Chapter 200 - [Side story]
[Side story]
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 200
Chapter Title: Side Story – Surface World Travelogue
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Turik was born in the underground world.
In those days, he didn’t fully grasp the concept of an “underground world.” To him, the world consisted only of dark caves and their connecting tunnels, and it felt perfectly natural to refer to the ceiling as the sky.
He learned of the “surface world” around the age of ten, thanks to his cousin who had come down from above.
His cousin had eyes the same color as their bloodline, but his hair was a striking blond—a color rarely seen underground.
His cousin was a mighty guardian, or as they called them, a knight.
He commanded countless mages brought from the surface world up above, and he himself was extraordinarily powerful. The Ollmu—the underground people’s greatest foes—even their heroes and generals, who made guardians struggle, fell powerless before his weapons.
After slaying countless Ollmu, he finally killed their king and liberated the underground people.
His cousin’s tale, that of “Spear of Thunderclap” Arsen, spread from mouth to mouth, growing into something akin to myth.
During his brief stay at their bloodline’s stronghold, Arsen shared many stories with Turik: terrifying magic beasts on the surface, splendid landscapes, and all sorts of fantastical beings.
To young Turik, every one was like a dream. More than enough to make a boy yearn for adventure.
Turik harbored a dream. Someday, he too would walk freely on the land above and see it all for himself, just like his cousin.
After his cousin left, Turik began his formal training to become a guardian.
Unlike his originally timid and passive nature, the boy whipped himself mercilessly. His teacher—his aunt—even urged him to take it easy.
At eighteen, Turik finally became a guardian.
It came from a desperate battle against a raid by Ollmu remnants hiding on the fringes of the underground world.
And just as everyone rejoiced that a “guide” had become a guardian, Turik dropped a bombshell at a family gathering.
In the next two years, he would head to the surface for adventure.
“Cut it out, Turik!”
“You think that makes any sense?”
“You’re still a kid, but there are things you can say and things you can’t. Don’t ever mention it again.”
Naturally, his family opposed it fiercely.
With only one guide left—the symbol of their bloodline’s excellence—they couldn’t allow him to leave without even leaving descendants behind.
‘I’m going. I will go.’
But Turik’s resolve didn’t waver. The timid boy was gone. In his place stood a stubborn adventurer who bowed to no pressure.
Three years later, Turik gathered a few guardians his age and set out from the underground world. It was nearly a runaway expedition.
He had one goal: to retrace the path of adventure his cousin had described.
Unfortunately, the journey hit rough waters from the start.
“What’s wrong?”
“I... I don’t know. I feel so weak...”
“Me too... I can’t even stand...”
Near the exit, a creeping poison gas caught them off guard.
Unlike Turik, his friends— not of the “guide” bloodline—couldn’t resist it and began collapsing. Even though they were all guardians.
With no choice, Turik carried them to safety and pressed on alone.
The door opened, and the first to greet Turik on the surface was the sun’s blinding grace.
A normal person from underground might have gone blind, but as a guardian—a knight—Turik avoided that fate. Though his eyes still streamed tears nonstop.
“Ah...!”
Turik gasped in awe at the sky.
The tears weren’t just from the pain. It was overwhelming emotion at the endless sky stretching forever, untouched by any edge.
It filled him with joy—and sorrow. His family and friends would never see that sky in their lifetimes.
Turik lay flat on the mountaintop, arms spread wide as if to embrace the sky. Until sunset. And beyond.
Afterward, Turik headed east on his adventure.
It was no easy journey. His only guideposts were the fairy-tale stories from his cousin.
With nothing certain, he moved by the rising and setting sun.
He knew only one thing: head east, and eventually, he’d reach Belluan.
Fortunately, Turik had prepared thoroughly for the trip.
He rode a Jin built from designs Arsen had left behind, and he’d brought every relic from his guide bloodline useful for travel.
The weakness of traveling alone—vulnerable to ambushes—was covered by alarm relics. His magic backpack held enough rations for months.
With tools to hide, cross short distances, and more, Turik evaded magic beasts and bandits solo.
* * *
How far east had he gone when a massive river first greeted him?
To someone who’d only seen trickling underground streams, its vast width was unbelievable even seeing it.
Yet Turik marveled without approaching. He’d heard surface water beasts were dozens, hundreds of times larger and deadlier than their underground kin.
At a crossing point stood a territory with people—and astonishingly, the huge domain floated in the sky.
The sky island’s residents eyed Turik suspiciously when he revealed his identity.
“You’re that Arsen’s cousin?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Hmm...”
“It checks out. The eye color’s identical. No, even deeper purple than Sir Arsen...”
“I’ve seen that Jin before. One of the knights following him rode it.”
Turik’s purple eyes and his Jin served as proof. Purple eyes were rare on the surface, not impossible, and lizard-form Jins were equally scarce.
At last, they welcomed the knight from the far east—the cousin of the hero who’d saved them with medicine—and threw a festival.
Drinking together, Turik shed tears of emotion.
‘Big bro wasn’t exaggerating. It was all true!’
Whenever he’d dreamed on Arsen’s adventure tales, relatives would chime in skeptically.
Stories like that are always exaggerated. Don’t buy a traveler’s tall tales.
But Arsen had truly passed through here, obtained medicine, and saved people. Confirming that alone gave Turik courage to press on.
* * *
Next came the desert territory of Galraio.
Here too, he heard of Arsen.
“Ah, the purple-eyed knight...”
“Impressive guy. Even the three of us together couldn’t touch him back then, right?”
“I scratched his armor a bit. You didn’t land a single hit.”
The territory’s top three knights agreed: in their youth, they’d challenged Arsen three-on-one and lost badly.
The talk flowered into a sparring match, and Turik lost to all three. In skill, the young man was no match for seasoned knights.
Bonding over it, enjoying fine food, and resting, Turik prepared to leave the desert.
Then, disaster struck.
“Aaahhh!”
“Run! Hurry!”
“You idiot! Now’s the time to pack? Run, now!”
“This is my mother’s heirloom! I can’t leave without it!”
The desert’s king—a colossal magic beast—rampaged half-mad, assaulting the territory.
Buildings flew skyward like toys just from its approach—a mythic sight.
Naturally, no one dared fight; terror gripped all.
Who could muster hostility against a walking hill?
As everyone fled in panic, Galraio’s lord unleashed a miracle that struck the desert king. Astonishingly, the immense magic knocked it out cold.
Seizing the chance, brave desert knights climbed its body and hacked wildly.
No—burrowed was more apt. They tore flesh with weapons, swam through blood, and gutted its innards.
Turik joined, pulverizing its hut-sized brain into mush, earning top credit for victory.
“Urk!”
Mid-strike at the brain’s core, an unidentified light burst forth, piercing Turik’s body.
He blacked out, trapped in the beast’s skull, barely rescued alive.
Waking a day later, he realized he’d grown far stronger—now a “high knight” by local terms.
Word was, Arsen had brought that term too.
Due to its size, the beast held four cores: brain, heart, and two organs.
The desert knights regretted one going to an outsider but honored Turik’s killing blow.
Four months into his adventure, Turik became a high knight.
* * *
Leaving Galraio, Turik continued east.
After months, passing misty lands and more, he reached the ruin city of Satien.
As told, countless knights gathered here—from nearby territories, clashing, allying, checking each other in a cultural melting pot.
There, Turik met knights Kren and Rasur, whose names Arsen had mentioned.
Learning he was Arsen’s cousin, they welcomed him warmly as a guest.
Kren especially pressed for spars; even retired, his skill was fearsome. Freshly confident as a high knight, Turik spent days rolling on the ground. ‘Not as good as your brother,’ came the wry remark.
Irked, he sparred relentlessly; during his weeks in Satien, bruises never faded.
Rested, restocked maps and supplies, Turik left the ruin city eastward.
The area had many travelers, but a lone knight stood out, drawing eyes.
Some lords offered employment, but Turik politely declined all.
* * *
Two months later, he reached a mystical forest where poison gas purified.
Called Audun Forest, Turik faced guardian hallucinations there, screaming Arsen’s name to barely gain entry.
For the first time, he heard Arsen’s recent news.
Shockingly, Arsen had returned seven years prior, with the previous guardian’s lover and daughter.
The guardian soon died of old age; another now protected the forest.
Crossing plains after the forest, Turik finally reached the continent-splitting Viju Mountains.
This massive range allowed passage only through a narrow gap, guarded by a territory beyond.
Within lay the steel territory of Exekia.
There, he saw lodging for mage travelers—another of Arsen’s legacies.
Exekia once chased mages away outright, but after Arsen’s great deed, they provided quarters in exchange.
Two young wandering mages stayed then—lovers or spouses? No, half-siblings. Mages, and siblings—astonishing.
“You headed to Belluan too?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Right. Maybe... we can live like people there.”
Their home lay northwest; rumors spread of a paradise at the far east where mages faced no discrimination.
Fleeing oppression, they journeyed to Belluan. Amazed Turik treated mages normally, they asked to travel together.
Turik agreed; mages would ease the trip.
Weeks after descending the mountains, with mage companions, travel grew smoother.
Mages lit fires, crossed paths, felled beast hordes and bandits; Turik protected them. He learned how harshly surface mages lived.
A month later, Turik reached Belluan—at last, the Belluan Kingdom.
Narbik, its westernmost city, welcomed him.
Once a chaotic clash of knights, four years prior Arsen’s army conquered it for Belluan rule.
Ruling Belluan knights had odd gear: floating Jins on land, armed with long rod-like weapons.
Their shots pulverized beasts with immense force and speed; one could clear vast swathes solo.
“Cousin... from underground?”
“You know of it?”
“No meeting, but I’ve heard. Pleased to meet you formally. Knight Miro.”
Turik first met someone knowing the underground here. Miro, a soldier who’d adventured with Arsen.
Knowing Arsen’s kin lived below, and seeing the Belluan Jin, he accepted Turik instantly.
“But what brings you? To see His Highness the Consort?”
“Consort Highness?”
“Lord Arsen. Companion to Queen Eloise, so the honorific.”
“Ah... yes. Sort of.”
Hearing the situation, Knight Miro persuaded him to use Narbik’s teleport gate.
Eastward was just wasteland; no point tiring on Jin.
Agreeing, Turik took the weekly gate.
Contacting Belluan ahead let him speak with Arsen.
[...Turik?]
“Yes, big bro! It’s Turik! Your fellow guide—remember me?”
[Of course. But what brings you to far-off Narbik? Really became a knight?]
“Yes! I backtracked your route. Tough going, but it showed me your fame across the surface!”
Overjoyed to chat with his idol after years, Turik poured out glee at the crystal ball.
After silence, the reply held sheepishness.
[That’s embarrassing... Anyway, tomorrow’s gate day. Come through; I’ll arrange straight to the palace.]
“Can’t wait!”
* * *
The Belluan gate opened; Turik stepped right in.
This grand magic skipped weeks, months in one stride.
Suddenly, in Belluan’s capital.
“Ah...!”
They emerged not centrally, but outskirts—sensible against raids.
Clearing the way, Turik marveled around.
His mage siblings did too. Belluan dwarfed all prior territories.
“That’s Belluan?”
“Seems so.”
“Like a world for gods, not people.”
Everywhere to the horizon: livable land.
Fruit-laden trees, vegetable fields, green wheat expanses—enough crops to feed the world.
Escorted by soldiers into the city, awe deepened.
Towering buildings, paved roads.
People looked healthy, well-dressed, prosperous, noble. No starving peasants.
Mages passed unbothered, unnoticed even.
The siblings teared up, moved.
Deeper past the city, they reached the palace—expanded old lord’s hall.
There, Turik finally met his long-awaited cousin.
“Big bro!”
“Turik.”
Arsen looked much the same: blond above shoulders, purple eyes of their blood, handsome face.
Nearing thirty-something, faint wrinkles showed, but he passed for mid-twenties.
Beside him, a beautiful woman in finery; Turik knelt on one knee respectfully.
Soldiers had briefed palace etiquette beforehand.
The black-haired queen adorned with jewels, Eloise, looked down.
“You’re that little brat from back then?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Coming all the way here for real... unbelievable.”
Eloise shook her head, amusedly incredulous, then stepped back, gesturing.
Procedures first, then talk.
Soon, led by servants, Turik entered a strange device briefly. Flashing lights—purpose unclear.
His mages followed; lacking guarantees, they faced more entry steps.
Wishing them luck, Turik sat with Arsen in the reception room, excitedly recounting adventures.
“Kinda surreal. You used to tell me tales; now I’m the one sharing.”
“Same here. Never thought you’d really retrace that path.”
Underground to human lands: weeks or months via any route—treacherous.
Arsen couldn’t fly library-style, so visiting kin took time.
“You really slew the desert king? That monster?”
“Yes. Well, the lord neutralized it; I just finished it off. Thanks to that...”
Turik pulled prepped sand, rubbing lightly.
It floated up.
“I can control sand now.”
“Some powerful beasts pass abilities via cores... Heard of it. Lucky.”
“Not super useful, though.”
Grinning idly, the door burst open; a richly dressed girl rushed in. About eight, by size.
“Papa!”
“Oh, hey there, sweetie.”
She toddled cutely into Arsen’s arms.
Arsen’s knightly bulk made it look like a rabbit caught by a beast.
“Princess! His Highness is in talks; you can’t just barge...”
The trailing maid cried out; Arsen waved her off.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll watch her; you go.”
“Ah... yes, sir.”
Door shut; Turik asked carefully.
“This child...?”
“My daughter. Priscilla.”
Indeed, she mirrored them perfectly: Eloise’s black hair, Arsen blood’s purple eyes.
Like her beautiful parents, she’d grow stunning.
Talk ended, Priscilla clung to Arsen, chattering.
Broke Barkran’s leg by accident; Mama got mad; watched Grandpa Luden melt and fix it...
After prattling, she noticed Turik, wide purple eyes questioning.
“But mister, who’re you?”
Uncle at twenty stung inwardly; Turik smiled kindly.
“Your cousin. From way out west. Want some fun stories, kiddo?”