Chapter 133
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 133
Since his emergence into the world, Turan had received several marriage proposals.
They ranged from the Lord of Morgen City to Midella, Asiz’s mother, and even various influential lords within the Gray Zone.
The reason he had declined them all was simple. Partly, it was because his innate talent was too precious to be shackled to a single house, but more than anything, it was because he believed marriage was not a matter to be decided through mere political strategy.
To him, marriage was a sacred contract between two people who loved each other.
The values instilled in him by his mother during his childhood remained unchanged, even now, after he had traveled the world and learned its ways.
“In the first place, if she is the granddaughter of the Zahar Family Head, wouldn’t she be a fairly close relative of mine?”
“She would be your second cousin. Surely that is distant enough.”
In fact, among ordinary mage families, it was not uncommon for first cousins to marry. Since mages born with mana equivalent to nobility were rare, it was difficult to find matches between individuals of equal strength. Of course, such unions were born of necessity; even among mages, the perception of consanguineous marriage was not particularly favorable.
There was a reason Meisa had flared up when Solif previously suggested that she and Turan might be related.
“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”
“You don’t exactly sound like you appreciate it.”
Despite his proposal being rejected, Talis showed no sign of displeasure. His face remained expressionless, only his eyes moving as if scanning his opponent.
“You became a little angry when you heard my proposal just now. Why? Because I suggested a relative who is too close? No, that’s not it. Perhaps you attach some grand meaning to taking a wife? Oho, I see.”
It was a bizarre spectacle—Talis posing a question and then deducing the answer himself without waiting for a reply.
Turan scowled, realizing the man had gauged his emotions through his scent. It was something Turan did often himself, but being on the receiving end felt as unpleasant as having his skin turned inside out.
“I thought you were of the same breed as me. A Zahar of Enril. The most cruel, cunning, and ruthless tribe in the world.”
“Do you believe that bloodline determines personality?”
“At least where nobles are concerned, there seems to be some truth to it. You know it yourself, don’t you? The fact that one’s innate bloodline affects our soul… our very essence.”
Despite his distaste for Talis’s words, Turan couldn’t help but partially agree.
His own nature—the ability to kill and torture those he deemed enemies without a shred of remorse—was a quintessential trait of the Zahar nobility. The fact that the symbol of one’s bloodline manifested upon the spirit body meant, in a sense, that the bloodline influenced the soul, the very core of a human being.
“Well, it’s quite interesting that there are differences. Then again, a grandfather and grandson only share a quarter of their blood. Though for that, your faces are almost laughably similar.”
Talis wore a smirk, seemingly delighted to have found a crack in Turan’s armor. However, not even a hint of the scent characteristic of a happy person wafted from him. It meant that he, too, was wearing a mask.
How unpleasant.
Only then did Turan realize the source of the discomfort he had felt during their previous meeting in disguise and their current conversation. It was the instinctive repulsion felt when two people of a serpentine nature—those who only felt secure when they held the information advantage by analyzing their opponent—encountered one another.
After organizing his thoughts for a brief moment, Turan replied with a faint smile, mirroring Talis’s own.
“You’re quite accurate. You’re right. I wish to have a single companion, and I want that person to be someone I can truly share love with.”
“I believe Karim said something similar once. Do you take after him?”
At the sudden mention of his father’s name, Turan quickly attempted meditation to calm his emotions. Through his encounter in Carmine, he knew that his father had been murdered by the man standing before him. To prevent Talis from realizing he knew this, he had to somehow dissipate the surging hostility.
Fortunately, his mental training had not been in vain; Turan was able to sink into a perfect meditative state before his animosity could manifest. Having quickly emptied his emotions, he feigned a calculated composure, letting only a hint of curiosity show on his face.
“I’ve wanted to hear about my father for some time. What kind of man was he?”
“I’m ashamed to say I don’t know enough to give you a detailed account. He was merely one of my many children. I did know, however, that he had a sentimental personality that didn’t match his perpetually sullen face. Come to think of it, he was a fellow who wasn’t very Zahar-like at all. If only he hadn’t lost his life during the war with Arabion.”
Even though he was speaking of the son he had killed, Talis wore a tender expression, as if reminiscing about a lost loved one. Turan realized he didn't need to wonder where his own acting skills had come from.
After clearing the air with a few more words, Turan brought forth the thoughts he had organized in his mind.
“Returning to the main point, let us start by having me meet the lady first.”
“Meet her?”
“If you send the lady you mentioned to our side, I will consider a serious courtship. If our hearts move for one another afterward, we can be joined by blood as you suggested.”
“To my ears, it sounds like you’re trying to escape the current situation and plan to go back on your word later.”
Talis’s sharp remark hit the mark, but Turan replied without changing his expression.
“Even if we were bound by a loveless marriage, wouldn’t it be difficult to expect any binding force? It’s not as if I’m going to live in the Enril Desert, so if necessary, I could simply discard a wife or child.”
“Hmm.”
“But as I said before, I am a person who takes marriage and companionship seriously. Because I do not make decisions lightly, the bond will be that much stronger if it is formed after a proper period of interaction. As a bonus, Zahar will be able to place someone who can serve as their eyes and ears within a threatening power.”
As Turan said, his proposal wasn't entirely a loss for the Zahar side. Even if the marriage didn't eventually happen, they could still gather various pieces of information during her stay.
“Ah, one thing. Naturally, I won’t accept ‘one of your kind.’”
Turan was, of course, referring to a God’s Vessel. Talis immediately shook his head in denial.
“She is not.”
“That is a relief.”
“By the way, what will you do about that other lady?”
“To whom are you referring?”
“Don’t play dumb. The Arabion girl. It seems your relationship is far from ordinary. And it doesn’t look like a one-way street, either.”
He had the gall to propose marriage while knowing that? Turan clicked his tongue inwardly at the absurdity but gave the answer he had prepared.
“As you said, Grandfather, I am a cunning and ruthless Zahar. I know what must take priority and what must be cut away if necessary.”
With that, the office fell into a brief silence. It was a hidden battle: Talis straining to analyze the other’s intentions using his sight and smell, and Turan remaining as unresponsive as a stone statue.
After a moment, Talis tapped the desk with a fingernail.
“How many guards may she bring?”
*
Dozens of minutes later, the two men descended to the conference room and announced the results of the meeting to the waiting nobles of Zahar and Kalamaf.
The news was that a non-aggression pact would be formed on the condition that the granddaughter of the Zahar Family Head would come to Kalamaf to court Turan.
Upon hearing this, the two groups fell into confusion for different reasons.
First, several Zahar nobles looked displeased that a non-aggression pact was being formed on such a vague condition as "courtship" rather than marriage—a condition that lacked any real binding power. Furthermore, hadn't the opponent already admitted to killing Alma, one of the Zahar successors? Instead of issuing an execution order against the one who killed their successor, they were sending the Family Head’s granddaughter as if she were tribute. For a prestigious Great Family, it was a humiliating condition.
Surprisingly, however, those who favored this loose condition outnumbered those who opposed it.
“I am in favor.”
“Nouvelle, you… are you saying this because you think it’s none of your business?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who should be thinking of the family’s interests, rather than showing your personal feelings.”
The supporter of Rahman, the only remaining Zahar successor, spoke up shamelessly. For them, a non-aggression pact between Turan and Zahar was a task that had to be accomplished.
If they clash and that man submits and joins the family… Lord Rahman will have no chance. We must keep him wandering outside the family.
In fact, since the massacre of Alma and her faction had ultimately helped Rahman, they felt more gratitude than hostility toward Turan. As long as he remained an independent power until Rahman became the Family Head, they were satisfied. Furthermore, they didn't need to worry about the risk of him building a power base within the family by marrying the Family Head’s granddaughter—not if they considered the background of the woman Turan was to marry.
While the Zahar side was busy with their calculations, the Kalamaf nobles were all, without exception, glancing at one woman.
“Mmm.”
“Uh, this is…”
In truth, the conditions Turan had secured were more than generous from the perspective of Kalamaf’s interests; they were practically a steal. He wasn't getting tied down by an immediate marriage, but merely a courtship that could be broken off at an appropriate time. Moreover, while the Zahar granddaughter stayed in Kalamaf, she was essentially a hostage.
The problem was that everyone knew Turan already had someone who was practically his companion.
The face of the auburn-haired woman who was the center of everyone’s attention, Meisa Arabion, was devoid of expression. It wasn't an expression of indifference, but rather a face where all emotion had been erased, like a doll.
After a moment of silence filled only with groans and muttering, she spoke.
“It’s a good deal. Isn’t it?”
Naturally, no one chimed in with a "Yes, it is."
After their respective discussions, the formal documentation of the non-aggression pact began. It didn't contain the complex trap clauses found in commoners' contracts. Since a contract between nobles relied on the honor and dignity they had built, there was no entity to judge them even if they broke it by force.
After finishing the writing and signing, Talis shook Turan’s hand and spoke in a low voice.
“I’m glad we could have such a productive talk. I doubt I’ll be able to visit in person next time, but I hope you get along well with the child who comes in my stead. I personally think of her as a daughter.”
Does thinking of her as a daughter mean you’ll kill her without hesitation if things go wrong?
Keeping the thought to himself, Turan shook his hand.
*
After concluding the peace agreement, Talis immediately left Kalamaf with the nobles who had followed him. It was an act that went against the usual etiquette between noble houses, but Turan welcomed it. He didn't want to spend a long time interacting with them and risk revealing that his current physical condition was failing.
“Kh.”
Cough. Along with a cough, Turan used Fluid Manipulation Magic to control the surging blood and flung it out the hallway window. If a Zahar noble had been nearby, they would have smelled the blood and immediately known something was wrong with his health. It was a relief that he had managed to restrain himself enough during the meeting to prevent a coughing fit.
Normally, Meisa would have been by his side to wipe it away whenever he had such bloody coughs. But after the peace agreement ended, she had gone to her room, claiming she was tired, and hadn't come out all day.
“Ah, Lord Turan…”
A female knight guarding the hallway looked flustered upon seeing Turan and saluted with her hand over her heart. Turan could sense a faint anger emanating from her. Since the knights of the Berk family felt a bond with Meisa, who was related to them by blood, they were angry at Turan’s decision.
“I’ve come to see Meisa. Is she inside?”
Of course, it was merely a polite question. He had several abilities to sense nearby humans, including the Mimic Relic. He could already tell that Meisa, who had been lying on the bed, had sensed his presence and was moving.
“The young lady is…”
Just before the female knight could lie and say Meisa was out, the door behind her swung open. Meisa, her face partially hidden by unkempt hair, spoke to Turan.
“Let’s go out and talk.”
“Alright.”
It wasn't just a matter of talking in the garden; as soon as they stepped out of the mansion, Meisa used flight magic and took off at full speed. Turan, whose mana was inferior to hers, had to exert all his strength to keep up.
After about ten minutes, the two landed on a rocky mountain dozens of kilometers away from Kalamaf. It was a place where no trace of human presence could be found.
“Meisa, I—”
The moment Turan opened his mouth, a bolt of lightning erupted from Meisa’s hand. It was electric magic cast with such extreme proficiency that there wasn't even a precursor like static electricity.
Turan didn't take any defensive stance and accepted the magic in its entirety. The intense shock surged through his chest and spread throughout his body, causing his muscles to stiffen.
“Ugh…”
Perhaps she hadn't expected him to take the attack head-on, as a flash of worry and concern crossed Meisa’s face. But it was only for a moment; her face contorted again as she looked down at the fallen Turan.
Feeling the tingling pain coursing through his body, Turan lay on the ground and met the eyes of Meisa, who was looking down at him.
She must have cried a lot.
He had seen her trying to reduce the swelling by pressing ice to her eyes earlier, but unfortunately, for a noble with power like hers, even that was bound to be difficult. Trivial coldness wouldn't have much effect on her body.
Meisa, her eyes swollen and red, looked down at Turan and then straddled his stomach. It was a superior pinning position he had seen during their previous combat training. In reality, because mages were far too light compared to their strength, it was a technique that was practically useless against anyone at a noble's level.
“You bastard.”
The curse word flowed from Meisa’s mouth as if she were spitting it out. Just as he was thinking that this was the first time she had ever cursed at him, a sharp crack echoed, and a searing pain surged through his face.
“Kh.”
Meisa’s fist was far more painful than he had expected. In the arena, Turan would often have his way by activating his Berserker Bloodline and beating his opponents, but without the help of the Mimic Relic, his pure physical ability was inferior to hers, as her mana was stronger.
How long did she beat the fallen Turan? Seeing his once-handsome face completely covered in blood, Meisa huffed and then covered her face with both hands.
Because his nose was broken, Turan asked in a nasal voice.
“Are you crying?”
“Yes, you bastard…”
Was it because of the environment she grew up in that she knew so few swear words? The variety of curses coming from Meisa’s mouth was incredibly monotonous. She wiped her flowing tears with her hand and looked down at the reclining Turan.
Her head knew that it was a decision made for everyone’s peace, but she found it hard to endure the feeling of betrayal. The time they had spent together like a married couple while she followed him as her savior filled her mind. If he respected her at all, couldn't he have at least told her before making such a decision?
Though they had never spoken of their affection aloud, she had thought their relationship was at least at that level. Even now, feeling betrayed, her heart ached at the sight of him injured because of her—especially since she had seen him turn his head and cough up blood.
Then, Turan, who had spat out a mouthful of blood, gestured toward Meisa, who was sitting on him.
“Wait, lower your head a bit…”
Though puzzled, Meisa immediately leaned her upper body toward Turan like a well-trained animal. It wasn't because she felt sorry for hitting him earlier; it was simply because it had become a habit to follow Turan immediately whenever he said something. In extreme situations like combat, it was always Turan’s role to give instructions, and his instructions were almost never wrong.
Turan wrapped one hand around the back of Meisa’s lowered head and pulled her toward him.
A moment later, the thick taste of blood flowed into her mouth.