The Medieval-Modern Man with a Gamer Mindset

7. The Tyrant Toddler

It’s been three days since I slapped Miriam’s cheek. The atmosphere within the castle has definitely changed.

If before it felt like stepping onto a cracking sheet of thin ice, now it’s… as if plunging straight into icy water. Everyone inside the castle was the same.

They all layered on expressionless faces as if donning thick clothes against hypothermia. The rigid movements and postures alone were enough to reveal their tension.

My deliberate sauntering down the corridors made it all the more apparent. The servants, who whispered to each other upon crossing paths, would widen their eyes and turn away or press themselves against the wall at my approach.

They might as well become more concave than the wall hangings. At this point, it’s hard to feign ignorance. Rumors have spread throughout the castle, and everyone is desperately avoiding me.

The person known as me.

Today, too, I had to click my tongue in disappointment as I surveyed the deserted corridors. Before a word could be exchanged, either their legs would buckle, or they’d clutch their stomachs and run to the restroom. The castle has become a ward, a mere ward.

As if these pre-modern ethical beings weren’t enough, they shun a twelve-year-old. These uncivilized brutes don’t realize the negative impact of neglecting a young boy.

Thankfully, as a modern person with a generous understanding, I can overlook their physical immaturity, for my mind is reasonably aged. Of course, the thought that the servants are overreacting hasn’t left me.

I’m not prone to self-consciousness, but their reactions are embarrassingly excessive. At least the sturdy maid, Edwina, stays by my side. It’s a relief not to be alone because of her.

But even Edwina seemed a bit different than usual. She fiddled with the end of her braid, sneakily avoiding my gaze. Even now, she did the same.

“Edwina.”

“Yes?! Oh… Yes, my lord.”

Just calling her name made her jump like a startled cat. Realizing her state, Edwina neatly clasped her hands and struck a respectful pose.

If not for her faltering voice, fidgeting fingers, and hesitant eyebrows, she would be the perfect maid. It’s quite pitiable. But there was no one else to ask at the moment.

I casually threw out a question to lessen Edwina’s burden. It wasn’t an important question, just something to ease the atmosphere. As always, a relaxed environment was crucial for gathering opinions.

“Did I behave too much like a madman?”

Edwina’s eyes, beneath her long lashes, looked at me. After blinking for a while, she spoke slowly and clearly.

“That… No, not at all.”

Look at that, just look. A typical medieval noble boy would have been content with that answer. But catching such nuances is the finesse of a modern person. It was clear Edwina had much to say, but the context had been cut off.

I exerted my full empathy, offering a kind and comforting smile to put her at ease. Thanks to this effort, I was able to significantly soften Edwina’s wariness.

“You can speak honestly.”

“It was a bit so.”

…Perhaps I softened her up too much.

But since I was the one who broached the subject, I couldn’t criticize. What could I do if others felt the same way? Threatening them with a sword would only lead to whispers behind my back, so I just laughed it off.

After all, I expected such a reaction from Edwina and acted accordingly. I nodded, agreeing with Edwina’s opinion.

Certainly, a punishment more severe than house arrest would be warranted.”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Edwina’s gaze was scorching. Half of it conveyed ‘knowing and yet,’ and the other half ‘so you did know.’ I can’t even guess how far my image has plummeted in Edwina’s mind.

But having decided to commit the deed, I must ensure it’s done so thoroughly that no other words can be spoken against it. It must not seem like I’m groveling too much before Prince Aeselton, inviting scorn.

It’s a blatantly disturbed case. Even for a young boy, it was enough to be considered a severe insult. The act of slapping a mother’s cheek was enough to be seen as a youthful outburst of anger and shame.

I must prevent it.

Even if Prince Aeselton were to disown me, a convincing reason would be needed for everyone to accept it. And I had a way to convince everyone.

Honestly, to proceed with the plan, my villainy feels too weak.

If I brought someone else’s child claiming it as my own, wouldn’t it be normal in the Middle Ages to just start whipping and dancing the Bongsan mask dance? To have only ended up here, when it wouldn’t be enough even to dance joyfully after putting a noose around someone’s neck.

Even as a modern person, I feel this way; to the more macho medieval people, it must seem like a lenient treatment. Ha. How far does one have to go to appear ‘barbaric’ in their eyes?

I’ve decided to share this great concern I’m feeling now with Edwina.

“But isn’t it too weak to be expelled from the family?”

“Eh?”

“?”

“…I apologize. I misheard.”

While I was lost in thought, Edwina also seemed to have lost focus for a moment. It’s understandable, given how often she’s been out and about lately. Even a well-trained maid would naturally be tired. After all, a maid is also a wage earner.

As a former wage earner myself, I felt a strange sense of solidarity and explained it to Edwina once more, more clearly and concretely.

“Isn’t the intensity of my misdeeds too weak to be expelled from the family?”

***

The church and I dealt with each other on equal terms. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say we were in the same boat.

The gist of the plan exchanged through the presiding priest was this:

As a naive child, I would insult and provoke Yubas to make an irreversible mistake. It had to be a mistake so grave that Yubas, who would normally let things slide, couldn’t bear it and would be compelled to apply pressure.

Next, Prince Aeselton, disappointed by his son’s mistake, would take an ultra-hardline response to appease Yubas. Disinheritance and expulsion from the family, followed by a monastic vow, were key. This was to throw a wrench in Yubas’s plans.

Yubas are ones who wouldn’t hesitate to wield power. Everyone had to keep quiet when threatened with a sword by someone claiming a clearly disturbed child as their own.

If they could have raised an army to fight back, they wouldn’t have received such a marriage proposal in the first place. Even a sturdy bamboo will split in two if it resists an axe.

Disinheritance and the monastic vow were measures for this.

First, Prince Aeselton would cut off the sympathizers siding with Yubas by revoking the inheritance rights using his authority as the head of the family.

Second, if Yubas deployed an army to deny the decision to revoke the inheritance rights made by the head of the family, the monastic vow would be used to deny it once more, borrowing the religious authority.

These two were measures to prevent support from internal sympathizers and the ignorant public in advance. No matter how recklessly Yubas acted, if they forcibly proceeded with land seizure without the support of internal sympathizers or the public, they would truly be overturned.

To the outside world, it might seem like Prince Aeselton is throwing himself naked against Yubas. But Yubas would be in a very difficult position. To let it go would be to remember the insult to their daughter, and to dispute it would risk losing the coveted inheritance rights.

My inheritance was denied, and to my child? It’s unlikely to reach that far.

Once the safety measures are in place, the final part of the plan was simple.

It was about me, who had taken monastic vows, being reborn as a close associate of the Vatican after being fully indoctrinated with the church’s teachings. There is a noble cartel that disdains the church’s intervention, but I am that cartel scoundrel.

Our ‘are we not all brethren?’ spirit was enough to laugh off any superficial opposition.

In the end, as everyone shed tears over the church’s achievement of reforming a reprobate, I, the reformed, would lead the anti-Yubas faction and take revenge on those who dared turn their backs on the church, then live well as the end.

It’s a life drama, complete with lessons and emotions, all tied up neatly.

But to turn this true-story-in-waiting into reality, dramatic staging was necessary. It’s essential to plant the belief that this wretch is beyond redemption, so when the reformation comes, the tear ducts are stimulated.

For these lengthy reasons, I had no choice but to torment people…

“Rumors have it that I’ll be sent to the monastery.”

“I, I’ve never heard such a thing.”

Of course, you haven’t. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned it. I scrutinized the servant, prostrated before a twelve-year-old boy, before continuing.

“It doesn’t matter where I go. I need entertainment wherever I am. Even during the journey, there must be laughter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Prepare amusements that bring forth natural laughter. They must be enjoyable enough to shake off any misfortunes. But, only when I’m sober.”

From a subordinate’s perspective, from the position of having to meet a client’s demands, what’s the most dreadful? After several experiences, I could answer that. It’s the vague and abstract ‘something’ that can’t be quantified or objectively measured…

It’s most dreadful when asked for ‘something.’

Especially when verbose flattery makes it seem concrete, but it’s actually not. It seems this rule applies even in a medieval otherworld.

The servant, forgetting any rudeness, inadvertently raised his head. His facial muscles twisted in all directions as he fretted over the difficult problem.

I drove the point home once more.

“I’d like to pass by a lakeside suitable for a rest stop, wherever the destination may be. There must be no damage to the goods due to moisture.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Ah, yes. And I’d like something to hunt small game with along the way.”

“Something… you mean?”

Tsk. I clicked my tongue loudly, clearly enough to intimidate the servant in an instant. I slightly furrowed my brow and deliberately breathed heavily, signaling my displeasure in all directions.

“Bows and crossbows. I’m not yet strong enough to draw them, so I’ll need a crossbow that another can load. It’s frustrating. Do I really need to explain every single word, every single reason to you in detail? Is that why I employ servants?”

“No, not at all!”

“Get it ready. Since my father forced through that marriage proposal, and this is the result, I’ll also force some issues.”

“Of course! I, I will go right now!”

Seeing a chance to escape, the servant pounded his chest with his fists and hurried away. Though lacking talent in acting, it seems life experience has inflated his demeanor.

If an unnamed servant reacts like this, the quality must be sufficient. I stared blankly at the door through which the servant disappeared, immersing myself in satisfaction. Of course, if such a person were truly my superior, I would have taken care of him long ago.

But what kind of society is the Middle Ages? It’s a society of feudal classes. In those times, a man with nothing could challenge an armored knight to a duel without a judge or jury.

I bitterly felt the absurdity of the unequal class society and secretly wiped away my tears.

“Alright, next.”

Yet, shedding tears doesn’t mean one cannot work. I had to harshly push my tender heart for the perfect execution of my plan.

As I resolved, a girl with golden hair tightly gripped in her dress hem entered.

At a glance, her tension was evident. The golden girl was breathing heavily, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Her face was flushed with forced concentration, and her proud golden locks were slightly tangled with sweat.

I then realized that my villainy was put to the test. In a world similar to the Middle Ages, the mindset must be alike. In the patriarchal and macho medieval society, there was an unwritten rule not to mistreat women.

That is… not just any woman, but noblewomen.

Of course, the top 1% of men in the Middle Ages treated even low-born women well if they were pretty. And the average medieval man would lose his mind over a woman. I had to become a man worse than the medieval average…

“There’s a rumor that I’ll be sent to the convent.”

“…Is that so?”

She hesitated before barely managing to open her mouth, looking quite frail. But I was a man determined to be below the medieval average. How could I discriminate by gender when committing villainy?

I chose a different method to torment the girl.

“First, I’d like something sweet on my journey. I’ll have to hurry the beekeepers to prepare a few jars of honey in advance.”

“….”

“Just honey won’t do. I need a taste that’s crunchy, not too salty, sweet but not cloying.”

“I, I’ve never heard of such a thing…”

Of course, it was the first time I mentioned it. Could such food exist at the primitive culinary level of the Middle Ages? The standard of this era is to preserve food in salt to prevent spoilage.

But would explaining this gently be considered villainy? I pondered seriously about villainy while lifting the corners of my mouth.

“So you’ve never heard of it.”

“…”

“Can’t do it?”

“No, no, that’s not it…”

I’m different from the real scoundrels who breathe villainy. To follow in their footsteps requires relentless effort.

How difficult it is to come up with a demand that’s out of the blue yet not irrelevant after serious consideration and understanding the context. I looked down on the girl, who was tearfully responding, with arrogance and secretly gave myself a thumbs up.

“If you understand, then go. Next.”

“…Yes.”

The girl left the room with dragging steps. Of course, I could hardly compare to the GOATs, the masters of villainy. It’s a tough job to catch up to those whose life is villainy through acting.

But with consistent and faithful buildup… perhaps I can follow a little.

***

The build-up was complete about a week later.

It was when I had laid out all the items I had prepared under the guise of a mid-term check in my room. The gathered servants huddled together, crouching as much as possible to avoid my gaze.

I could see them groaning, perhaps worried about potential problems. I resolved to neatly solve these concerns.

Just then, there were glass bottles piled on the table that would help with an impactful presentation.

I approached and swung my arm.

“Clear it all!!!”

-So that the sound of shattering could fill the entire room.