Ivan Petrovich was staring blankly at the sky. It was a blue summer sky. Students in the courtyard were giggling about something, birds were chirping, flowers were blooming, and you bad children were...
"No, no, that's not right."
She tried to organize her increasingly complicated thoughts. What matters now isn't how beautiful the day is.
It's Uncle Ivan!
She had been pondering all weekend. Mainly about what to do with her uncle.
After spreading rumors everywhere that he was dead, and then being grandly buried in the national cemetery, and then what?
Ta-da, he was actually alive! (And he grew a beard.)
It's an amazing event that doubles the shock and triples the anger. Asidis felt dizzy every time she thought about her uncle.
His manner of speaking became gruff, his expression gloomy.
And his newly acquired hobby: stalking female students.
"I need to... I need to correct him."
Someone needs to embrace that poor lonely old man (he's 34 years old).
Give him a shave, feed him warm meals, and be a firm pillar of support to keep him from chasing after other women...
And that is clearly the role of the woman who has known him for the longest time in this world. No, logically, what woman would understand and embrace such a man?
I have to do it. There's no one else but me.
Asidis firmly resolved and began writing a letter.
-Dad.
-Are you doing well? Fortunately, I'm doing fine. Pritzenkaya is a nice place. The buildings are tall, there are many people, and the streets are full of shops.
-There are many people who love singing. Oh, not the kind you sing when drunk. Not drums, but string instruments. The kind of songs that make warm, good sounds and are performed with many people.
-How are my siblings? Are they doing well? They should be. Unlike me, they enjoyed fighting.
Asidis hesitated, then closed her eyes tightly and moved her hand without hesitation.
-By the way, it's nothing serious, but I'm thinking about getting married.
-I met... will meet a good... man who was good.
-Don't worry. If you were looking into other marriage prospects, please cancel them.
-That's all for now.
-Asidis.
Good. With this, I've also gotten my parents' permission. (No, I haven't.)
Asidis nodded with satisfaction as she stood up. Now a dagger was once again in her hand.
"Where could uncle have gone now?"
In the past few days, Ivan had suspiciously not been easy to spot. It seemed he had already found another target despite how fervently he had been stalking before.
"Ahaha."
Of course, such a bad habit needed to be corrected as quickly as possible. He was someone she was already worried about regarding how he would live in the future.
The biggest obstacle to Ivan's flirtatiousness (she and Ivan are not in a relationship where the term "cheating" could apply) was, sadly, her once closest friend... Isabelle de Etoile.
Ivan also seemed to care for Isabelle very much, as he was giving her personal weapon training. Isabelle also seemed to follow him.
No, there's something wrong with saying she "follows" him.
Having grown up in court for many years and being well-versed in court intrigue and politics, she could tell. Her sharp eyes had completely figured out Isabelle's feelings.
While pretending not to, acting casual, she was subtly "dropping hints" to Uncle Ivan. This is unforgivable. How dare she desire a man who has established a family (no, he hasn't).
In Droan, this would be a vice deserving of being shown the country's traditional games. For reference, Droan's traditional games include pole hanging, burning, drowning, and the blood eagle.
Considering their past friendship, she couldn't do something that extreme, but there was still a need to teach her a sharp lesson.
With that skinny, dried-up, childlike body, how dare she.
Moreover, while the uncivilized Tilles may boast of their depraved and lewd culture that celebrates public "romance" in the name of chivalry, Droan is not like that.
The morally advanced nation of Droan values chastity, purity, and the pure love between men and women as virtues. (This means castrating men who cheat and executing their affair partners.)
"She'll be busy..."
She needs to teach Ivan about chastity and common sense, and she needs to teach Droan's family culture to the women who gather around him, including Isabelle. She was indeed a very busy person.
-Grind.
Isabelle was glaring at a corner of the campus with a training wooden sword resting on her shoulder.
Following Ivan, she had confirmed that he went into the chancellor's office. And if she turned her gaze slightly, there, under the street trees in front of the main building leading to the chancellor's office, a silhouette could be seen.
That detestable woman who used to be her friend, standing demurely with her hands folded, smiling warmly while looking at the entrance of the main building.
"Traitor."
In an emotionless voice, Isabelle quietly muttered. Biting the tip of her thumb nail hard, she glared at that preposterous barbarian.
All she knows how to do is push that stupidly dull body of hers.
'The mister is a thoroughly trained soldier.'
This is a fact that can be understood after exchanging just three words with him. He is a person who loves efficiency.
And naturally, Asidis's body is the epitome of inefficiency. The only person more inefficient than her was the Saintess whom she had seen from a distance.
The unnecessary fat symbolizes her laziness. And Isabelle was confident that she wouldn't lose to such a lazy and dull woman.
Although she is cowardly imitating her methods to target the mister, ha, as if.
No plagiarism can beat the original.
And relationships between men and women are proven by the time spent together and the memories created. Would the mister even remember Asidis's name? (He does.)
"Heh... heheh."
Isabelle straightened her back with a confident smile.
Yes, it's a fight that can't be lost. It's not even a fight to begin with. Is it a duel when an adult hits a child? No, this is just discipline.
"In the court of Tilles, this is merely the basics of politics."
While the barbaric and uncivilized court of Droan relies solely on the authority and charisma of the Great King for decision-making, Tilles is different.
Tilles is a cultural powerhouse that has built civilization with a strict legal system and ethical consciousness. It has a complex and beautiful government, completely different from the simple political system wielded by a single absolute ruler.
Therefore, Isabelle decided to teach that barbarian's daughter some "culture" as a representative of a cultural powerhouse.
"Ah!"
Ivan walked out of the main building with heavy steps. A smile involuntarily escaped her lips at the sight of that expressionless face, which made it impossible to know what he was thinking, though he was clearly not thinking anything.
She ran to him, waving her hands frantically.
"Mister-!!"
I need to bring a mage.
Ivan was a reasonable person, so he had no intention of trying to conquer "the academy's underground dungeon with ancient spells" alone.
He was a person with various talents, but unfortunately, he had not learned magic. This means he hadn't learned real "magic" classified spells, apart from simple spells like turning lights on and off.
He was an agent trained in the field during wartime. But magic was in the realm of academia. It required complex knowledge such as precise formulas, spells, rituals, reagents, and so on.
'Where do I find a mage.'
Ivan walked, lost in thought. The nature of the ancient spell was unknown, but what was certain was that it belonged to a powerful spell category capable of instantly destroying dwarven artifacts.
Such a spell couldn't be dismantled bare-handed. A mage, especially one skilled in "interpretation," was needed.
The most reliable among such mages would be Beolgrin, but he had neither the means nor the desire to call him.
If pressed, perhaps the dean of the magic department... But that would go against the nature of the secret mission. The moment he received elven assistance, information would flow to the Kalion Archipelago.
"Mister-!!"
"Hmm?"
Ivan looked up at the sudden voice. Isabelle was running toward him with a wooden sword, smiling vibrantly.
Something strange caught his eye. Ivan frowned and grabbed Isabelle's wrist as she approached.
"Ah?!"
"Don't move."
Ivan gripped her right wrist with one hand and reached into his pocket to pull out a bandage. He didn't use a healing potion as there was no need for unnecessary torture.
With skilled movements, he wrapped a bandage around Isabelle's thumb nail. This primitive bandage from the pre-modern era was merely a small piece of cloth with ointment applied, but its function was similar to its modern counterpart.
And he was an orphanage director. Children have a suspiciously high affinity for heights, so he had plenty of experience applying bandages to children's minor injuries.
"You've developed a bad habit."
"Ah... uh... yes..."
Isabelle avoided his gaze with spinning eyes. Her entire face was flushed red as if about to burst.
The superhuman hearing at this distance can detect the other person's heartbeat. Ivan frowned as he examined Isabelle's complexion and heartbeat.
"Do you have an arrhythmia? Cardiovascular disease can cause major problems if left untreated. You should visit the Saintess."
"What? What? This... this is what...?"
Isabelle suddenly put on a cold expression and pulled her hand away. Despite that, she kept stroking her bandaged thumb and started smirking to herself.
Is this... her first time seeing a bandage?
Ivan lamented. It seems the Tilles court tends to raise children too comfortably.
Well, for someone with a dedicated priest, when would she have ever used a bandage to treat a scratch? A priest's healing spell would instantly cure even deeper wounds than that.
"Oh right, mister. I had something to say."
"Hmm?"
Isabelle stared suspiciously at a distant point behind Ivan's back. With eyes glinting with subtle malice, she glanced in that direction once before turning to Ivan.
"I like your beard, mister."
"...?"
Did you hear that, Asidis?
This is Tilles' "politics." Different from you barbarians.
When competing for someone's heart, telling them what they want to hear is "common sense."
But at the same time, taking a different position from your competitor is an "advantage."
You just stand there and watch with that lost expression.
Isabelle chuckled and took a step closer to Ivan.
"I think so too."
"Pardon...?"
"Is that all you wanted to say?"
"What? Oh, no. Just a moment. Um, hmm... Did you have lunch? I happen to know a really delicious place..."
"I've eaten."
Ivan was an efficient person, so he resolved almost all his meals with nutrition bars.
The nutrition bar was Ivan's life's masterpiece. This primitive pre-modern fantasy world lacked the discipline of "nutrition science."
Due to the absence of the concept of essential nutrients, people visit priests for physical abnormalities caused by nutritional imbalances. Surprisingly, the priest's "healing" often performs the miracle of temporarily improving such imbalances.
However, for Ivan, who came from a poor peasant background, such luxury was impossible. Therefore, he desperately focused on creating this "nutrition bar."
It played a significant role in consistently maintaining his combat capabilities even on past battlefields where supplies were unstable.
'None of the Hero Party would eat this with me...'
Anyway, these primitive pre-modern citizens.
Those fellows disparaged his nutrition bars, saying they were "worse than pig feed." They rejected this amazing future food made with grain-based carbohydrates, generously packed with semi-dried fruits (mainly raspberries), and solidified with pig fat! Despite its perfect nutritional balance and low production cost.
Even though this was a visionary technology that transcended civilization, praised even by the late king... Whenever he thought about this, he was reminded of how outstanding the late king had been.
"Um... um... You've already had a meal? It's only 10 o'clock now? Lunch already?"
"Mm."
When deployed on a mission, eating meals at set times is a luxury. Therefore, Ivan would often replenish his nutrition by breaking up rations and nutrition bars over several occasions.
This was a habit ingrained over many years. Now almost a daily routine.
"Then, what about dinner? When, when do you eat dinner...?"
"I'm busy tonight."
He needed to find a mage immediately and explore the entrance to the underground ruins.
"Then tomorrow... what about lunch tomorrow..."
"I'll likely be busy."
Assuming he discovers the entrance tonight and immediately deploys to the site, he'll probably be busy for at least a day or two.
"What about the weekend, the weekend?!"
"Busy."
On weekends, he needs to catch up on orphanage work that piled up while escorting the Hero Party's children full-time on weekdays.
An orphanage is not an unmanned business that runs itself. He needs to secure a week's worth of food ingredients for the residents' diet, repair clothing that would have been damaged during the weekdays, check the residents' educational progress, and listen to their grievances.
That was close to Ivan's only hobby. It was a time that provided mental comfort. That was why he ran the orphanage.
It's not that he genuinely cares about and looks after war orphans. It's just something he does for personal satisfaction.
That's why it's hypocrisy. Ivan knew he was a hypocrite. It was merely self-consolation to alleviate the weight of the blood on his hands.
"Sob... sob..."
Isabelle suddenly burst into tears and ran off somewhere.
Hmm.
The adolescence of this other world is hard to grasp.
Ivan shook his head slowly and moved on.
Where do I find a mage...