*Imperial Calendar, Year 1215, September 9
Medipl always stayed at the village chief’s house when visiting this place, and Rimas and his father either slept at different houses each night for a modest price or simply slept in their wagon, but this time they too could stay at the chief’s house for free.
The next morning, his father prepared to depart, but Rimas was exempt from helping his father under Imperial law, so he confidently went to Medipl’s lessons.
Rimgaile had come to return the book she’d borrowed yesterday since the situation had changed, and ran into Rimas just as he was entering while she was on her way out.
Medipl said, “Rimgaile, you’re so clever that I’ve often wondered if you might have magical talent.
Being smart doesn’t mean you have a mage’s gift, but those with a mage’s gift are usually smart.”
At those words, Rimgaile thanked him for his kindness and left to prepare for departure.
She made eye contact with Rimas once before leaving, but having only met yesterday, they had nothing particular to say to each other.
Still, feeling somewhat wistful, he managed to open his mouth and called out to her retreating back: “Take care.
Study hard at magic academy too.”
Rimgaile turned around and waved, started to say something, then stopped and simply turned to leave.
Medipl grasped Rimas’s shoulder and led him into the temporary classroom, saying, “Help your father with his work normally, but until you depart, you should study every minute you can, even just one more.”
Time passed, and when the lesson that began at 8 o’clock reached 11, the village chief entered and said, “Rimgaile is about to leave now.
I know you’re in the middle of class, but let the children say their farewells.”
“Of course.
They lived in the same village, after all.
Once she leaves, these children may never see her again.
They’ll be living in different worlds.”
Medipl agreed, so everyone went outside and headed toward the village entrance.
At the entrance, Gladeborah sat mounted on her horse, while Rimgaile stood below beside her, sharing a parting moment with her parents.
Among the adults, neighbors who had been close to Rimgaile’s family had skipped work to participate in the send-off, and the chief, Medipl, and the students joined them.
Rimas and Skelvis ended up subtly merging into that group as well.
Rimgaile’s parents kept hugging her and releasing her while repeating the same words over and over, but Gladeborah, as if she’d expected this, didn’t rush them and waited patiently for them to share their parting emotions.
She also endured the long farewells from the villagers who’d come to see her off.
Gladeborah, who had been patiently waiting through what was clearly a tedious time, suddenly turned her head.
Medipl, who also had keen hearing, shifted the atmosphere and took on a focused expression.
After a moment, others could hear the sound of horses galloping from a distance.
Though they weren’t visible yet, Medipl said, “That’s a familiar sound.
It seems the viscount has finished hunting and is approaching this place, his estate.”
Sure enough, his words soon proved true.
The viscount and his party of sixteen were approaching, divided between horses and wagons.
Unlike before when he had to bow, Rimas could now see clearly that seven were mounted on horses, and nine were riding in two wagons, each pulled by two horses, occupying even the cargo areas.
As viscount Gardin approached, Gladeborah said to Rimgaile, “I wanted to give you more time, but something unexpected has happened.”
She took the pack from Rimgaile’s back, loaded it separately on the horse, then grasped Rimgaile’s hand and lifted her up to sit in front of her.
The two of them sat on the horse facing forward, waiting for the viscount’s party to approach.
The chief and others also removed their hats and bowed when the viscount came close enough.
Viscount Gardin gradually slowed his horse’s pace, then showed a surprised expression when he noticed Gladeborah.
Of course, the villagers were bowing and didn’t see it, but Gladeborah saw that expression clearly.
Though formally the viscount held higher status, as the sole mage of the Grand Fief, she didn’t need to pay particular attention to a common noble who wasn’t even lord of a minor fief.
Never mind this viscount who wasn’t even lord of a small demesne—a domain mage maintained a relationship of mutual courtesy even with the lord of the Grand Domain where she served.
While she could disregard rural nobles, she had to offer formal greetings to Ledgetak, who belonged to the same MOW as her but was a Tier 7 Warmonger of the warrior path, three grades higher than her Tier 4 Cantriper of the magic path.
Formal greetings are used only between fellow MOW, among nobles who also hold the office of lord with governing authority, or to Imperial officials.
Occasionally they’re also used between nobles without governing authority when meeting in a superior-subordinate relationship.
This etiquette isn’t exchanged at every meeting—only when meeting for the first time as an initial greeting—and otherwise is replaced by a simplified salute of bringing two fingers together to the corner of the eye.
Since formal greetings follow the format of the subordinate introducing themselves first to the superior, Gladeborah looked at Ledgetak, removed her hat, and bowed only slightly while speaking.
It was as if the posture was unavoidable—she could only bow her head because Rimgaile sat in front of her, making it difficult to bend at the waist—but the degree wasn’t so disrespectful that it could be rebuked, nor was the status difference between them so great, and Ledgetak wasn’t that type of person anyway.
The greeting appropriate for a first meeting with a higher-tier Ranger came from Gladeborah’s mouth:
“In the eternal verdure, my Mind finds peace in the fragrance that carries traces of life.
I am Gladeborah, mage in service to the Grand Domain of Atal, and this is my protégée, Rimgaile.”
The formal title for a Tier 1 mage—the lowest rank—is Famulus.
However, as Rimgaile had not yet enrolled, the title did not yet apply.
Those whose admission is confirmed but who have not formally entered are called protégés, regardless of whether they pursue the cleric, mage or warrior path.
At this, Ledgetak gave the customary reply:
I am Ledgetak, huscarl in service to viscount Poar Gardin of the Shadowfoot demesne.”
“Though the flow of mana has guided this meeting, I find my Mind uneasy, for I was just about to depart and must take my leave as soon as we have met.”
“Who could hope to halt the flow of mana?
May your journey be peaceful, and I convey my lord’s blessing.”
After a brief exchange of courtesies, Gladeborah and Rimgaile set off, the former offering a parting gesture to the villagers, the latter waving to her parents.
The viscount brushed at the epaulette on his left shoulder, drawing attention to it.
Though he had arrived on horseback, it was not dust he meant to remove, but a deliberate gesture to assert his presence.
Unlike the three Classes of MOW, noble epaulettes differ in material according to rank, with the family crest displayed upon a cloak fastened by such insignia.
A baron’s is of silver, while a viscount’s is of gold.
Accordingly, viscount Gardin wore his in the form of a sculpted relief—a four-armed monkey, the emblem of his house.
Making a point of touching it, he ensured he could hardly be ignored any longer.
As she passed him, Gladeborah raised her hand briefly to her brow in a light salute—no more than the barest courtesy—before continuing on her way.
Had Ledgetak not mentioned the viscount’s blessing, she would likely have omitted even that.
In truth, the viscount had hoped to exchange a few words with the domain mage upon meeting her.
Yet even for one born to nobility, such figures were rare and not easily approached.
Though born a commoner, Rimgaile too would likely attain such standing by the age of twenty.
So he counted himself fortunate to have received even so slight a courtesy, and chose to let the matter rest.
Meanwhile, Skelvis had originally planned to follow right behind Gladeborah when she departed, but the viscount’s arrival meant he had no choice but to wait at the village entrance.
Only after the chief had fully welcomed the viscount’s party into the village and the entrance became quiet could he depart, but by then Gladeborah and Rimgaile, who had left earlier, were no longer visible.
They had come to Whitestone from the north—more precisely the northwest—but to conduct business they needed to go to a village they hadn’t passed through, so this time their destination was the village of Tofsloin, following the road leading west.
He’d heard that the mage Gladeborah also had business and would pass through that village, so he had some.
No matter how much monsters don’t approach roads, travel can be dangerous, but traveling alongside a mage meant there was nothing to worry about.
Even a woman in her twenties walking alone on the road in the middle of the night would face no trouble if she were a mage.
You could see this just from Gladeborah, who had arrived at Whitestone last night without concern for the nighttime journey that others avoid.
Not being able to benefit from a mage’s protection didn’t mean he couldn’t take the road he’d originally intended.
Rimas and his father slowly drove their wagon forward.
As they did, they conversed.
“Rimgaile is so lucky.
To have magical talent…”
“Don’t be too disappointed.
Magical talent is supposed to be rare, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Medipl said one in hundreds of thousands.
I wish I had talent to become a cleric or warrior like Rimgaile.”
“You never said things like that before.”
“I guess I got envious seeing Rimgaile selected right before my eyes.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean I don’t want to inherit the merchant business.”
“You don’t have to inherit my position if you don’t want to.
If you want to do it, do it; if you want to do something else, do that.
We can return or sell the license, maybe even for a good price if we’re lucky.
This father will work hard to help you.
It’s also a promise I made to your late mother.”
“You said mom wasn’t from this kingdom of Chewator, right?”
“That’s right.
Your mother was from the kingdom of Senon, far to the south.
It might have been better if she hadn’t moved to this much colder country.
Speaking of which, I’ll give you this.”
Saying that, Skelvis gave Rimas the necklace he’d been wearing around his neck.
“But this is mother’s keepsake?”
“Yes.
I was going to give it to you next year when you graduate from school anyway.
And this is your mother’s keepsake, but it’s also a necklace symbolizing the goddess Rena.”
“You said the goddess Rena is only worshipped in the kingdom of Senon, right?”
“Sure, she is.
Your mother was a laywoman of the goddess Rena.
For a laywoman, she was so devout that people around her praised her, saying it would have been better if she’d had even a little spiritual talent to become a cleric. Get faster updates on novelping . com.
Come, put it on.”
When Rimas wore the necklace of the goddess Rena around his neck, Skelvis said, “It suits you well enough.
Perhaps you might have the talent to become a cleric.”
“It’s okay.
I don’t mind being a layman of the goddess Rena.
It’s fine even if I don’t become a MOW like Rimgaile.
Don’t worry about it, Dad.”
“All right.
Thank you.
My son is smart.
Whether you become a merchant or do something else, at the very least you’ll surely become someone who earns 10,000 coins.
That’s what I think.”
“When I earn 10,000 coins a month, I’ll give it all to you, Dad.”
“Haha.
Just hearing you say it makes me happy.”
“But did business go well in Whitestone this time?”
“Well, just having Ledgetak buy the bolts was good business in itself, and Whitestone wasn’t bad either.
The leather I bought from hunters and herbs I purchased from herbalists should fetch even more when we return to the castle-town.”
“That’s really gre—”
Rimas was just saying that when it happened.
Something white appeared before his eyes.
And then a series of events unfolded that Rimas couldn’t comprehend.
There was a flash, and his father Skelvis started to open his mouth but stopped mid-motion; the next moment a line formed just below his chin and began to widen.
Then blood suddenly began pouring from there, and soon after, with the vibration of the moving wagon, his father’s head fell downward.
Rimas couldn’t even process what was happening.
In the bright sunlight, a person whose entire body was white began to gradually become visible.
Dressed in white clothing from head to toe with white cloth wrapped around his head, the person held a sword with a blade that also gleamed white.
He caught Skelvis’s headless corpse with one hand holding the sword to prevent it from falling, then lightly lifted the body with just that one arm.
Then, in some manner Rimas couldn’t comprehend how he’d boarded the moving wagon, he was suddenly down below the wagon.
Only then did Rimas recover enough presence of mind to think of the crossbow he always kept nearby, and he grabbed it, aimed it at the man, and fired.
Then he bent down, reached for the crossbow that had been on his father’s side, picked it up, and fired that too.
The man didn’t seem to dodge, yet both crossbow bolts missed.
The man, holding his father’s corpse under his arm, stared at Rimas for a moment, then opened his mouth:
“You’ll be an orphan anyway, so perhaps killing you would be kinder.
But don’t worry.
I won’t eat you.”
Rimas heard the words but didn’t comprehend them.
Only later, recalling this moment again and again, could he replay what the man had said, but right now he could only see the man’s mouth opening and closing—he heard nothing.
The man set down his father’s corpse and slowly approached Rimas, then suddenly stopped walking.
He abruptly changed direction and swung his sword at the air.
A harpy had descended almost vertically from the air to attack him.
Though he couldn’t do anything about the airborne harpy, the harpy also realized the man’s sword was extremely fast and couldn’t attack further.
But there was something faster than the man’s sword.
A wound suddenly appeared on the man’s left cheek.
Something like a small glittering insect circled around him.
It was a pixie, and though the man’s sword was very fast, speed is almost the innate nature of the pixie race.
Moreover, since a pixie’s size doesn’t even reach the length of a pinky finger, the small size makes them hard to hit.
With speed added to that condition, the man kept receiving attacks that left small scratches.
But the man suddenly adjusted his stance and said,
“You’re fast, but unfortunately, not fast enough.”
As he spoke, he had already grown familiar with the pixie’s movements and speed.
He was preparing to cut down the pixie flitting around him and was about to swing his sword the moment the opening appeared.