Chapter 2:

Chapter 2:

TL/Editor: Raei

Schedule: None.

Illustrations: None.

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There's a term, the 'dragon's reverse scale.'

It refers to the scale that grows in the opposite direction on a dragon's chin, and it's said that touching it will make the dragon go berserk, devastating everything around it.

Thus, the term 'dragon's reverse scale' is commonly used to indicate a point that must never be touched.

While women are not creatures with scales, they do have their own 'reverse scale.'

For women, it's their 'age.'

Biologically, this is explainable: once a woman passes the age of 30, the probability of giving birth to a healthy child rapidly decreases.

No parent wishes for their offspring to be born sick or weak.

Hence, men instinctively prefer younger women, and women wish to remain young forever.

Unlike women, men's reproductive capabilities do not diminish with age (though their erectile function might).

This is why there are often tales of men over 60 impregnating women in their 20s.

Therefore, men tend to accept being called 'mister.'

It's sad to age, but it's also an undeniable fact.

However, for a woman, being called 'auntie' is a life-ending shock.

Exaggerating a bit, it sounds like saying, 'You are no longer a woman.'

"Am I... an auntie?"

She trembled visibly.

Even from a distance, the trembling of the woman's shoulders was clear.

Ian's sister seemed completely unaware of the atrocity she had committed.

It was a kind of pure evil unique to young children.

"Hey, you there."

The woman called Ian with a twisted smile.

The sight was both creepy and a little pitiful.

"Yes?"

"Who is that... 'little runt' next to you?"

Ian was shocked.

Was she taking revenge just because she was called an auntie?

The woman is incredibly petty!

"I'm not a little runt!"

Children typically dislike being disregarded by adults.

It's the same reason why elementary students hate being called 'brats.'

"Hehe. I'm not an auntie either, okay? Why don't you call me 'sister'?"

The woman extended an olive branch first.

It was a mature gesture.

But there was no forgiveness for a brat.

"No way! auntie! You wrinkle-face!"

Ian's sister disappeared somewhere.

He wasn't worried.

They roamed around this area daily, as familiar as their own yard.

She had probably gone ahead to pick raspberries.

Ian focused his attention on the woman in front of him.

"Excuse me, but who are you, traveler?"

The woman looked at Ian with a bit of surprise.

His manner of speaking was unexpectedly polite for his age, completely different from his sister.

"I am Eredith, a wandering wizard."

"... A wizard?"

Ian was startled.

This was a medieval, yet fantasy world.

A land where monsters and magic existed.

Here, a wizard was another name for war.

Wherever there was war, there was a wizard.

Although it was his first time actually seeing a wizard, Ian felt an indescribable fear.

wizards were too abstract and formidable entities.

Naturally, since Ian had never encountered such a being in his past life, he could only feel fear towards the existence of a wizard.

'Why would a wizard be here...?'

Ian recalled the common knowledge of this world.

A wizard is another name for war.New novel chapters are published on

'Could it be... war?'

But Ian soon shook his head.

The ruling family of this village, the Feldenberg family, was not prestigious enough to summon wizards and wage war.

At best, they were capable of fending off bandits, but wizards?

In truth, bandits should not be underestimated.

Once they organize, they become an army, and the bandit leader can eventually be called a lord.

Still, the Feldenberg family lacked the power to conduct a proper war.

Just as the damned space-time wizard had prophesied, she met the boy with black hair.

The first step of the prophecy had been stitched together.

---

---

"Little one, what's your name?"

"It's Ian."

Eredith stroked the boy's hair.

His eyes held a mix of curiosity and fear, but they sparkled with a bright intelligence.

Gerard, that damned space-time wizard.

Is this boy supposed to be my disciple?

"There's no need to beat around the bush. I've come to take you as my disciple."

"...Me?"

Ian was at a loss for words at Eredith's sudden proposal.

A woman he had just met today wanted to make him her disciple.

Could 'disciple' be a euphemism for an experimental sacrifice?

"You want to make me, your disciple?"

"Yes! I want to teach you magic. What do you think?"

"..."

Ian was speechless, struck by the enormity of the shock.

In both his past and present lives, skills were power.

The saying goes that if you learn a skill, you won't starve, and skilled people are always respected because they can do what others can't.

Therefore, learning a skill always comes at a cost.

Whether it be money or connections, something must be given in exchange for learning a skill.

That was why Ian could not dream of any job other than farming.

He had no money, and there was no one around to teach him a skill.

Why would any sane person give away their precious means of livelihood for free to a complete stranger?

In this world, becoming a skilled worker is incredibly difficult.

Usually, one must first be introduced by someone they know, then spend at least a few years as a servant, catering to the skilled worker's whims.

Doing menial tasks, providing meals, taking care of the skilled worker's family, enduring insults...

After 3 to 4 years of slaving away like this, they might generously teach the simplest of skills.

After about a decade of learning, one might start dreaming of independence.

If the skilled worker is famous, they might take in a few new disciples during this time.

Then, there are first-generation disciples, second-generation, and so on.

While in a personal setup, the difference between generations of disciples is not significant, in a guild-like setting where the trade continues for over a hundred years, generations keep extending, and various corrupt practices grow like cancer cells.

Polishing seniors' boots, always preparing tools in advance.

Always bowing at a 90-degree angle, laughing at seniors' lousy jokes...

Anyway.

Learning someone else's skill is very difficult.

The only people who teach their skills without expecting anything in return are one's parents.

Yet, now there was an exception right before him.

Eredith.

"I'm... not sure."

As the saying goes, there's always a catch with seemingly perfect opportunities.

Con artists prey on human greed, offering deals that seem too good to be true, whispering incredible rewards that make you look foolish for not accepting, and playing with people's desires.

Had Ian been a naive medieval person, he might have been easily deceived.

But Ian was a reincarnated medieval person.

His Korean black hair was the proof.

'Could she be a con artist?'

The word that came to Ian's mind was human trafficker.

At first glance, Eredith seemed like a real wizard, traveling alone as a woman.

If not, her accomplices might be hiding somewhere in the forest, which would definitely mean kidnappers.

'...What is this?'

Meanwhile, Eredith was baffled by the change in Ian's eyes.

Although she wouldn't say it herself, Eredith was one of the hottest wizards of the time, a so-called successful wizard.

People who loved to make a fuss were already calling her 'Great Eredith.'

Here she was, Eredith herself, asking if he wanted to be her disciple.

But what was with that look in his eyes?

As if he was looking at a street con artist!

If she went to any city and announced that wizard Eredith was looking for a disciple, people would overflow, clamoring to be chosen.

The boy's pure malice, ignorant of this fact, left a scratch on Eredith's pride.

"What don't you understand? Huh? Tell me."

Ian pondered how to diplomatically say 'You seem like a scam artist.'

So, he said this.

"You... seem like a fake wizard."

"???"

Eredith was staggered by the shock.

Wizard Eredith.

After being hit by the sister, now Ian too...