Chapter 174
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 174
In the world's northeast lies the Frostwind Forest, a region with a subarctic climate where buildings are defined by walls and windows far thicker than those in any other land.
Of course, for mages—especially those of noble birth—such cold was trivial. However, a noble’s manor was not inhabited by nobles alone. Because of this, the sound of the Ruban family’s main gate shattering failed to rouse those deep within the manor with any sense of urgency.
The only ones who felt the impact vividly were the few knights on night patrol.
“What in the—?”
“It’s an ambush! An ambush! Those Baraha bastards, no...”
A rookie knight of the Ruban family stared blankly at his superior. The veteran was muttering as if half-insane, claiming he had heard that specific sound once before. The terror in the senior knight's eyes wasn't rooted in the present; it reached back several months to the expeditionary force's invasion of the Baraha lands in the south.
He remembered that mysterious attack—strikes flying in from nowhere to send dozens to their deaths.
Who had said it? That the head of the Parsha family had flown in from the far west to rescue a friend?
That inexplicable power had pierced through barriers and defensive magic tools alike, carving deep scars into their camp. Back then, there had been only one thing they could do: run north as fast as their legs could carry them, praying as they fell asleep that the next strike would land anywhere but where they stood, just so they might see the morning sun.
The familiar noise revived that dormant helplessness, making the veteran's entire body tremble.
“A-Are you alright, sir?”
“Alright? No, I’m...”
While the rookie struggled to help his fallen superior, lights began to flicker on throughout the dark estate. The Ruban nobles were finally rousing. Though their eyes were still heavy with sleep, they raised their voices with practiced vigor.
“Prepare for battle! Everyone, follow emergency protocols!”
Having been struck once before after their failed assault on the Baraha family, the Ruban family had conducted a fair amount of drills for such a situation. Since this wasn't a full-scale invasion but a surprise raid, they assumed the enemy numbers couldn't be that high. As long as they responded calmly, they could surely hold them off—
“What...?”
A Ruban noble’s eyes widened as he saw the tide of enemies pouring through the distant main gate. Dozens, a hundred, two hundred—no, even more. Even if most were only at the level of knights, this was a force equivalent to a Great Family’s full-scale invasion.
How could such a force approach the capital, Sloon, without being detected? It defied logic. While his mind stalled in the face of this impossible reality, the invaders began unleashing magic in every direction.
*
“Save me! Please, save me!”
“Do not retreat!”
“Surrender! Surrender or die!”
The Ruban main estate, situated in the heart of Sloon City, had become a living hell. The word 'pandemonium' was the only fit. The fire magic that the Baraha mages took such pride in rained down, setting buildings ablaze and illuminating the night. Those fleeing the structures scrambled to find allies or avoid enemies in the blinding chaos.
The tide of battle was, naturally, overwhelmingly in favor of the Baraha-Parsha Allied Forces. One side had invaded with perfect formations and mental preparation; the other had been dragged from their beds and beaten senseless.
Furthermore, the alliance had gathered an elite force of about five hundred with a high proportion of nobles. The defenders also numbered about five hundred, but their noble-to-knight ratio was a mere one to ten. During wartime, they would have bolstered their ranks with vassal families, but in peacetime, their standing force was inevitably thin.
A mid-ranking noble rushed out without even properly equipping his magic tools. He was brutally cut down under the coordinated assault of a dozen knights.
“Gah—!”
Crack! Crack!
Adding to the chaos was a sharp, rhythmic noise. The Ruban noble, turned into a sieve by the fire of a dozen men, glared with his one remaining eye, trying to muster a final attack. But before he could take a step, another volley silenced him completely.
Firearms.
Prototypes of the items said to be the ultimate weapons of the 'Old World'—the world the Frea Divine Clan originated from—were making their bloody debut.
“To think a mere dozen knights could hunt a noble with the Guardian bloodline... that’s incredible,” Solif remarked, watching in admiration.
“It’s mostly because the opponent didn't know what these weapons were. Plus, he had a physical combat bloodline, making him an easy target,” Turan replied, shaking his head.
If Turan had encountered those weapons while knowing their nature, he could have neutralized them easily. He would simply shroud them in flames that required minimal mana; the gunpowder inside would ignite and explode on its own. Moreover, their difficulty to manufacture due to technical issues remained a weakness. For now, they had patched over their lack of technology by turning critical components into magic tools. Because of this, only a dozen mages from the Parsha family—those with exceptional dexterity—were equipped with them.
“Well, that’s a problem time will solve... Hey! You there! I told you not to kill children!” Solif shouted sharply. He immediately transformed the cloak on his back, firing a spear of light.
A Baraha knight, who had been about to split a child of barely eleven or twelve in two, flinched and looked toward his family head.
“You idiot! My apologies, Lord Solif, I’ll keep them in line!” a Baraha noble barked, striking the knight’s head before bowing quickly. Solif clicked his tongue and turned away.
Watching this, Turan offered a low word of comfort. “You’re having a rough time.”
“I understand their rage. The Ruban bastards did terrible things when they came south... But still, the kids are innocent. Besides, we can't manage this territory ourselves if we wipe out the entire bloodline.”
If the Baraha family were in its prime, perhaps they could, but with their numbers slashed by more than half, maintaining order in two regions was a delusion. They were already struggling just to control the magical beasts emerging from the Land of the Five Lakes.
“Aaaaaah!”
Just then, a Ruban noble was seen fleeing while screaming at the top of her lungs. A sturdy woman in her thirties spread her hands, and ten claws of pitch-black energy extended from her fingertips.
“What’s that, a skill?”
“Looks like it. We found one,” Turan said, walking toward the woman.
She was a member of the Ruban Divine Clan, her inner self likely a half-White Elf. She had just finished butchering an unlucky Baraha noble and was aiming for a second when her eyes widened in horror upon seeing Turan. She recognized him.
“You...!”
Ignoring her, Turan focused on the internal symbols visible through his holy relic. The symbols of the Ruban family—Strength-bearer and Guardian—and a swamp bubbling with dark purple energy...
“So this one is Shadow.”
“Get lost!” the half-elf shouted in terror, immediately turning to flee.
Turan reached out. “Bije.”
With a single murmur, the golden eagle residing within him manifested at his fingertips. The moment the meter-long golden eagle took flight, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent, a bolt of lightning struck down from the sky, hitting the fleeing woman.
“Agh!”
The woman turned in shock, trying to counterattack, but fell into despair. Dozens of meters of air—a distance she could never hope to bridge—separated her from her opponent. The Arabion, who ruled the skies, were the natural enemies of the Ruban, who crawled upon the earth. Among all the skills she possessed as a 'god,' none could overcome this.
This was exactly why Turan had let Bije fight freely. Bije was too fragile to put in front of mages with high firepower, but to the Ruban nobles who specialized in physical combat, he was a literal natural enemy.
“Please, mercy...”
“Kill her.”
If she had been an ordinary Ruban noble, Turan might have hesitated, but he had no mercy for body-snatchers. Bije gave a cheerful chirp and continued to rain down lightning. Turan pulled out his jewelry box and collected the soul from the charred corpse. He saw the form of a half-elf—the spirit bodies of two races twisted into a hideous, distorted shape.
*
For the next ten minutes, they dealt with Ruban nobles escaping the headquarters or captured those who surrendered. Finally, the allied forces arrived at the family head’s residence at the center of the base. Occupying this building and eliminating the Ruban family head was the only way to truly end the war.
“He didn't run, did he?”
“No. Though I suppose he didn't have the strength to run anyway...”
Through the power of the Mimic Relic, Turan knew that the Ruban family head, Kalais, had been holed up inside from the start. Whether he had prepared a trap or simply lacked the strength to flee remained to be seen. As they entered, cutting down the few remaining guards, the latter proved true.
“Hello again. You don't look so good,” Solif said sarcastically.
Kalais, the new head of the Ruban family, looked at them with a forced smile. When Solif had previously mentioned landing a few stabs on him, Turan had thought it was bravado, but the reality was grim. Kalais struggled to stand, and the scent of blood wafted from his bandages. If a mage with the mana of a family head found it that difficult to move, he must have been on the brink of death when he was first injured.
Compared to the half-dead Kalais, Turan and Solif were in peak condition.
“Will you surrender?” Turan asked.
“Can I ask if you’ll let me live if I do?”
“If there’s a way to return that body to its original owner, there’s no reason I couldn't let you live.”
Personally, Turan felt Kalais hadn't been a bad person, so he wanted to save him if possible. Additionally, if it worked, he might be able to save others controlled by the Divine Clan.
Kalais’s eyes gleamed craftily, grasping at a sliver of hope. “It’s not impossible. Though it is quite difficult...”
“So it’s not possible. Nothing can be done, then.”
“What?”
Kalais looked dumbfounded by the blunt tone. Turan was certain because his Eye of Truth was active; the ugly colors of a lie were pouring from the man's mouth.
The attack began before Kalais could finish his sentence. Solif’s Sun Cloak, wreathed in white flames, thrust forward like a spear. When Kalais struggled to block it, Turan followed up instantly.
Wind Blade.
With a sharp slicing sound, a deep gash opened near Kalais's shoulder, and blood sprayed.
“Wait, just—!”
Desperate, Kalais drew upon a combination of four bloodlines: Strength-bearer, Guardian, Berserker, and the image of a screaming woman. As the four merged, Kalais opened his mouth and unleashed a roar—
“Oh, this actually blocks it?” Solif chuckled.
The roar failed to spread beyond Kalais's immediate vicinity. Turan had used wind magic to manipulate the air, diverting the sound toward the distant sky. If there were any birds flying high above, they were likely falling dead now, struck by an unexpected sonic attack.
“Urgh!”
Kalais suppressed his pain with a skill and lunged at Turan with remarkable speed. However, the moment his glowing gauntlet struck Turan's body, the form blurred and vanished.
“...A substitution clone?”
It was an Assassin-class skill—
“Gah!”
Not missing the opening, Solif used his Sun Cloak like a whip to sever both of Kalais's hands. The Ruban family’s prized holy relic, the Dragon’s Roar, fell to the floor. Before he could even groan, Turan surged up from beneath the spot where the clone had vanished, shaping Judgment Light into a tether around Kalais’s neck.
*
[“Attention, mages of Ruban! Your leader is dead! Surrender now! I repeat! Mages of Ruban—”]
Turan’s voice, amplified by wind magic, boomed across the battlefield of fire and steel. Hearing this, the Ruban mages felt their strength fail. Seeing the corpse of their leader floating in the air above the residence, they lost all will to fight.
“The Family Head is...”
“Dammit.”
Those who could still think clearly had expected this. With the Baraha and Parsha heads present, and given Kalais's injuries, the outcome was inevitable.
“Everyone who surrenders, put these on! Any Ruban mage not wearing these will be executed!”
The allied mages placed mana-suppressing handcuffs on the survivors. While the Ruban mages gathered in the central square with hollow expressions, Turan and Solif searched the residence.
“First, we need to find their Soul Stronghold.”
“It’s probably underground,” Solif noted. “These bastards love their basements.”
While Solif organized the knights to analyze documents, Turan entered his jewelry box, leaving a few Parsha nobles as guards.
[Hello. Ah, come to think of it, you probably aren't glad to see me.]
Like the Baraha group, the Ruban half-elves had pale, distorted appearances. Turan got straight to the point. “Tell me where your Soul Stronghold is.”
[...Why should we tell you that?]
[Because if you don't, I’ll tear you apart.]
He shook Kadram’s soul fragments as a warning. It was effective, but they all glanced at Kalais before answering.
[It seems you were doing a decent job as the leader, you junkie.]
[You... are you really Otas—]
[Think what you want. Since you're all worried about him, should I start by getting rid of your Prince? I can just peek at your memories once I absorb your soul fragments anyway.]
It was a bluff—absorbing fragments was dangerous—but these 'gods' rarely had much backbone. As Turan approached Kalais’s spirit body, another half-elf shrieked.
[I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you, just don't hurt him!]
[Bartelesina!]
[I am sorry, Prince. But how can I stand by and watch you be harmed?]
Turan watched the exchange, bewildered. He knew the Frea Divine Clan had a horizontal hierarchy, treating each other like colleagues. But the title 'Prince' was new.
[Were you all more dominant in your essence as White Elves than as humans?]
The half-elves flinched. That was the difference between them and the Baraha faction. Turan poked the spirit who had spoken with a manifested blade.
[Talk. Quickly. Or your Prince gets shredded.]
The spirit, Bartelesina, revealed the location: an underground cave about a hundred kilometers north of Sloon.
“I found it,” Turan said, returning to his body. “They hid it far away. I’ll be back soon.”
“Go ahead,” Solif nodded.
Turan had to move fast. The Parsha estate was vulnerable, and he needed to return within days to share the mana from Kalais’s corpse with Meisa. He mounted Bije and flew north.
Fifteen minutes later, the mountain came into view. He found the cave entrance, guarded by barriers and magic tools. To Turan, who now knew the secrets to bypassing them, the security was meaningless. He breached the final barrier and frowned at the presence emanating from within.
It was alien. Similar to the Dark Elves, yet different.
The moment he stepped inside, he realized why Kalais had been so desperate to keep him out.
“A human?”
“It’s a human!”
“How did he get in here?”
“Could the Prince have sent him...?”
Before him stood a group with skin like eerie, white marble and long, pointed ears. They were White Elves—perhaps the last of their kind remaining in this world.