Chapter 21
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 21
Even after Meisa and the Dark Elf subjugation squad departed, Turan’s daily routine remained largely unchanged.
He conditioned his body under Haram’s grueling guidance, practiced weapon techniques and hand-to-hand combat, rested, and honed his magic. The only real difference was the absence of a friend to practice with in the evenings. Without Meisa, those hours felt a little quieter, a little lonelier.
It was the second day of his fourth week staying with the Berk family.
In a workshop on the highest floor of the mansion—a room cluttered with a chaotic array of magic devices—Melo, Asiz’s older brother, handed an object to Turan. His face was gaunt; he had spent the better part of the month holed up in this room to complete this single commission.
“Here it is.”
The magic device was a bracelet. Several thin leather straps were braided together like hair, encircled by a band of dull, lusterless blue metal. This specific metal was said to originate only from a particular mountain range in the East, prized for its ability to conduct and hold magical power more efficiently than any other material.
“Just wearing it will slightly increase your physical durability,” Melo explained. “If you inject mana, the effect scales. At its peak, you’ll reach a level of resilience similar to a noble of the Guardian bloodline. However, the mana consumption is heavy, so I wouldn't recommend maintaining it for long.”
“This is... truly a magnificent treasure.”
Turan was genuinely impressed. Magic devices that replicated bloodline abilities usually came with severe limitations, such as being usable only a few times a day. This bracelet’s performance was in a league of its own.
Seeing Turan’s admiration, Melo’s weary face broke into a prideful smile.
“An item of this caliber is rare even among the Great Houses. It turned out exceptionally well.”
While a creator’s skill and time were the primary factors in crafting a magic device, there was always an element of luck in the final quality. Melo emphasized several times that this was a top-tier masterpiece, the kind usually reserved for someone like the Head of the Arabion family. After finishing his boast, he added in a softer tone:
“Asiz is a clumsy, foolish fellow, but he is still my brother. I couldn't be half-hearted in repaying the debt I owe you for saving him.”
Turan had initially pegged Melo as cold due to the way he belittled Asiz, but it seemed he was simply an older brother who expressed his love through his work.
After accepting the bracelet and offering his thanks, Turan went to find the Head of the Berk family, Midella. As expected, when he arrived to say his goodbyes, she offered him a formal position within the family.
“It is a generous offer, My Lady, but I’m afraid I must decline.”
“I suppose so...”
Unexpectedly, Midella didn't press him. She gave up immediately, her next words explaining why.
“Actually, Asiz warned me. He said you are a man with much to do and that it would be difficult for you to settle down here. Please consider my offer the lingering regret of an old woman who already knew the answer.”
It seemed Asiz had done him a final favor by managing the Head’s expectations. Turan bowed his head politely in gratitude.
“I will never forget the hospitality I received here. Asiz and the Berk family will always be my friends.”
“Yes, that is enough.”
Though she had expected his refusal, a faint trace of disappointment lingered on Midella’s face.
Once the meeting concluded, the other members of the Berk family—those Turan had grown close to—were waiting to see him off.
“Take this,” Haram said, abruptly thrusting a dagger toward him.
It was a practical size, suitable for daily use or as a backup weapon.
“It’s a magic tool. No grand functions, but it’s sturdy and holds a sharp edge.”
Strictly speaking, it wasn't a priceless artifact—perhaps only slightly more complex than the magic lamps lighting the estate—but it was an extravagant gift for a student he had taught for only a few weeks.
“...Thank you.”
Turan understood the weight of the gesture. Among the nobility, most of whom looked down on physical combat, Turan was the only one who had faithfully absorbed the martial arts Haram had dedicated his life to. As a sign of respect, Turan used a title he usually avoided.
“Master.”
Haram’s lips twitched for a fleeting second before he turned his head and walked away without a word. He clearly didn't want anyone to see the emotion on his face.
Next, Asiz stepped forward with a grin, holding a set of well-tailored shirts, trousers, and a cloak. The material looked durable, and the lack of cumbersome decorations made them perfect for travel.
“What are these?”
“Didn’t you say you were envious of my clothes before? I prepared these in my spare time. They don’t stain easily, and they’ll even repair themselves if they get snagged or torn.”
Only then did Turan realize why Asiz had mentioned making the clothes "large" a few days ago. Considering how often Asiz had accompanied him to plays in the afternoons, he must have spent his mornings and late nights working on these.
Faced with such sincerity, the words of thanks felt inadequate. “Asiz...”
“You’re a good friend, Turan. It’s not just because you saved my life. Living with you and seeing the way you strive gave me a lot to think about.”
Asiz spoke with uncharacteristic honesty. He admitted that he had initially been jealous of Turan’s extraordinary talent, but that jealousy had turned into admiration as he watched Turan never waste a single moment. He realized he had been living lazily, and that starting with these clothes, he intended to dedicate himself to his craft once more.
“Plus, once the Dark Elf situation settles down, I’m going to go on a pilgrimage again. Somewhere a bit safer this time.”
Turan nodded, then reminded him of his other companion. “When you leave, don’t forget to take Tilly with you.”
“Of course!”
Tilly, the magical mare, was as intelligent as most humans and possessed strength rivaling a noble’s. Unless Asiz stumbled into another catastrophe, he would be well-protected.
“So, where do you plan to go?”
“East, for now.”
“To Carmine?”
“Yeah.”
If one traveled straight east from the Dakein Plains, they would reach the port city ruled by the Carmine family. Though smaller than Arabion or Zahar, they were a Great House with a storied history, famous for their bloodline abilities that controlled water and ice.
“I’ve been there once, a long time ago,” Asiz warned. “Whatever you do, don’t take a boat. I tried it once out of curiosity, and the waves were absolutely hellish.”
Turan gave a hollow laugh and shook his head. Unfortunately, he had to cross those waves. His ultimate goal was the Enril Desert, the land of Zahar, which lay far to the southeast across the sea.
“Well, it’s not like you’re a kid—actually, you are a kid, but you’re more mature than me anyway. You’ll be fine. Stay safe. Don’t die.”
“I will.”
Turan shared one last embrace with Asiz and walked out of the mansion. It was time to leave the cradle behind.
*
After leaving the city of Zabilin, Turan felt the chilly autumn wind bite at his face. The wheat fields of the Dakein Plains, which had once stretched out in golden waves, were now harvested, leaving only dry stubble behind. It had been late summer when he first descended into the world; now, winter was just around the corner.
Turan ran toward the east, employing the long-distance breathing technique he had learned from Haram.
Two deep exhales, two deep inhales. He matched the rhythm to his strides.
Thanks to the explosive power in his conditioned legs, his body shot forward as if the ground itself were pushing him. His speed was such that no one could hope to catch him unless they were an Arabion noble soaring through the sky. The travelers and mage patrols scattered across the plains saw only a blur; by the time they thought to question who he was, he was already gone.
He ran for half a day, rested briefly, and ran again. Only when evening fell did he stop to boil a simple porridge of hardtack, jerky, and dried vegetables. He had worried his palate might have been spoiled by the luxury of the Berk estate, but the travel rations were surprisingly palatable.
As he lay down in the middle of the plains, wrapped in his new cloak, he found himself laughing. He was a loner again, without a home to return to, just as he had been when he first left the hill. But there was a difference now: Turan’s heart was no longer empty.
The friends he had made, the masters who had taught him... that alone made his journey into this world worthwhile.
He spent two days and nights running. Finally, the plains ruled by Arabion gave way to jagged mountain peaks and dense, rising forests. Like the region where he had encountered the Dark Elves, this was a frontier—under Arabion’s influence, but not officially their territory.
Turan activated the detection magic he had kept suppressed while in the city. He searched for magical beasts, looking for the distinct mana signatures of creatures larger and stronger than their kin.
Within minutes, he found a target.
A wild boar.
The beast was huffing and pacing, its long, specialized tusks gouging the earth in a fit of rage.
“Hey!” Turan shouted.
The beast whipped its head around and charged with a furious squeal.
[Kweeeeeek!]
Turan watched the charging mass and used magic to accelerate his thoughts. In an instant, the world slowed to a crawl. With a single, perfectly timed step, he slipped out of the boar's path. As it thundered past, he drove his dagger precisely into its side, piercing the brain. The boar collapsed instantly, its momentum sending it skidding through the dirt.
So this is what it feels like.
He hadn't realized his own progress while sparring with Haram because he was always the one getting beaten. Hunting with his own physical strength was surprisingly satisfying.
Since he needed passage money for a ship, Turan absorbed the boar’s meager mana and set about butchering it. The hide alone would fetch a decent price.
“Ugh.”
The only problem was the sheer size of the hide. Once skinned, the bundle was as large as a person. Even with his strength, it was awkward to carry and blocked his vision. Abandoning his plan to sell it at the port, Turan stopped at a large village nearby and sold the hide immediately.
There was a bit of a stir over a magical beast hide appearing in a backwater village, but he walked away with twenty gold coins and a much lighter load.
He ran for two more days, passing through several towns. Just as he calculated that the Carmine family’s territory was within reach, an alien scent hit his nose.
Hmm?
The first thing he detected was the smell of ash. If it were faint, he might have dismissed it as a traveler’s campfire, but the intensity was overwhelming. It smelled as if dozens of trees had been reduced to cinders. Worse, the stench of burnt hair and flesh wafted through the air.
He feared a forest fire, but as he approached, the scene was far more horrific.
“This is...”
Inside a half-burned, collapsed wooden fence lay a village in ruins. It hadn't been an attack by magical beasts. In the central square, he found charred corpses—tied together before being set ablaze. This was the work of humans, or something equally intelligent and malicious.
I haven't heard anything about the Dark Elves advancing this far.
If they had, Asiz would have warned him.
As he surveyed the carnage, Turan picked up a faint scent through the rot. Sweat, tears, and urine.
Over there.
Following the trail, Turan found a cellar door hidden under a table in a scorched log house. He tore the bolted door open with brute strength.
“Kyaaaaaah!”
A girl crawled backward into the darkness, letting out a piercing scream. She looked to be no more than eight or nine years old. Her clothes were filthy, and white tracks of tears cut through the soot on her face.
“Calm down. I’m not your enemy. I’m here to help.”
The girl trembled, gasping for breath. After Turan repeated the words several times, she managed to whisper, “Really...?”
“Yes. Do you know what happened here?”
“They... they’re all dead. That mage—”
“A mage?”
“Yes...”
The girl said no more before collapsing. Her mind and body had reached their limit. Turan carefully picked her up and climbed out of the cellar. He needed to feed her and find a safe place, perhaps a neighboring village—
“Found you!”
Four figures surrounded the entrance of the house in a semi-circle. At their head stood a woman holding a bow of pure, translucent ice. She aimed an arrow directly at Turan’s heart.
“Get on your knees, you murderer!”