Chapter 18
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 18
In the study of magic, 'Causality' was an exceptionally intricate concept.
Whether the phenomenon one sought to manifest was natural, whether the caster clearly perceived the cause of the magical effect, whether the amount of mana consumed was appropriate to trigger said phenomenon...
Among these, the ability to perceive the cause of a phenomenon was a crucial factor that simultaneously influenced both the success rate of the spell and the efficiency of mana consumption. Understanding the 'why' behind a phenomenon made a world of difference.
The problem was that, on the surface, the principles behind 'Decay' were nearly impossible to grasp. Even Turan had only discovered the existence of microbes after using magic learned from the Librarian to enhance his vision.
Furthermore, an unintended pitfall had emerged: casting Decay on a living animal was on a completely different level of difficulty compared to using it on something like a piece of fruit.
That was dangerous.
Turan set down the mouse—which had begun to rot while still alive—and realized he had already burned through more than a third of his mana.
What was the difference between a living mouse and an apple? Was it the absence of a continuous supply of life force? The distinction between animal and plant?
Since it was a spell he rarely used, it was difficult to pinpoint the exact reason. Perhaps he would learn more if he experimented on an animal carcass later. Regardless, for now, he had to act as if he had succeeded effortlessly, hiding his exhaustion.
"Alright, it's my turn now."
As Meisa spoke, she gave a light gesture, and a gentle breeze began to blow across the garden. A moment later, a mouse that had been unfortunately wandering near the edge of the garden was swept through the air, landing perfectly in her hand.
[Squeak!]
She attempted the same magic as Turan, but the mouse only squirmed, trying to escape without any visible reaction.
"Hmm..."
Meisa held a mouse in each hand, her wide eyes darting back and forth between them as if searching for a hidden distinction. Watching this eerie sight, Asiz, who had finally been released from the vines, spoke with a look of disgust.
"Hey, of all the spells to use, why that one? It's seriously creepy."
"It was just the first thing that came to mind," Turan replied.
In truth, Turan had chosen this magic because it wasn't particularly practical. In a battle between mages, one would rarely have the luxury of holding an opponent still for several seconds while waiting for a spell to take effect. He also wanted to gauge the extent of the Arabion family's knowledge regarding the laws of nature.
I had my suspicions, but does even a Great House like Arabion... not know?
When he was learning ancient knowledge from the Librarian, Turan had suspected that the prestigious mage families might be monopolizing such information. A mage who knew these secrets would hold an absolute advantage over those who didn't.
But contrary to his expectations, Meisa didn't seem to know much about it. Was it because she was still young and her education was shallow? Or was it something else?
"It doesn't seem to be working, Meisa. Why don't we just say Turan won?"
While Turan was lost in thought, Asiz spoke in a teasing tone toward Meisa, who was scowling at the mouse in her grip. The moment she heard him, the usual gloom and lethargy in her eyes sharpened into a blade.
"I can do it too."
Meisa took a shallow breath, her eyes glaring at the mouse as if she intended to pierce through it.
One way to compensate for a lack of causality was to brute-force the spell with an overwhelming amount of mana, overcoming inefficiency through sheer volume. It was an extreme example, but a powerful mage on the level of a Great House head could kill an ordinary knight instantly with a single word, as if slaughtering an animal. Of course, the price for such a feat would be near-total exhaustion.
"Just a little more..." Meisa prayed fervently, clutching the mouse.
Rot. Rot. Rot while you're still alive—
It was a desperate attempt at a spell she was unfamiliar with and whose principles she didn't fully grasp. She didn't care that the mana in her body was being drained at a frantic pace.
Finally, the healthy mouse began to decay. It was slower than what Turan had achieved, but it was unmistakably the same phenomenon.
"Oh, you did it!"
Beside the admiring Asiz, Turan also widened his eyes in surprise. Had she actually realized that the secret to Decay magic was the acceleration of microbes?
"...I did it."
With those final words, Meisa collapsed on the spot. As the mouse escaped her hand and fled with a scream, Turan and Asiz rushed to support her.
"Meisa! What's wrong?! Open your eyes!"
While Asiz shouted urgently, Turan analyzed her face and physical condition.
What's the reason? Too much mana? But you don't usually collapse just because your mana is depleted.
Turan had run out of mana many times while practicing magic as a child, but he had never fainted. He had merely suffered from a sense of lethargy because the power reinforcing his body had vanished. Looking at Meisa's gaunt frame, a thought occurred to him.
That's it.
"Is there a mage of a Healer bloodline here?"
"No!"
"Then tell them to bring water and salt to this lady's room. And get the adults."
After giving the instructions, Turan immediately picked Meisa up. Her weight was barely that of three or four newborn lambs. Certainly, a body like this couldn't function properly without the aid of mana. Her body, which had been forcibly maintained through mana reinforcement, had broken down the moment that mana was exhausted.
*
"Ugh..."
"Meisa, are you alright? Can you hear me?"
Meisa Arabion struggled to open her eyes at the sound of a woman's voice. Midella, the Head of the Berk family and her first cousin once removed, was looking down at her with a face full of worry.
"Why... am I...?"
"Asiz said you suddenly collapsed while practicing magic with the guest. Is that right?"
Only then did the memories return. The magic duel with the man her cousin had praised as a genius; the blow to her pride when he did something she couldn't; and her own reckless decision to pour in excessive mana to mimic him.
"Yes, that's right. Where are the two of them?"
"They're being kept in the temple under watch for now. Just in case that man did something strange to you."
"No, it wasn't that. I just did something stupid."
Meisa shook her head weakly and pushed herself up from the bed. As her clothes shifted, revealing her skeletal arms, Midella spoke softly.
"I've had some soup made. I know you don't like to eat because of your magic, but you need to think of your health. Please don't take it the wrong way."
"Thank you, Aunt. But could I rest a bit more?"
"Of course. Get some more sleep."
Once she confirmed Midella had left the room, Meisa stared blankly at the soup beside her bed before using a light gesture to float it over to her. The savory scent of flour, butter, and milk made her stomach churn violently. It was as if her body were screaming for nutrients.
Meisa picked up the spoon and carefully put a sip of soup into her mouth. Her tongue and stomach rejoiced at the arrival of something other than water and salt for the first time in a long while, and then—
Four pairs of eyes, weeping tears of blood, stared back at her.
[Please save us, Meisa. You can do it...]
[It hurts so much, Big Sister.]
"Blegh—"
Feeling the sour stench of vomit soaking her chin and body, Meisa laughed as if she were sobbing.
*
In the basement of the Berk family mansion lay a temple dedicated to the Lame Goddess. This temple served two main functions: a place for family members to pray, and a room to temporarily hold those of high status who couldn't be thrown into a common dungeon. The temple had only one entrance, and both the door and the walls were so sturdy that no one would dare try to break out.
"So, don't get any ideas."
"Yes, I understand."
After taking Meisa to her room and explaining the situation, Turan had been confined to the temple by Midella, who had politely asked for his understanding. Although Asiz had testified on his behalf, there was still the possibility that Turan had used some trick to harm Meisa. Since the truth would be revealed once she woke up, Turan decided to stay quietly rather than cause a scene.
The fact that they didn't lock up Asiz, who had been right there during the incident, was likely just favoritism toward a family member.
Sitting with his back against the wall, Turan looked at the guard standing opposite him—a man of sturdy build with a large longsword strapped to his hip. His name was Haram Berk, a noble of the Guardian bloodline who had joined the Berk family through marriage.
To kill time, Turan closed his eyes and began to review the magic Meisa had shown him, when a sharp whistling sound reached his ears. Opening his eyes, he saw Haram vigorously swinging his sword through the air.
"What are you doing?"
"Training."
Haram gave a short answer and resumed swinging his longsword. A downward strike, a thrust, a spinning slash, then raising the sword above his head for a series of left and right cuts.
If a commoner or a knight were doing this, it might have looked unremarkable, but seeing a noble born with superior physical abilities perform such techniques created a different level of pressure. It was as if a shroud of blades enveloped him.
Turan wondered if it was alright to be brandishing a sword in front of a statue of the goddess, but the movements were as graceful as a dance, so he sat still and observed.
"Oh..."
An exclamation escaped him unconsciously. Hearing this, Haram suddenly stopped and stared at him.
"Ah, sorry. Was I distracting you?"
"No."
Despite saying that, Haram didn't resume his training but continued to stare intently at Turan. After a moment of silence, he spoke out of the blue.
"Are you interested in swordsmanship?"
"Pardon?"
Turan felt a moment of confusion before answering honestly. "Interest... I'm not sure, but I did think it looked impressive."
"I see." Haram gave a blunt reply, drew his longsword again, performed a few more movements, and then spoke. "Most nobles look down on martial arts. They think it's easier and stronger to attack directly with magic. They consider this something only knights learn."
"I suppose it is somewhat inefficient if one's bloodline isn't specialized for physical combat."
Nobles were generally divided into those skilled at applying power to their own bodies and those skilled at projecting it outward. Since most fell into the latter category, nobles proficient in melee combat were rare. Turan's bloodline also leaned toward long-range projection.
"But in actual combat, situations arise where you face it whether you want to or not."
Turan spoke while recalling the time he had kicked the leopard magical beast on the hill and when he had slit the throat of the killer rabbit. Hearing this, Haram tilted his head, then suddenly flipped his sword and held it out to him by the hilt.
"Want to try?"
"I'm technically here because I'm a suspicious person. Is it alright to give me a weapon?"
"You aren't a warrior. It won't make a difference."
Turan chewed on those words for a moment. It meant that since he clearly looked like he'd be terrible with a sword, it didn't matter whether he had one or not. Considering the flashy swordplay he had just witnessed, it was hard to call it arrogance. If the two of them fought with swords and no magic, Turan wouldn't be a match for him even if there were ten of him.
"Let's see..."
Turan held the longsword awkwardly with both hands and followed the stances Haram taught him. Unlike magic, which he could perform exactly as he wished on the first try, his movements here felt clumsy even to himself.
"Not like that. Extend your front leg more."
"Your elbow is too high. You'll end up cutting your own thigh like that."
"Lift your arm higher."
Haram, who had seemed like a man of few words at first, became surprisingly talkative once he started teaching. After about thirty minutes of learning basic forms, Turan handed the sword back while rubbing his aching wrists.
"Here. I'd like to do more, but it's exhausting..."
"This sword is weighted for my bloodline. It's heavy for a normal noble."
No wonder. If it were an ordinary iron sword, there was no way he'd be tired after only thirty minutes. He wondered if this swordsman had used the training as an excuse to drain his stamina so he couldn't escape.
While he was secretly suspicious, Haram spoke as if giving advice. "If possible, you should make time to train your body. Mana guarantees a certain level of physical ability even without exercise, but there's still a big difference between having properly built stamina and not."
Certainly, if a moment ever came where he had to resort to a physical brawl, these techniques would be helpful. He wouldn't stand a chance against someone like Haram, but it could be another weapon in his arsenal against others.
Just as he was learning a final exercise to relax his overworked muscles, the temple door opened and Midella entered. She immediately bowed her head politely and apologized.
"I apologize for the rudeness, Mr. Turan. I have done a disservice to our benefactor."
"It seems the young lady is safe. I should be the one to apologize. My conduct as a guest was inappropriate."
Turan accepted the apology with a gentle attitude. Given that the heir of the family they served had suddenly collapsed, this was a reasonably rational measure.
Hearing their conversation, Haram nodded. "I'm glad to hear nothing happened."
"Thank you for your hard work, Haram."
"I only follow the Head's orders. I'll take my leave then." Haram gave a quick bow and immediately left the temple.
"I hope Haram wasn't rude to you," Midella said. "He's a very blunt man, but I'm sure he meant no harm."
"On the contrary, I received some instruction from him."
Midella gave a faint smile and nodded, then spoke unexpectedly. "That's good to hear. More importantly... Meisa says she wants to apologize to you, Mr. Turan. Could you spare some time?"