The play concludes, a comedy parodying a so-called regional regent, which ends with a trial of his dog and the fallout of its acquittal in a farcical court battle. Bribed jurors, family drama, and a son's subsequent trial after a dance-off against three talking crabs. It's clearly a solid parody, given how the audience, a mix of weary travelers and local and foreign merchants, roars with laughter at every exaggerated gesture from the protagonist or his dog, played by a low-morphos wolf Demihuman, essentially a talking wolf that awkwardly balances on two legs.
The play's boisterous finale and applause wake Lucius, who'd been dozing under a distant tree outside the town walls. He checks the sky, then the actors and crowd. Same faces, same spectators. Not much time has passed.
He pulls the gauntlet, his newest acquisition, from Martha's bag, and inspects it closely.
A blend of rugged dark leather and polished iron protection. The forearm piece is thick, dusky leather, studded with a row of gilded rivets for a utilitarian flair. Over the hand, it shifts into intricate metal plates covering the knuckles, thumb, and finger segments—gleaming and articulated for mobility without sacrificing defense, and all at a bargain price. Inside, the joints and palm feature soft, earthy-toned leather lining for comfort, grip, and a touch of luxury.
At the village center, a stone sundial marks the hours, 11 AM by the shadow. Its face is carved with a sun sporting triangular rays and a lyre-like symbol at its heart.
The trip ahead will take hours—hence why Martha packed him travel rations, a makeshift lunch until Newmire. Lucius has no clue what time he'd arrived.
Summoning his inner William Wallace, he approaches the ravenette girl. "Sorry—dozed off. How long 'til departure?"
She smirks, reading it as a flimsy excuse to chat. "Who doesn't own a timepiece?" A quiet laugh. "30 minutes. The cart's about here, if you wanna board early~"
A wave of revulsion hits Lucius, the kind of disgust reserved for rotten eggs, expired milk, and his old boss' foot fungus-infested desk. His face contorts into the most expressive grimace a man like him can muster when faced with a pretty girl he actually likes, as to say, slightly repulsed. "Shit! Can't let her think I'm not interested!"
"Oh, I'd love to. But right now gulp I'm craving... another type of meal," he winks and flees the disastrous scene to a nearby spot, away from the people and behind some trees. "WHY GOD!? WHY ME!?"
He swallows rancid spit, hacking up blackish bile that burns his throat with its acidic, viscous foulness. His stomach growls; all the vomiting has incidentally sparked real hunger. "Twenty silver max", he declares his budget, scanning for a food stall.
Then he spots a marvel: a newly set-up stand outside a tavern with no line. A gentleman sells just one item - lentil gruel with a rye bread chunk, served in a wooden bowl with a carved wooden spoon. The bread resembles a flavor-enhanced brick. But for 10 silvers, one can't expect more.
Slumping his heavy, exhausted body, weary from vomiting and avoiding cute girls, he slaps coins on the counter. "Gruel", he orders. The vendor nods, sending a young apprentice to the tavern kitchen. Minutes later, the boy returns with watery, flavorless lentil slop and bread that tastes like slightly improved masonry. At this price, it's the best he'll get.
Silently defeated by his inability to focus on his deepest, most carnal desires, which happen to be his favorite desires. The food becomes a sad yet warm, filling substitute to satiate the void left by magical purging. "If this gives me diarrhea, I'll kill myself... Though this body should handle anything, judging by Martha's cooking."
He's not wrong. Not even the most dangerous bacteria would dare invade Lucius's gut microbiome alone, it'd be bacterial suicide. A blessing, really, since he needn't worry about food safety.
Hunched over the vendor's makeshift table, Lucius checks his measurements. If the book, or its author, is right, he calculates himself at 6.6ft and roughly 240lbs, maybe more, given his dense musculature. "Final boss material, eh? Better eat well!" he thinks, flexing his arms.
"Vanity of vanities," intones an elderly Demihuman with a goat's white-furred head, settling pensively beside Lucius. His thick white mane frames majestic backward-curving horns, while his chin sports a well-groomed goatee. Vibrant yellow eyes with horizontal pupils radiate wisdom as one disturbingly human-like foreleg, spiritually unsettling to Lucius, rises gracefully to stroke his pink snout in profound reflection.
He wore rustic yet functional attire: an earth-toned tunic cinched at the waist with a simple belt. Over his shoulders and back, a darker-hued hood draped softly. The tunic's loose sleeves extended to his forelegs, while below he wore billowy dark trousers gathered at the ankles. His hind legs, covered in white fur matching his head, ended in solid black hooves planted firmly on the ground—completing the image of a being both wise and wild. Lucius could only gape, dropping spoonfuls of gruel back into his bowl.
"What profit has a man of all his labour which he takes under the sun?" the goat spat wisdom, philosophizing for any within earshot. "One generation passes away, and another generation comes, but the earth abides forever."
"Rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is never full. All things are wearisome, more than one can express. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied! No matter how much we hear, we are never content!" The goat concluded its sermon, judging the vanity behind Lucius's flexed arms.
"Hunger comes and goes... But we still gotta eat. I'm not abandoning this gruel over your nonsense about 'meaningless' and boredom," Lucius retorted, shoveling food into his mouth before it cooled, or before the goat could drag him into a longer conversation.
"Ah! But how can you compare a soul's need like eating to flexing your arms with weights until they tear, forcibly bulging them larger?"
"I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better, and if I want to rupture every muscle fiber until they're bigger than your head, no one will stop me." Not that Lucius, or Vincent, was some Frida fanatic. It was just a stray memory of his second wife, obsessed with facial surgeries, to dismiss the concerns about his vanity.
The goat-man, baffled by the reference, tilted his head. These words might've been spoken for the first time in this world—or perhaps "muse," tied to Greek lore, didn't even exist here.
Remembering his first wife's lesson, the best way to win arguments is to exit immediately after delivering your point, valid or not, leaving the opponent to rant alone. Lucius slammed down his nearly empty bowl, stomach warm and content, and strode off without another word.
On the road again, he pulled out the book and turned to the section on Demihumans.
— — —
Chapter XII: "The Capritar - Market Sages and Stable Philosophers"
The Capritar... Middle Morphos beings with furry legs and intellectual ambitions... Their tangled beards and spiraled horns resemble ancient scrolls as they parade through markets and villages, posing as vessels of ancestral wisdom.
These false sages earn their bread and wine by duping the gullible with "stable astrology"—predicting harvests based on how their goats sneeze or advising on love affairs according to which way their horns point at dawn. An "enlightened" Capritar is like a broken clock: right twice a day by sheer luck, producing only irritating noise the rest of the time.
Worse still are their "meditation" rituals: chewing poisonous mushrooms and bleating nonsense that their human followers dutifully record as "sacred texts."
Though eccentric nobles hire them as advisors to feign erudition, the truth is plain—the Capritar are mere opportunistic charlatans. Their only true philosophy? Filling their bellies at the credulous' expense.
— — — The Book of Crenada's Races
"Fits perfectly," Lucius nods, stashing the book in his bag.
"There you are!" The raven-haired girl greets him, approaching. "This time, you're not escaping," she winks, delivering a lethal blow to Lucius, wholly unprepared for such interaction.
"Uh, y-yeah. Is the cart here?" he asks idiotically, despite the cart being right beside him.
The wooden vehicle has a gabled plank roof and walls of latticed timber. Up front, a wooden bench and hitch frame await the draft animals, bison-like creatures with robust builds. Their upper bodies, including heads, necks, and backs, are covered in long, dense reddish-brown fur, while their hindquarters sport shorter beige pelts that hint at muscular definition. Two massive curved horns protrude from their heads, arcing forward and upward, pale with darker tips. Their thick legs end in jet-black hooves.
A small, unlit lantern dangles from one side. Barrels secured with ropes are stacked atop the roof, and the wheels are wrought iron.
"Right behind you~" A shiver runs down Lucius's spine, equal parts nausea and the girl's sultry voice. His gaze locks onto her eyes, his grin turning dopey.
A half-smirk, a mental facepalm, and Lucius boards. Inside, two wooden benches flank the carriage, fitted with light-colored cushions. Tied-back curtains frame the windows and door, and the floor is planked. To the left sit two excessively blond siblings, squeezed uncomfortably between what appear to be their guards—one by the door, the other at the far end.
The girl on the left wears a wide-brimmed dark hat with a red ribbon, short blond hair, and violet eyes. Her dark coat and skirt feature light accents, paired with brown boots. She clutches a gnarled wooden staff while pressed against her brother, who sports side-parted blond hair beneath a long dark tunic with wide sleeves and a brown vest. A red cloth wraps around his waist, and he holds a wooden staff topped with a hammer-like head. "Mages," Lucius correctly guesses, seating himself directly across from them under the guards' watchful eyes.
To the right, a black-haired guard wears all-black attire: a long obsidian tunic with light brown trim at the edges and a dark belt. His black gloves feature polished iron forearm guards so shiny they're nearly blinding, complemented by black boots. The lower half of his face hides behind a black linen scarf, while a light-colored hood drapes over his head. An Ulinor sheath hangs from his left hip.
On the far left, a similarly built guard wears an identical dark uniform with light accents and a black mask, but his hair is white. He too carries an Ulinor Sheath, though on his right side.
The guards' stares bore into him. Thankfully, Lucius's lingering disorientation and dizziness from earlier momentarily blind him to the real danger: the blond girl's uniform-like outfit has ridden up slightly from the cramped seating, revealing thunder thighs, enough to tempt a saint into sin with a single glance.
As Lucius regains his breath and composure, the black-haired guard locks eyes with him. "Why so nervous?" The question, designed to weed out assassins from merely jittery passengers, sails over Lucius's head as he recovers.
"None of your business. Just let me rest a while." It sounds threatening, though to guards, everything sounds threatening. The guard's hand drifts toward his sheath, resting on it. "We got a problem here?" the white-haired guard challenges.
The near-fight evaporates as the cart lurches forward, the ravenette girl and driver now seated up front. "ETA: two and a half hours. Get comfortable!" the driver announces.
Tension slowly dissipates. "Apologies for them," the brother begins. "Guards are always itching for a fight, but these two? Especially eager. I'm Hobi of the Hachimori family, and this is my sister Hogi."
Lucius bows slightly in return, his gaze unintentionally snagging on Hogi's cloud-pillow lap. "I'm…" He blanks for a second. "Mercator." His new identity. If Lucius is the Dark Lord, Mercator is the businessman he once was, a placeholder to cling to Vincent's memories.
"Where's that from? Beyond the Great Sea, surely." Lucius makes a quick mental note before responding: "There are other continents with names more similar to my world's."
"Yes, I arrived relatively recently. Now I'm traveling to Newmire seeking work."
"And who taught you Ecaric?" The white-haired guard sniffs like a bloodhound catching a lie's scent. "The imperial tongue never crossed the Great Sea. Do you speak and read Crenado too? Or just Ecaric?" The black-haired guard, a second hound, circles closer to the truth.
"The ship's captain who brought me... and a friend I made aboard - an old merchant who'd made the round trip several times. And I only know Ecaric; I didn't even know Crenado existed." He feigns embarrassment, like an illiterate immigrant caught in an awkward situation.
"A merchant who's come and gone multiple times? Now that's wealth!" The black-haired guard whistles. "Most people couldn't afford a one-way trip in their entire lifetime, let alone return!"
"Yeah, how much was it? 100 royal gold? More?" prods the white-haired guard. "Well? You've been there - tell us," demands the black-haired one, "What's the price?" They've backed Lucius into a corner.
"Wait! How would they know the fare? These are trick questions - only delivery matters!" Lucius, who's always excelled at reading people and situations, finally feels like his old self - one step ahead.
"Truthfully, I don't know. I boarded through... alternative means." The intrigue, while substantial, leaves no room for obvious lies. His newfound calm and the subsiding curse-induced nausea leave the interrogators without further questions.
"Enough with the inquisition!" Hobi cuts in with a wave of his staff. "Let's discuss something else."
"You know something about me now," Lucius regains control, deploying his boardroom skills of listening and dismantling opponents once more. "What about you?"
"Well, as you're new, you likely know little. We're from Cloudcity - probably where you landed. Students at Asayama Academy of Magics. During this break, we're returning to our hometown to visit our father, head of the Hachimori family - local merchants."
"'Merchants' is underselling it, my lord!" corrects a guard. "They're nobility." His gaze shifts meaningfully to Lucius.
"Pay him no mind. Our noble title is just that - a title. These are our family guards, the Gokoto brothers." Lucius nods in acknowledgment.
"Something doesn't add up…"
"Forgive my asking, but if you're nobility with funds for guards and magic school, why travel in this carriage?" The raven-haired girl and driver perk up their ears. "Not that there's anything wrong with it!" Lucius quickly backpedals.
"But clearly this isn't what one would expect from nobility, exactly." The question was pointed in origin, yet delivered with the tact of a CEO well-versed in HR seminars and PR training.
Just as Hobi seems ready to respond, his sister Hogi cuts in.
"Our great-grandfather earned the Baron of Newmire title through successful trade and military service in the old empire. Our grandfather's debts and his loyalty to the crown during the Crenado Revolution cost him both lands and title. So now our father's merely a Knight—making us Sir Hogi and Sir Hobi..." She flashes a wry smile. "You understand why we don't
flaunt the titles."
From all that history, only one thought sticks in Lucius's mind: "Political stepping stones, these blondes." If he can befriend nobles, no, better yet "Marry the blonde, kill the father and brother, inherit the title and rise back to Baron... Though honestly, I'd settle for just the blonde, hehehe." A sharp stomach pang jerks him back to reality. His gaze, locked on the girl's thighs, floods him with shame as she notices and adjusts her skirt defensively.
"A shame about your family name. Where I'm from, that's what matters most."
"It matters here too," Hobi clarifies. "It's the only reason we got into the academy."
The conversation turns mundane, two teenagers complaining about classes and coursework. Nothing to interest a magic prodigy like Lucius. Though it should.
"Sorry for boring you with this. It's just our passion," Hogi apologizes.
Lucius's neurons finally connect. "This is crucial intel!"
"Of course I'm interested! I just don't understand it," he lies, then gambles: "I've never actually seen magic with my own eyes!"
Their looks of utter shock make him second-guess. "Did I say something stupid?"
"Watch closely, friend. Magic," Hobi declares, raising his staff. Concentrating, he traces a circle in the air with the tip, his movements leaving behind a glowing white thread that burns itself into reality. Inside the plate-sized first circle, he draws another a few centimeters apart, then a hexagon connecting their edges, lastly a triangle pointing up. After a pause, he adds a small, thick circle overlapping one hexagon point - contained within the first circle like a barrier.
"Now, shield your eyes." Hobi warns.
He taps what Lucius assumes is the invocation circle. A blinding flash forces Lucius to cover his face with his gauntlet. When he looks again, his glove flickers with grayish light as Hobi holds a pulsating cerulean orb.
"An ether orb. Detects enchanted objects. Basic magic, but..." He falters, equal parts proud and embarrassed. "It's my elemental affinity, yet still challenging."
SCREEEECH-CRASH
Iron wheels lock. The draft animals shriek, bolting straight into a tree. The cart flips, spilling everyone into a tangled heap, white-haired guard at the bottom, blonds next, then Lucius and the other guard.
"Hobgoblins!" the driver yells, leaping down and drawing his weapon.
Class dismissed.
The black-haired guard was first to untangle himself from the pile. "Behind me!" he commanded. Lucius wrestled free from the knot of limbs with bulldozer force, barely managing to launch himself sideways from the overturned carriage.
Outside, battle lines had formed. The driver and raven-haired girl stood ready at the front while Lucius and the black-haired guard covered the rear exit. Before them stood four Hobgoblins armed with primitive weapons. Their leader brandished a brutal jawbone club - complete with yellowed teeth still embedded in the dried wood, lashed together with plant fibers. The others clutched stone-tipped clubs. "One hit from those would've finished me at the river," Lucius thought as he drew his sword.
A flash of magic light erupted from the guard's sheath as he drew his battle-axe in one trained motion. The weapon was clearly designed for war, its compact steel head lacked the beard of a lumber axe, with a long haft wrapped in distinctive red leather grips for secure handling.
Lucius stared dumbfounded. "Shit! Those are the magic sheaths they tried to sell me!" His conventional sword draw suddenly felt embarrassingly pedestrian.
The moment shattered as a stone came hurtling toward Lucius's face. His gauntlet snapped up instinctively, the projectile shattering harmlessly against the metal plates. Across the field, the cowering Hobgoblin slinger fumbled with his crude fiber-and-blade sling.
The guard struck first with a perfect overhead chop that split a club-wielder's skull clean in two. But the axe lodged stubbornly in bone, "Amateur mistake," Lucius noted with a veteran's disdain, although he is way amateur.
Seizing the opportunity, the cleverest Hobgoblin waited for the perfect moment to charge. Lucius intercepted with a downward slash, only for the creature to dart back with an ear-piercing GY-GYAAAH! scream. Another Hobgoblin obediently rushed forward... and met Lucius's blade mid-lunge. The creature's head tumbled several meters right as its body collapsed. [Sword Proficiency Unlocked]
The leader came next, crude axe raised high - only for Lucius's boot to connect first in a kick that outranged his sword. As the Hobgoblin hit the dirt, a final vertical slash divided its face in two.
The surviving slinger backpedaled wildly, losing one last errant stone before fleeing to join reinforcements circling the carriage. The cavalry had arrived - in the ugliest possible fashion.
The new Hobgoblin reinforcements wielded wooden spears tipped with stone - their superior reach posing a fresh challenge. "Mercator, I'll clear a path - go when I strike!" the black-haired guard barked, already swinging his axe overhead before waiting for acknowledgment. The weapon came down with brutal force, splintering one of the encircling spears and creating just enough space for Lucius to charge into their formation.
KU-UH! The unfortunate spear-carrier barely had time to scream as the massive warrior barreled toward him, sword gleaming. Death came mercifully fast - the blade piercing clean through his skull. When Lucius yanked it free, the steel now slick with crimson viscera, he found the remaining five spear-wielding Hobgoblins frozen in terror. Finally, he observed his morale-breaking ability in action.
"Look out!" Hogi's voice cut through the chaos. She'd finally emerged from the carriage, staff raised as she prepared to cast. Her invocation circle resembled Hobi's earlier spell but with three altered hexagon points. When her staff made contact, a football-sized fireball rocketed toward the Hobgoblins' center.
Lucius barely jumps back clear in time. BUUM! The explosion vaporized the direct hit victim and sent others flying. "Mine doesn't do that!" Those still twitching when the flames cleared met swift ends - Lucius's sword for some, the guard's axe finishing the rest with precise neck chops.
Across the battlefield, the driver and raven-haired girl had dispatched their own attackers. Lucius watched enviously as their weapons vanished with white flashes into Ulinor sheaths - his mundane sword suddenly feeling absurdly primitive by comparison.
"Fine fighting," the black-haired guard nodded. "Too skilled not to have seen magical warfare before." His white-haired brother added suspiciously while Lucius scrambled for a response.
"Don't be dense," the first guard cuffed his sibling's head. "He obviously knows - just wanted to gauge Sir Hobi's skill pre-assessination attempt."
"Bullshit! You saw how confused he looked!" The white-haired guard retaliated with his own smack.
"Ignore them," Hobi sighed, straightening his robes as he emerged. "My apologies for not aiding the fight, but thank you for defending us. We won't forget this."
As they righted the carriage and rehitched the animals, Lucius mentally catalogued two discoveries.
"Weapon proficiencies only unlock in real combat, training doesn't count, at least for this." The realization hit Lucius just before another struck him: But what does proficiency actually do?
[Weapon Mastery Level: Increased skill and effectiveness with a specific weapon type]
A menu 'clarified' in his mind. "Ah... helpful," he deadpanned.
"There must've been a Great War where I'm from—or still is. Key point: my backstory's now 'foreign soldier from a distant continent.' Perfect excuse for knowing nothing."
Turning to Hogi, he mustered his most chivalrous tone, "Thank you. I wouldn't have made it without your help."
His eyes stubbornly avoided where her disheveled clothes hinted at glory without revealing it. Grhm. His stomach churned, not from battle gore, but the girl's devastating beauty.
"You're welcome... though I think you'd have managed alone." Her giggle Ji! was lethal—equal parts adorable and suggestive enough to make his curse flare. "When we're back on the road, let's continue those magic lessons, yes?"
The final blow. Lucius nodded rapidly before fleeing to 'help' right the carriage—really just hiding until his stomach, and other things, settled.