that didn't even warrant a glance at the self-respect I'd already tossed in the trash.
But what could I do about it?
Nothing.
Time to stop fuming.
I let out a deep breath and played some serene classical music in my head. The orchestra's majestic strains swelled. Felt a bit calmer already....
...Nah, who am I kidding.
I just couldn't swallow the injustice.
As I forcibly tamped down my rage, some familiar faces caught my eye on the street below.
The townsfolk I'd slipped bits of my pilfered loot to, just in case they might rat me out.
The knight who'd stormed my hut earlier had definitely grilled them for testimony.
Found you—my punching bags. I sucked in a secret breath.
You ungrateful snitches! You little rats!!!
I wanted to flip them the bird, but my personal freedom had been revoked ages ago.
My only free limb right now? My mouth.
But spewing curses might land me watching my own body from a third-person view, so I had just one option left.
"Pbbbt—"
Who knew sticking out your tongue could be such a savage insult? Human creativity is truly magnificent.
A prickling gaze from above made me look up—and lock eyes with the Grand Duke.
She looked utterly baffled.
"...What are you doing?"
"N-nothing—"
I'd meant to say, 'Nothing at all, Your Grace.'
Easier said than done. I ducked my head sheepishly.
She literally held my life in her hands right now.
So yeah, being a little tense and tongue-tied was totally normal.
Not because I'm a coward or a wimp or anything. Nope.
"Hmmm...."
I shoved idle thoughts aside and assessed my survival odds.
Stolen central noble goods? Check. Grand Ducal supplies? Check. Eavesdropped on a top-secret contract? Check....
The more I thought about it, the more miraculous it seemed I was still breathing.
But she hadn't killed me yet, so maybe there was room for leniency?
If memory served, mages were pretty valuable assets....
But mine's all amateur-hour hackery?
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for survival beyond my control.
* * *
The first mage I'd ever recruited was one peculiar little human.
She wriggled in my arms for ages, up to something or other, then suddenly drooled and passed out cold.
Is this how kids are supposed to be?
The Grand Ducal Castle hadn't seen a child in ages—let alone anyone younger than me—so what did I know?
"All stolen goods have been confiscated, Your Grace."
"Bring a detailed inventory to my office."
The knight commander bowed, answering with action rather than words.
Strictly speaking, these impeccably polite knights weren't fully my people.
They belonged to my missing father.
Polite as they were, there was still a subtle wall between us—the deference they showed the true family head over my shoulder.
"We'll need to hire a nanny."
"I'll inform the head maid the moment she returns."
No matter how crushingly busy my duties, this couldn't wait.
The main reason the Grand Ducal House—once hailed as a miracle on barren soil—had fallen into decline?
Mages.
Whether fending off magic beast raids beyond the border or handling administrative tasks, mages were irreplaceable in the North.
Even the ones we borrowed at exorbitant cost half-assed their work, leaving the ducal house like cargo on a sinking ship.
No amount of effort could bail out a vessel already going under.
The North's glorious era began to fade precisely when our sole mage passed away from old age.
Now, the North's fate hinged on this young girl's potential.
I had no idea her exact age, but even being generous, she was the youngest mage in history.
Please fill that void.
Cheekily, I sent up another prayer to the guardian deity who'd just answered the first.
* * *
"Gasp!"
Unfamiliar ceiling.
Yeah, I'd been wrestling loan docs and barely sleeping lately.
Though my week-long deathmatch ended in my victory.
Heck, I'm still alive, right? Survivor wins.
I sat up slowly, scanning the room.
Not a dank cell with iron bars, but a plush bed.
Peeking past the velvet curtains revealed antique opulence.
"Whoa...."
The unexpectedly lavish treatment only spiked my anxiety.
Creeping to the window, I gauged the height—about six stories, apartment-style.
...Jump?
I barely resisted the temptation. Of course, against my will.
Me, who skips even ten-second highlight reels of two-hour movies? Self-control like that? Pfft.
The knight I'd locked eyes with was marching straight over—the one who'd demolished my hut door.
Pretty high up, so I'd have a few minutes before anyone arrived.
Rough estimate: two minutes gifted to me.
One minute plotting efficient use of that time.
The rest? Vowing sweet revenge on that knight and brainstorming excuses.
Productively spent.
"Her Grace the Grand Duke summons you. Follow me."
Heck, I even had extra time.
I nodded and trailed after him. Thud thud.
Pat pat. Trot trot.
From the duke to her knights, this crew had zero consideration.
Adult male strides—hulking ones at that—were a real workout for my kid legs.
Mix of walking and jogging got me to a massive sealed door in no time.
"Go in."
One of those thinking man statues from the Gates of Hell.
They got it wrong. This is the real gate.
I shoved both hands against half the ornate wooden door, silently docking points from some artist's score.
—Creaaaak.
No oil in ages—the hinges scraped the wall like an earthquake.
A faint warmth seeped through the widening gap.
The corridor had been freezing; this cozy heat made me shiver in relief.
Finally, the door swung fully open.
Dead ahead: the Grand Duke, backlit in blinding glory.
I gulped dryly as the door thunked shut behind me. That thing was heavy.
No time for stray thoughts.
This was the moment I'd prepped for.
Logical excuses. Ironclad self-defense.
As I steadied my breath, she beamed at me.
Oh.
"I'm sorry."
Sometimes a smile is scarier than any scowl. Lesson learned.
Still, I didn't drop to my knees. Just bent at a perfect ninety degrees.
Thank heavens the knight outside couldn't see this groveling. My hut's nemesis!
"I swear I didn't see a thing. I'm basically blind."
"Huh? No, that's not... wha...?"
Her trailing words made me peek up—she looked lost in thought.
"Mm, you know you messed up, right?"
She cleared her throat and smiled again.
Possible outcomes flashed through my mind.
Say yes? "Then pay with your life."
Say no? "Shameless! Die!"
Every path led to doom—an unfair dilemma.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine.
"If you're sorry, how about signing this? It's nothing big, just a contract—"
No need to agonize.
If it boosted my survival odds by even one percent? Done.
I dashed over and scrawled my name on the paper she'd slid across the desk.
Employment contract.
Home guards didn't need one, so this legendary doc was new to me.
But... what's it say?
Post-signature glance: she just smiled.
...Should be fine, right?
"Good. You did well today. You look beat—go rest."
Wait, the explanation?
My eyes were screaming for it—big, sparkly, obvious.
But I wasn't in a position to argue, so I spun and bolted from the office.
"See you tomorrow."
Looked like I'd be sticking around this castle a while.
My life....
The office hearth's warmth vanished, hitting me with instant chills.
This land is freezing.
Gotta get back and draw some new magic circles.
A crisply uniformed butler—not a knight—escorted me to a different room.
He'd droned on about the mansion's history—boring and pretentious—nearly yawning me to death.
One fact stuck: this was a suite for very important guests.
I wasn't a prisoner anymore.
"Achoo—!"
A gust cut short my inner victory cheer, triggering a sneeze.
Right. Magic circle time.
Magic's gotta be the most productive hobby ever, huh?
I rubbed my finger across the floor, sketching the circle while pondering.
Mana-woven ink gleamed from my fingertip.
Every mage in novels was a total nutjob.
I'm probably the only sane one. For real.
Stroke by stroke.
As the circle took shape, soothing warmth spread, banishing the chill air.
Hyaah. This is it—ondol heaven.
Even the word's all round and cute; hits different.
Soon after finishing and sprawling on the floor to toast my back, the door creaked open.
A blast of cold air rushed into the now-toasty room.
Crane my neck from my prone position: the butler from earlier, back with a basket brimming with firewood.
—Clatter crash.
Uh. Now the basket's rolling across the floor.
"Wh-what is this...?"
He didn't even pick up the scattered logs—just slapped a hand to the floor.
"Your Grace the Grand Duke—!!!"
Defying his age, he bolted out yelling. Door still wide open.
Aw, c'mon.
No choice—I belly-crawled across the floor, back still glued down, and slammed the door shut.
Mission accomplished.
Though cleaning up the firewood was a pain.
Someone'll handle it. I'm a precious guest, after all.
"Heh heh heh."
Precious guest! What a reassuring phrase.