Chapter 42
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 42
In the wake of the towering inferno that had pierced the heavens, the oppressive gloom hanging over Kalamaph City began to lift.
Whenever the citizens gathered, they spoke with awe of the magnificent flames that had graced their sky. A new belief took root: a powerful being now stood firm at the heart of their city. They were no longer sheep to be unilaterally slaughtered by any foreign enemy that chose to invade.
That belief alone allowed the people to feel they were finally within the safety of a fold, bringing a sense of relief they hadn't felt in years.
However, Archmage Turan—the object of this newfound worship—was not in a particularly good mood. He was currently sequestered in a City Hall conference room, forced to endure a tedious debate led by Daruk, several civil servants, and the few merchants and guild masters who had remained simply because they had too much invested in the city to flee.
“First, we must address the shortage of firewood and materials to repair the housing. The winter has already claimed dozens of lives,” one official urged.
“Food is more important!” a merchant countered. “Firewood won't matter if the citizens start eating each other!”
One might wonder why a nineteen-year-old youth was required to preside over such mundane administrative matters. But in Kalamaph, any policy that lacked Turan’s involvement carried less weight than a beggar’s command. Only when he attended, listened, and gave his nod of approval did the officials have the authority to act.
The reason these men had been helplessly shuffling papers until now wasn't a lack of will, but a lack of power. Having lost the protection of the nobility’s shadow, they had been left utterly toothless.
“But even if we want to import goods from other towns, we have no coin,” a guild master lamented.
“That is…”
Listening to even a fraction of the meeting made the city’s dire straits painfully clear. They lacked the supplies to maintain a city, the wealth to buy them, and the labor to produce them. Most of those who possessed gold or strength had already abandoned the sinking ship.
It was now obvious why the neighboring noble families hadn't bothered to seize Kalamaph. They were simply waiting for the city to perish entirely so they could send new settlers to reclaim the empty land.
As he listened to the bickering, a thought occurred to Turan. He spoke up, cutting through the noise.
“I will handle the food problem.”
The rowdy conference room fell silent instantly. An elderly merchant asked cautiously, “Protector of the City, may we ask how you intend to solve the shortage?”
“I will scout the surrounding area and drive whatever animals I find toward Kalamaph. We can stretch the supply with meat stews initially, and the surplus can be salted or smoked. That should be enough to see us through the winter.”
For the current Turan, this was no great feat. He could simply fly on his Golden Eagle and command every beast that entered the range of his Holy Relic’s senses to march toward the city.
There was no other way to provide for thousands of people on such short notice. The void left by the migrating animals would eventually be filled by others moving in from the wilderness over time.
The room stared at him, eyes wide with shock.
“C-could such a thing even be possible? No, I am certainly not doubting you, Protector!”
“But to use the power of the gods to help lowly commoners survive… I wonder if it is truly acceptable to do so,” a civil servant whispered.
To commoners, a mage was a transcendent being meant to slay magical beasts, not a laborer to perform the work of hunters. To ask such a figure to herd animals felt almost sacrilegious.
Turan dismissed their anxieties with a wave of his hand.
“In the Dakein Plains to the north, the nobles call down lightning upon the earth after the harvest. They do it because it makes the soil more fertile for the following year. What I am doing is no different.”
*
Minutes later, as the meeting adjourned, Turan took to the skies. He flew in a wide arc around Kalamaph, expanding the range of his Holy Relic’s senses to their limit. He felt the life force of animals hidden throughout the gray, rocky mountains.
“All of you, move toward the city. Once you reach the walls, stay still.”
At his low command, the animals began to stir. Herds of mountain goats, rabbits, and even predators like wolves and leopards emerged from their dens. Even those hidden deep in the brush, invisible from the sky, were ensnared by his magic the moment they were caught by the Holy Relic.
This task required very little mana. For Turan, who had been dominating flocks of sheep as naturally as breathing since childhood, animal taming was a skill as practiced as throwing a stone.
It wasn't long before the citizens saw a miraculous sight: herds of animals arriving at the city gates, standing in orderly lines as if offering themselves for slaughter.
“Hurry and gather them! Kill the predators first! And don't kill all the rabbits—put them in pens. We’ll raise them on whatever grass we can find!”
“I can’t believe my eyes. The noble lords were capable of this? Then why did the high-and-mighty ones of the past never…”
“It’s because the Protector is a much more powerful mage, Grandpa! Didn't you see those flames?”
“True. I was talking nonsense.”
The process of slaughtering, cooking, and distributing meat to thousands was a monumental task. However, with the civil servants and police fully mobilized and the citizens revitalized by hope, the work proceeded with surprising efficiency.
Faces brightened as the people filled their bellies with fatty meat for the first time in months.
With the food crisis averted, Turan turned his attention to the housing shortage. He ordered the gates of the former ruling family’s estate—located in the city center—to be opened to accommodate the homeless and those whose houses had collapsed.
Since it was a sprawling complex designed for over a hundred nobles and their servants, it could hold nearly a thousand commoners if they packed in.
“B-but then, where will the Protector stay?” an official asked, horrified.
“I’ll stay in the City Hall lodging. It has a bed; it’s more than enough.”
Turan replied nonchalantly. Having lived his life as a shepherd accustomed to sleeping under the stars, he had no desire for a hollow mansion. Besides, the place was a ruin anyway; the fleeing relatives had stripped it of every last scrap of gold and silk.
Regardless, his word carried the weight of a divine decree.
“Move along! Slowly now! The Protector does not want anyone injured!”
“Children, line up over here!”
“Can we really live in a place like this?”
“Yes. Give your thanks to the Protector.”
“Good heavens. A shepherd usually tends his sheep to slaughter them, but this one tears off his own flesh to feed us. How can we ever repay him?”
As the citizens settled into the lord’s mansion—a place they never expected to even glimpse in their lifetimes—Turan’s status shifted from leader to deity. He didn't care for the reputation, however.
He desired only one thing: for the city to stabilize so he could find clues about his mother.
*
A few days later, the cities surrounding Kalamaph took notice of the sudden shift.
The flow of refugees had stopped. Merchant caravans were appearing in nearby villages to sell furs and buy grain or cloth. It was impossible to ignore. Furthermore, since Turan hadn't sworn anyone to secrecy, the merchants spoke freely of the new power in the city.
“Turan of Kalamaph?”
“Yes, My Lord. A man by that name has become the master of the city. Though, he refers to himself not as the Lord, but as the Protector of the City.”
The ruler of Bigen, a city three days’ travel from Kalamaph, stroked his beard at the news.
“The Protector of the City… an interesting title. His age?”
“He appears to be about twenty.”
“Too young.”
“Indeed. However, it is reported he displayed magic that filled the sky with flames. Even accounting for commoner exaggeration, he is clearly a man of significant skill.”
The ruler of Bigen fell into thought, glancing at the knight serving as his advisor.
While nobles did not age like commoners, it was rare for a powerful mage to look so youthful. Mana accumulation usually took decades of meditation and refinement.
There were generally only two exceptions. Either he was a lucky wanderer who had encountered a series of high-level magical beasts suited to his abilities during a pilgrimage…
Or he was a genius scion of a Great Family, intentionally nurtured with the concentrated resources of his clan.
“And such a fellow appeared now, right next to the Arabion Army’s station, and seized a hollowed-out city? I smell something fishy—very fishy.”
The war between the Great Families in the Gray Zone twenty years ago had left deep scars. Countless commoners had been executed as spies, and wandering knights were forcibly conscripted as fodder.
Even local nobles had been forced to pick sides. The ruler of Bigen himself had used Zahar’s influence to kill his own brother—an Arabion supporter—to usurp his title. He was naturally sensitive to the movements of the Great Families.
“Which one is he? Turan Arabion? Turan Carmine? Turan Lavitas? Turan Zahar… that last one has a certain ring to it.”
“Should we contact the Zahar family?”
“No, no. It is unwise for a subordinate to pretend they know their superior’s mind before the superior speaks. It feels like having your pockets picked. Besides, what if I’m wrong? It was just a guess.”
“Then what is our official stance on his occupation of the city?”
“Subtle acceptance. It would be troublesome to offend a Great Family by protesting. Besides, the Dark Elves will likely devastate that city soon anyway. Let him have his fun while it lasts.”
The ruler of Bigen didn't realize that every lord near Kalamaph was reaching the same conclusion—though each guessed Turan belonged to a different Great Family.
In this way, Turan was haphazardly accepted by the masters of the Gray Zone as the Protector of Kalamaph.
*
Once the city had reached a semblance of order, Turan had Daruk commission several copies of a portrait of his mother and distributed them throughout the city.
He didn't have high expectations. Though the Gray Zone was sparsely populated, it still held eight cities and over a hundred villages. The odds of his mother having stayed specifically in Kalamaph were slim.
Furthermore, since she had lived on Hisaril Hill since his birth, she would have been here nearly twenty years ago. Anyone who had met her then might be dead, gone, or simply forgetful.
What he hadn't anticipated was his own popularity. Because the Protector was looking for this woman, the citizens practically squeezed their memories dry to help. Turan was forced to sift through a mountain of reports, most of them useless.
“Um, Protector…”
“Another report?”
“Yes…” The official looked dejected, knowing Turan had been disappointed by a dozen false leads that week.
“I will hear it. Who is the informant?”
“A man named Igon. He used to run an inn but is now a vagrant. He claims that about eighteen or nineteen years ago, a woman matching the portrait stayed at his establishment.”
“Let’s go.”
Turan had heard this before, but he had a gut feeling this time. The man hadn't said "exactly twenty years," but gave a specific, ambiguous range.
A moment later, a scruffy man entered the conference room and bowed low.
“Protector! It is an honor! If not for your charity, I would have died in the gutter like a dog!”
“I am glad you are well. Tell me about the woman in the portrait.”
“Of course! This was back when I still ran a proper inn, before the gambling ruined me…”
Eighteen or nineteen years ago, Kalamaph had been a powder keg due to the war between Arabion and Zahar. Everyone lived in terror of being purged.
In that chaos, a young woman had come to Igon’s inn for a single night.
“She looked to be about twenty, and her belly was swollen—she was pregnant. I don’t know if her name was Bije, but…”
Turan’s heart hammered against his ribs. He had never told anyone the woman was his mother, nor that she would have been pregnant at the time.
Still, he kept his voice steady. “You have a remarkable memory to recall a single guest from twenty years ago.”
“Hehe, I might look like a fool, but I remember the face of every girl I liked since I was ten. I thought that memory would help me count cards at the tables, but…”
Turan steered him back. “Why did she stick in your memory?”
“It was strange for a woman to travel alone back then. She had a fine, large horse, and she looked… hunted. Anxious and restless, like she was running from a ghost. I remember wondering what kind of bastard would impregnate a beauty like that and then abandon her.”
“Why did you think she was abandoned?”
“Well, while she was eating, she kept stroking her belly and whispering to herself. I heard her say, ‘Little one, please… don’t grow up to be like your father.’”