It's Not Like That

Ian kept beating Eric for quite a while longer. No matter how saintly a man you were, if someone suddenly told you to get engaged to a minor, you'd see red.

It wasn't the 14th or 15th century or anything. How could it possibly make sense, by any sane standard, to talk about getting engaged to a brat?

Of course, Amelia's appearance didn't make her look like a child at all. If you had to force a comparison, she was somewhat similar to Cecilliana or the Lord of the Outer Sea.

But what mattered wasn't appearance, it was age. Even if Amelia were nearly two meters tall and weighed a full hundred kilos, Ian still wouldn't have given her a second glance. Becoming a mage hadn't meant throwing common sense away.

Even as a mage, you had to live while keeping the important things in check. Otherwise, before long, you'd end up sharing a violent goodbye kiss with this world. Your partner would probably be a pink knife or something.

Since it kind of looks like a tongue, for lunatics it'd be as good a send-off as any.

“P-please stop, oppa...! You'll kill Grandpa at this rate...!”

Ian even climbed onto the bed and stomped Eric with all his might, but he stopped kicking when he heard Amelia's desperate shout.

He let out a rough breath and clicked his tongue as he looked down at the groaning Eric.

“Haa... Then why the hell did you start spouting such insane nonsense?”...