Chapter 12

Turan had inherited the blood of House Zahar, also known as the Pursuer or Hunter bloodline. Its defining traits were an exceptional sense of smell and reflexes, along with a greater facility for tracking and stealth magic. Its stealth ability was particularly powerful, allowing its users not merely to become invisible but to escape every form of perception living creatures possessed.

But Zahar was merely one of the most powerful houses, far from an unrivaled force. Even in its war against House Arabion, to which Keorn belonged, it had held something of an advantage without achieving victory. How, then, could Turan be so special when he was not even a legitimate heir, but merely the child of a knight and a commoner?

"Could you perhaps tell me more about my bloodline?"

"Why not ask your parents about that?"

"I'm an orphan."

"Are you?"

A human might have offered some empty words—Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that—but the spirit simply accepted it and moved on. Turan had not been looking for sympathy anyway, so he did not mind.

"Hmm. Shall I examine it for you, then? All you need to do is consent to an examination of your body."

"Yes."

With his permission, the librarian promptly plunged a finger into his chest. Naturally, since he was an illusion, it caused no pain. He kept his eyes closed for some time, his expression shifting as though he were observing something, before exclaiming in wonder.

"There are a few minor traces, but the main components are Pursuer and Hunter. Those were House Zahar's traits, weren't they? The house in the desert?"

"Yes."

Since the librarian had no way to go anywhere and divulge the information, Turan readily admitted the truth. Yet even after discovering this, the librarian seemed to peer further, then gave another exclamation.

"Hmm? Oh... there's another one! They were combined!"

"Combined?"

"Your power is the result of two people's bloodlines combining. You understand what that means, don't you? There was something about it in one of the books I recommended."

His words reminded Turan of the book about wizard houses he had read on his second day. It had indeed contained a passage on the subject.

Bloodline combination. A noble's bloodline abilities were generally passed down to their children either intact or weakened, but on rare occasions, they became stronger. The abilities of parents with different bloodlines could combine, blossoming into more varied and powerful gifts.

A bloodline that controlled water and one that controlled ice might produce a bloodline that controlled both. Or bloodlines that healed wounds and cured diseases might produce one capable of both. Houses founded by people who had gained great power through such combinations of multiple bloodlines were called great houses.

"Then what is the other one?"

"Even I can't tell you that. It's still locked. It will probably open as you grow more powerful."

The librarian explained that this sort of "locked bloodline" was one of the conditions that appeared in the first generation of a new combination. In other words, half of Turan's power had certainly come from his mother.

'Mother...'

In his memories, Turan's mother had always been gentle and graceful, but also visibly exhausted. How could she not have been, raising a small child without a husband while doing a shepherd's work that even strapping men found difficult? However he thought about it, he could not imagine that she had been a wizard.

Yet on reflection, she had also been far too well-mannered and knowledgeable for an ordinary commoner. Even in a city like this, only a limited class of people could freely read things like fairy tales, never mind the area around Hisaril Hill where he had lived.

Perhaps she had been descended from a noble, her bloodline so diluted that she herself could not possess even a knight's level of mana. After a long while, Turan finally gathered his thoughts and dragged both hands down his face.

"All right. I think I understand. Thank you."

One of Turan's aims when he began his journey had been to trace his parents' past: to learn why his father, supposedly a "good man," did not live with his family, what sort of man he was and where he was, and why his mother had been forced to flee with Turan to the western edge of the world.

What he had learned now gave him even stronger motivation. The answers likely lay in the Enril Desert, the lands of House Zahar, which accounted for half his bloodline.

* * *

After discovering the library spirit's identity, Turan no longer simply immersed himself in reading alone. He asked questions about the books and requested explanations. More importantly, the librarian even knew the contents of books plundered from the library over the past several thousand years. The "laws of nature," which he taught orally because every book on the subject had been lost, were nothing short of a treasure.

"There are that many tiny things we can't see?"

"Yes. Suspend some water in the air, shape it like this, and look through it. You'll be able to see for yourself."

Following the librarian's instructions, Turan formed an oddly shaped drop of water and held it before his eye. To his amazement, objects appeared magnified anywhere from several to dozens of times. From the explanations that followed, he learned that all sorts of diseases were caused by these microorganisms, and that organic matter decayed because such microbes fed on it.

That was not all. The refraction of light, the generation of heat through friction, even the principles behind how living creatures were injured and recovered... Many of these subjects were linked to the principles of magic he had learned from Keorn. For instance, where he had previously known only that lightning magic was easier to use under heavy cloud cover, he now understood why.

There were a few fields that even the librarian did not fully understand, or that Turan could learn only in a rough, superficial way. Yet that alone was enough to change his understanding of the world. And this knowledge did more than simply satisfy his curiosity.

"Then I'll experiment with decay first."

Turan touched a finger to an apple he had brought in from outside. Before long, it began rotting rapidly, as though time were passing hundreds of times faster.

"Well?"

"It's incredible..."

Such magic had not been impossible before, but both its effectiveness and its mana consumption had been appallingly inefficient. That was no longer the case. Simply gaining a basic understanding of how decay worked allowed Turan to achieve the same result with far less mana.

His skill in magic had improved merely by changing the way he perceived the world, as though he had gained "proficiency" in such magic in an instant. A sudden thought made him chuckle.

"House Head Rug was wrong."

"About what?"

"He told me this library had no spectacular ancient magic or secret methods for increasing mana."

The librarian did not actually know any such secrets either, but these laws were a greater secret still. Turan wondered whether a few powerful houses might be monopolizing this knowledge. If every wizard knew these things, those houses would lose their competitive edge. The librarian agreed.

"I'd wondered why people seemed to know less and less as time passed. What you say would explain it."

According to the librarian, the laws of nature he was teaching Turan could only be found in books written by the Freyans themselves, back when the old empire still existed and the divine people were still present. After the empire fell, books of this kind had become exceedingly rare.

"Come to think of it, you said this library was built during the old empire. Was the creator who made you a god, sir?"

"Yes. The limping goddess made me. In fact, she probably made most of the old empire's relics. Even among the gods, few had a talent for creating things."

The limping goddess. The greatest smith and architect among the Freyans, she had created all manner of mighty treasures and palaces for the gods. That was why every house that produced magic tools claimed descent from her.

"Did you ever speak with her?"

"If you're going to ask what she was like, I'll tell you now that I don't know much myself."

His creator, the limping goddess, had instilled in him the duties he was to uphold after building the library, then immediately vanished, as though she were too busy to spare even a moment. When Turan sighed in disappointment, the librarian cackled.

"Don't look so disappointed, boy. This land is full of the gods' legacies. Perhaps among them you'll find a spirit who, unlike me, was close to a god."

Ten days passed in pleasant conversation and lessons from his new teacher. Then Turan bid the librarian farewell.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes. The master of this place has begun making it quite clear that I'm not welcome to stay."

In truth, the only expense Turan's stay could have incurred was a modest amount for food. But House Head Rug seemed irritated by the sight of prey that had slipped through his fingers continuing to linger before him. Turan briefly regretted rejecting him outright; perhaps he should have left a little room for hope. He soon dismissed the thought, however. Going that far would have been unworthy of a guest.

"I see."

The librarian's impassive response betrayed not the slightest sadness or frustration at parting with someone he could converse with after so many long years. Turan realized anew that his claim that he could wait several thousand years more had not been idle talk.

"Then I'll see you again someday."

"Come if you like. Or don't."

"There are still so many books I haven't read."

In truth, there was little reason left to visit the library. He had acquired almost all the general knowledge he was likely to need in life, and had learned, to some degree, all the laws of nature the librarian knew that might help his magic.

Still, Turan intended to return someday. He wanted to tell his old teacher more stories of the world outside—a teacher who could wait for a very long time, perhaps longer even than he remembered.

* * *

After a brief farewell to House Head Rug, Turan left Orem City at once. He wore neither the rags in which he had arrived nor the clothes he had worn as House Valtas's guest.

A white shirt, stiff but sturdy trousers, tough leather shoes, and a cloak with a hood that could cover his head. He looked nothing like an exalted noble, but with every garment brand-new, he did resemble a wealthy traveler. The old sheepskin backpack fastened at his waist looked somewhat out of place, though.

According to the map of the continent he had obtained at the library, House Zahar's homeland, the Enril Desert, lay a full month or two's journey east of Orem. There was no need to hurry. If the clues to his parents' past were going to disappear, they would already have vanished in the past eighteen years. If they had survived, arriving a little later would not make them disappear.

As he had before reaching Orem, Turan traveled on foot, hunting the monsters his magic detected and taking their power. He deliberately followed a winding route to avoid large cities, having already experienced how troublesome it could be to visit another house as a guest. Without a map, he would have lost his bearings completely.

One difference from before was that he now paid some attention to hygiene even while traveling. Having experienced a cleaner way of life, he felt inclined to keep himself somewhat presentable. Above all, now that he knew microorganisms existed, living in filth made him uncomfortable. There was plenty of water in nearby streams, and he had brought a bar of soap, so he could keep reasonably clean, if not as clean as when the maids had attended him.

After about nine days of walking, Turan's Search magic picked up traces of another monster. The hoofprints stamped into the ground were larger than his palm, suggesting a mutated horse. But when he concealed himself at a suitable distance and approached, he encountered a curious sight.

[NEIGH!]

A horse with a bright red coat roared before a large tree. Befitting a monster, it appeared to stand roughly one and a half times an ordinary person's height at the shoulder alone. Behind it, someone sat slumped against the tree, eyes closed and blood running from their head, apparently unconscious.

At first, Turan thought the person had been attacked by the monster. Looking closer, however, he realized that the creature was protecting the fallen figure. It even had a saddle strapped to its back. Perhaps it was a monster the man had raised.

And right beside the two stood a man and a woman in unfamiliar attire, conversing with menacing expressions.

"Damned demon! How can a mere pet monster be that strong?"

"Find some way to create an opening."

"Easy for you to say!"

They apparently wanted to break through the horse's defenses and finish off the fallen man. Moving a little closer, Turan was startled to realize that they were not human.

Dark purple skin, silver hair, ears drawn into long points above and below... They were unmistakably Dark Elves, beings he had encountered only in books and the fairy tales his mother used to tell him.