Chapter 153
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 153
The girl’s father was known as the Barrel Knight.
He earned the moniker because, unlike most mages who maintained fit physiques, he alone possessed a belly that protruded like a wooden cask. It wasn't exactly a flattering title, but her father would simply pat his stomach and laugh.
"Well, there’s enough wine in here to serve a hundred men!"
The Barrel Knight fell during the harvest festival.
They said he died fighting a war against a Great Family in the far east, following the head of the Great Family he served. It felt surreal. Just yesterday, he had been playfully thumping the back of her head with his beer belly while stroking her hair, and now he was gone.
As the girl stood there in a daze, unable to process the news, her mother—pregnant with her younger sibling—collapsed and wailed in grief.
After her father’s death, the girl’s world changed in an instant.
Outwardly, the neighbors still offered displays of respect and sympathy, but inwardly, they looked down on them as a fallen household. Her father had been a knight of commoner origin, and her mother was a commoner as well; the neighbors figured the children would be no different. It was their petty way of venting the resentment they had harbored while bowing their heads to the family in the past.
"Let’s move."
"Move?"
"Yes. Outside the city."
Her mother explained that while her father had saved money from his work as a knight for the Great Family, it was impossible to maintain a house of this size without a steady income. They had to move to a smaller place.
The girl didn't want to leave the city she loved, but she kept it to herself. Her mother looked far more pained saying those words than the girl felt.
Then, some strangers visited their home.
"Are you the widow of Knight Erba?"
"I am, but..."
"We were sent by the Master of Parsha. Here."
At the mention of the Master of Parsha, her mother’s face turned pale. It was only natural; her husband had run off to answer that very man's call, only to return as a corpse shortly after. Taking the letter with trembling hands, her mother sank to the floor and began to sob.
"Thank you... thank you so much..."
"The Master mourns the loss of a comrade who fought by his side. He has ordered us to ensure the family does not live in penury. If you ever face hardships, contact us here."
One of the strangers glanced at the girl. "Is this the daughter?"
"Yes."
"She looks about ten. If she has the talent, it should manifest soon."
"If my daughter has talent, I will make sure her first steps are through the gates of Parsha. After the grace you have shown us, how could I dare do otherwise?"
After thanking them repeatedly, her mother turned to the girl once the strangers had left. She told her they wouldn't have to move after all.
"The Master of the Parsha family has decided to take responsibility for our livelihood until your younger sibling grows up. It’s truly a blessing."
Her mother’s eyes shone with a light bordering on fanaticism as she explained that it was rare for a lord to look after the children of a wandering knight who had only recently joined, unlike those from families that had served for generations.
Listening to her mother’s praise, the girl thought to herself: I want to be of help to someone, just like him.
In response to that wish, the objects around her began to float and drift in circles.
*
"I think we spent a bit too much on the survivor benefits this time, Turan. Shouldn't we cut back a little?"
"It’s not like we’re short on budget anyway."
At Turan’s words, Asiz groaned and nodded.
Originally, Asiz had been compassionate enough to shed tears over the deaths of the knights he served, but after rising to a position overseeing the budget of a Great Family, it had become difficult to act on emotion alone. As they say, the position makes the man.
"Some of those knights' children will be born with the strength of a knight. Though rare, some might even possess noble-rank mana. Do you think they’d want to be loyal to a family that answered their parents' deaths with a pittance? And what would the others think, seeing the families of their fallen comrades living in poverty?"
"That’s true. But there is such a thing as precedent."
"We have fewer expenses than other Great Families anyway. Better to use the money like this than let it rot."
Families that have prospered for a long time naturally accrue a sort of 'tax.' It is the money used to support those who share the family name but branched off generations ago. One might suggest simply ignoring them, but it was difficult to do so because members of a Great Family living in squalor reflected poorly on the family’s prestige. Furthermore, the branch families that had established significant power within the clan would likely resent such a policy.
In the end, a substantial portion of the budget was usually wasted on maintaining every single one of them.
In contrast, Parsha was relatively free from such burdens, as Turan was essentially the only direct member of the family. Of course, the downside was that their income was still low because the system hadn't been fully established yet.
"Take this opportunity to announce that we will maintain this level of compensation permanently. We are few and weak, so we must at least stand united. What survives the wolf isn't a scattered mess of sheep running for their lives, but a flock that huddles together to face the threat."
"Understood."
Watching Asiz leave, Turan reflected on his own words and chuckled.
Exerting influence over the children of the deceased, boosting the morale of other mages to keep them united—those were all just excuses. He simply didn't want to see the children of the sheepdogs who had fought the wolves under him starve to death. He didn't want those who fought alongside the Shepherd to feel that their sacrifice had been in vain.
‘Besides... every time I make a choice like this, it feels... right.’
Closing his eyes and awakening his Spiritual Awareness, Turan focused on the sensation that strangely warmed his spirit.
One strand came from the far south, another from the far east, and a final one from right here where he stood. Something unknown was faintly connected to his spirit, transmitting both warmth and cold. Among them, the strand connected to Kalamaf and the Gray Zone had grown thicker than it was just a short while ago.
‘Is this really the feelings of the people being transmitted to me?’
Turan suddenly recalled a conversation he’d had with one of Baraha’s half-elves recently.
[Me, the reincarnation of the Night Hunter?]
[It’s just a hypothesis, a hypothesis.]
It had been a dark night in a small cabin where shadows danced in the firelight of the hearth. Sitting in an armchair and sipping hot lotus tea, the half-elf had answered Turan’s question defensively.
The prison for the half-elves, originally a desolate cell, had been modified to suit their individual tastes—a reward for their sincere answers to numerous questions and cross-examinations. While some had lesser facilities, the half-elf before him was exceptionally submissive and cooperative, earning him the best room next to Resion’s.
[Otas loved helping 'newbies'—beginners, that is. He was incredibly generous even to ordinary humans. Yet he had the resolve to ruthlessly execute his own children when they turned into psychopaths. From where I’m sitting, you have quite a few similarities.]
[Is it even possible for the soul of a dead god to be reincarnated?]
[Who knows? However, we suspected that some of those who reached the end of their lifespans long ago might have reincarnated. The souls of those of us who crossed over to this world were so overbearingly powerful that even in fragments, they would possess the consciousness of humans.]
The half-elf was referring to the soul fragments of gods that had previously possessed the consciousness of people like Midan and Visen. The gods had noticed their existence long ago and conducted research, but they hadn't achieved any significant results. Those fragments merely possessed scattered bits of knowledge the players had in life, constantly trying to implement things that only applied within the game, like creating the Soul of Fire.
Hearing that, Turan brought up a question he’d always had.
[Come to think of it, I wondered why no one else was using things like the Soul of Fire. Do they already know the existence and the recipe?]
[Yes. However, they don't spread it as a sort of 'deterrent against the proliferation of force.' The more the floor is raised for the weak, the more disadvantageous it is for us.]
Long ago, a Great Family in the Western Forest had reportedly used the secret of creating the Soul of Fire to rebel against the gods. They distributed the Soul of Fire to their mages for combat, much like Turan was doing for the Parsha mages, and it was effective enough that the gods had quite a bit of trouble suppressing them.
Afterward, a secret agreement was made to not only thoroughly destroy the manufacturing methods for such items but also to refrain from using them in that manner.
[Then they won't look too kindly on me making and spreading this.]
[Probably not. For your information, the Soul of Fire is originally called gunpowder, and it's...]
The half-elf suddenly trailed off. Turan guessed the prisoner was hoarding information to trade for a reward later, but he didn't press him. It was more profitable to play along and keep extracting information gradually than to threaten him for everything at once. As the proverb went, there was no need to slaughter the goose that laid the golden eggs.
[Fine. Let’s leave it at that. So, you guys don't know much about reincarnation either?]
[No. If we did, we would have used it ourselves. It’s a much more natural and comfortable method than raising a vessel just to steal its body. So, we just assume that if a large mass of soul, rather than a tiny fragment, dwells within a newborn, that might be reincarnation. Memories could be seen as having been lost along with the smaller fragments.]
The half-elf went on to list the reasons why he thought Turan was Otas’s reincarnation.
The most important factor was his extraordinary magical talent. Using Soul Magic or Spirit-calling, one could harvest a large number of souls from the dead and use them as materials to manipulate the spiritual talent of a newborn. This could influence everything from the knack for handling magic to innate mana capacity and the number of inherited bloodlines.
However, what Turan possessed was in a realm that was nearly impossible to create even through such methods.
Four bloodlines, transcendent learning speed, and a growth limit that remained invisible even when he stood on par with the heads of Great Families. At this point, he was superior even to Meisa, whom Zahar and Arabion had jointly created by grinding down countless mages, civilians, and magical resources.
How could such a thing be possible without the soul of a god dwelling within him?
There were many other clues. A spirit body without a leash; the existence of Bije, who was so deeply bound to him that he could even borrow her power, reminiscent of the game’s pet system; and an appearance similar to the default face of the Hunter in the game.
Of course, there were counterarguments—the lack of a leash could be due to the Sky Mountains, and Meisa was also drawn to Bije—but Turan didn't bother to argue.
‘Whatever the case, what does it matter?’
Soul Magic books defined the spirit body as the 'True Self,' but Turan thought differently. Accumulated memories and the personality formed by them were the only true means of distinguishing oneself from others. He didn't care about a past life he couldn't even remember.
When Turan said as much, the half-elf shook his head.
[The problem is that I won't be the only one thinking this. Among those still alive, there are those who liked Otas, but there are also those who were his enemies...]
*
Lost in thought, Turan realized he had mechanically finished his administrative duties and left his office. Not through the door, but through a large window on one side.
Mounting Bije, who had emerged from the back of his hand, he flew high into the air. Remaining cloaked in stealth, he left Kalamaf and headed toward a nearby rocky mountain.
‘Since I have some time, I should get some training in.’
Normally, he would have brought Solif or Meisa along, but both were busy. Solif was preparing something for the war against the Ruban family, and Meisa had gone to subjugate a dwarf den that had appeared north of Kalamaf.
After flying for a few minutes, Turan arrived at a suitable spot. As he prepared to land, he frowned at the presence he felt below.
‘How annoying...’
Originally, the rocky mountains near Kalamaf were so barren that neither humans nor animals frequented them. However, at some point, people had started snooping around. This was because traces of immense magical power being exercised, accompanied by thunderous roars, were occasionally discovered in the area.
Some claimed a mythical magical beast resided nearby, while others correctly guessed that the head of the Parsha family was honing his magic in secret.
‘I wish I had something I could use as an indoor training ground.’
Most Great Families had training grounds at their main estates where powerful mages could hone their skills, but Parsha, a 'crash-course' Great Family, had no such thing. And the current situation didn't allow for the luxury of building a new one.
Passing the onlookers, Turan used his relic’s senses and tracking magic to pick a deserted spot and landed. They wouldn't be able to find him even if they searched for a thousand years.
"Alright, let’s begin."
He started with a simple warm-up. After loosening his joints with the exercises he had learned from Haram, Turan lunged forward.
Boom! With a thunderous roar, his body exploded forward as he kicked off the ground with immense leg strength.
‘Oh...’
The power of Ruban, which combined the Strength-bearer and Guardian bloodlines—two bloodlines specialized for physical combat—was truly immense. While it wasn't exactly the sum of the two bloodlines' physical capabilities, he could boast physical abilities that far surpassed anyone who possessed only one of them.
He was so fast that the wind hitting his face tore apart, creating a sonic boom. Turan began practicing creating Wind Paths to match his movements and reduce air resistance.
‘There’s a lot to adjust with what I gained this time...’
Handling the internal and external affairs of the Parsha family was important, but Turan’s own combat ability was even more crucial. Ultimately, if he couldn't overwhelm the heads of those powerful Great Families and the possessed vessels within them with raw force, everything would be for naught. In this world, violence was the only way to fully manifest one’s will without being suppressed by others.
Punching the air, kicking, running, and leaping—Turan spent over half an hour getting used to his strengthened body, causing massive destruction to his surroundings. Naturally, the rocky mountain was left in a pitiful state. Every punch created cracks meters wide, and every kick sent entire sections of cliffs flying.
After several dozen minutes of intense movement, Turan stopped to catch his breath. Normally, he wouldn't be tired after this much movement, but it seemed that because his strength was so great, the stamina consumption had increased as well.
"Phew... ha..."
The adjustment of his physical senses wasn't perfect yet. Unfortunately, his martial talent wasn't as transcendent as his magical talent. But he actually preferred it that way. The harder something was, the greater the sense of achievement when he succeeded. In contrast, with magic, he could usually achieve mastery almost instantly just by watching and learning, making it hard to feel that same sense of accomplishment—though there were a few exceptions, like what he was about to practice now.
After refining his newly strengthened body, Turan began his serious magic training. He started with what he had been practicing ever since his battle with Badal.
"Ugh—"
Whoosh! As soon as he activated the magic, Turan’s body was jerked as if someone had grabbed him by the collar. It was the result of manipulating magnetism—the power to move metal.
To facilitate this, Turan had recently changed his frequent attire. From his coat to his underwear and shoes, he had incorporated appropriate amounts of metal into every part so he could move them when necessary.
Pulled forward from where he stood, Turan moved sideways, upward, forward, and then downward again. His movements were like those of a puppet being manipulated by strings from above. Because he constantly ignored inertia and made near-right-angle turns, his joints and muscles screamed in protest.
‘This... actually hurts quite a bit...’
Did Badal endure this because he also possessed the Strength-bearer bloodline? Or perhaps he had a smoother technique that didn't cause this much pain. With that thought, Turan threw a punch, utilizing the momentum of his magnetic movement.
Whoosh! His fist swung with even greater force than before, causing the sparse grass at the edge of the rocky mountain to sway violently.
After practicing this technique—which could rightfully be called Electromagnetic Body Arts—for a while, Turan stopped as he felt a rapid consumption of mana. As expected, his efficiency was poor because he wasn't yet proficient in handling magnetism.
‘I should save some. I have one last thing to practice.’
For the final demonstration, Turan pulled two items from the high-capacity pouch he always carried. His sling—the first weapon he had started using, though it had recently struggled to keep up with his other abilities. He loaded a metal ball into it, spun it, and looked ahead.
‘Let’s see...’
First, he created a Wind Path to eliminate air resistance. Then, he layered another path over it: an invisible path of magnetic force.
‘Will this really work?’
When asked to devise a way to apply magnetism, three out of the four half-elves had suggested this technique. It was to accelerate a metal ball by giving it repulsive force using magnetism. They said there was nothing better for someone like Turan, who fired metal projectiles.
One of them had even explained something called Fleming's Left-Hand Rule. While the prisoner couldn't clearly explain the concepts of magnetic fields and electric currents, the concept alone was somewhat helpful to Turan, who had already experienced electricity and magnetism through his own body. He had rewarded that fellow with an extra glass of wine.
Recalling what he had learned, Turan stabilized the magnetic path. He released the spinning sling and precisely channeled the ball into the entrance of the path.
The Soul of Fire embedded inside the sling exploded, providing the initial acceleration. The ball then received further force from the magnetic path, accelerating again as it shot forward.
"Oh..."
The moment it accelerated, the metal ball literally became a streak of light. It was so fast that it created an optical illusion, looking like a long straight line from the starting point to the destination.
The projectile didn't just pierce through the target cliff; it created a circular hole several meters in diameter around the impact point. Entering the tunnel that had been created, Turan walked past walls that had been vitrified by the immense heat for nearly eight hundred meters before he finally found the half-melted metal ball.
"This is insane."
Thinking that he should give the half-elves in the jewelry box another round of food later, Turan recalled the name of this technique.
With their non-existent mouths, they had said in unison: this was a Railgun.