Chapter 17
The oyster mushroom was a specialty product from the Hebron Territory, known for its medicinal benefits in preventing colds and treating cold sensitivity, according to ancient medical texts.
“Thank you for your concern, young master.”
“Of course. I take care of what’s mine.”
“Tom, Mariam, Rahi, Jacques, El.”
The five of them were aspiring mages. Though they had shown mana affinity, their talents were mediocre at best.
“Tom, how much progress have you made with the mana circulation method?”
“J-Just a little…”
Judging from his reaction, he hadn’t grasped the basics at all.
“Mariam.”
“I can feel the mana. It’s still hard to control, but I’m getting there. If I have a few more days, I think I can fully learn the technique you taught us, young master.”
Unlike Tom, who focused solely on theoretical studies, Mariam had been quietly practicing mana circulation whenever she found time.
“Mariam, you can read, right?”
“Yes, young master.”
“Then read this to the others.”
<Hebron Beginner’s Guide to Magic>, a magic theory book I had written myself. Magic books could cost upwards of 100 gold, and the ones available to the public weren’t exactly beginner-friendly or suited for self-study.
But when it came to first-class beginner-level magic, I understood it better than any other mage.
‘Minimum 500 gold. If I print only three limited-edition copies, the Magic Tower, the Royal Court, and House Breio will each want one. At that point, the price would be whatever I name—or it’ll be taken by force.’
Just as I began to imagine a brilliant—or disastrous—future, Mariam interrupted my thoughts.
“Um, what kind of letters are these?”
“Didn’t you say you could read?”
“I did, but I’ve never seen these letters before. This one, this one, and this one too.”
She pointed to nearly every word on the page.
As a maid from a baron’s household, she likely only had the bare minimum of education.
“Anyone here able to read this?”
The slaves and commoners just blinked in confusion.
“….Looks like I’ll have to teach them everything from scratch.”
Mana alone wasn’t enough. To raise them into proper mages, I’d have to educate them in the fundamentals.
“You are all future mages. That means you must learn not only how to read, but also arithmetic and geometry. Magic theory is just the beginning. I’ll give you one month.”
“Wh-What exactly do we need to learn in a month?”
Tom raised his hand timidly.
Instead of replying, I frowned.
‘Mediocre aptitude and education… pathetic.’
Perhaps this was how Duke Breio had looked at me. The thought fired up my resolve.
“…From now on, we’ll have special lessons every morning from 10 to 12. I’ll teach you myself.”
* * *
It didn’t take long for me to realize I had no talent for teaching commoners.
In my past life, I lived among the high nobility. Everyone I met was already well-educated, so I never needed to simplify anything for them.
‘Think like Louis de Hebron.’
Louis de Hebron was a noble, yes, but his education barely surpassed that of a commoner. Imagining Louis de Breio trying to explain magical theory to Louis de Hebron made my head spin.
‘This is something I’ve never done before.’
As Louis de Breio, creating new magical theories was second nature. But in the body of Louis de Hebron, I lacked the intellect to translate magical knowledge into commoner-friendly language.
While I fumbled through teaching the five mage candidates, the Serpens Guildmaster arrived with a new high-ranking company mage.
An elderly man, clearly over sixty.
I handed both of them the book I had written.
The guildmaster skimmed only the title <Hebron Beginner’s Guide to Magic>. The mage hovered beside him, clearly impatient to flip through the pages.
“You wrote this yourself?”
The guildmaster looked at me with skepticism.
“It’s nothing special.”
“A magic book that’s nothing special?”
“As stated on the first page, it’s a basic first-class magic manual.”
The guildmaster didn’t argue further. He was starting to get used to the way I spoke.
He handed the book to the mage.
“Master Bartman, would you take a look at this?”
While the mage skimmed the book, the guildmaster explained the man’s background to me.
Bartman was a fourth-class mage. He had failed to advance to a higher class for over a decade and retired at the age of sixty-three. He was from the same hometown as the guildmaster and had come to help out, though he looked like a man who had given up on life.
Rustle.
Bartman flipped through the pages of the book. At first, he skimmed without much interest, but after a few pages, his eyes narrowed in focus. Then, at some point, he became completely absorbed.
“How is it?”
The guildmaster asked.
Bartman didn’t respond. No—he hadn’t even heard the question.
Eventually, he closed the book. He now sat cross-legged, eyes shut in contemplation.
When the guildmaster reached out to place a hand on Bartman’s shoulder, I caught his wrist.
“Don’t touch him. Unless you want to see the only decent mage you’ve got drop dead from shock. He’s just entered a trance—completely defenseless… Tch.”
Bartman murmured something incomprehensible, occasionally chuckling softly as though enlightened—or perhaps unhinged.
At last, he opened his eyes.
His white hair shimmered with newfound luster, and his gaze held a clarity and vitality that hadn’t been there before.
Drip.
Tears streamed down his face. His lips trembled, and the tip of his nose reddened. He looked like he might burst into tears at any moment.
Then Bartman turned to me, dropped to his knees, and bowed deeply.
“I, Bartman, now a fifth-class mage, owe the young lord of Hebron a great debt.”
“D-Did you just say fifth-class?”
The guildmaster asked, but Bartman didn’t reply. His shoulders shook as he began to weep.
I waited for him to calm down before asking.
“Did you reach some kind of realization?”
“My master once told me, never neglect the basics. I never truly understood what he meant—until now.”
Bartman had broken through the wall of fourth-class magic after reading <Hebron Beginner’s Guide to Magic>.
Mages were rare to begin with, and most never surpassed 3rd-class. A fourth-class mage was already a valuable asset in war. But a fifth-class mage? They could serve as protectors of major cities.
Bartman had become a mage far beyond what anyone in Hebron could have expected.
“So you really do owe me quite a bit.”
“I do, young master.”
“Stay in Hebron for the time being. Help out where you're needed.”
Bartman looked toward the guildmaster.
The guildmaster gave a small nod, and Bartman responded with a respectful bow.
“I will follow the orders of my benefactor.”
Bartman was assigned to the magical research lab—the same place where the five mage trainees practiced their mana circulation.
He would teach Hebron’s mages and be called upon frequently for tasks. That is, until the day he felt the urge to leave Hebron behind.
“Baron Nurha’s blocked off the eastern forest path, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, young master. He’s posted a toll—1 gold per person, 10 gold per carriage.”
Feeling threatened by the Serpens Trading Company’s frequent visits to Hebron, Baron Nurha had erected wooden barricades at the eastern forest exit and stationed soldiers there.
Technically, the path lay within Hebron territory.
“How petty. Summon Sir Brown.”
Not long after, Hebron’s sole knight, Brown, stood before me.
He was no longer the man he once was. His eyes were sharp, his posture refined. Like a finely honed sword, he looked as if he’d just returned from the battlefield.
“You called for me, young master.”
“The eastern forest path has been blocked. Clear it.”
“Yes, sir!”
Brown didn’t question the order.
He assembled soldiers and marched to the eastern woods.
Previously, Brown had led an effort to widen the road that cut through the forest. Now, it was broad enough for three carriages to pass side-by-side.
The Serpens guildmaster approached me with a frown.
“Nurha has five knights in his service.”
“Did all five block the forest path?”
“No… not all of them, but—”
“Then it’s fine. Even if two of them show up, they won’t be able to stop Sir Brown. If it’s three, it’ll be a close fight. Four, and Brown might be at a disadvantage. But it’s not like they’ll all gang up on him, is it?”
Brown’s swordsmanship had been influenced by House Breio, and I’d also adjusted his aura cultivation technique accordingly.
That alone had sharpened Brown’s skills to a level unmatched in this rural barony.
* * *
Sir Brown returned victorious. Two knights had confronted him, and he had defeated both. One had died. The other was left crippled.
Nurha’s forces now had only three knights—two, in practice, as one was essentially retired.
“Well done. I’ll reward you with 20 gold.”
“Thank you, young master.”
Brown’s reaction was subdued. Even after expressing his thanks, he didn’t step back.
“Is there something else you’d rather have?”
Sir Brown, still kneeling, looked up at me.
“I wish to spar with you, young master.”
His face lit up like an eager boy dreaming of glory.
Not long ago, Brown had been barely on par—or slightly behind—the knights of Nurha. That was mostly because Hebron had failed to support him properly.
But now, he had changed. He had overwhelmed the knights of Nurha, and that experience had pushed him to the next level.
He could feel his growth—and he knew that I had played a part in it.
“Save your strength for now. A war is coming. After it ends, we’ll cross swords.”
“At your command!”
Only then did Brown rise and stand at my side.
“Serpens Guildmaster.”
“Yes, young master.”
“At most ten days. It could even start today.”
Though we were the only ones in the office—just me, Brown, and the guildmaster—the guildmaster lowered his voice.
“…We’re fully prepared.”
“Then there’s no reason to wait, is there?”
“N-No, there isn’t.”
Serpens' guildmaster was a resourceful merchant. Thanks to his efforts, Hebron had stockpiled arms and supplies. The soldiers were equipped with spears, swords, and shields. Emergency rations, blankets, and makeshift tents had also been secured in case of a long campaign.
“Brown.”
“Yes, young master!”
“Rally the troops. Leave the reservists behind to guard the estate, and take all our regulars. We march on Baron Nurha’s lands.”
“Yes, sir!”
Forty-four regular soldiers, one hundred conscripted slave-soldiers, a single knight, and the Young lord of Hebron himself took part in the march. Bartman, the fifth-class mage, also accompanied us—on the condition that he wouldn’t fight on the front lines.
For a barony, it was an impressive force.
Then the guildmaster suddenly called out in alarm.
“This is illegal! Waging war without a formal declaration—it violates the kingdom’s laws!”
“I’ll deliver it in person. Consider it multitasking.”
“Th-That’s…!”
The guildmaster gave me a strange look. It was as if he couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or impressed. Maybe a bit of both.
He seemed… disappointed.
“You think the royal family cares about some backwater barony? At best, they check once a year to make sure the taxes come in on time. And you’re worried about legality? The crown wants civil war. That’s the truth behind the Xenon Kingdom. War means they can tax the winner heavily—and they always do.”
“There are helpless commoners in Nurha.”
I’d visited Nurha’s territory recently. It was peaceful. The markets were bustling, the people lively. They hadn’t seen war in generations—because no one around here had the strength to threaten them.
“What do you think of me? A bloodthirsty maniac? I am Louis de Hebron. Heir to one of the founding families of the Xenon Kingdom.”
