"Good morning, young lord."
"Good morning, young Lord Aegon. How are you today?"
"I am good," I grunted in reply, offering a curt nod to each villager who bowed their head.
The village streets were lively, bustling with activity. I guessed the harvest had been good this season. Poor bastards. They still had to give fifty percent of their earnings to the state. All these people, devoid of magic... it must be a hard life. I'm without magic too, but I'm still a lord. They're just common folk.
My stomach rumbled. Enough of this. Let's go to the tavern. I'm so hungry...
The warm, yeasty smell of baking bread and roasting meat washed over me as I pushed open the door to the only tavern in Thornvill.
"Good morning, young lord. You are always welcome here," a warm voice greeted me.
"Thanks, Lady Mila," I said, forcing a smile. "I was on a stroll and couldn't resist the smell of your food. I thought I'd come by and say hello. The day is pleasant, and it would become wonderful if I could get some of your splendid dish and some wine."
Mila blushed, wiping her hands on her apron. "My lord, you flatter me. I am not worthy of such words. Please, have a seat. I will prepare the best dish for you."
I sat at a corner table, watching her bustle about the kitchen. Mila is a damn good chef. She's an ordinary woman with simple brown hair and a plain face, but Lord... her juicy tits. Those milk jugs are big enough to cover your whole face. She's small in height—I'm six-foot, but she can't be more than five-five—so whenever I talk to her, I have to look down. And from this angle, with her blouse always open just a little too far, I get a perfect view of her jiggling breasts. I wonder if she knows I can see them so clearly. But she's a nice girl, just taking care of her father's old tavern.
I could fuck her, couldn't I? I've never tried. She's always so jolly and happy. I don't really want to force it.
"Oh, you must be the good-for-nothing lord this village talks about."
"Huh?" I grunted, looking up from my wine.
An elderly old woman stood near my table, leaning on a gnarled wooden stick. She was completely shrouded in a black hood, her face lost in shadow. She was hunched over with a dowager's hump, making her even smaller than Mila.
I set my cup down, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "Listen, old bag. Either you don't care about your life because you've already spent most of it, or you're too brave for your own good. Calling me 'good for nothing' here in public? Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Well," she rasped, her voice like grinding stones, "as far as I can hear from these people, you are an arrogant—"
"HUHH? ARROGANT?"
"—weak," she continued, completely unfazed.
"WHAT? WEAK?"
"—pervert."
"AGAIN? PERVERT?"
"—and a good-for-nothing lord."
That was it. With a scrape of wood against stone, I stood, drawing my sword from its sheath in a single, fluid motion. The steel glinted in the tavern's firelight as I pointed the tip at her throat.
"It's over for you, old hag. You didn't just cross a line—the line was a dot to you. You've insulted me in my own domain. I'll give you peace right here and now."
"Calm yourself, young lord," she said, her voice finally changing, losing its mocking edge. "These are the words of the people, not mine. I believe you have great potential, just like your father."
My sword arm froze mid-air. "What? What do you know of my father?"
"Well," she said, a glint in her eye, "I know more than you do. You knew nothing."
"Who are you, hag? What business do you have with me? Can't you just leave me alone?"
"Oh, that I cannot do, young prince. You see, I have some vows to fulfill. But people might hear us. Let me make the necessary arrangements."
She raised a single, gnarled hand.
"IKARSO - FREEZE!"
A shimmering veil of translucent magic erupted from her, expanding in an instant to engulf the entire tavern. And then... everything stopped. The serving girl reaching for a mug was frozen mid-motion. A fly buzzing near the ceiling hung suspended in the air. Even the crackling fire in the hearth was silent, its flames locked in place like a painting. The beer dripping down a customer's chin was a solid, unmoving tear. There was only absolute, deafening silence.
My jaw was slack. My sword felt impossibly heavy in my hand. "What the hell did you do? What power is this? I've never seen a sorcerer with this kind of magic. Are you some kind of god?"
The old woman threw back her hood, revealing a face that was ancient yet sharp, with eyes that burned with an intelligence that belied her frail body. She threw her head back and cackled, a dry, rasping sound that echoed in the unnatural silence.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Do you really think I am weak?"
My mind was racing, trying to process the impossible. "Who are you? And why have you come here? How do you know my father? Please... tell me, old hag."
"Listen to me carefully, child," the old woman said, her voice suddenly serious. "But first, you must promise me you will tell no one what I am about to say. Whatever I reveal here will only bring you harm if it spreads. Nothing will happen to me. So, if you are smart enough, you will keep silent."
I nodded, my throat too dry to speak.
"Your father... was not human. You see, you are a child of a demon."
"WHAT??