Chapter 15
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 15
Unlike ordinary mage families, passing the mantle of leadership to one’s own flesh and blood is no simple feat for the head of a Great House.
The probability of a child inheriting immense mana is only slightly higher than the odds of inheriting their parent's height or facial features. Within a Great House, there are often dozens of relatives within the same generation; since they all share the same ancestors, it is almost inevitable that at least one cousin or distant relation will prove stronger than the head’s direct offspring.
“In a situation like that, a child with the greatest talent among the head’s children was born, and she received full support from the moment she drew breath.”
Meisa, the Princess of Arabion, was the youngest daughter born to the Family Head and a noblewoman from a branch of the Berk family.
Of the head’s three children, the eldest had been sent away for adoption because their maternal bloodline manifested too strongly. The second was merely mediocre, leaving the head disappointed—until a child with the talent to truly succeed the lineage was born to a concubine.
Meisa was not only born with immense mana, but her aptitude for magic was supernatural. It was said she had mastered all manner of combat magic, including the unique Arabion bloodline magic, a mere ten years after awakening her mana.
As a result of such overwhelming support, even at the age of twenty-one, her mana capacity was nearly indistinguishable from that of the family’s core elders. Because of this, expectations were sky-high that she would become one of the strongest heads in Arabion’s history. Many even hoped that by the time she took the lead, she might finally be able to destroy the Zahar family.
“With that much mana at her age, did the family funnel all the ‘funerals’ to her?”
“Exactly. She even took my great-uncle’s mana. Of course, the rest of us got a share too.”
It is a common trait among all magical creatures—not just magical beasts—that mana remains after death, often causing phenomena like necrotic transformation. Naturally, the mana of a deceased mage can also be absorbed. Turan and Asiz themselves had absorbed the mana of the Berk knights while burying them.
This practice is commonly referred to as a ‘funeral.’ Arabion had concentrated the funerals of nobles who died of old age or accidents onto a few talented young mages. By doing this, it was possible to accumulate sufficient power within the family without the hassle of going on a long pilgrimage. Of course, it meant other family members wouldn't inherit that power and would have to hunt magical beasts more diligently to compensate.
So there’s a reason the Great Houses reign at the top…
Turan felt a brief flash of envy, but he quickly reminded himself that his own talent was a great gift. He snapped his fingers. A flame, born from frictional heat, shifted its form from a fireball to an arrow, then a spear, and finally a sword in rapid succession.
Seeing this, Asiz let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Flame shape-shifting? You’ve already added three more forms?”
“Yeah.”
“Dammit, I’ve already forgotten how to do the first one.”
Even while chatting as they walked, they practiced magic in various ways. Stimulated by the sight of Turan performing his daily training with a variety of spells, Asiz had stepped up to resume the combat magic training he had long neglected. He said he didn't want to stand by helplessly while his people died again.
Asiz shared information on various spells he knew theoretically—many of which overlapped with what Turan had learned from Keorn—and in exchange, Turan taught him a few types of magic he had self-taught on the hill, along with some of the simplest natural laws he had learned from the library.
Of course, Turan didn't give even a hint that he knew how to use detection or stealth magic. He didn't want to provide any clues that he possessed Zahar blood. Regardless, thanks to this exchange, Turan was able to get a sense of the magic acquisition speed of a mage with average talent.
Even when focusing on one thing, it takes him days to learn. And even then, it’s not at a level to be used in real combat. They forget it quickly if they don't keep practicing…
Turan caught himself becoming arrogant and quickly reined in his thoughts as he watched Asiz struggle. How could he dare be conceited when he had just heard there was a peer with a similar level of talent and far greater raw power?
“Anyway, Turan, have you decided on the magic tool you want?”
“More or less.”
The first thing Turan had thought of was a magic tool imbued with the power of ‘healing.’ While he could practice and use most magic himself thanks to his talent, healing was almost impossible to use unless one was born with that specific bloodline.
After gaining a rough understanding of the principles of wound healing at the library, he could fix light scratches, but that level of power was useless in actual combat. The problem was that half of his bloodline was still ‘locked.’ If the remaining half turned out to be a healer bloodline, a healing magic tool would be a waste.
Because of that, he was considering choosing something universally useful regardless of bloodline magic, but he hadn't made a final decision yet.
Seeing Turan lost in thought, Asiz chuckled.
“Well, take your time. You’re going to stay at our place and rest for a bit after we arrive anyway, right?”
“I won’t stay long. I’m on a pilgrimage.”
“Don’t be in such a rush. We have plenty of time, after all.”
As he said, Turan still had hundreds of years of life ahead of him. He would live long enough to see the children of the ordinary humans passing them on the road—and perhaps even their children’s children—grow old and die.
Turan shook his head at the sudden thought. For some reason, there were too many things in this world that tempted him toward arrogance.
*
Since leaving Hisaril Hill, Turan had often marveled at how the environment grew more prosperous the further inland they went. From lush forests to streams overflowing with clear water, and plains covered in grass where it seemed anything would grow if planted—to a shepherd youth who had grown up seeing only rocky hills and wilderness, this place was a paradise.
But now, Turan realized that the ‘abundance’ he had seen before was a mere shadow.
Golden wheat fields stretched so far that even a noble’s enhanced vision couldn't find the end. It was staggering to realize that they had already been walking past these fields for half a day, and there was still no end in sight. The yield from these fields seemed enough to feed every city and village they had passed so far.
“It might really be that much. People say it’s quite common for travelers to get lost in those fields,” Asiz said with a shrug.
This vast land was the Dakein Plains.
After walking for a full fifteen days since leaving Maderi—a distance that would have taken a normal person a month or two—they had arrived at the core territory of Arabion. In the center of this plain lay Morgen City, the stronghold of Arabion, and scattered along the edges were several satellite cities ruled by vassal families like the Berks.
The total population living within this domain was said to be in the millions, a scale almost impossible to imagine. Once they entered the Dakein Plains, Asiz knew the way, and they reached Zabilin, the Berk family’s territory, without having to ask for directions.
Since the sun had already set and the city gates were firmly shut, they pounded on the gate until someone shouted from above.
“Curfew has passed! Come back tomorrow!”
“It’s me, Bin!”
“Young Master Asiz?”
The knight who had been sitting on the five-meter-high wall jumped straight down upon hearing Asiz’s voice.
“It really is you, Young Master! Have you finished your pilgrimage already? And why are the others…”
“They have all departed for the Celestial Palace. We’ll talk about that later. For now, can we go in and rest? And tell my parents that I’ve returned.”
At the question about the retainers, a shadow fell over Asiz’s bright face. It seemed his exaggeratedly upbeat behavior had been a way to bury his gloom. It would likely take a very long time for him to truly overcome those emotions. Perhaps he never would.
A short while later, the two arrived at the Berk family palace. Thanks to the message sent ahead, the entire family had come out to greet Asiz. The first to run forward was a middle-aged woman dressed in a lavish gown. With her dark blonde hair and features that mirrored Asiz’s, it was clear they were mother and son.
“Asiz, my baby! What on earth happened!”
“Mom!”
Turan was inwardly appalled at the sight of a forty-three-year-old man shouting “Mom” and hugging her. Granted, he looked like a young man in his twenties… but even so, it was a jarring sight.
That woman was Midella Berk, the head of the Berk family. Behind her stood a man who appeared to be her husband and a young man slightly older than Asiz—likely the elder brother and heir.
“Asiz, mind your dignity. At least call her ‘Mother.’”
“I-I’m sorry.”
Asiz flinched at his father’s reprimand and bowed his head, then immediately turned and pointed to Turan.
“This is Turan, a friend I made in the south. He risked his life to save me when I was in mortal danger. I wouldn't have made it back alive if it weren't for him.”
“This pilgrimage shouldn't have been that dangerous… what exactly happened?”
“We were ambushed by Dark Elf Necromancers.”
Asiz recounted the details to his mother like a child who had been bullied: the sudden ambush, his subordinates dying under the assault of the necrotic army, and Turan’s appearance after Asiz had fainted.
Upon hearing this, House Head Midella was livid.
“Dark Elves! Those filthy worms dared to target my child? If I don't lead an army myself and tear them apart—”
“Calm yourself, House Head. People are watching.”
Even after being calmed by her husband, Midella’s eyes remained bloodshot with rage. Asiz’s father, who seemed much more composed, turned to Turan.
“Then, may I ask which family our benefactor belongs to?”
“It is difficult for me to say.”
“Difficult?”
“Yes. To be honest, it would be more accurate to say I don't know.”
Turan didn't use the excuse of having a hostile family as he usually did. Families with current hostile relationships were fewer than one might think; even Lug, the head of the Baltas family, had immediately narrowed the candidates down to Arabion and Zahar.
Therefore, he had prepared an answer that was both honest and deceptive.
“I was born to a commoner mother, and I do not know who my father is.”
As he smoothly told the story, Asiz looked startled.
“What? You never told me that!”
“It’s not exactly something to brag about.”
In truth, Turan’s identity was something that a family emphasizing bloodline hierarchy might find unpleasant. No matter how much power ruled the world of mages, to nobles, knights were house-guarding dogs and commoners were even less.
However, the House Head couple merely looked at each other with troubled expressions rather than looking down on him. It was likely because he was raised by such parents that Asiz had developed a personality that mingled freely with subordinates.
House Head Midella cleared her throat and spoke.
“I see. So that is the situation. Very well, Turan of no house. Since you saved a child who is a treasure to our family, I shall see to it that you are properly rewarded as the Master of Berk. However, it will be difficult to provide a room within this house. Instead, I will arrange for you to stay at the best inn in the city.”
“What are you saying! Mother! You won’t even host the benefactor who saved me in our home?”
At the sight of Asiz daring to interrupt the House Head, his father pressed his hand to his forehead, exhausted by his son’s lack of maturity. Midella, suppressing her son with a stern look, continued.
“Normally it would be fine, but we have an esteemed guest staying with us at the moment. It is difficult to bring in a guest whose identity is unknown, even if he is a benefactor. Please understand.”
“You don't need to worry on my account, Auntie. Surely the person who saved Asiz isn't going to suddenly try to assassinate me.”
Just then, a woman of indeterminate age interjected.
The moment Turan saw her, a skeleton came to mind. Her eyes and cheeks were sunken, as if a single layer of skin had been stretched over bare bone. Her neck, arms, and legs were all so thin it seemed they might snap under her own weight.
How much would a person have to starve to become that emaciated?
“Meisa? Why are you here all of a sudden?”
At Asiz’s words, Turan realized she was the Princess of Arabion.
But… She looks more like a corpse than a princess.
Truly, if she had been lying down with her eyes closed, he wouldn't have even suspected she was alive. While Turan was having these rude thoughts, Meisa Arabion answered in a nonchalant tone, as if she were merely mentioning that the sun had risen.
“Those Zahar bastards almost assassinated me recently. So, I’m laying low here.”