Ecdysis stared blankly at the sky. It was a clear summer day. Students on campus laughed joyfully, birds chirped, flowers bloomed, and mischievous kids like her abounded.
“No, that’s not it.”
She struggled to organize her tangled thoughts. The crucial thing now wasn’t how beautiful the day was.
It’s Uncle Ivan!
The whole weekend had been tumultuous, mainly spent contemplating how to handle Uncle.
Start a neighborhood rumor that he’s dead, get him buried in a national cemetery, and then what?
Viola, he’s actually alive! (And he grew a beard.)
A shocking event doubled the surprise and tripled the irritation. Every time Ecdysis thought of her uncle, her mind seemed to spin. Her tone became gruff, and her expression turned gloomy.
His new hobby: stalking female students.
“I need to… I need to rehabilitate him.”
Someone had to take care of that poor lonely old man (he’s 34). Shave him, feed him warm meals, and firmly stand by to prevent him from chasing after other women…
And that is undoubtedly her responsibility as a woman who has known him for longer than anyone else in this world. No, common sense dictates that no other woman in the world would understand and support such a man.
I have to do it. There’s no one else.
Ecdysis firmly decided and began to write a letter.
– Dad,
– Are you doing well? Fortunately, I’m doing well. Frechenkaya is a nice place. Tall buildings, many people, and streets filled with shops.
– There are many people who love music. Not the kind where they drink and sing, but playing instruments like drums and strings. Warm and beautiful sounds, songs played together with many people.
– How are my siblings? Are they doing well? They should be. Unlike me, those kids used to enjoy fighting.
Ecdysis hesitated, then closed her eyes and boldly let her hand move.
– By the way, it’s not a big deal, but I’m considering getting married.
– I’ve met… I’m going to meet a good… man.
– Don’t worry. If you were considering other options, please cancel them.
– That’s all for now.
– Ecdysis.
Okay. With this, I have the parents’ approval. (Not really.)
Ecdysis nodded satisfactorily and stood up. Now, a dagger was once again gripped in her hand.
“Where could Uncle have gone again.”
In the recent days, Ivan hadn’t easily entered her sight to the point where it was suspicious. It seemed he had already moved on to another target, despite passionately stalking her not too long ago.
“Ahaha.”
Certainly, such a naughty habit needed to be corrected as quickly as possible. She was already worried about how he would live in the future.
The person who posed the biggest obstacle to Ivan’s flirtations (their relationship couldn’t be called a flirtation) was, sadly, her once closest friend… Isabelle.
Ivan, too, seemed to hold Isabelle in high regard, directly giving her martial arts lessons. Isabelle, in turn, seemed to follow him closely.
No, the phrase “follows” has its limitations.
Having grown up in the palace for many years, she, well-versed in palace intrigue and politics, could discern Isabelle’s emotions meticulously. Nonchalantly, she pretended to be carefree. In a subtle way, she was ‘flirting’ with Uncle Ivan. This was an unforgivable act—daring to pursue a man who had (not) formed a household.
If it were Drovian, it would be fitting to showcase the traditional viciousness by demonstrating the country’s traditional games. For your information, Drovian’s traditional games include pole hanging, riding, sinking, and the eagle of blood.
[TN: [Blood Eagle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_eagle)]
Considering their past friendship, extreme actions might not be necessary, but there was still a need to give her a sharp lesson.
With that feeble, emaciated little body, how dare she go anywhere?
Moreover, the uncivilized Tylesse boasts of a debauched and lascivious culture, proudly indulging in public ‘romance’ like knights, unlike Drovian.
The morally advanced country of Drovian regards modesty, purity, and the pure love between men and women as virtues. (The phrase implies severe punishment for unfaithful men and execution of adulterous partners.)
“I have a lot work to do with Ivan….”
Ivan needed to be taught about decency and common sense, and the women entangled around him, including Isabelle, needed to be informed about Drovian’s family culture. She was indeed a busy person.
-Thunk.
Isabelle, with a training wooden sword slung over her shoulder, glared at a corner of the campus facility.
Following behind Ivan, she had confirmed he had entered the rector’s office. And if you turned your gaze a little, there, under the trees in front of the main building leading to the rector’s office, a silhouette could be seen.
Standing somewhat gracefully, hands clasped, wearing a warm smile, that disgusting… ‘former’ friend, staring at the entrance of the main building.
“Traitor.”
In an emotionless voice, Isabelle muttered quietly. Biting the tip of her thumbnail, she glared at that wretched savage.
“All she knew was to push her bulging body.”
“My uncle Ivan is a trained soldier.”
You could tell just by exchanging three words with him. He’s a person who loves efficiency.
And naturally, that woman’s body (Ecdysis) is the epitome of inefficiency. The only person more inefficient than her was a saint seen from a distance.
The unnecessary fat symbolized her laziness. And Isabelle had confidence that she would not tolerate such a lazy and foolish woman.
Even though she shamelessly imitates her methods, aiming for the uncle. Ha. No way.
There’s no plagiarism that can beat the original.
And the relationship between men and women is proven by the time and memories they’ve spent together. Will Uncle Ivan even remember Ecdysis’s name? (He does remember.)
“Heh… Hehe.”
Isabelle let out a confident laugh, arching her waist.
Yes, it’s a fight that can’t be won. In the first place, it’s not even a fight. It’s like an adult challenging a child to a duel. No, it’s just discipline.
“In Tylesse’ palace, such matters are just the basics of politics.”
The barbaric and uncivilized court of Drovian relies solely on the authority and charisma of the Great King for decision-making, but not Tylesse.
Tylesse has built a civilized nation with a strict legal system and ethical consciousness. It’s a country with a complex and beautiful government system, completely different from the simple political regime displayed by an absolute ruler.
Therefore, Isabelle decided to teach ‘culture’ to the daughter of that barbarian as a representative of the cultural nation.
“Oops!”
Ivan walked briskly out of the main building. Laughter unconsciously escaped from Isabelle at the expressionless face, which, although impossible to discern his thoughts, was undoubtedly devoid of any.
She swung her hands and rushed towards him.
“Uncle!!”
***
“We need to bring a magician.”
Ivan, being a rational person, had no intention of soloing the ‘ancient spells-enchanted academy dungeon.’ While he had various skills, unfortunately, he never learned magic. Except for simple spells like turning on and off fire, he never learned spells that could be classified as real ‘magic.’
He was a field agent trained during the war, but magic was in the realm of academia. It involved precise formulas, incantations, rituals, potions, and other complex knowledge.
‘Where do I find a magician?’
Ivan was lost in thought. Although the true nature of the ancient spell was unknown, what was certain was that it belonged to a powerful spell that could easily obliterate a dwarf artifact.
Such a spell couldn’t be dismantled with bare hands. A magician, especially one skilled in ‘interpretation,’ was needed.
The most reliable among such magicians was Veolgrin, but there was no way to summon him, and Ivan had no intention of doing so.
If one were to nitpick, perhaps the head of the Magic Department… However, that would contradict the confidential nature of the mission. The moment he received assistance from an elf, information would likely leak to the Kalion Dominion.
“Uncle!!”
“Hmm?”
Ivan suddenly looked up at the voice. Isabelle was approaching him, wielding a wooden sword and smiling energetically.
Something strange caught his eye. Ivan furrowed his brow and caught Isabelle’s wrist as she approached.
“Ouch?!”
“Don’t move.”
Ivan gripped her right wrist with one hand, reached into his pocket with the other, and pulled out a band-aid. Since there was no need for unnecessary torture, he didn’t use a healing potion.
With skilled hands, he slid the band-aid under Isabelle’s thumbnail. This primitive band-aid from the pre-modern era was no more than a small piece of cloth with ointment, but its function was similar to modern ones.
As an orphanage director, he had plenty of experience applying band-aids to children’s minor injuries due to their tendency to favor high places.
“Seems like you’ve picked up a bad habit.”
“Ah… Uh… Yes, uncle…”
Isabelle avoided eye contact with her eyes rolling. Her entire face was turning red, as if it would burst.
The superhuman hearing could pick up the other person’s heartbeat at this distance. Ivan scrutinized Isabelle’s complexion and heartbeat, frowning.
“Any arrhythmia? Cardiovascular diseases can cause significant problems if overlooked. Go see a healer about it.”
“Yes, y-yes?! What… what’s this about…”
Isabelle quickly withdrew her hand, giving herself a chilly expression. She began awkwardly stroking the thumb that had been coated with a band-aid, chuckling to herself.
A band-aid… have she never seen them before?
Ivan sighed. It seems that Tylesse’ palace has a tendency to nurture children in an unwelcoming manner.
Well, considering even a dedicated priest is attached to the kid, there’s probably no occasion to use a band-aid to treat a mere minor injury. A healer’s single use of healing would easily cure deeper wounds than that band-aid could.
“Oh, by the way, Uncle. I had something to say.”
“Hmm?”
Isabelle glanced suspiciously at a distant spot behind Ivan with a sly look in her eyes. She subtly shifted her gaze in that direction once, with a touch of cunning malice, then opened her mouth to address Ivan.
“I really like your beard, uncle.”
“…?”
Did you hear that, Eshi?
This is Tylesse’ ‘politics.’ It’s different from you barbarians.
When you have to compete to win someone’s favor, telling stories the other person wants to hear is ‘common sense.’
But at the same time, positioning yourself differently from your competitors gives you the ‘advantage.’
You can watch with that lost expression of yours from over there.
With a chuckle, Isabelle took a step closer to Ivan.
“I think the same way.”
“Yes…?”
“Is that all you wanted to say?”
“Yes? Oh, no. Just a moment. Um, well… Have you had lunch? I happened to know a really delicious place…”
“I had eaten.”
Ivan was an efficient person, so he eats almost every meal with a nutrition bar.
The nutrient bar was Ivan’s way of life, a lifetime. In this primitive fantasy world where there was no concept of ‘nutrition,’ going to a healer was the solution for any abnormality caused by nutritional imbalance. Astonishingly, the healing performed by priests sometimes even temporarily improved such imbalances.
However, such luxury was impossible for Ivan, a poor peasant. Therefore, he devoted himself desperately to the production of this ‘nutrient bar.’
Even during the unstable supply times on the battlefield in the past, this nutrient bar played a significant role in maintaining his combat capabilities consistently.
“None of the members of the hero party ever ate this together….”
Anyway, they seem like primitive citizens of the pre-modern era.
Those critics, spouting insults like ‘worse than pig feed,’ rejected his nutrient bar. Despite being a miraculous product boasting a perfect nutritional balance and low production cost, with a base of grains, ample carbohydrates, and dehydrated fruits (mostly strawberries) fortified with pig fat. Even though this was a futuristic food that the late king praised and transcended civilization…. Whenever he thought about it, he realized how exceptional the late king was.
“Uh… Lu-lunch… you had already eat? It’s 10 AM. Already had lunch?”
“Mm.”
Eating at the scheduled time during a mission is a luxury. Therefore, Ivan would often cut rations and nutrient bars into pieces to supplement nutrition several times.
It had become a habit ingrained over the years. Now, it was part of his daily life.
“Then, um, dinner?”
“Busy tonight.”
He needed to recruit a mage immediately and explore the entrance of the underground ruins.
“Then, tomorrow… lunch?”
“Seems busy.”
Considering he might find the entrance tonight and be deployed to the site immediately, he would be occupied for at least a day or two.
“How about the weekend?!”
“Busy.”
On weekends, he had to catch up on orphanage tasks that had been postponed due to escorting the hero party members full-time on weekdays.
The orphanage was not a self-operating unmanned business. He had to secure a week’s worth of groceries for the orphans, repair a large amount of clothing that had been damaged, check the education process of the orphans, and even listen to their complaints.
It was close to Ivan’s only hobby. It was a time that provided psychological comfort. The reason Ivan operated the orphanage was for that.
It wasn’t genuine concern and care for the orphans of war. It was just something he did for personal satisfaction.
So, it was hypocritical. Ivan was aware that he was a hypocrite. It was simply a self-consolation to alleviate the weight of the blood on his hands.
“Hmm… huff…”
Isabelle burst into tears all of a sudden and ran off somewhere.
Hmm.
It’s hard to control puberty in another world.
Ivan shook his head gently and moved on.
Where to find a mage…
