It's been another month, and here I am, nailing the art of being a normal husband and the Baron of the Dromastus Household. The Dromas Barony is on the rise, its economy flourishing, and the once disgruntled people have ceased their complaints about my lordship. For the sake of maintaining the illusion of normality, I've decided to put a cap on my city's progress. After all, a little incompetence goes a long way.

My wife's pregnancy is now halfway through, and in the spirit of chivalry, I've taken on her responsibilities to govern my territory with a newfound sense of dedication. And I'm not griping about it—okay, maybe I throw in a comment or two about my supposed laziness, but in truth, I'm more than capable. It's like playing one of those territory management games; it's a walk in the park.

I might make it sound like a breeze, but let's be honest—if you possess the power to bend people's will to your liking, most things become simple. It's a lesson I carried over from my past life. In the world of politics, those in power often find themselves hindered by internal bickering and endless discussions. Not me, though. I've got a handle on things, and the Dromas Barony is flourishing under my subtly competent rule.

Within my office, I'm engrossed in the task of signing various parchments—granting permission to various projects, initiating a boot camp training program, and other matters.

I happily give permission for the building of the brothel within my city—after all, a 'normal' city must have brothels. To some degree, I think my territory is coming out just fine as I scrawl my signature across various parchments. A city needs diversity, right? My tummy rumbles, signaling that lunch is imminent.

Mia enters, my very pregnant wife, gracefully balancing a tray. "This is very unexpected, Ran," she says, using the nickname she just decided on yesterday. "I always thought of you as a very incompetent ruler. But to think you have such leadership qualities in you... I like the way you publicize where the taxes are being spent."

I remove the parchments and other documents from my desk, swiftly stashing them in my spatial storage, courtesy of my Dubon's Ring. "You flatter me," I reply, "it's just something I picked up from my past life. Politicians from where I come from do good work to make the people know their 'contributions' to society." I shoot her a grin, the art of governance coming surprisingly naturally to me.

It's amusing how I've reached a point where I can spill the beans to Mia, even about my 'past life,' without a worry in the world. Fate Magic has shown her different versions of me, unraveling some of my secrets to some degree. Might as well take advantage of it and unburden myself—it's the epitome of normal husband behavior.

Our prospects for a happy marriage don't seem too promising, considering the peculiar circumstances of our union. Most unwanted pregnancies lead to ruined families, but my situation is oddly unique. I'm the one who didn't want Mia to end up pregnant, yet here we are. I cringe as I awkwardly recall that part where Mia, with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, took advantage of me. As a well-mannered and educated man from the 21st century, I've accepted the responsibility of the child. Yet, I can't deny the bitterness that still lingers about Mia's methods. Life, it seems, has a funny way of throwing curveballs.

Mia walks into the room, her tone dripping with affection. "Dear, are you thinking about me? Ooooh~ I am so in love..." She places a tray on my table, and I can't help but roll my eyes at her theatricality.

"Yeah, I am thinking about you in so many wrong ways," I reply, my smirk hinting at a different kind of humor. Deep down, I'm well aware she's not in love—she's just a madwoman, or so I think.

"Aww... Don't be too flirty..." Mia opens the lid, revealing a plate of spaghetti—a rather unexpected dish in this world, where culinary offerings are nothing like those from my past life.

"Don't worry, I am not being flirty. I'm just suddenly reminded of all your bad qualities." I grin, a mischievous glint in my eye. While I can share my memories of our past life, there are some truths I can't spill. This world, after all, is based on the novel 'Hero Ender,' where Mia played the malevolent villain. I can list her evil qualities as easily as breathing, but that's a secret I'll keep to myself.

Miyandrel Celeste, or as she's known to the unsuspecting world, Mia, conceals a tumultuous past beneath her facade of domestic bliss. In reality, she's a power-hungry, love-starved individual, an insanely clingy, grudgeful, petty, and nasty control freak of a villain. Her true identity, concealed from those around her, hails from a time when she was the imperial princess of an empire.

Once adorned with the regal title, Miyandrel reveled in the pursuit of power. Her insatiable hunger for control led her down a dark path, marked by manipulative schemes and ruthless endeavors. Love eluded her, leaving behind a void she sought to fill through any means necessary.

Unbeknownst to the world, the seemingly sweet Mia is a character intricately woven with the threads of deceit and malice. Her true self, Miyandrel Celeste, remains a formidable force, driven by an unquenchable thirst for power and an insatiable desire for control… something I wouldn't wish to see for a long time in our very normal marriage.

I fork the pasta, twirl it, and take a bite. "Hmmm… This is delicious; it can use some cheese, though," I comment, judging the dish objectively. The absence of cheese and the slightly soggy pasta don't escape my discerning palate. "Where did you get the pasta? I'm not an expert on this food, but it is soggy."

Mia responds, "I actually made the pasta. I used my Fate Magic to see through different possibilities and deduced the correct method to make the pasta. I don't think it will be easy to acquire cheese, though. It's hard to bring premium goods here in the boonies."

I chuckle, finding it almost too amusing. "You are such a workaholic," I tease, unable to believe that Mia used her precognitive abilities just to figure out how to make pasta. "Are you sure you're not overworking yourself?"

Mia reassures me, "I am fine. It's quite a fun hobby, actually... cooking. These otherworldly foods from your past life are most interesting." She swipes her index finger to the side of the plate, tastes the spaghetti sauce, and makes an almost comical flourish, gesturing to the air with relish. "Delish!"

Fred enters, clad in a military uniform, he has brown hair, and sports a slight stubble. He is among the six men who survived the 'bandit attack' during my quest for watermelons to satisfy my wife's cravings. "Lord," he greets me with a bow, then turns to my wife, "Lady," bowing respectfully to her as well. "I have come to make a report."

As I observe Fred, I notice how much he's changed over the past month. There's a more pronounced militaristic air about him now. He is always the brightest among his companions, thus opting for me to promote him to an officer's position. Of course, I also promoted the other five, but Fred is definitely the most competent.

"You came to give me a report about the boot camp, yes?" I inquire.

"Indeed, Lord," Fred responds with a nod. "We have exactly 64 new recruits."

"I see," I respond, contemplating the evolving stability in my territory. The menace of bandits has significantly decreased, yet it remains crucial to bolster the militia's ranks. The allure of benefits prompts many to seek a position in the militia, considering it a more glorious and financially rewarding occupation.

"I have decided," I declare, a vision for a disciplined and efficient militia forming in my mind. "I want my soldiers sharp and ready. Every month, you'll allow a dozen to join the militia. They have to compete for the spots, and the militia will engage in runs, drills, and exercises. The one with the poorest record will be punished by becoming a 'ticket' for those who wish to join my militia. New recruits can challenge the most poorly scored soldier to take his place."

Fred hesitates, expressing his concern, "Lord, that's rather brutal…"

"I have decided," I reiterate, handing Fred a parchment detailing the proposed drills and exercises. "Don't worry, the officers don't have to be punished like the regular militia, but they do have to join the exercises at least. Dismiss," I command, and Fred leaves, the weight of the decision lingering in the air.

"Doesn't your officer make a valid point? It is indeed brutal… Even the imperial soldiers don't have such rules…" Mia questions, a frown etching her face, and a hint of fear subtly flickers in her eyes—an emotion I easily detect.

"It is because I will be leaving. I need my militia alert, so that in the most likely scenario, say a bandit raid, at least the city has something to defend itself with," I explain, acknowledging the harshness of the new rules.

Mia, her concern deepening, addresses me formally, "Leaving? And where are you going, Lord Randel?"

"Don't worry, I won't be running away… I am not so irresponsible," I assure her, my Phantomancer abilities allowing me to read the slightest change in emotions. "You are seven months pregnant, so I plan to acquire a midwife for your delivery... Preferably a Vivamancer," I add, noting the importance of having a sorcerer specializing in Life Magic for the safety of the upcoming childbirth.

"I appreciate the thought, but isn't that too risky? You wish to live a normal life, and I am currently a fugitive… I am the ex-imperial princess… Oh, for all of the good and the bad, you really aren't leaving me, are you?" Mia questions, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and concern.

"I won't," I assure her, realizing the precariousness of our situation. One thing I despise about this world is its lack of professional medical care. Sorcery may not be the ideal substitute, but it's better than nothing. "There are things that I will stubbornly cling to—such as my way of life—but I am not so inflexible that I am willing to risk you," I add, emphasizing the importance of her well-being, especially that of the baby.

"Suit yourself, but you better return," Mia retorts, her tone tinged with a bit of anger.

"I will leave a Mirage Clone of myself here, just play along with it. It will have a psychic connection with me, so if a problem suddenly occurs, you can inform me through it," I assure her, hoping to alleviate some of her concerns. The complexities of our lives demand unconventional solutions, and for now, this Mirage Clone serves as a bridge between my pursuit of normalcy and the extraordinary circumstances we face.

.....

....

...

..

.

I wear my familiar Mirage Cloak. It is a powerful artifact that bestows me perfect invisibility, erasing myself into all conceivable existence. This means while wearing this, I am immune to most curses, divinations, scrying, and any abilities related to vision. My whole attire is a black robe, paired with a black tunic and trousers. This is my peak equipment, something I wear every day, well, except the Mirage Cloak. I only wear the cloak when I am traveling with really serious intentions.

Today is one of those days. The air is charged with an unspoken tension as I fasten the Mirage Cloak around my shoulders. The fabric feels weightless against my skin, its magic humming beneath the surface. I take a moment to appreciate the gravity of the decision to don this extraordinary garment.

I glance at the sky, gauging the position of the sun. Time is of the essence. My journey today is not one of leisure; it's a mission as a father and husband!

As I traverse villages, townships, landscapes and cross boundaries, the Mirage Cloak proves its worth. It shields me from prying eyes and mystical detection alike. No magical barrier or curious gaze can pierce through the veil of my invisibility. I am a specter in the tapestry of existence, leaving no trace behind.

I bypass various terrains in front of me using Phantom Step. The Phantomancer is a Sorcerer class that specializes in illusions, and its source is 'thoughts,' which are the foundation of my magic. The Phantom Step is a magic skill using illusions to fool the world, turning myself into a ghost-like existence to traverse wide terrains. I don't like using this particular magic spell because it attracts the Nether World. But as I said, I am currently traveling with really serious intentions — a quest to search for my pregnant wife's midwife.

The landscape shifts around me as I activate Phantom Step. A veil of illusions wraps around my form, distorting the reality of my presence. With a focused thought, I take a step and the world blurs. I become a wraith, ethereal and intangible, passing through obstacles as if they were mere figments of imagination.

The terrain changes beneath my phantom feet — from dense forests to rugged mountainsides. Phantom Step allows me to transcend the limitations of physical barriers. I navigate effortlessly, my progress is swift and silent, leaving no trace of my passage.

The landscape morphs around me, and I sense the proximity of my destination— the imperial capital.

In a world entrenched in the medieval age, where governments cling to ancient structures, professions like that of a midwife are a reflection of a bygone era, far removed from the advancements of the 21st century. As I embark on a quest to search for a midwife for my pregnant wife, I find myself navigating through a society where tradition and antiquity shape the fabric of daily life.

The cobblestone streets echo with the sounds of horseshoes and the lively banter of market vendors. The scent of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, creating an atmosphere steeped in a timeless charm.

Midwives, in this world, practice their craft with methods that seem outdated by contemporary standards. The challenge of finding a skilled practitioner in these circumstances propels me forward. My wife's well-being hinges on securing the assistance of someone capable, and my thoughts turn to a Vivamancer.

A Vivamancer — a practitioner of life magic — possesses the skills needed to navigate the delicate intricacies of childbirth. My mind gravitates towards a particular direction where a talented Vivamancer is residing. My sources are form the novel that I had read in my past life, Hero Ender.

Imperial Capital, noon. I sneak inside the city walls with Phantom Step, preferring a more clandestine approach. I cannot really stroll by the gates since that will leave a record. As I weave through the narrow alleys, I spot a passing commoner boy.

"You lad, can you point me to the Church of Magus?"

The boy glances at me, his eyes widening briefly. "Head straight there, sir, go left, and then right."

I nod in thanks, appreciating the simplicity of his directions. As I continue on my way, I decide to show my gratitude with a piece of silver. I toss it to the commoner, who catches it with surprise.

"Thank you, sir!" he exclaims, pocketing the coin as I disappear into the alleys, making my way to the Church of Magus.

In the heart of the Imperial Capital stands the Church of Magus, the sole surviving religion since the Holy War two centuries ago. Time has not been kind to this once-hallowed institution, as it gradually deteriorates, shedding the vestiges of its spiritual essence. What remains is a mere echo, a hollow shell transformed into yet another mouthpiece of the Empire.

The Church of Magus, once a beacon of faith and divine connection, has succumbed to the ever-tightening grip of imperial influence. The echoes of its former glory linger in the faded murals that adorn its grand halls, a poignant reminder of an era when faith stood tall against the currents of time.

Amidst the tumult of the Great World War, the church openly aligned itself with the Kingdoms, becoming a willing participant in the grand conflict that pits the Empire against the Allied Kingdoms. The war, immortalized in the pages of the novel "Hero Ender," becomes a testament to the relentless struggles for dominance in the continent.

As the war unfolds, the Church of Magus stands firm in its allegiance, its influence wielded as a weapon in the larger political game. The conflict rages on, with the Empire and the Allied Kingdoms locked in a bitter struggle for supremacy. In the end, the tides of war favor the Empire, and it emerges as the sole superior hegemony in the continent.

The result— the Magus Church continues to suffer.

At the entrance of the Church of Magus, the air is thick with the lingering scent of incense, and the soft glow of stained glass plays on the worn stone floor. As I stand in the shadow of grand arches, a nun, just returning from the marketplace with a basket of groceries, catches my attention.

"I wish to speak to the head priest," I say, my voice echoing in the quiet ambiance of the church.

The nun looks at me with surprise, her gaze lingering on the unfamiliar face. "Greetings, good sir. That's a surprise… The Church rarely gets a visit nowadays. Just a quick ask, are you a Sorcerer?"

I glance at the amulet hanging by the nun's neck, its magical essence evident even to my untrained senses. The Amulet of Lies, a trinket common to the servants of the Magus Church, dangles from a delicate chain. This particular amulet holds the power to reveal falsehoods, a fact I'm well aware of. Still, I decide to be straightforward.

"Yes, I am a sorcerer," I admit, choosing honesty over deception, even though my illusion magic could potentially fool the Amulet of Lies. It seems prudent to maintain a level of trust, especially if I am to navigate the complexities of the Church of Magus. The nun nods, her demeanor unchanged, and she gestures for me to follow.

"Come this way," she says, guiding me inside the church. The atmosphere shifts as we step into the sacred space, adorned with intricate carvings. The soft glow of candles casts flickering shadows on the walls, and my eyes are drawn to a relief sculpture of a giant tome, bearing the three guiding principles of the church: "Magic is Greatness, Wisdom in Truth, and Perspective Lies."

As we walk deeper into the sanctuary, the nun continues to speak. "It has been the way of the Church to study magic without practicing it. Worshipping 'Magic' itself is the highest form of worship within our walls, a miracle worker that has aided humanity since the dark ages. Perhaps, may I interest you in a partnership with the Church? The Magus Church is known to generously sponsor sorcerers."

I absorb the information, the principles of the Church resonating within the quiet sanctuary. The offer hangs in the air, and I consider the implications of aligning with an institution that holds the pursuit of magic in such high regard.

"I am uninterested..." I state, my gaze fixed on the surroundings of the Church of Magus. The nun accompanying me seems disappointed but doesn't press further. She leads me through the hallowed halls until we stand in front of a majestic mahogany door. Carvings on its surface depict the miraculous works of magic that have propelled humanity forward.

"That's unfortunate," the nun remarks, her eyes lingering on the ornate details. "The Head Priest waits on the other end of this door."

I nod, acknowledging the information. As I reach out to push the door open, the nun unexpectedly seizes my wrist. I turn to her, an inquisitive look in my eyes.

"What do you want?" I question, my hand still on the doorknob.

"Don't dare insult the Head Priest, Sorcerer," the nun warns, her grip tightening. "To this church, he's very important." The gravity in her tone suggests that any disrespect towards the Head Priest would not be tolerated within the sacred walls of the Church of Magus.

In the tidy and organized office of the Head Priest, the air is charged with vibrant life energy, creating an atmosphere that teems with magical essence. Faren, the presumed Head Priest, greets me with a projected masculine voice.

"Greetings, visitor," Faren says, his voice echoing in the pristine surroundings. "My name is Faren."

I study Faren's appearance—a figure with short purple hair, a slim build almost feminine in nature, adorned in pristine white robes that accentuate an air of otherworldliness.

Without hesitation, I snap my fingers, summoning an illusion barrier that envelops us, blocking sounds and sight from the outside. Faren looks at me with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Your real name is Faeryn," I state, revealing my knowledge. "Your real gender is that of a girl, you are a Vivamancer, and the Saintess of the Magus Church. You hide your identity because you are scared of the Empire."

Faren's reaction is immediate, a sharp intake of breath followed by an almost feminine squeal.

"What!? How did you know?" she exclaims, her voice betraying both shock and vulnerability.

"I need a midwife for my pregnant wife," I state, the urgency evident in my tone. "Normally, I would hire a regular Vivamancer, but you see, my wife is the former crowned imperial princess and is currently a fugitive. I need a midwife whom I can blackmail and control."

Faeryn, the seemingly deceptive male Head Priest, stumbles over her words, clearly taken aback. "Th-this is too fast; I am being blackmailed!" Panic sets in, and she uses her magic to course life energy through her body.

"You are too kind; you won't kill me," I declare arrogantly, confident in my immunity to her magical attempts. "The magic you project is meaningless to me."

I hold the upper hand, having deduced Faeryn's true identity from the novel "Hero Ender." In the narrative, she is portrayed as a timid and kind girl who attended the Sorcerer Academy, a year younger than Mia, my wife. The audacity of my plan hinges on this knowledge, manipulating Faeryn's character traits to suit my needs.

"I have dignity; I won't request anything outrageous from you. You only need to act as my wife's midwife. I won't blackmail you for other reasons," I state, trying to reassure Faeryn of my intentions.

"And I am supposed to believe that!?" Faeryn retorts, skepticism coloring her response.

"Yes," I reply with conviction, holding my ground in the face of her doubt.

"Grrr…" Faeryn growls, a low rumble of frustration. In an instant, she disappears, leaving me momentarily disoriented. Before I can react, she reappears, launching an attack in a burst of magical energy. The confrontation escalates, and the air is crackling with the tension.

"I guess she'd attack after all, and here I am hoping to gaslight her by making her look back to her past as the timid and kind girl she used to be," I think to myself as Faeryn's aggression becomes apparent.

"It's futile," I mutter, preparing for her assault. I grab her fist with my free hand while casting <I Believe on> myself. I feel my hand shudder under the force of her attack, but I endure.

Faeryn empowers her other fist with life energy and punches. "Take that!" she declares.

I catch it with ease, my defenses still intact. "Calm down," I command, casting a Calm spell to forcibly remove her aggression.

"You, what did you do?" Faeryn questions, her tone a mix of confusion and frustration. She walks away from me, pouting, and settles into her chair.

"The blackmails are only a deterrent. To make it a more equitable trade, how about this? In exchange for your service, I will give you this," I say, taking out a tome from my Dubon's Ring. "This is a copy of the Tome of Existence. I learned a lot from it. I believe this will also help your sorcery skills."

"No way! Is that the legendary text 'Tome of Existence'!? Such knowledge!" Faeryn exclaims, her eyes widening with awe. She's literally drooling over the prospect of acquiring such profound knowledge.

I toss the tome to her, and she catches it eagerly. "Come to Dromas Barony. Wear disguises, you are only a normal Vivamancer trying to earn a living by wandering about. That is your background story," I tell her with finality as I leave her alone.

I don't need to wait for an answer as I make my way back home.