Chapter 136
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 136
Once their arrangements were settled, Turan led Mago out of the nameless nomadic tribe.
The tribespeople lamented the departure of the shaman who had protected them and healed every manner of wound and illness.
“Are you truly leaving us like this?”
“We haven't even begun to repay the grace you showed us, Shaman. Please, stay with us.”
Mago, listening to their pleas, stole a nervous glance at Turan. He seemed worried that the noble might slaughter these insolent commoners for daring to block his path.
Turan, who naturally had no such intention, stood still and gave a slight nod, signaling Mago to handle it himself.
“Now, now, everyone, calm down,” Mago said, soothing the crowd. “If I am still drawing breath after this business is concluded, I shall return here.”
“Oh! Is that true?!”
“We believed in you, O Healing Hand!”
Once things are settled here, he’ll have to return to the Siraf Wetlands. Isn't he making a promise he can't keep?
Though Turan thought this privately, he didn't bother to contradict Mago in front of the people. At the very least, they were clearing the way.
And so, they left the tribe amidst the warm hospitality of the people. As they walked, Turan turned to Mago, who was following a few steps behind.
“That promise you just made—did you mean it?”
“Pardon? Ah, of course. I’m thinking of spending the rest of my life here once this is over.”
With an expression of near-transcendence, Mago explained how he had come to stay with the tribe. While wandering in search of the Lavitas traitor, he had been caught in a skirmish and lost his companions. The tribespeople had rescued him when he was a broken mess and nursed him back to health with utmost devotion.
“That’s a bit different from what I’ve heard,” Turan remarked. “A friend of mine said the people of the plains enjoy murder and rape like it’s a daily meal—that they’re practically another species wearing human masks.”
“There are those types, certainly. But aren't there plenty of villains among the people of the Northern Continent as well? The people here simply haven't been taught a better way to live. Among them, those who possess land where the grass grows well and have many assets—like the tribe we just left—show the virtue of healing even a nameless vagabond.”
A strange sense of wisdom seeped through his low, murmuring voice.
As they discussed the topic further, Turan learned an interesting fact: the small tribe he had first rescued was actually a gang of looters. Not long ago, they had tried to raid the very tribe they had just left, only to be driven away after being soundly thrashed by Mago.
“Hah...”
Turan recalled the way those people had groveled before him. To think those seemingly helpless sheep acted like ferocious wolves toward other sheep.
“I suppose I should clean them up when I have the time.”
“Are you referring to them?” Mago asked.
“Yes. If those bastards raid someone else, it’ll be my responsibility.”
Hadn't Keorn said it in the past? If you show mercy to one highwayman, he will repay you by killing ten innocent people, so kill them without hesitation if given the chance.
Furthermore, considering how they had rejoiced at Turan’s poor physical condition and specifically recommended a tribe that was practically their enemy, it was hard to see their intentions as good. Given the hostile atmosphere toward outsiders, they likely hoped for a conflict to break out.
Hearing this, Mago spoke with a slightly flustered expression. “Is there truly a need to go through such trouble?”
“It won't be much trouble at all.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Mago did not doubt for a second that the young noble before him could wipe out a small tribe with a mere gesture. The aftereffects of that enormous mana he had felt earlier still made his body tremble.
It was a power one might feel from the Elders of the Great Families—a power that lower-ranking nobles like him could hardly dare to meet with their eyes. He guessed that even if there were thousands of weak nobles like himself, they would struggle to leave a single scratch on Turan’s body. He felt grateful that Turan even used honorifics with him, treating him as a fellow noble.
“What I meant to say was, there is no reason to stain your own hands with vice,” Mago said softly.
“Is there any vice in removing a wolf that eats sheep?”
One who seeks to harm the innocent is not a sheep, but a wolf. Faced with Turan’s rock-solid values, Mago spoke in a calm tone.
“As I mentioned before, whether the tribes of this land are good or evil is determined simply by whether they have food to fill their bellies—whether they can survive without looting or not. If they are hungry, they become wolves; if they are full, they become sheep.”
He went on to explain that if you kill those who became wolves out of hunger, the sheep will increase in number, and then, when food runs low again, some will become wolves once more. It was a repeating cycle.
Turan listened quietly to Mago’s words. They directly contradicted the values he had built while growing up, yet they carried a strange resonance that made it impossible to dismiss them as mere nonsense.
“...So, what I’m trying to say is that good and evil are more complex and difficult to judge than one might think. Of course, if it’s a villain who simply delights in torment, then you can cut them down as you say. But since judging that is not easy, one must be more prudent when exercising power.”
After finishing his piece, Mago stole a glance at Turan, as if checking to see if he had offended him. Turan smiled softly and nodded.
“It’s still hard to fully grasp... but I feel like I’ve gained something. Thank you for the good words.”
“I only hope I haven't overstepped my bounds.”
“Not at all. Ah, my name is Turan.”
He revealed his real name because he felt the middle-aged man before him was someone worthy of respect. Not only was he a shepherd who cherished his sheep, but his discourse—that one should delve into the reasons behind a raider's actions rather than simply cutting them down like weeds—possessed a depth Turan had never considered.
Of course, there were several points he couldn't entirely agree with.
Perhaps sensing the friendly sentiment in Turan’s words, a faint smile touched Mago’s tense face.
“So you are Lord Turan. You don't seem to be someone belonging to Lavitas...”
“I am of the Zahar bloodline. Though I don't belong to that specific house.”
“Ah.”
Sensing a complicated family situation, Mago refrained from prying further. Turan then asked the question he had been curious about.
“But leaving the family to settle here isn't as easy as it sounds, is it? More than anything, I don't think Lavitas would ever allow it.”
Even ordinary mage families didn't easily let go of a precious noble, but the Great Families were even harsher in this regard. It was to prevent their superior and rare bloodlines—the mixture of two lineages—from being stolen.
To put it bluntly, if Mago continued to stay here and some other Great Family came along, snatched him up, and forced him to sire children to produce mages of the Lavitas bloodline, what then? Such bloodline theft was strictly forbidden, but usually, when something is forbidden, it means there are people trying to do it.
When Turan voiced this doubt, Mago chuckled and replied.
“Lord Turan, you are close enough to the family to be entrusted with the recovery of a Holy Relic, so I suppose it’s fine to tell you. It’s a story known to those in the know... Among the Holy Relics of Lavitas, there is one with the power to block the target’s reproductive capabilities. They say that once it’s used, one cannot have children by any means until the effect is released.”
Turan’s eyes widened at the truly bizarre tale. “There’s such a thing?”
“Yes. Of course, I’ve never used it myself, but I understand that anyone can receive the treatment if they wish.”
Mago added a strangely mischievous remark, noting that it didn't exactly make sexual activity impossible.
*
Since he had already revealed his name, there was no need to hide Bije. Once they reached a place where no one else was in sight, Turan summoned Bije and enlarged him.
Mago’s eyes went round with shock as he boarded the giant Golden Eagle magical beast.
“No, how... To hide a magical beast on your person and even change its size like this... I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
“Don't go telling anyone.”
At Turan’s warning, Mago nodded with a solemn expression. Of course, since the people of the Berk family who had come to Kalamaf had already seen it and spread the word, it wasn't actually a secret that needed that much guarding.
The Great Steppe was vast—though not as vast as the Enril Desert—and they had to fly east for nearly a full day before reaching their destination. It was an area where a noticeably large river flowed through the parched plains, and the grass grew quite long.
Looking around, Mago let out a soft groan.
“This is the base of the Golden Fleece tribe. Though several other clans have gathered here now as well...”
The claim that they were practically at war was no exaggeration; before long, they spotted corpses that appeared to have been killed by humans. The attackers must have been desperate for even a scrap of clothing, as the bodies were all naked, and every spear, sword, and arrow had been pulled out.
“Tsk.”
Though he had felt many things after hearing Mago’s story, such a sight was truly unpleasant regardless of the context. Understanding that discomfort, Mago didn't try to defend it either.
After staring down at the corpses for a moment, Turan voiced a sudden realization.
“These corpses... most of them were killed by ordinary people, not mages.”
The marks of stabs and slashes from spears, swords, and arrows were all far too shallow to be wounds caused by a knight or a noble. According to what he had heard before, only tribes that included mages—or shamans, as they called them—could enter this area.
“Yes. Among their ancient traditions, tribes with shamans have the shamans compete in strength, while those without such abilities fight amongst themselves. In such a situation, it is considered dishonorable for a shaman with free hands to harm commoners.”
Did they have their own version of honor here? Even if the method was hard to sympathize with.
When he first arrived, Turan had viewed the plains people as little more than another species, but he had come to see them as people who simply had a different culture. Though he felt he had seen the whole world and had nothing left to learn, it seemed there were many things that could only be learned through direct interaction with people.
After surveying the surroundings for a while, Turan mentally suppressed a wandering horse and gave it to Mago. Then, he bowed his head in farewell.
“Then, please return safely.”
“Yes, and you as well, Lord Turan... I shall pray to the Earth Mother that you may successfully complete your mission.”
Mago’s role ended here. Since he had been severely injured while trying to identify the location of this region and infiltrate it, he had no more information to offer. In fact, Turan would have to go through the trouble of protecting him if he stayed. Knowing this, Mago didn't cling to him with offers to help but instead agreed to return quietly.
Traveling by horse, the journey that took a day by flight would likely take at least a week of riding, but since he had prepared food and water in advance, it wouldn't be too difficult to endure.
After seeing Mago off, Turan immediately used tracking magic targeted at humans.
A thick scent of bodies wafted from all directions. Maintaining his invisibility along with Bije, he took to the skies and began to observe the tribes gathered in this area one by one.
“There really are a lot of them...”
He had heard that the number of people living in this vast steppe was barely a few hundred thousand at most, but every dozen kilometers or so, he saw tribes numbering in the thousands. Considering the amount of grass consumed by the sheep and cattle they brought with them, he wondered if even a fertile region would soon be depleted.
As he passed by, Turan checked the flags atop the tents they had set up or were carrying.
A horned buffalo, a wolf, a snake, a lion...
Unlike the world outside the plains where the Frea faith was dominant, the people here—both commoners and mages—mostly followed primitive religions based on animal worship. Some even worshipped specific magical beasts.
Since the tribe he just passed had a pattern resembling a Golden Eagle on its flag, they might even worship Bije as a divine bird.
After passing about a dozen tribes, he finally saw flags embroidered with a golden fleece pattern.
—Found them.
Bije, whose eyes were better than Turan’s, was the first to spot them. The creature seemed to treat finding the correct flag as a game and was even more proactive than Turan.
The number of people in the Golden Fleece tribe was not exact, but it was roughly over ten thousand. It was the largest scale among the tribes gathered here; at this size, it was no different from an entire city on the move.
Turan landed among the tents of the Golden Fleece tribe while maintaining his stealth. His nose was momentarily overwhelmed by the strong body odor mixed with the characteristic animal smell of nomads, but he soon grew accustomed to it.
As he moved around with the Holy Relic’s sensory ability activated, it wasn't long before he felt the presence of nobles with high-tier mana or higher gathered together. There were eleven of them in total.
Wait, I heard mages were rare in the plains... but this is more than all the mage families in the Gray Zone combined.
If a single tribe was at this level, wouldn't they be able to put up a fight against Baraha if they all joined forces?
But that thought was short-lived. When Turan reached the place where the high-tier nobles were gathered, he realized he had been mistaken. The unusually high number of high-ranking nobles were none other than the leadership of other tribes opposing the Golden Fleece tribe. A meeting had been convened to mediate disputes with neighboring tribes, bringing the powerful nobles together.
“This is absurd! That bastard slaughtered my tribe, leaving not even the children alive! And the compensation for that is a hundred and fifty sheep?!”
“They were just commoner children, not shamans. I think that’s quite generous.”
At the nonchalant remark from the man presumed to be from the Golden Fleece tribe, the one who had cried out about the slaughtered children trembled with rage.
Turan, who had briefly focused on their conversation, immediately turned his gaze toward his target.
Perhaps because he was an outsider, instead of attending the meeting like the others, he was embracing his lover.
Moroz Lavitas... Looking at his face and bloodline, it’s definitely him.
Moroz was a young man with a somewhat high-strung and sensitive impression. Of course, he only looked young because of his Lavitas bloodline; his actual age was over two hundred and forty. The female knight nestled beside him, as expected of someone with a powerful noble lover, had a pretty face, and a massive power could be felt from the necklace hanging from her neck.
That was likely the Holy Relic.
When the meeting broke up a short while later, Moroz entered a large tent that appeared to have been assigned to him. Naturally, Turan followed behind him like a ghost, still cloaked in stealth.
“Honestly, these bumpkins... I don't know why they keep calling me for such trivial matters. It’s a pain in the ass just being asked to heal them.”
“Is that not the burden of one who stands in a high position?”
The female knight humored Moroz’s irritable attitude with a tone that was both stiff and soft. After a brief kiss, he spoke with a slightly more relaxed demeanor.
“Well, I suppose it can't be helped as long as I’m stuck in this backwater... But as long as I have you, Basha, that’s all I need.”
“Lord Moroz.”
Looking at the two of them, who were nothing but affectionate, it was hard to imagine they were criminals who had stolen their family’s Holy Relic—and had even gone so far as to murder the family’s pursuers who were tracking them.
Then again, hadn't he learned just yesterday that an evil person doesn't always look evil?
Naturally, the sweet words of love were followed by even more intimate displays of affection.
Turan, watching this from beside the bed in the tent, eventually drew his sword.
It was a magic tool created by the enchanter Melo as a reward for saving him during their stay in Kalamaf. While not as good as something made by Meisa, its quality was exceptional, specialized in piercing through all manner of defensive abilities.
The assassin’s blade drove through the bodies of the two overlapping figures, ending their embrace forever.