Chapter 4
"Uninvited guest? Me?" The man burst into a cackling laugh, emitting a sound that seemed to scrape their eardrums. "You must be joking. You are the one that ruined the field where I sowed seeds."
Ah, is that so? Ian's expression finally relaxed.
"That must be disappointing for you, dark mage," Ian remarked.
"You're not even surprised. Ah, of course. It was you who hid my seeds!" shouted the man.
It was undoubtedly about the bead of tainted essence since it was also the terminal of the dark mage. The connection must have been cut off when Ian had put it into his small pocket dimension, prompting the man to act hastily.
It must have been frustrating for him to lose the magical power he had invested. Ian smiled.
"Indeed. I'll make good use of it."
"What an insolent mouth you have," the man retorted.
Crack–Crunch!
The man's body began to transform again, twisting and swelling.
Clang!
The sword in Ian’s grasp suddenly snapped in half. Ian clicked his tongue involuntarily, mourning the loss of the decent sword he had only recently obtained.
"I'll make sure you understand who you're trying to play with. I am—" The man's speech was abruptly interrupted.
Boom!
The man’s face was engulfed in an explosion from the fireball that Ian had thrown. But that single fireball was not the end.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ian continuously hurled fist-sized fireballs. The fiery barrage continued until the man was forced to his knees.
Thud. Whoosh—
Before he could fully complete his transformation, the man collapsed on the ground. Even in his charred state, purple magical energy burned in his sunken eye sockets, filled with hatred.
"You! You're a red outcast! Good for me! I will find you again. Don't forget! I am the one that will make your wretched soul suffer forever. I am—!" The man's threatening voice was once more cut off before he could complete his sentence.
Crack!
The broken sword chopped down on the charred neck. The head detached from the body with its jaw clicking emptily.
"Necro.. mancer...." The man’s voice faded, along with the light in his eyes.
"So much babbling," said Ian.
In a situation where the killing intent was mutual, there was no need for formalities. Ian, clicking his tongue, approached the twitching torso. He bent down and raised the sword in his hand.
Crack! Crack!
The sword hacked viciously through the charred flesh. Eventually, Ian pushed his hand into the torn flesh, pulling out a black bead. It was smaller than the chieftain’s essence bead, and it was swirling with purple magical energy.
"There wasn't just one. Of course…" said Ian.
Thinking back, there were chieftains under the great chieftain in the game. It wasn't surprising that the unnamed dark mage had arranged this.
"What, what is that?! Eek!"
The gasp came shortly after. It was from the village youths who had been watching from a distance.
"Eek! Aaaaah!"
One of the villagers, screaming, rolled out and frantically took off his pants.
"...?" Even Ian was baffled by the sudden farcical turn of events.
"I have committed a grave sin, my lord!" The man, with his buttocks fully exposed, prostrated himself on the ground.
Ian frowned.
"Showing yourself like that is a crime worthy of death by itself. Speak clearly," he spoke sharply.
"In my pocket, there's another orb, just like that one." The trembling man pointed to his discarded pants.
"...." Ian's eyebrows lowered. He approached the discarded pants and carelessly cut open the pocket with his knife. Among various trinkets, another bead of essence rolled out.
"I swear to Lu Solar, I had no idea. I thought it was just a unique orb, to give to my sister, to give to her—!" the man cried out.
"Shut up. Before I really kill you." Ian picked up the essence bead and the man's mouth snapped shut. Ian rolled the bead between his fingers and looked back at the young men.
"Anyone else wants to confess?"
"...No, there isn't."
"There's none. Really, my lord."
The young men shook their heads in unison.
"Even fools wouldn't lie in a life-threatening situation. If they do, then I'll be the one to crack their skulls," the innkeeper added casually as he stepped forward. He was wearing the chieftain's armor sloppily, with an ax slung over his shoulder.
"Right. I'll make sure of that." Ian shrugged.
"Stop your sniveling and get that dirty ass out of my sight. Go and take care of Johnson's corpse yourself." The innkeeper looked down at the prostrate man. He kicked the bare buttocks of the man and turned to Ian. "By the way, you're a red mage? I thought you were a swordsman since you carry a sword."
"Does it make a difference?" Ian asked while putting away the essence bead. People of the dark ages viewed mages with a contradictory blend of fear and contempt. It was more convenient to be seen as a swordsman or fallen knight.
"No. I’ll simply consider what you carry as a sharp-edged magic wand," the innkeeper answered.
"Well, keep thinking that way. And make sure those fools understand that when you return." Ian turned and waved the broken sword. "Thanks to them breaking their promise, my steel magic wand is broken again. I need a new one made."
The innkeeper laughed as if conceding. "But are you alright? Seems like you've incurred the wrath of a dark mage," he added to Ian's departing back.
"Mind your own business," Ian replied without turning his head. "Just keep the promise you made with me."
***
The innkeeper kept his promise well. Starting the day after he returned to the village, he began to mediate requests for him. Of course, he remembered to make a sword and armor for Ian beforehand. The sword was ordinary, but the armor was made from the leather of the kobold chieftain. It was the innkeeper’s idea.
Ian accepted the armor, thinking it was better than being unprotected as he was, only to discover that he was able to check the information of the equipment. It meant this was an item that also existed in the game. Although it was only of rare grade, it was more than sufficient for the current situation.
"You look convincing. You don't seem like a mage at all," said the innkeeper with a laugh.
"You should be careful with your words."
"Don't worry. It seems you don't want people to know you're a mage, so I've firmly instructed the blockheads not to say anything.".
"They would never keep such a promise."
"They will. They're terrified of you. They must be shivering right now, thinking that you might be watching them from somewhere."
True to the innkeeper’s words, no client referred to Ian as a mage. They used embarrassing titles like “the hero” or “the savior of the village.” Nonetheless, employing the innkeeper as a business agent was a successful idea.
Clients frequented the tavern he stayed at daily, with requests ranging from killing wild boars that disturbed the fields every night to dealing with water ghosts emerging from the village well. Despite the village's small size, there were a surprising number of requests. Most were trivial tasks that didn't trigger the quest window, but he resolved each request without any refusal or failure.
"Phew." After washing his face, Ian dried off with a clean towel. His gaze swept over every corner of the spacious room out of habit, checking for any changes that might have occurred overnight. Of course, nothing had changed.
"Hmm," he murmured, realizing he had grown quite familiar with the room. It made sense, considering he had been living there for almost a month. During this time, he had secured the best room in the tavern. It was the largest room, it had plenty of sunlight and a clean bed. Even so, in his eyes, it was no better than a cheap inn.
"...I'll probably miss these times later," Ian muttered as he left the room.
"Are you up, Fixer?" greeted the maid cleaning the hall as he descended the stairs. “Fixer” was a new nickname for Ian, and one of the less irritating ones.
"Yes. Prepare breakfast for me,"
"Alright. I'll prepare your favorite meat and eggs," the maid replied, setting down her mop.
She was one of the few in the village who wasn't afraid of Ian. In fact, her overly casual attitude was sometimes annoying.
"You'll get scolded by the innkeeper again," Ian added as he sat down.
"What does it matter? Thanks to you, the innkeeper is earning a decent amount. He’ll understand." The maid snorted.
She was one of the reasons Ian could comfortably stay in this tavern. In exchange for mediating requests, the innkeeper received a referral fee from the clients, but it was only a small amount, so Ian didn't mind. The innkeeper was diligent in bringing in business.
"If that's so, bring me a beer as well," Ian casually added.
“Okay,” The maid went into the kitchen, leaving him alone.
"It seems about time…," Ian murmured, tapping his finger on the table.
The requests were rapidly decreasing, signaling that the time to leave the village was approaching. It meant a cycle of sleeping outdoors and traveling until he reached the next village. He didn’t like it, but there was no other choice.
Getting too comfortable with peaceful daily life for Ian was similar to slowly committing suicide. Ian realized he hadn't killed anything in the past week, with the only bloodshed being when he cut off the wrist of someone trying to cheat him out of his reward and a finger of someone who harassed the maid.
"Once everything is confirmed…," Ian murmured again.
A plate was suddenly set before him. Eggs, mashed potatoes, and grilled meat— it was a bit much for breakfast, but he eagerly grabbed the knife and fork. After all, these were some of the few decent foods in this world.
"What are you thinking so deeply about?" asked the maid, sitting opposite him as she placed a full beer glass down.
"It's none of your concern," Ian responded, causing the maid to pout. After taking a sip of his beer, Ian asked, "When did the innkeeper leave?"
"About an hour ago. He's probably bothering people by now, asking if they need anything," the maid clicked her tongue. "The innkeeper is the one who's getting more into it. Just yesterday, he was muttering how you wished some kobold remnants would show up."
"I see," Ian nodded while chewing his meat. If it had come to the point of saying such things, it really meant that work was running low.
"But thanks to you, the village has never been this peaceful. It's wonderful." The maid propped her chin with her hands, gazing at Ian. She continued, "It's all thanks to you, Fixer."
"It's only temporary," Ian replied nonchalantly. "The problem is that new ones will arise soon."
"You sound… sure of that."
"It's obvious."
During the dark ages, and in a village lacking proper defensive forces, this was a straightforward issue.
"Can I ask you one question?" The maid’s voice sounded as Ian refocused on the food.
"No."
"Why don't you reveal that you're a mage?"
‘I just said no.’ Ian sighed, looking at the maid. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Because it becomes a hassle. Besides, I don't particularly like spellcasters."
"Is it because, as others say, mages are arrogant, cunning, and selfish?"
"Something like that," Ian said, recalling the first mage he had encountered in the swamps, a somewhat civilized old man.
The old man, having seen Ian use various types of magic during their journey together, became curious about Ian’s secrets. Ian had responded kindly, telling the old man that it was something he couldn’t do. Of course, the old man did not give up. Instead, the old man tried to uncover the secret himself by attempting to open up Ian’s head. Needless to say, the old man’s attempt was unsuccessful.
The old man got his throat slit, and Ian learned a lesson. It is best not to get involved with mages. This was one of the aspects that had completely changed from when it was a game. In the game, mage NPCs were known to be dismissive and cautious of mages who belonged to other schools, but they never went to the extreme of attempting to dissect someone’s brain.
"So, what do you like, Fixer?" the maid asked another question.
Ian paused, various things flashing through his mind. Unfortunately, most of them were unobtainable in this world. Something like coke to wash down the greasiness of these foods.
‘Damn it,’ Ian thought.
"Treasure. And money," he said, clicking his tongue. He then turned his gaze back to his plate.
"Is that really all?" The maid looked speechless.
The maid asked again, but Ian did not respond further, and he just kept chewing his meat laboriously.
"Ah, you're awake?" The innkeeper returned as Ian had nearly finished the food on his plate. The innkeeper awkwardly greeted him and hesitated with the doorknob in his hand.
Ian eventually clicked his tongue.
"What is it? Speak up. Don't beat around the bush."
"Well, someone is here looking for you." The innkeeper scratched his cheek.
"A request?"
"I'm not sure, but—" Just as the innkeeper was about to say something, the door, which was almost closed, opened again. The person who opened the door was a young man in leather armor, with a friendly appearance.
"Excuse me." The young man flung the door wide open, revealing a figure standing behind him.
It was a person clad in plate armor, a full suit that left no skin exposed. The helmet, resembling the beak of an eagle or a hawk, completely covered their face. The hilt of the sword at their waist was adorned not with a classic pommel but with a decoration shaped like a deer’s antler, the symbol of Agel Lan.
Putting it all together, the visitor was an elite knight of the Kingdom of Agel Lan, a figure one would not expect to find in such a remote village. But that was not the reason Ian tilted his head in curiosity.
"The look is strangely familiar..." Ian was sure he had seen that particular design of that full-body armor somewhere before.
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