The Mage (1)

The procession heading to Booktoria had agreed to let me join without charging the usual fee, all because I was a healing mage. On the morning of departure, a servant guided me toward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the center of the caravan, citing my status as a mage. Yet the man kept glancing back over his shoulder, tilting his head in obvious confusion.

“M-Master Jinu the mage? Is that truly you? Ah, this way, please.”

“It must be because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Master isn’t wearing a robe,” Yanne offered cheerfully.

“You may be right. Perhaps I should have worn one on the first day.”

I answered as if I had simply made a careless mistake, but the outfit had been entirely intentional. Over the next twenty days or so, I would inevitably end up mingling with nobles. That meant sharing bits of my story whether I wanted to or not, and there would be moments when I’d have to reveal personal details to build rapport. I had no idea how sophisticated the game’s artificial intelligences were, but any unnatural response could invite annoying suspicion. That was why I had deliberately dressed like a mercenary—so the nobles would keep their distance.

There were four teenage noble children who were on their way to the academy, along with two middle-aged noblemen. The men were wearing frilled shirts—the kind only women wore back on Earth.

“What? This man is supposed to be Mage Jinu?”

One of the middle-aged nobles stared at the servant as if demanding confirmation that I was truly a mage. The servant, knowing nothing himself, could only remain silent.

“His attire is different, but this is indeed Mage Jinu. I personally received treatment from him at the mercenary guild.”

A nearby escort mercenary finally stepped in, unable to watch the awkward scene any longer. Even so, the nobleman still looked unconvinced. Clothing really carried that much weight here.

I was wondering whether I would have to prove myself by healing someone, just like I had at the guild, when unexpected help arrived.

“I suspect Mage Jinu’s appearance suggests he hails from another continent. Unlike our peaceful Entrick Continent, I’ve heard that both the Arean Continent and the Doniria Continent suffer from rather poor public order.”

A bald man in his fifties, wearing a robe, approached and spoke in my defense. What caught my eye was the unusual headpiece he wore—a silver circlet that reminded me of the tight headband once placed on Sun Wukong’s head.

“Oh! It seems Priest Hergo is correct. When I mentioned he came from the Changing Tower, no one had heard of it. If he truly is from another continent, that would explain everything.”

“Priest Hergo, have you visited other continents? Does the temple of the God of War, Prokia, exist there as well?”

“I have not been myself, but the nearest Arean Continent does indeed have a temple dedicated to Lord Prokia. According to the monks who returned from there, travelers must prepare for ambushes even when simply moving between cities.”

“Oho, so that’s why Mage Jinu is dressed like a mercenary, complete with chain armor and weapons.”

“Mage Jinu, our Shuzel Kingdom is known even within the Entrick Continent for its excellent public safety. You need not worry. Hahaha.”

Thanks to the bald priest, I was now officially “from another continent,” and the matter of my mercenary attire was smoothly glossed over. The people gathered here seemed to be the key figures of the entire procession. I made a mental note to watch Priest Hergo—the one wearing that silver circlet—very carefully.

“Inspection of personnel and luggage is complete. The carriages are ready, so please board. We will depart immediately.”

“Very well. Mage Jinu, what will you do?”

It was a polite invitation to ride with them since there was room in the carriage.

“I have companions, so we will travel separately. Thank you for the kind offer.”

The nobles and the priest split up into two large carriages pulled by four horses each. I took the reins of the horse carrying Yanne and followed at the rear of the procession.

The caravan numbered around fifty people. Besides the noble party, there were merchants, mercenaries, and travelers who had paid the joining fee. It was quite the diverse group.

“You have been invited to join the nobles for dinner. How shall I respond?”

“We’ll attend.”

I brought Yanne along to the nobles’ meal. I was simply too curious about what kind of food these people normally ate. Since it was a formal invitation, I changed back into my robe. I also packed some black sugar toast and hardtack that could be shared as dessert.

A cook was working on one side. A metal cooking stove—apparently brought in the carriage—sat on the ground. A stew bubbled above it, and they seemed to be preparing something similar to Russian shashlik skewers.

There were even tables and chairs. It looked like they could be detached from inside the carriage and set up outdoors. I had secretly looked down on the medieval setting, but it seemed that traveling carriages and furniture like this were already commonplace among the nobility.

I exchanged polite greetings, thanking them for the invitation, and took my seat. To whet the appetite, they served a bean stew. The aroma rising from it was familiar.

Coriander.

It had a strong scent and flavor that some people loved and others hated. But once you acquired the taste, it was the kind of spice you wanted to add to everything. The nobles ate the coriander-laced bean stew with obvious pleasure, as if this were their everyday fare. They seemed to enjoy spices far more than I had expected.

After the bean stew came shashlik made with lamb and vegetables. Because the lamb had been cut into large chunks, it was a bit tough. Still, it had been properly seasoned with pepper, parsley, and cumin, so the gamey smell wasn’t too overpowering. The cook, who had been sweating profusely in front of the stove while grilling the skewers, wore an expression full of pride. Seeing that, I realized this level of cooking was considered perfectly respectable for a noble’s personal chef.

The wine served was light, as if watered down, and each person received only one cup in a pewter goblet. After the meal, dessert consisted of thick biscuits and warmed wine. The biscuits were the thick, scone-like variety. When Koreans thought of “biscuits,” they usually pictured thin, hard ship’s biscuits, but the original English version had been thick. American biscuits, however, looked exactly like the puffy bread-like things now on the table—the same ones sold at KFC or Popeyes. They were shaped like buns meant to be spread with strawberry jam, and honestly, they could make a decent meal on their own.

Here they were eating them with wild strawberry jam. As an after-dinner dessert, though, they felt rather heavy. Traditionally, dessert referred to light sweets or fruit, so American-style biscuits like these were bound to be filling.

“This is a dessert from my homeland. Would you care to try some?”

I brought out the black sugar toast I had cut into small, easy-to-eat pieces. Everyone stared at the nearly burnt-looking black slices, clearly wondering if they were even edible. But when Priest Hergo picked one up and ate it first, the rest followed suit. Of course, they only reached for the toast because the priest had done so; they still hesitated to put it in their mouths.

“Ooh! What a refined sweetness!”

At Priest Hergo’s exclamation, the others finally brought the toast to their lips.

“Mmm, the crisp texture is excellent. Because it has cooled, the crunch is even more pronounced.”

“One of the best ways to enjoy this black sugar toast and hardtack is to pair it with warm wine. Please try it together.”

Following my suggestion, Priest Hergo popped a piece of toast into his mouth and took a sip of the warm wine. His expression changed instantly.

“Oh! Everyone, try it this way at once. The way the warm wine mixes with it in your mouth is superb. This sweetness even elevates the flavor of the wine!”

Just as he said, the warm wine melted the sugar-butter coating on the black sugar toast. The melted sweetness blended with the wine, creating a wonderful reaction in the mouth. It softened the bitter tannin of the red wine and, combined with the butter and sugar, produced a warm, bittersweet taste that delighted the tongue—perfect for chilly weather.

Everyone immediately held out their cups to the servants for more warm wine. The regular biscuits were completely forgotten. After they had each devoured four or five pieces of the black sugar toast and the supply ran out, they licked their lips with clear regret.

“Black sugar toast and hardtack, was it? Could you teach our cook how to make them?”

“Of course. Since you were kind enough to invite me to dinner, I’d be happy to share the recipe.”

Not only Priest Hergo but all the nobles were delighted, saying they could eat it often. They even suggested we dine together every evening. The thought of enjoying the nobles’ mobile feast every night was appealing, so I readily agreed.

The academic procession moved according to a pre-calculated schedule. Most nights we stayed in villages, and when no village was available, we camped at traveler resting grounds. Thanks to that, the noble cook could replenish ingredients in every town, and I was able to observe what the nobles ate each night.

Just as they had said on the day of departure, there were no bandit ambushes or monster attacks. Though it was the beginning of winter, I had a thick leather ground sheet, Yanne on my right and Cole on my left, and a fur blanket over us, so the cold wasn’t particularly noticeable. At this rate, I felt I could travel for months without complaint.

A young alchemist affiliated with the Alchemists’ Guild stared in shock at the potion he had just created.

“H-how did a superior-grade potion get made all of a sudden?”

“Wait, what?!”

It wasn’t just him. All four young alchemists working in the guild were exclaiming in astonishment at the same time.

“S-superior potion… Did I really make this? How?”

“You too? You made one as well?”

The young alchemists stared blankly at the superior potions in their hands for a long while. Since superior potions were supposed to require a mage to personally infuse them with mana, none of them could believe what they were seeing.

“L-let’s try making another one.”

The four of them hurriedly began crafting again. Before long, they each held another superior potion.

“If all four of us succeeded, there must be something special about the ingredients. You—go fetch the guild master at once. Everyone else, stop what you’re doing and stay exactly where you are.”

Being in a remote southern region, a single Alchemists’ Guild oversaw the three territories of Durendal, Wolpian, and Peros. In total, only seven alchemists worked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠across all three lands. Guild Master Phleon scoffed when he heard that the young alchemists—who had less than ten years of experience—had produced superior potions. After all, superior potions could only be made by mages capable of pouring out vast amounts of mana.

But the messenger’s face was so deadly serious that Phleon hurried down to the workshop. The moment he saw the superior red potion giving off a faint golden glow, he had no choice but to believe. It was unmistakably a superior potion—the kind he himself had never succeeded in making.

“H-how did this happen? Who made it?”

“We don’t know either. Since all four of us produced two bottles each, it seems something must be different about this batch of ingredients.”

Guild Master Phleon wanted to roar, “That’s impossible unless you ground up a dragon heart!” but the evidence was right in front of him. He had no choice but to accept it.

“Bring down all the potion ingredients from my room. We’ll swap them one by one and find out exactly which material caused this.”

The ingredients he normally used were high-quality goods he had carefully prepared at the beginning of the year. The ones the young alchemists used had been purchased recently to meet winter demand. By switching them out systematically, they could pinpoint the cause.

After creating four more superior potions, they replaced the powder of Blue Moonlight Grass—and the result was an ordinary low-grade potion like those sold at mercenary guilds.

“Find out immediately where this Blue Moonlight Grass powder was purchased!”