Chapter 40
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 40
"Class... change?"
Turan muttered the word—one he was hearing for the first time in his life—and immediately flipped past the title page.
The next page was filled with rambling notes, as if the author had been struggling to organize a chaotic storm of thoughts.
[Night Hunter = Hunter + Pursuer + Shadow + Alchemist]
[Class Change Condition: Clear the Labyrinth of Evil]
[Solo clear required? Or is a party possible?]
[If the dungeon and monsters are replicated as closely as possible, will it count as fulfilling the conditions?]
[Design to open only when a suitable subject is detected.]
[Add a lure function to entice only the target to enter.]
[Deny entry to non-targets? X]
The sentence at the very top likely meant that the bloodline passed down to the descendants of the Night Hunter consisted of four distinct parts.
The term "Class Change Condition" remained obscure, but judging by the context, it seemed to refer to the process of becoming a Night Hunter. As for the "lure function," it undoubtedly referred to that mysterious impulse that had drawn Turan inside.
This book was clearly a scrapbook or journal left behind by the creator of the labyrinth.
Given the circumstances, the creator was likely the same person who built the Tomb of the Gods. If so, did that mean these words were written by the Lame Goddess herself, or perhaps a member of the Frea Divine Clan of similar status?
Turan swallowed hard, his throat tight with tension, and turned the page.
The following page contained a few more scribbles similar to the previous ones, along with a drawing of the monsters that had swarmed the labyrinth.
[Monster: Rotten Angler. Materials: Blood and flesh of Giants. Dungeon Boss: Giant Angler. Material: Queen of Beasts.]
[Power source: Mana? Handle lifespan issues through hibernation.]
[Method to replicate acidic blood and fire-breathing techniques? X]
[Level is too low compared to the actual dungeon. How to raise the limit?]
It seemed "monster" was the term used to describe the creatures filling this labyrinth.
The fact that they were artificial beings created from the flesh of the ancient, extinct Giants was truly shocking, yet it also made a strange kind of sense. It was more bizarre to think that such hideous creatures could exist naturally. If anything, Turan felt a sense of awe at the divine power capable of sculpting life itself.
He flipped through three or four more pages, but there wasn't much else he could understand. He could only guess that this "experiment" wasn't an isolated incident, based on phrases like "Apply to Earth Mother class change experiment" or "Apply lessons from previous experimental failure."
Folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket, Turan recalled what the Eye of the Gate had said.
“It said my entry was an error.”
After reading the book, he could finally piece the situation together.
The creator’s goal was to produce a Night Hunter, a god of the Frea Faith. To achieve this, they needed a mage who possessed all four bloodlines derived from that god. They believed that if a mage fulfilling those conditions defeated the Labyrinth Master—the "Dungeon Boss" mentioned in the book—they could become a god.
However, for some reason, the labyrinth had mistaken Turan for a "Night Hunter candidate" because his holy relics made it perceive him as possessing all four bloodlines. As for Perga and his group, they had likely just been caught up in the wake of his entry.
Regardless, since he had defeated the Master, Turan checked his body once more just in case. He didn't feel any divine power dwelling within him. He only felt his mana, which had grown immense after devouring the monsters and the nobles outside.
In the first place, the chances of Turan having two locked bloodlines were slim, and the possibility of them being Shadow and Alchemist was even lower. Both were bloodlines that had died out so long ago they weren't even mentioned in the history books he’d read in the Orem Library.
Cross-referencing with the legends of the Enril Desert, he suspected they had gone extinct in the distant past—perhaps during the era of the Old Empire or shortly after—following a conflict with their brother clan, the Zahar.
As he organized his thoughts, Turan suddenly felt a strong sense of déjà vu.
Orvil the Fire-Burner... the madman he had killed in the northwest, near the lands ruled by the Carmine family. The method that eccentric had used—claiming one could obtain the Pyromaniac bloodline by burning humans and covering oneself in their ashes—felt strangely similar to the logic of this labyrinth. Both operated on the idea that power could be gained through specific, ritualistic methods.
‘Could it be that the method of artificially obtaining a bloodline was actually real?’
Come to think of it, hadn't Orvil said the same? That a god had shown him the way.
But if that were the case, why hadn't the creator of the labyrinth simply created someone with those bloodlines instead of waiting for a potential bearer of the Night Hunter bloodline to wander in?
After pondering the subject for a while, Turan eventually let out a sigh and walked toward the vortex. There was no point in agonizing over it here, and more importantly, he didn't want to risk the exit disappearing while he lingered.
*
Stepping through the vortex, Turan found himself standing in the middle of the desert on the outskirts of Banipel. The massive, majestic silhouette of the Tomb of the Gods in the distance confirmed his location.
He moved to a relatively high vantage point, deactivated his stealth, and summoned the Golden Eagle through their Soul Tether.
Perhaps it had been far away, as it took nearly thirty minutes for the bird to appear. It pecked Turan sharply on the head before beginning to scratch words into the sand.
[Too late! One day, two days—anyway late! I was scared!]
"Haha, sorry..."
Had it been about three days since he was trapped in the labyrinth? Throughout that time, he had felt the eagle's anxiety through their soul connection. Turan stroked the bird's head repeatedly to comfort it.
Suddenly, the Golden Eagle shook its head and took a step back.
[Smell.]
"Ah."
Not only had he been stuck in the labyrinth for three days, but he had also engaged in brutal physical combat at the end. Turan’s clothes and body were a mess of rotten flesh and blood. Though he had tidied himself up slightly while erasing his tracks, it was nowhere near enough to remove the stench.
Since the eagle refused to let him mount while he was so filthy, Turan had to run on foot toward the oasis of Banipel.
Naturally, as the city's most vital water source, it was guarded by knights.
"Hey, hasn't the atmosphere in the family been pretty bad lately? The Head and his retinue haven't been seen in ages."
"What could happen? Let's not worry about the business of the high and mighty. I'm sure they have their reasons. More importantly, how about a drink tomorrow?"
"Good grief, I'm trying to have a serious conversation here."
Turan slipped between the two chatting knights. From a spot out of their line of sight, he used magic to scoop out enough water to fill a small tub. Thanks to his stealth, the knights failed to notice someone stealing water from the oasis right beside them.
He carried the water to a secluded rocky area, reshaped the earth to create a pit, filled it with the water, and heated it. He stripped, washed his body, and then levitated the water to filter out the impurities before washing his clothes. Only then did he look somewhat human again.
"Phew, I feel alive now..."
He wondered how he used to survive for weeks without washing in the past.
After finishing his bath, Turan didn't forget to erase all traces. He flattened the modified earth, evaporated the water into the air, and incinerated all the impurities.
[Clean now?]
"Yeah, I'm clean. Will you give me a ride now?"
[Yes!]
Turan gripped the Golden Eagle's legs and soared into the sky.
The fact that the labyrinth had opened would soon be known through the vagrants Banipel kept sending in. He needed to get as far away as possible before that happened. From now on, the Zahar would be searching for whoever absorbed the mana of those ten nobles. Since he had left no traces behind, they might assume the mana vanished due to the labyrinth's unique nature, but it was always best to prepare for the worst.
‘It’s better to stay away from the Enril Desert for a few months until things settle down.’
The death of ten nobles was a matter that even a Great House like the Zahar would take extremely seriously. During the war with Arabion, they had lost about twenty-five or twenty-six nobles in total. This loss was nearly half the casualties one would expect from a full-scale war between Great Houses.
Furthermore, since one of them had been a candidate for the next House Head, a massive investigation was inevitable. If, during that investigation, it was discovered by sheer chance that a fallen noble named Turan Brahms had suddenly gained immense power, he would undoubtedly be the prime suspect.
Of course, leaving the desert meant temporarily postponing his original goal of finding traces of his parents...
But his mother surely wouldn't want her son to die in a ditch while chasing her footsteps. And with the Golden Eagle, it wouldn't take long to return later.
While lost in thought, a sharp chirp came from above. The eagle looked down at him, sending a confused mental image as if asking where they were going.
"Ah, right. Let's head that way first."
Turan pointed toward the northwest.
*
While flying on the Golden Eagle, Turan made every effort to avoid contact with others. Using his strengthened mana, he cast tracking magic over a range of nearly ten kilometers, swerving away the moment he caught the scent of humans.
After a grueling journey of flying and resting for a day and a half, the desert terrain finally began to fade. Not only did the attire of the people he observed from afar change, but the weather also became more humid and cool.
A distance that would take an ordinary person a month or two—and even nobles a week of hard riding—was nothing before the wings of this raptor. By the time white snow began to fall from the sky, Turan brought the eagle down to the ground.
"Good work. I'll walk from here, so get some rest. It was tough, wasn't it?"
[Yes. Want rest.]
The Golden Eagle scratched the words with a weary air before hopping onto a perch attached to the side of Turan's bag and closing its eyes. Turan stroked its feathers and looked out at the white, rocky mountains stretching before him.
‘So this is the Gray Zone.’
Located west of the Enril Desert and east of Maderi City—where Turan had first met Asiz—this region was filled with rugged, rocky peaks. It was also the site of fierce battles between the armies of Arabion and Zahar in the past.
‘Did the travelogues say there were blind dwarves living in these mountains who eat humans?’
Of course, even if such creatures existed, they wouldn't pose much of a threat to Turan. He was now stronger than the heads of most minor families—like the head of the Baltas family he’d met before—and possessed skills that would classify him as an elite even within a Great House. A noble of his caliber wouldn't easily die unless they faced several other noble families head-on.
Unless, of course, they were thrust into an absurd situation like Perga.
‘For now, I should travel leisurely and figure out exactly where I am.’
Turan’s new destination was Orem City, the base of the Baltas family. He planned to return to the library there, reveal the secrets he had discovered in the labyrinth to the librarian, and seek her counsel.
After walking for about an hour with the eagle tucked under his arm, an old Imperial road revealed itself. Although the surroundings were entirely covered in white, the snowflakes falling from the sky melted the moment they touched the road.
Just then, a strange procession approached Turan from the opposite direction.
"Mom, I'm tired."
"Be quiet and keep walking! If you stop, I'm leaving you behind!"
"Waaah..."
It was a crowd of men, women, young, and old, all laden with various belongings. Every one of them looked exhausted. They glanced at Turan curiously as they passed, but they continued moving southeast as if they lacked even the energy to speak.
‘What’s going on?’
It looked as though they were fleeing from something.
Walking in the direction they had come from, he soon reached a fairly large city. Perhaps because it was in the middle of a mountain range, its walls were built in a semi-circle against a massive cliff. A policeman standing at the gate tilted his head as he looked at Turan.
"A traveler? But what's with that bird, and why are your clothes..."
His confusion was perfectly natural. Turan had burned his white desert robes because they were stained with monster blood, and he was currently wearing only the shirt, trousers, and cloak he had received as a gift from Asiz.
There were only two types of people who traveled like that in the dead of winter: madmen or mages. Realizing this, the policeman’s face turned pale.
"W-w-welcome, sir! May I ask which esteemed family you are from...?"
It seemed that if he wanted to pass as a commoner again, he would need to buy a thick padded coat or some furs to throw over himself.
"I am merely a passing traveler. Might I ask the lord of this place for a day's hospitality?"
It was one thing if his identity hadn't been discovered, but passing through secretly after being found out would be a breach of etiquette. However, for some reason, the policeman hesitated at Turan's request.
"What is it?"
"T-that is... Kalamaf currently has no lord."
"What? How is that possible?"
A city without a master? It was clearly not a small place. Even a tiny city like Murei had at least one noble in residence just in case. Could the refugees from earlier be related to this?
"I'm just a low-ranking officer, so I don't know the details, but I heard he was killed recently by Dark Elves invading from the west..."
The policeman spoke with a hollow expression, explaining that the city was currently devoid of a single noble or knight.