The Shaman Descends
"Rix. You're aware that Lady Robbins is hosting a social gathering today, I trust?"
"I am, Father."
Rix, the bastard son of a count's house. That was the role I'd been handed after tumbling into this unidentifiable medieval romance fantasy world.
"You must not show any discourtesy toward Lady Robbins. Bear that firmly in mind."
"Yes. I'll conduct myself with care."
"Unlike Raymon, you know how to tell right from wrong. That is a great relief. You're thoroughly reliable."
"Thank you for thinking so highly of me."
After finishing my greetings to Father, I slipped out of the family head's chambers.
Never thought I'd end up attending a noble banquet.
Bastards weren't normally allowed at aristocratic gatherings. But Lady Robbins had abruptly announced she would host a social event, and coincidentally every other male relative in the family was unavailable. Father had decided without hesitation to send me in their place.
Of course, the proper thing when no one could go was simply not to send anyone at all. Dispatching a bastard was scarcely different from not attending. Sending me to the banquet was Father's own peculiar way of showing affection.
Well, it's nice that Father dotes on me.
Father — Gilbert Valentier — was extraordinarily fond of me, bastard though I was. I had never once felt slighted for my birth. Being dropped into a medieval romance fantasy as a bastard and still eating well and living comfortably struck me as an enormous stroke of luck. The fact that he'd seized the chance to send me the moment no other relative was free only proved how much he cared.
If only it hadn't been Lady Robbins's banquet, it would have been perfect.
Lady Silvia Robbins. She was famous throughout high society — famous enough that even a bastard like me, who'd never attended a single banquet, knew her name.
Arrogant. Imperious. Self-absorbed. Better known as the villainess Silvia.
She was said to spew abuse at anyone within earshot and throw hysterical fits not only at the servants but even at her own attendants.
How is my first banquet ever the villainess's party? My luck is truly rotten.
It was enough to make me wonder if the other siblings had known in advance and fled. If I somehow offended Lady Silvia Robbins and got myself marked… my peaceful bastard lifestyle would be finished.
Even Father couldn't shield me from that.
Father held the rank of count. Silvia Robbins was the daughter of a ducal house — the gap in status was enormous. One wrong move and not only I but Father himself could be in danger.
I'll just hide quietly and leave. Grab some good food and slip out. That should do it.
Surely a lady of her stature would never cast her gaze as far down as a count's bastard. I'd keep my head down and bolt the moment the banquet ended.
I straightened my clothes one last time and stepped outside. Climbing into the waiting carriage, I felt it start moving at once, bound for the banquet hall of the Robbins ducal estate.
Rattle, rattle.
Sitting in the carriage, I drifted into old memories — not the memories of the bastard Rix, but the past I'd lived in twenty-first-century Korea.
I had been a baksu-shaman. The finest shaman in the Republic of Korea, sought out by the chairmen of conglomerates like Ohsung Electronics and LK Technics, and even by presidential candidates.
Shaman work was never easy, even for someone born with the gift. Living as a baksu-shaman had been grueling. After falling into this world, I had stopped seeing the gods.
Compared to back then, this is practically heaven.
The life of a romance-fantasy noble who could loaf around without working a day. Far better than being a shaman.
Lost in old thoughts, I found myself nearing my destination. Even from a distance, the lively energy of the banquet hall reached me.
"Young master, we have arrived."
"Thank you."
I thanked the coachman and stepped down from the carriage. With tense steps I approached the entrance, where a servant received me.
"Rix of House Valentier enters!"
The servant's voice rang out powerfully. Not Rix Valentier — just Rix. As a bastard, I had no surname, only a given name.
If you're going to dote on me, you could at least give me the family name. Or is that just how noble fathers are?
Clothes, food, and a place to live — those he gave freely. The surname, he did not. Whether that was standard for nobility or a peculiarity of romance-fantasy aristocrats, I had no idea.
As I entered the banquet hall, a middle-aged man with a thick gut and an unattractive face approached. I had memorized his face before attending.
Marquis Bellot. Higher in rank than Father, who was a count. I had committed every high-ranking face to memory before the banquet.
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Lordship Marquis Bellot. I am Rix of House Valentier."
"Rix of House Valentier? I've never heard that name. Has Sir Raymon Valentier not come?"
Raymon Valentier. The legitimate heir of House Valentier, and my older brother by two years.
"Brother Raymon was unwell and could not attend."
It wasn't illness or injury. He'd drunk himself into a hangover. The man needed to cut back. Raymon seized every opportunity to drink, and Father worried about him constantly.
"Is that so. Tell him I hope Sir Raymon Valentier returns to health soon."
"I will."
With that, Marquis Bellot headed straight elsewhere.
Wow. He won't even exchange proper greetings with a bastard.
He'd clearly noticed I had no surname and figured out what I was.
Well, better than being cursed out to my face.
He hadn't insulted me openly, so that made him a gentleman by comparison. Truthfully, people couldn't really badmouth me for being a bastard anyway. House Valentier controlled the empire's banking and finance — it was the money pipeline of the realm, a family of such towering prestige that other noble houses couldn't treat it lightly. And the rumor that the head of House Valentier doted on his bastard son Rix was extremely well known. Thanks to that, the nobles didn't dare openly insult me.
Of course, not insulting me was all they managed.
I didn't expect them to shoot me looks of pure contempt so blatantly.
I let the cascading scorn slide off me and exchanged greetings with the other nobles. Those of lower rank than a count at least returned my greetings properly. Apparently status outranked bastardy in their priorities.
Filthy noble bastards. I was half a noble myself, but the status games made me sick. Moments like these made me miss twenty-first-century Korea.
As I continued greeting the attendees, a woman rose at the head of the banquet hall.
Vivid pink hair. Golden eyes. A beauty the word "beautiful" fit perfectly. A woman of a style you would never see in an ordinary medieval setting had appeared.
The bustling banquet hall fell silent in an instant.
"Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming to this social gathering!"
The villainess, Silvia Robbins. The star of the banquet had arrived.
"First, allow me to express my gratitude for attending."
I kept my mouth shut and listened to the speech. The moment I quietly shifted my steps toward a less conspicuous spot—
"Uh…?"
The world tilted. My vision swayed. I grabbed a nearby servant and barely managed not to collapse.
"A-are you all right, sir?"
The servant, flustered, tried to help me up, but—
"Ah… ugh. M-my head…"
My whole body burned. My head felt as though it would split open. Nearby, a few nobles began casting disapproving glances my way.
"Huuuh. Hss, huu…"
I breathed desperately, but it did no good. My mind was swimming. High fever, chills, and searing pain — a familiar phenomenon I had experienced once before.
Shinbyeong… the divine illness.
The same thing that had struck me in Korea. The phenomenon that had made me a baksu-shaman was happening again right now.
In the midst of pain that felt like my skull would crack open, I sensed a presence.
Ah…
It was coming. Even after years, I could never forget this sensation. Approaching. Crawling closer. Surging in.
A god had arrived.
"At this banquet, I have joyful news to share with you all. I, Silvia Robbins—"
"Hey!"
The banquet hall went ice-cold, as if someone had dumped cold water over everyone. My body and mouth moved as if possessed. I cut off the villainess's words and stood ramrod straight.
"That marriage. Don't do it."
Silvia Robbins's face crumpled. She glared straight at me. Over her face, a hazy figure overlapped — a man gasping for breath on a bed swam into view.
"How dare you interrupt me—"
"Silence! The man meant to be your husband is currently mounted atop another woman."
Crash!
Someone dropped a glass; the sound of shattering crystal rang out.
"You dare insult my fiancé! D-don't think I'll let this insolence slide!!"
Silvia Robbins's face went scarlet. Not only had the timing of her engagement announcement been stolen, her fiancé had been publicly humiliated. Her hands trembled with rage.
The hazy vision of the man grew clearer. Now even the face of the woman beneath him came into sharp focus.
"Ah, I can see his partner as well. The fellow meant to be your husband is right now panting away atop the belly fat of Marquis Bellot's wife."
Everyone gathered in the banquet hall stared at me. Silvia Robbins and Marquis Bellot alike fixed me with faces flushed crimson.
In this life as well, I had become a shaman.