Chapter 164
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 164
“Did you see that? Just now?”
“If you have eyes, there’s no way you could’ve missed it.”
“To witness such a spectacle without fearing for my life… it’s a stroke of luck, truly. I only wish I could have seen it from a bit closer.”
“If you had, you’d be dead.”
The duel between Turan and Harun was, for mages of their caliber, nothing more than a light warm-up. Yet, to ordinary mages, it was a battle that bordered on the transcendent.
The pebbles Turan had deflected with his gun shattered nearby boulders into dust, sending shrapnel flying in every direction. When Turan was blown back by a bullet, his body carved a furrow into the earth over a meter deep and dozens of meters long.
The traces left behind—the countless shadow tentacles and the craters formed by the physical clash of two mighty Family Heads—looked as if meteors had struck the earth. It was a scene closer to a natural disaster than a fight.
Of course, some mages from Parsha and Lavitas had already witnessed the transcendent power of the Family Heads during the Baraha War, but many gathered here had not. Among them, the Parsha mages, who had been loitering near the rocky mountains just to catch a glimpse of Turan’s skills, were particularly moved.
“Good work, Head of Parsha.”
“It was hardly work. Just a light warm-up.”
Osel, who had been watching the fight from the closest vantage point, reached out. The graze on Turan’s forearm from a bullet wound healed instantly. It was a wound that would have healed on its own in a day or two, and Turan was more than capable of fixing it himself, but he intentionally allowed Osel to heal him. It was a performance—a demonstration of the alliance between Parsha and Lavitas for the Zahar family to see.
As he mended the arm, Osel leaned in closer and whispered in a low voice.
“So, how was it?”
“How was what?”
“If you fought for real, could you win?”
“I wonder. In a long, drawn-out battle, there might be a chance…”
In the previous bout, neither had drawn their true weapons, but it was highly likely that Harun had hidden more of his strength. He hadn't drawn upon his true power as a Night Hunter, nor even the full potential of his Alchemist bloodline.
If Harun had used his ability to transmute any substance into a poison capable of affecting even nobility, every attack would have been far more lethal. If an arm hit by a bullet or a leg grazed by a shadow tentacle began to rot while he was still alive, the impact would have been significant.
Of course, Turan wasn't without his own countermeasures. Among the Lavitas bloodlines he possessed through his holy relics was the Purifier bloodline, which could eliminate all forms of disease and poison. Generally considered a dying ability because it was rarely useful in combat—much like the Ruler bloodline—it was the perfect natural enemy to the Alchemist bloodline.
While Turan and Osel conversed, the nobles of the three families, after some hesitant observation, began to interact in earnest. It wasn't a complete mingling of the ranks, but rather a few influential figures from each family moving between the groups.
One man approached Turan: his grandfather, Talis.
With a brazen expression, as if the insult he’d suffered earlier meant nothing, he approached with a woman following behind him.
“I must apologize for my earlier rudeness, Master of Parsha.”
Just as before, Talis addressed Turan with extreme formality. Considering how condescending Talis had been when they first met—or rather, when Talis first encountered Turan—it was a complete reversal of roles. Back then, regardless of his actual power, Turan was merely a warlord from Kalamaf, while Talis was a representative of Zahar. The power granted by official status was not something to be ignored.
Turan stared at the bowing Talis for a moment before nodding with a polite, yet slightly aloof, air.
“I shall forgive it. After all, you are my grandfather, not a stranger.”
On the surface, it sounded like a conversation between a grandfather and grandson who got along well, but in reality, it was a rebuke, confirming that what Talis had done was indeed an insult. Furthermore, using honorifics here actually placed more pressure on Talis. If a man who had just stood toe-to-toe with the Zahar Family Head used polite speech toward him, it would elevate Talis’s status far beyond what was appropriate.
“Is the Zahar Family Head well?”
“Yes. He is merely resting as he is a bit fatigued. Given his age…”
At Talis’s shameless words, Turan had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh. Although Harun’s body was aged, he wasn't on the verge of death like Badal, nor was he so frail as to warrant such a comment. His fatigue was simply the result of drawing upon the power of a god.
After a brief exchange of empty pleasantries, Talis stepped aside slightly to introduce the woman standing behind him.
She appeared to be in her late twenties to early thirties by commoner standards, with mid-to-high-tier mana. At first glance, one might think Talis was playing matchmaker again, but Turan didn't frown. Having gathered information on the Zahar family through Berit, he had a rough idea of who this woman was and why she was being introduced.
“This is my daughter, Aril Zahar. She shares the same mother as Karim, your father… my son.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Ruler of the Gray Zone.”
The woman bowed politely, her voice somewhat low and husky. Turan gazed at his aunt, whom he was meeting for the first time, before turning his eyes back to Talis.
“A pleasure. But why the sudden introduction?”
“As I mentioned before, I do not know my son Karim very well. However, Aril was quite close to him. I brought her thinking she might be able to tell you the stories you wish to hear.”
Talis assumed Turan would be curious about his father, and thus, this information would serve as a bribe. Indeed, as expected of one of the most cunning schemers among the gods, it was a strike that accurately targeted Turan’s desires. If he had to choose between a powerful holy relic and the chance to learn about his father, he would choose the latter without hesitation.
Turan’s longing to know what kind of man his father was and where his roots lay had been partially satisfied by tracing his mother’s footsteps in the Gray Zone, but it wasn't fully resolved. Especially now, having realized that he himself had become a father.
Even among the information Berit had brought, there wasn't much regarding his father. Not many people remembered a mere noble who had been dead for twenty years and had nothing remarkable about him other than being Talis’s son. Even Reto, who remembered Karim’s face, only knew a bit more because they had been in the same unit.
Turan organized his thoughts for a moment and then nodded.
“That is… welcome news. Then, shall I speak with my aunt alone for a moment?”
“‘Aunt’… please, there is no need for such titles.”
“But you are my aunt. You said you were my father’s sister.”
At Turan’s firm words, Aril Zahar lowered her head deeply instead of arguing further.
*
“You look younger than I expected.”
“I am ninety-five years old this year. There is a fifteen-year age gap between Karim and me.”
Their mother had been a concubine of commoner origin and had passed away from old age long ago. It made sense; even if she had given birth to Aril at twenty, she would have been over a hundred by now. Since Aril was the older sister, his father would have been exactly eighty if he were still alive.
He would have been roughly sixty when he was involved with Turan’s mother, Vizella. Considering his mother was in her late teens at the time, the age gap was staggering, but visually, it probably didn't look that strange. A noble at sixty would still look like a man in his prime, perhaps in his twenties, by commoner standards.
“He was young…” Turan muttered to himself as he listened.
His friend Solif was nearing sixty, so technically, the age gap between Solif and Karim was smaller than the gap between Turan and Solif. To think that a father and son with a sixty-year age difference could feel like they belonged to the same generation… the world of nobles was strange in many ways.
Come to think of it, I’ll be in the same generation as my own child.
The age gap between Turan and the child Meisa would bear was twenty years. It was similar to the gap between Asiz and Turan, so they could practically be considered friends. It was almost embarrassing to call the child an heir. By the time Turan died of old age, his firstborn would likely be in a similar state or might even have passed away before him.
“May I continue?”
“Ah, please go on. I’m listening.”
Seeing Turan lost in thought, Aril, who had paused, spoke up again. The explanation that followed was fairly ordinary.
Karim Zahar was the youngest of Talis Zahar’s children and was somewhat marginalized within the family. His innate mana was on the weaker side, and he didn't possess any particular specialty. As the child of Talis, one of the most powerful figures, he was treated as a young master by lower-ranking nobles, but his timid personality prevented him from abusing that status.
Ironically, this led to him being ostracized by Zahar nobles of similar rank, who viewed him as a hypocrite. The only person he frequently associated with was Aril, who shared the same mother.
“Here is a portrait.”
Turan stared at the portrait of Karim that Aril had created using ash and thoughtography. A young man with short black hair and gray eyes. Though his features were somewhat rugged, the resemblance to Turan was unmistakable, and he naturally looked like Talis as well. If the three of them stood side by side, one would think they were a father and two brothers.
However, the one thing he didn't share with his father and son was his sturdy build. With broad shoulders and a thick frame, he felt closer to his granduncle, Harun.
If I had inherited his physique, I might have had a greater advantage in physical combat.
Turan clicked his tongue inwardly with regret.
Aril continued to recount anecdotes she knew about Karim. There was the time he secretly smuggled away a commoner who was supposed to be executed for damaging a noble’s property, only to be caught and punished. Or the time he was supposed to whip a child who had mindlessly stepped into an oasis, but he struck so lightly that he ended up being scolded in the child’s place.
As he listened, Turan voiced his honest impression.
“My father was a man who suffered many losses due to his personality.”
“He was far too soft-hearted for a Zahar noble. When he was silent, he looked cold, so people didn't know, but he was gentle and fragile. Sometimes, I even saw him crying alone.”
It must have taken considerable courage to tell the Head of a Great Family that his father was a man who used to sob in corners, but Aril’s face showed no change in expression as she explained. That didn't mean her words were false. Throughout the conversation, Turan had activated the Eye of Truth he had recently mastered, verifying whether she was lying.
Through their talk, Turan could imagine how his father and mother had become entangled. A cheerful captive girl who viewed even her imprisonment by the enemy positively, and a large, taciturn young man with a tender heart—the process of their relationship evolving from captive and conqueror to lovers.
Naturally, as those thoughts surfaced, his mind couldn't help but drift toward the cause of their relationship’s tragic end.
“Aunt.”
“Yes, speak.”
“How did my father die? I heard he lost his life during the war.”
Aril’s eyes widened slightly at Turan’s question, but she showed no significant signs of agitation. She must have expected this. She had heard from Talis that he had already passed away.
“I do not know the details myself. During the war, Karim was in a different unit than I was… however, I heard he died from the magic of an Arabion noble. I even saw the scars on his body before the funeral.”
Since it wasn't a lie, it meant Aril herself believed those words to be the truth. In other words, she hadn't been involved in his father’s death.
Connecting this with what Talis had said previously—about having "dealt with" his father—Turan could guess how it had happened. Talis had likely incapacitated him and thrown him before an Arabion noble, or killed him and then used lightning magic to leave marks on the corpse.
After the conversation ended, Talis, who had come to collect Aril, bowed deeply to Turan.
“Well, was the story satisfactory?”
“Of course, Grandfather. It was so vivid, it felt as if I were speaking with my father directly. Thank you.”
“I am even happier that the Head of Parsha is pleased. Though we did not spend your childhood together, I hope we can continue to interact as grandfather and grandson.”
Talis attempted to play the part of a grandfather while maintaining his politeness. Turan responded to that disgusting display with a smile like an iron mask.
He really is an incredible piece of work. On the surface, he looks like he’s overflowing with goodwill toward me…
Somehow, the scent of emotions wafting from Talis’s body even suggested he was genuinely happy to meet Turan. He had moved beyond perfectly controlling his emotions to prevent them from manifesting as scents; he had reached the realm of faking false emotions. At this level, his acting was practically divine.
If he hadn't heard from Harun earlier that the Zahar gods, including Talis, had wanted to kill him to remove the threat, he might have been fooled into thinking Talis held a shred of affection for him.
And hadn't Harun said that the recent pincer attack by Carmine and Ruban was also brokered by Talis? Considering that he would have suffered a massive loss if he hadn't responded appropriately, Talis was now smiling shamelessly in front of the very person he had tried to stab in the back. Calling him thick-skinned was an understatement.
I will be the one to kill you, someday.
While maintaining his smiling face, Turan had to struggle to control his emotions so that the razor-sharp murderous intent honing within him wouldn't leak out as a scent.
*
The next day, Turan held another meeting with Harun, who had recovered some of his strength. This time, it wasn't a closed-door session but was conducted in a way that other nobles could hear.
The topic, naturally, was the treatment of Berit.
Turan remained unrepentant about the fact that Berit, who had originally been brought to be the Parsha Head’s companion, had suddenly gone to the Baraha Head.
“In any case, she is still standing beside the master of a Great Family, is she not? The two of them seem well-suited. Besides, Baraha has always been close to Zahar, so it is something to celebrate.”
“You certainly make it sound simple.”
Though the conversation was thick with tension, the dialogue between Turan and Harun was essentially a staged fight. Much like the war between Arabion and Zahar decades ago.
Osel chimed in with a comment here and there, and amusingly, Solif ended up being treated like a lecher who had seduced his friend’s woman. Turan struggled to hold back his laughter as he glanced several times at his friend, who was disguised as a servant in a mask.
After several rounds of debate before everyone, the conclusion they reached was rather anticlimactic. Turan, acting as Berit’s godfather on behalf of Zahar, would pay a dowry to Baraha.
Through this, Zahar could strengthen the bond between the two families—as they had originally intended—by having the Head of Parsha become the guardian of Berit, the daughter of the next Family Head. Meanwhile, Turan could settle the matter of having acted arbitrarily and ignored the Zahar family with mere words.
Of course, being the guardian of a second cousin who was several years older than him was quite embarrassing, but it was only a formality.
Once all the discussions were finished and the meeting of the three Great Families finally concluded, everyone began to pack up. As the makeshift tents and meeting halls vanished in an instant, only the wilderness remained where a village-sized settlement had once stood.
“Then, I shall take my leave.”
“I wish you a safe journey.”
Turan bowed slightly to Harun, who waved as he said his goodbyes.
The old man who had slaughtered hundreds of thousands to bring about Turan’s birth. Considering that in the game world before he became a god, Harun had habitually said that the poor should be put in gas chambers—earning him the nickname "Nazi"—this wasn't entirely surprising.
Yet, he was also a man who had harbored romantic feelings for thousands of years toward a god he suspected was Turan’s past life. Turan hadn't decided how to treat him yet, but at the very least, he should return the goodwill Harun had shown. That was the moral code of the Golden Rule he had learned from his mother since childhood.
As they shook hands one last time, Harun whispered a question.
“So, did what I taught you yield any results?”
“Yes, it was helpful.”
“I’m glad. As I said before, do not be too hasty. You are young and have plenty of time. In contrast, Badal’s body doesn't have much time left, and there are no decent candidates other than Meisa. Though… I haven't met that person in so long that I don't know what his situation is.”
What Harun mentioned with a slight frown was, of course, the practical leader of the Arabion-Nagin forces: the Life Scholar.
When Turan expressed his desire to strike at the man behind Meisa’s abuse, Harun advised him not to be hasty and to remain composed. He added that the security within the Nagin family was so tight that even he hadn't been able to penetrate it.
“One last word: be happy. Life is not meaningful just by living; one must be happy. If you lose your happiness because you are blinded by revenge, it is worse than not seeking it at all.”
His expression was that of someone looking at a long-lost loved one.
Turan could sense that the person Harun was addressing wasn't him. Having left his final words for his beloved, Harun disappeared as he climbed into a massive carriage pulled by camels.