Ian continued beating Erik for a good while. No matter how saintly one might be, if suddenly told to get engaged to a minor, one can't help but go berserk.
This isn't the 14th or 15th century. Does it make any sense, by common sense, to talk about engagement with a kid?
Of course, Amelia didn't look completely like a child. In fact, her appearance was somewhat similar to Cecilia or the owner of the Outer Sea.
But what matters isn't her appearance, it's her age. Even if Amelia were nearly two meters tall and weighed a hundred kilograms, Ian wouldn't have given her a second glance. Just because he became a mage didn't mean he abandoned common sense.
No matter how much of a mage you are, you must live by the rules. Otherwise, before long, you'll end up sharing a passionate farewell kiss with this world. The partner would probably be something like a pink knife.
It looks similar to a tongue, so to those crazy bastards, it'd be a fitting death.
"S-Stop it, oppa...! You're going to kill grandpa...!"
Ian climbed right onto the bed and stomped on Erik with all his might, then stopped kicking when he heard Amelia's cry of dismay.
Breathing roughly, he looked down at the groaning Erik and clicked his tongue.
"Hoo... That's what you get for spouting nonsense."
"You're the crazy one, you lunatic...! Listen to the end of what someone says...!"
Erik struggled to stand and kicked Ian's shin. Ian easily dodged it, then got down to the floor and crossed his arms.
"What reason do I have to listen to the ramblings of a demented old man trying to marry his granddaughter off to a grown man?"
"It's an engagement, not marriage! I'm not telling you to marry Amelia right now! Just to get to know each other first!"
"I refuse. I'm the type who prefers his meat cooked."
"What nonsense is that?"
Erik pressed his throbbing side with his hand and frowned. Instead of answering, Ian glanced down at Amelia and let out a deep sigh. Amelia, meeting his gaze, couldn't hide a hint of disappointment and fidgeted with her fingers.
"Did you even ask Amelia's opinion before deciding? Even if I accepted your proposal, it would be meaningless if Amelia doesn't want it."
"In any case, once Amelia turns fifteen, she'll have to start looking for a strategic marriage partner. Even if you refuse, she is destined to be engaged to someone else eventually."
"...Haah."
"You know roughly how important tradition and bloodline are among mages. Even if a child has no talent for magic, they have a duty to pass on the mage bloodline. Amelia is no exception."
Erik let out a sigh and leaned back against the headboard. Ian frowned.
"...Have mage families not progressed in their thinking since the Middle Ages? They said they didn't care whether talentless children lived or died, and now you're using them as tools to carry on the bloodline?"
"Even if you're angry at me, I have nothing to say in my defense. I myself had a strategic marriage, and my son did too. It's not easy to casually ignore a tradition that has been passed down for centuries."
Erik tapped the blood-soaked bandage with his finger.
Amelia sat in a chair with a gloomy expression, her gaze lowered. Her small hands clasped the grimoire tightly. Erik watched her as he spoke.
"There are only a few ways to avoid a strategic marriage. The best is to distinguish yourself before you turn fifteen, but Amelia is now fourteen. That's far too late."
"..."
"But even I don't want my granddaughter to be sold off to some weirdo. That's why I proposed this to you. You're someone I can trust, and your character is... well, not completely trash."
Ian grimaced at his slight hesitation, then looked at Amelia and sighed deeply.
"...I understand the situation. But still, an engagement is out of the question."
"Then how about taking her as your disciple?"
"...Disciple?"
"Yes, if she's a mage's disciple, they can't force a strategic marriage."
Erik poured the remaining potion into his trembling hand, drank it all, wiped his mouth, and continued.
"Becoming a mage's disciple is actually difficult. Especially for a talentless mage."
"..."
"Therefore, being someone's direct disciple is no different from having one's skills guaranteed. Rather than wasting time through marriage, it's far better to let her stay as a disciple and then reap the rewards later."
"...What if the mage serving as her teacher isn't all that impressive?"
"Would a mage with no leeway take on a disciple? This too requires a certain level of skill. And you meet the conditions more than enough. Just having created a grimoire is beyond sufficient."
He rubbed his aching wrist with his hand and put on a serious expression.
"So, if not an engagement, please accept her as your disciple. I want to give my granddaughter a chance."
"..."
"The rest of her life is long. Isn't it pitiful if it gets tied down by marriage so soon?"
"...I heard talentless mages are weeded out."
"Sometimes you need a flexible person like me."
Ian sighed at his chatter and sat back down. Amelia stared at him with expectant eyes and gulped. The sound echoed clearly through the silent room.
"So you were aiming for this from the start. The engagement was a fake."
"That's why I told you to listen to the end, you crazy bastard. Where did you learn the manners to beat someone up out of nowhere?"
"Average for a mage. Be thankful I didn't use magic."
Since that was true, Erik nodded and waited for Ian's answer.
'A disciple...'
Ian looked up at the ceiling and slowly sorted out his thoughts.
He had never really thought about a disciple. Right after obtaining the grimoire, he naturally had no time for such things, and even now that he had leisure, he had never met a talent that made him think, 'You're mine!' Most of the people he'd met were enemies, and the rest were already accomplished mages.
In fact, the very desire to take a disciple was structurally impossible.
It's not like you can suddenly grab a monster ball, whack some unrelated person over the head, and shout, 'Evolve into a mage, you Muggle bastard!'
That's not a trainer, that's just Trevor. Meaning a crazy bastard.
So until now, he had lived without paying much attention to the concept of a disciple. This was the first time he seriously considered it.
'Taking Amelia as a disciple...'
The conclusion he reached.
'Not bad.'
Ian put an unlit cigarette between his teeth and tapped his thigh with his finger.
If Amelia were a complete stranger, he would have refused Erik's proposal without a second thought. It was essentially the same as a stranger suddenly showing up and leaving his daughter with you. There was no other option but refusal.
But Ian had already met Erik several times, and he roughly knew the innocence of the girl named Amelia.
He still remembered the moment he first showed magic at the bookstore and Amelia's sparkling eyes. Even her timid question about whether he could teach her magic later remained etched in his memory.
He didn't think she would harbor sinister intentions to swindle him. Even if she did, he could just kill her, so it wasn't a serious problem.
The important thing was that all the magic she would use as a mage had originated from Ian's hands.
'The number, types, incantations, and magic circles of the spells I wrote in the notebook are all in my head. Just because the notebook became a grimoire doesn't mean my original ability has disappeared.'
In fact, the reason Ian gave up the notebook so cleanly wasn't just about the money; it was more because the memory ability embedded in the notebook still worked.
Since all the common spells he had written were stored in his mind, there was no need to cling to the notebook.
And if Ian knew all the spells written in the notebook—no, the grimoire—then explaining and demonstrating them to Amelia wouldn't be hard. He could probably teach her better than anyone.
'I hadn't thought much about a disciple, but now that things have turned out like this, I am feeling a bit greedy. I think I understand why martial arts masters in martial arts novels are obsessed with raising disciples.'
There's a term often called 'newdle-pak'.
It refers to the phenomenon where masters with purple skin and only underwear rush over to a newcomer in a certain field, teach them all sorts of knowledge, and look on with satisfaction. Apparently, he had also become one of them at some point. He suddenly felt like rolling around in his underwear and parrying.
Anyway.
Ian imagined a future Amelia holding the grimoire and unleashing various spells, and let out a small laugh.
"Alright, I accept the proposal."
"R-Really?!"
Amelia whipped her head up and cried out in surprise. Ian patted her head.
"Yes, though of course your opinion matters most. What do you want to do?"
"I'm okay with it! No, please let me do it! I'll do anything you ask!"
"Your passion is commendable. Ah, I'll speak informally now. It's weird to use polite speech with a disciple."
"Yes! Please do!"
Amelia smiled brightly and nodded repeatedly. Erik watched her and let out a small chuckle.
"It was a bit of a gamble, so thank you for accepting."
"Forget it. I was curious about the performance and abilities of the grimoire I wrote anyway. More importantly, how should we do the lessons? Should I come here about twice a week?"
"Ah, about that."
Erik cleared his throat and straightened up.
"I plan to return to my hometown as soon as possible. Since I have leave, I need to focus on recovery and restoring my magic for now."
"Then what about Amelia? Are you taking her?"
"Originally that was the plan, but since you've become her teacher, it would be best for her to stay here. However, the house she lived in burned down, so there's currently no place for Amelia to stay."
"...So?"
"So, what do you think about her living together with you at your place?"
"You crazy bastard."
Ian kicked Erik in the side.
"Kwaagh!!"
Erik rolled off the side of the bed.
*
In the end, Amelia came to live with Ian. Not only was there no suitable place to live, but there were many dangers for a young, unskilled mage living alone. She couldn't even use proper magic yet, so if she encountered a monster, she'd surely die.
Hadn't Ian himself nearly died when he met the Eight-Foot Tall Ghost at the convenience store?
If he hadn't been able to use the magic of an Outer God and had only learned ritual magic, Ian would have been killed on the spot, his head pierced by the Eight-Foot Tall Ghost. Encountering a supernatural entity without any preparation is more dangerous than one might think.
So Ian decided to follow Erik's suggestion and take Amelia with him.
In the first place, as long as Ian was careful, nothing would happen to Amelia. The problem was that Erik had suggested living together first; Ian himself had absolutely no intention of doing anything to her. He thought he'd just teach her magic and maybe make her do the housework.
'I was already tired of doing laundry and dishes anyway, so this is good.'
Ian stood outside the bookstore waiting for a moment, then the door opened and Amelia walked out with a bag over her shoulder. Wearing a light hoodie and pants, she looked up at Ian and spoke.
"Oppa, I'm all ready."
"Okay, let's go. Have you ridden a motorcycle before?"
"Yes! My dad used to give me rides sometimes!"
She smiled and nodded. Ian smiled back, got on the bike, and handed her the helmet.
"Wear it. It might be a bit stuffy, but just in case."
"What about you, oppa?"
"I'm fine. There's only one anyway."
"Ah. Then, then you should wear it..."
"It's nearby anyway, so it's fine. Get on quickly. Let's go."
Vroom.
Ian started the engine. Amelia let out a little gasp and quickly climbed onto the back. Ian checked that her small hands were hugging his waist, then kicked up the stand and took off.
A little later, the two arrived at the residential complex. Ian drove slowly toward his house and turned a corner.
Then he saw.
"Heuheung... Where did master go... I have so much to tell him..."
In front of the front door.
A woman with brown hair, dressed in a Gothic Lolita dress, was sitting against the wall, staring blankly at the sky. Then she heard the sound of the bike and turned her head.
Her expression brightened.
"Eek, master!"
"Ah."
"Masterrr!"
Ian saw her greeting him brightly and grimaced.
"...Master?"
Amelia murmured from inside the helmet.