It has been a month since the robbers tried to get into my house. Apparently, they come from a bandit gang. My wife immediately devises countermeasures on how to deal with the bandits by setting up checkpoints in various routes. I can always rely on my wife. As expected from my normal self, I quickly begin raising a militia and eradicating bandit activity around my territory like a normal lord. This earns me good rapport with my subjects, I really feel like a normal lord!

In the expansive office adorned with the weight of responsibility, my wife, Mia, meticulously inspects the parchments spread across the grand desk. The morning light bathes the room, casting a warm glow on the urgent matters that demand my immediate attention. Mia, in the midst of her duties, is visibly exerting herself, a testament to her dedication. Five months pregnant, beads of sweat cling to her forehead as she focuses on organizing the documents.

I, lounging on the comfortable sofa nearby, observe her with a mix of admiration and concern. Rising from my relaxed position, I approach Mia with a gentle smile.

"Take a break, will you?" I suggest, my voice carrying a note of concern. "I know you love authority, but working yourself like this won't help the baby."

I reach for the parchments, lifting the burden from her hands, and offer a reassuring glance.

"Let's go to the terrace," I propose, "relax for a bit. The view might do us both some good."

Mia glances at me, her eyes reflecting determination, as she gently withdraws from my attempt to ease her workload. "I cannot. I still have work to do," she asserts, her voice carrying a sense of obligation. "Our contract requires me to do my end properly… to act as your 'normal' wife, isn't it?"

I sigh, understanding the weight of expectations that she places upon herself. "That's my point," I respond, gently placing the parchments on a nearby table. "What you are doing isn't normal. You are pregnant."

Mia's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. "But it's tradition for the woman of the house to share the burden of ruling with their husband," she counters. "I don't know how to cook, and there is no way in the world you can make me do household chores like a servant… And it's not like there are balls for me to attend and show off as your wife. The only thing I am good at is my Fate Magic, and my management abilities."

I let out a frustrated sigh, my attempt to coax Mia into taking a break met with resistance. "Stop being stubborn, you woman…" I mutter, a mix of exasperation and concern in my tone.

Mia, perhaps succumbing to the moodiness that pregnancy brings, retorts with a hint of self-doubt, "Am I not failing you as your 'normal' wife?" Her words resonate with self-doubt, painting a poignant picture of her inner turmoil. "I cannot warm your bed because I look ugly now… look at my bloated belly… My armpits are getting darker too, and my teeth… I think they are getting soft. And, and… I smell funky."

I step closer, reaching out to gently hold her shoulders. "It's just the aftereffects of pregnancy, you don't smell funky," I assure her, trying to dispel her concerns. "It's just your nose getting sensitive. Moreover, we live in the boonies, and there aren't many things to do really…"

I've noticed Mia's demeanor shifting lately, her actions and frustrations perhaps stemming from the high imperial upbringing she's accustomed to. Reflecting on our journey together, I can't help but acknowledge the way I've sidestepped the weight of governance, subtly leaving the bulk of these responsibilities to her. It's not the typical infidelity one might imagine, but a betrayal in its own right.

Since our union, I've shirked the tedium and the weight of rulership, almost slyly diverting these obligations towards Mia. Knowing her penchant for control and authority, I've naively assumed she'd find solace in the management tasks, aligning with her upbringing and character traits.

Her noble heritage, steeped in imperial traditions, painted a picture of someone who thrived on leading, organizing, and asserting control. This resonates deeply with the character she embodies in the novel, a control freak with an insatiable love for authority. Even back in the Sorcerer Academy, she presided as the unwavering president of the student body, a testament to her natural inclination for governance.

I've rationalized my actions by assuming it aligns with her desires, but failing to consider the emotional toll it might take, especially during a time as sensitive as her pregnancy. The burden I've heaped upon her shoulders, assuming it would be a welcomed weight, might have inadvertently contributed to the cracks in her armor, exposing vulnerabilities she'd otherwise conceal.

I failed to be a normal husband huh? I am just a regular asshole now…

"How about this? Let me spoil you. Tell me, is there something you want?" I suggest, hoping to divert the conversation towards a realm of simple pleasures and desires.

But Mia, in her resolute demeanor, responds with a statement that reveals the depth of her ambitions. "I want the empire back, I am its rightful Empress… Don't you think so?" Her words are delivered with a seriousness that unveils the grandeur of her aspirations… I am like… what the fuuuuck?

I find myself facepalming, recognizing the weight of my misjudgment. "That's on me," I admit, realizing the gravity of the expectations I inadvertently set. "I have set the bar too high."

"Is there something you want to eat?" I inquire, attempting to steer the conversation toward a more tangible and immediate desire.

Mia, however, with a hint of playfulness, responds in a way that mirrors the vastness of her ambitions. "I want to eat the Empire."

I chuckle, catching on to her jest. "Request rejected… Stop fooling around," I playfully admonish, realizing the impracticality of such a culinary endeavor.

Mia, relenting with a more feasible craving, declares, "Watermelon… lots of them."

"Ah, that's doable," I reply with a mischievous grin. Utilizing my Phantasm Magic, I conjure a life-like slice of watermelon. It glistens with an illusionary sheen, replicating its texture, taste, smell, and everything that defines the real thing. "Here," I present the illusion, "it's an ice-cold slice of watermelon."

"I want to eat a real watermelon… I want the baby to taste it too," Mia insists, her desire now grounded in the tangible pleasures of reality.

I nod reluctantly, understanding the simplicity of her request. "I don't know about the baby tasting it, but sure…" I concede, giving in to the whims of a pregnant wife. "A normal husband will go to the supermarket quickly if his pregnant wife requests food she craves, right?"

Mia looks puzzled, not catching the reference to the supermarket. "Huh?" she queries.

"Rest. I will return soon," I reassure her, standing up with determination. I make my way to the stable and swiftly saddle a horse, ready to embark on a quest for the elusive watermelon that has become the object of Mia's craving.

As I ride through the expanding Dromas Barony, it's transforming before my eyes into a bustling city. The air is filled with the sound of hammers striking nails, and the energy of carpenters feverishly going about their tasks. The landscape is a canvas of progress, with structures rising from the ground, each with a purpose designated by my wife's strategic vision.

I observe the organized chaos, nodding approvingly as my horse carries me through the evolving streets. A quaint corner is taking shape as a promising bookstore, where knowledge will soon find a home. Adjacent to it, a liquor store is emerging, promising a space for the community to unwind. And then, there's the exclusive armory, a testament to my wife's foresight in fortifying our growing city.

A surge of pride swells within me. My wife, with her managerial prowess and unyielding determination, has orchestrated this transformation.

I arrive at the bustling marketplace, perched on my horse, a slight frown creasing my brow as I survey the array of goods from a distance. There's a distinct absence of the one item I've been sent on a quest for – watermelons. Disappointment lingers as I dismount, deciding to inquire with a nearby fruit seller.

"Do you have any watermelons?" I ask, a glimmer of hope in my voice.

The fruit seller, with a hint of sympathy, responds, "Those kinds of fruits are difficult to bring in this region, lord."

"I see," I concede, a wry smile playing on my lips. I'm no stranger to the challenges of this remote locale, where even the simplest desires can be hard to fulfill. After all, this place is the boonies of the boonies, and turning a profit here can be an arduous task.

"Where is the nearest place that I can get a couple of watermelons?" I inquire, a glimmer of determination in my eyes.

The fruit seller, pausing to consider, responds, "Two territories away… At Jimenez Viscounty."

"Jimenez, is it?" I mull over the information, quickly devising a strategy in my mind. "How long does a person with a horse and wagon need to reach Jimenez Viscounty?"

"Short of ten days, lord," the fruit seller replies, emphasizing the considerable distance that separates us from the coveted watermelons.

Returning to my mansion, a seed of impatience sprouts within me as I issue a command to one of the servants. "Buy a wagon's worth of watermelons," I instruct, handing over the necessary funds to expedite the mission. A simple errand, or so I thought.

I rejoin my wife, optimism in my voice as I share the news. "We should wait," I suggest, though a subtle unease nags at the corners of my mind.

Days pass, and the anticipated return of the servant doesn't materialize. A creeping suspicion invades my thoughts – did he abscond with my money? An unsettling possibility lingers, and my patience wanes as I contemplate the fate of my emissary. A decision forms in my mind, and I dispatch a militia guard to trace the missing servant.

After a few anxious days, disconcerting news reaches me – my servant has fallen victim to an attack. The realization strikes like a bolt of lightning – bandits must be at play. Undeterred, I recalibrate my approach, sending another servant accompanied by a larger contingent to act as guards, ensuring the safety of the mission to acquire watermelons. However, the anticipated return of this second expedition becomes yet another elusive outcome.

"What is happening? Are the bandits in Jimenez territory so desperate that a wagon of watermelons cannot even reach us home!?" Mia questions, her frustration evident in the furrow of her brow.

"What does your Fate Magic say?" I inquire, hoping for some insight or guidance.

Mia sighs, her response tinged with a sense of resignation. "It is futile… Pregnant sorcerers also experience weakening in their magic."

A determination solidifies within me as I declare, "I have decided, I am going to Jimenez Viscounty myself to get you your watermelons, darling…" With those words, I embark on an unexpected quest, driven by a husband's devotion and the unwavering desire to fulfill a simple, yet elusive, craving for watermelons.

It is so hard being a normal husband.

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With the resolve to retrieve the elusive watermelons for my pregnant wife, I organize my party with careful consideration. A dozen well-equipped guards accompany me, chosen from the hundred-strong militia that serves our territory. I deliberate on the need for protection, even in what would typically be an uneventful journey. As a 'normal baron,' the trappings of a lord's entourage become essential, shedding the cloak of an overpowered sorcerer who once believed he could live a normal life.

Our party is prepared for the journey to Jimenez Viscounty, armed with a dozen militia guards, four horses, two wagons, and a carriage. The Dromastus Flag, bearing a peculiar design of a single eye with a pair of wings, flutters in the wind as we ride. The eye, a perfect circle rather than the expected oval, adds an uncanny touch to the emblem of our house. With the banners flying high, we set forth on our quest, the wheels of the wagons and the hooves of the horses propel us toward Jimenez Viscounty.

Our journey to Jimenez Viscounty leads us through the territory of Curtis Barony. Traveling in this manner, a blend of camping under the stars and navigating the roads by day, offers a temporary reprieve from the routine of lordship. The boredom occasionally creeps in, but it remains manageable for the time being. Our passage through Curtis Barony proves relatively uneventful, and after paying my respects to the lord of the territory, we press on toward our destination.

The air becomes tense among my militia guards as we approach the territory where their comrades met an untimely fate. I empathize with their unease, recognizing the weight of their memories and the lingering shadows of the past. However, as a basic, selfish, and very normal baron, I conceal the sympathy that wells within me. It's crucial not to reveal the emotions that stir beneath the surface, a lesson in the art of detached leadership that I've learned along my journey of becoming a 'normal' lord.

Arriving at the Jimenez Territory, I waste no time in tasking my people with securing the prized watermelons. With that underway, I make my way to the opulent Jimenez Estate to pay my respects to Viscount Jimenez. As I approach their mansion, the display of wealth becomes increasingly evident.

The grandeur of the Jimenez residence is striking, with opulent artwork adorning the hallways. Various art pieces, each a testament to the family's affluence and refined taste, catch my eye. The hallway is a gallery of prosperity, a stark contrast to the simplicity of the Dromas Barony.

Viscount Jimenez, a tall and slim figure with brown hair and a distinguished handlebar mustache, extends a courteous greeting. "Nice to meet you, Lord Dromastus. I hear you are here to buy… watermelons…"

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Jimenez," I respond with a polite nod. "Yes, indeed, I have come here to buy watermelons… My pregnant wife is craving for it."

A flicker of worry crosses Viscount Jimenez's face. "I see," he acknowledges, his expression turning somber. "Hmmm…"

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I inquire, "What is it?"

The viscount, choosing his words carefully, finally reveals the reason behind his concern. "I have heard of the unfortunate news of your servant being killed by bandits…"

"Aah~! The watermelon bandits. They not just killed one servant, but two," I lament to Viscount Jimenez, recounting the unfortunate incidents.

"Very unfortunate… I fear that it is not so simple, Lord Dromastus. If I may so boldly request. If the watermelon bandits attack you, would you please not kill them all? I'd like to interrogate these bandits very harshly. It will be a great favor for me," Viscount Jimenez beseeches, his expression reflecting a desire for justice.

"Hmmm…" I hesitate, internally bemoaning the added complication. "And why will I help you?" I question, my reluctance apparent.

"So that we can be friends! You see, I am having a difficult time lately. I believe I am being attacked. The caravan and merchants that come to my territory to acquire my most coveted watermelons are continuously being attacked! Killed! It is terrible!" Viscount Jimenez reveals the severity of the situation.

Suppressing the urge to laugh at the irony of the situation, I maintain a serious demeanor, recognizing the gravity of the matter. "I will do my best to spare someone among these 'watermelon bandits' if they do happen to cross paths with me," I assure Viscount Jimenez, acknowledging the request.

"Thank you, Lord Dromastus!" Viscount Jimenez expresses gratitude, and with a nod, I take my leave. "Then farewell."

Exiting the estate, I make my way to the inn where my militia guards and I decide to regroup. The inn, a quaint establishment in the heart of Jimenez territory, goes by the name "The Whispering Pines Inn."

The night at The Whispering Pines Inn passes uneventfully, and as the morning sun paints the horizon with hues of gold, we embark on the journey back home with two wagons filled with watermelons. The guards diligently cover the precious cargo with tarps, shielding it from the elements, particularly the relentless sun. The road stretches ahead, and our caravan moves with a steady rhythm.

As we maintain a constant speed, the tranquility is shattered by sudden shouts from outside my carriage. Alarmed, I step out to witness a scene of chaos. A dragon, monstrous and formidable, mercilessly brutalizes my guards. Of the dozen I brought, half have already fallen victim to the relentless onslaught.

A massive brown dragon, its strong limbs and ferocious glare commanding attention, emerges before us. It swiftly makes its way to one of the wagons, voraciously devouring the watermelons. In mere moments, it's already halfway through emptying the wagon, leaving an absurd and unexpected predicament in its wake.

"So our watermelon bandit is a bronze dragon, huh?" I remark, feeling a mix of ridiculousness and annoyance. The irony is not lost on me, that a seemingly simple quest for watermelons has led us into the clutches of a formidable and unexpected adversary.

Surveying the paralyzed state of my militia guards, victims of the dragon's potent Dragonfear, I acknowledge the responsibility that has fallen upon me. "It appears I have to deal with this annoying fella," I mutter to myself, determination setting in. I cast my magic, invoking <I Believe> within myself. Mental limiters release, allowing me access to the full power of a human body and a bit more. Taking a deep breath, I sprint towards the dragon.

With a swift kick, my foot meets the dragon's skull, and it gets flung back. The beast looks at me with a mix of confusion and rage, roaring in response. Landing lightly on the ground, I arrogantly face the dragon, realizing it's a young one yet to awaken a spark of wisdom.

"Do you want a fight? Fine, I can use some exercise anyways," I declare, my intent clear. While I have the power to end the creature with magic, my goal is different – to beat it into submission, instilling a fear that would deter it from attacking humans again. Killing it isn't my objective; I simply want it to leave and cease its troublesome antics.

As I confront the juvenile dragon, my resolve remains firm. I am not a pacifist, yet I'm not foolish enough to provoke the creature's parent by killing it. There's a sense of sadness that lingers, knowing I won't be able to avenge the poor servants who fell victim to this dragon's rampage. The frustration intensifies, however, as a more personal concern surfaces – my militia guards have witnessed my true power. This was precisely what I sought to avoid by concealing my abilities. The desire to live a normal life and shield myself from the expectations tied to my weirdly extraordinary past is overshadowed by the unfortunate revelation of the magic within me. The conflict between the desire for normalcy and the necessity to unveil my abilities in times of crisis weighs heavily on my shoulders.

The dragon roars menacingly, its frustration is palpable in the echoing sound. "You cannot even use dragon's breath at your age, you stupid lizard," I mock, my disdain apparent as I embark on a thorough beating. Each strike is precise, targeting its forehead with a relentless onslaught – kicks, punches, elbow strikes, a symphony of blows. Every attempt by the dragon to counterattack is met with the befuddling effects of my illusion magic, rendering the encounter a one-sided beating.

My militia guards watch in awe, witnessing a display of power they had not anticipated. The dragon, overwhelmed and battered, finally succumbs to frustration, choosing to retreat. With one last roar, it takes flight, soaring away from the relentless assault, having had enough of being thoroughly beaten up. The battlefield falls silent, my guards left to digest the unexpected spectacle they've just witnessed.

The cheers of my guards echo in the aftermath of the dragon encounter, their admiration for the displayed might evident. "Lord! Such might!" they exclaim with enthusiasm.

"Shut up, you fellows… Get in line," I retort, my tone a blend of annoyance and command. With a sense of purpose, I decide to perform a little magic trick of my own. Casting my illusions, I embark on the intricate process of removing and manipulating their memories with precision. This task, I know, is more challenging than breaking a mind and controlling a body. It's a delicate act akin to performing surgery and therapy simultaneously.

In a meticulous dance of magical finesse, I wipe their memories clean and replace them with carefully crafted illusions. The fabricated memories depict a valiant fight against overwhelming bandit forces, showcasing their comrades' heroic sacrifices. I enhance the illusion, making myself more handsome and inspiring in their recollections. The memory-wipe and manipulation unfold seamlessly, leaving behind a carefully constructed narrative that aligns with their capabilities and paints a heroic tale of resilience against formidable odds.

With the dragon encounter concluded and my guards in awe, I proceed to use the spatial storage of Dubon's Ring on the watermelons. One wagon lies broken, and the second sports a destroyed axle. Swiftly, I erase any memory of using Dubon's Ring from the minds of my subordinates. The act is seamless, ensuring the secret remains guarded. With the distractions addressed, we shift our focus to the journey home.

"Let's go home," I declare, a hint of weariness in my own voice.

"Yes, lord," the guards respond in unison, their weariness and the toll of the dragon encounter visible on their faces. The return journey begins, the caravan pushing forward through the familiar landscapes,

As the afternoon sun bathes the balcony in a warm glow, I finally return home, weariness settling in my bones. Stepping onto the balcony, I find my wife eagerly awaiting my arrival. "Here, slices of watermelon," I offer, presenting her with a plate bearing genuine watermelon. The triangular slices glisten with authenticity, red, sweet, and refreshingly cold. Each piece is meticulously cut into smaller, bite-sized portions, crafted for easy consumption. To preserve its chill, I've used frost attribute magic stones, an expensive but effective method.

"Wow," Mia exclaims, her eyes shining with gratitude as she takes the plate from me. "Thanks a lot!" She savors the fruit, relishing its taste and refreshing coolness. Placing the plate on a nearby table, she indulges in the sweet delight.

Sitting across the table with a plate of watermelon slices in hand, I grab a chair, joining my wife on the balcony. As I take a bite, savoring the sweetness, I exhale, a sigh escaping my lips. "Worth it…"

Concern flickers in Mia's eyes as she observes me. "What happened? You look rough."

"A dragon, that is what happened," I confess, the weight of the encounter evident in my weary demeanor. "I feel like I might have dislocated my bones, you know?"

"Huh?" Mia responds, confusion etched across her features.