Chapter 16

Feeling needlessly implicated by Maysa’s words, Turan glanced around. Of course, no one was paying attention to him. With the news that a great house’s heir had nearly been assassinated, the young master’s savior was bound to take second place.

“An assassination attempt at the main residence? With defenses that strong...?”

“There must be someone working with them on the inside. It’s not as though there are only one or two people there who resent me.”

Her answer to Asiz was heavy with exhaustion. Apparently, exceptional talent and exalted birth did not necessarily make for an easy life. Running a bony hand through her hair, Maysa spoke quietly.

“Well, I’m tired, so I’ll turn in first. Good night, everyone.”

Having brought the gathering to an abrupt close, Arabion’s princess flew straight toward the castle without waiting for a reply. Quite literally: she rose slightly with levitation magic, then summoned wind to propel herself forward. Watching her go, Asiz’s mother, Midella, gave instructions to the elderly maid beside her.

“Ena? Give Master Turan our second-best guest room.”

First cousin once removed or not, it seemed she dared not refuse the heir’s command.

* * *

Early the next morning, Turan opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. As his sleep-fogged mind began working, he remembered that this was House Berg’s residence, where he had arrived as a guest the night before.

The first thing he did was walk over to the “washbasin” on one side of the spacious room. He pulled a long lever as the maid had instructed him the night before, and a stream of water trickled out. After watching it blankly for a while, he washed his face thoroughly with the soap beside it and dried himself with a towel. Perhaps it was enchanted to draw out moisture; a single light wipe left his face dry.

‘Is this because they’re a house of Enchanters?’

House Berg’s seat was nothing short of a treasure trove of magic tools accumulated over hundreds of years. In terms of convenience, it was no better than other houses, where servants came every morning and even washed one’s face, but at least it was fascinating and fun. After all, the privileged found pleasure in monopolizing things unavailable to everyone else.

He put on the robe provided for guests and stepped into the corridor, where pure white radiance hung from the ceiling. It was utterly unlike the light of torches or oil lamps. The pale lights were set closely along the entire length of the ceiling, allowing not a single shadow to form.

With his mana now considerably stronger and his stealth far more practiced, Turan could maintain complete concealment for hours in the dark. Here, however, his limit would be a minute or two at best. A Zahar assassin infiltrating this place would have to find and kill their target in that brief window, or exhaust their mana wandering the corridors, be discovered, and die a miserable death. And that was without even accounting for the magic tools for detecting and intercepting intruders that would be hidden somewhere in the residence.

“Turan! Still an early riser, I see! What are you doing out here in the corridor by yourself?”

As he stood gazing at the corridor’s magic tools, someone called out to him. It was Asiz, looking much refreshed, perhaps thanks to being home for the first time in so long.

“I was admiring those.”

“Those? Oh, the magic lamps? We make those as children whenever we practice enchanting... Want one? We’ve got more than we need in storage.”

“No, I’m not that interested.”

Turan could produce light like that himself anyway. One of the first spells Keorn had taught him involved shaping light into simple weapons. He simply never used it because his sling handled physical attacks, while his night vision spared him any need for illumination.

“Are you hungry? I think Mother will invite you to breakfast soon.”

“I can wait. There’s something I’d like to ask, though.”

“Hm?”

“That young lady from Arabion yesterday—is she ill? You don’t have to answer if it’s something you can’t discuss.”

The health of a great house’s heir was a form of military intelligence, so Turan approached the subject cautiously. Fortunately, Asiz merely gave a wry smile rather than suspecting him of spying. In truth, her appearance was such that not being curious would have been more suspicious.

“She’s terribly thin, isn’t she? She wasn’t like that as a child, but at some point she apparently started living on nothing but water and salt. Says being thin makes flying easier... I hear a few people tried to copy her, but they all gave up. Said they really felt they would die.”

“It certainly didn’t look healthy.”

No matter how mana evolved their bodies and granted them superhuman abilities, nobles were still living humans. Common sense dictated that if nothing went in while energy kept being spent, problems were inevitable.

“Still, she seems more or less fine. And if that’s what she wants, what can we do? Close relatives or not, her house is the one in charge.”

From what Turan had seen the night before, they had seemed as comfortable together as close cousins. Even so, there was apparently a certain barrier between them.

After their chat, Turan joined Asiz for House Berg’s formal breakfast, just as his friend had predicted. The House Head and her husband, Asiz’s older brother, and about three other relatives attended, but the young lady from Arabion was absent. It would have been awkward to leave her drinking water and eating salt while everyone else enjoyed a meal. Everyone would likely feel rather self-conscious, too.

“It isn’t much, but please eat your fill.”

Judging by the food on the table, House Head Midella’s words were nothing but a lie. Beyond the usual soup and bread, all manner of dishes he had never seen before stretched out like the wheat fields of the Dakayn Plains.

This was crabmeat wrapped in dough and steamed; that was a dough made from boiled potatoes, topped with truffles... Asiz, who had been kindly explaining the dishes beside him, spoke in disbelief.

“Why such an extravagant spread? Half these things didn’t even appear on my birthday. Anyone would think Arabion’s House Head was visiting.”

“Be quiet.”

Apparently, even this house did not dine like this every day; they had gone to special lengths for Asiz’s savior. After they had indulged in all manner of sumptuous dishes—some, frankly, were too unfamiliar to suit Turan’s palate—and were finishing with sweet bread and bitter tea, Midella raised the matter at hand.

“To continue our discussion from last night, my son tells me he promised you a powerful magic tool in return for saving his life.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Is there anything specific you want?”

“I’d like something that helps with defense. It’s easy to hurt others with magic, but difficult to protect yourself. Something that can handle surprise attacks, if possible.”

That was the conclusion he had reached after much deliberation. Even if the other half of his bloodline turned out to specialize in defense, surely adding defense to defense would only make it better.

Seeing how helplessly the Dark Elf wraith sorcerers had fallen to surprise attacks recently had given him much to consider. If their positions were reversed and Turan faced such an attack, he had no real countermeasure either. Relying solely on exceptional reflexes and agility was far too precarious a means of defense.

“We’ve made such things often enough that it shouldn’t be difficult. But we have none ready at the moment.”

“Then may I make it for him?”

“Not unless you intend to drag House Berg’s honor through the mud.”

The mocking response to Asiz’s suggestion came from his older brother, Melo, who had not spoken a word the previous night. Turning to his parents, he bowed his head slightly, as though seeking permission.

“I’ll make it. I recently finished a commission from the main house, so I have time to spare.”

“How do you intend to make it?”

“If it’s meant to guard against surprise attacks, it should be something he always carries. A ring, earring, or necklace, with a function that immediately draws on the guardian bloodline’s defensive power when infused with mana.”

“Good. How long?”

“One month.”

Turan had read about the guardian bloodline. Unlike other bloodlines, which favored ranged magical attacks, it specialized in hand-to-hand combat founded on exceptional physical abilities. Hadn’t bodily durability been its particular strength? If he could borrow that power for a time, he could hardly ask for a better defensive ability.

“I know there is nothing more tiresome than a parent boasting about their child, but Melo’s skill already falls little short of my own as House Head. In effect, you’ll receive a magic tool that an Enchanter of House Head caliber has personally spent a month crafting.”

“I’m grateful, but... isn’t that a little excessive?”

House Berg’s offer left even its recipient, Turan, somewhat dumbfounded. Combining what he had read with what Asiz had told him, he knew that the quality of an Enchanter’s magic tool varied according to the time spent imbuing it with power.

Of course, investing unlimited time did not mean one could create an infinitely powerful object. The length of time an Enchanter could work efficiently depended on their mana reserves and magical talent, and a month approached the limit for most. Taking the backlash from crafting into account, the maker would be unable to produce another powerful magic tool for around half a year. He would effectively be monopolizing six months of a House Head-caliber wizard’s time.

“If this is excessive, wouldn’t that mean my son’s life is worth less? It isn’t. It most certainly isn’t. Well, then, you’ll have to remain our guest for the next month.”

“I fear that may be imposing on you for too long.”

“Please stay without considering yourself a burden.”

* * *

“I think Mother wants you for the house.”

As soon as they left the feast, Asiz broached the subject with a serious expression.

“Me?”

“Yes. Actually, I spoke to her more about you before bed last night. Everything from how your magical talent is no less than Maysa’s to how you never neglect your training despite that. I only meant to keep her from looking down on you as a wandering noble without any real backing...”

“But after hearing all that, she decided she wanted me to join the house.”

The first person Turan thought of was Izella of House Valtas. Her casual use of knights as shields had disgusted him, but even aside from that, she was far from his ideal woman. Broadly speaking, this was no different from House Head Rug’s attempt to sell her off. The only difference was that one was a provincial house on the fringes, while the other was a direct vassal of a great house.

“Exactly. Shower you with gifts so you feel indebted, then tempt you by introducing a pretty young lady. A few of our elders actually joined the house that way.”

Apparently, the guardian-bloodline noble who would help make this magic tool was one of them. Turan had not known it, but imbuing a magic tool with bloodline magic required a noble of that bloodline to assist in its creation. Learning that doubled the weight on his conscience.

“That’s awkward.”

Asiz smiled and waved a hand as though to tell him not to worry.

“Well, don’t worry too much. They’re only giving you a good magic tool to win you over. They won’t force you to marry if you want it. My mother isn’t that unreasonable.”

“Is that so?”

To Turan, that was even more troubling. If they simply demanded that he join their house to receive it, he could steal the thing and run without a trace of guilt. Some people found kindness they could not repay more burdensome than hostility, and Turan was one of them.

Of course, actually marrying someone from House Berg and staying was absolutely out of the question. How on earth would he explain himself if a child of his awakened the Zahar bloodline?

“It is. Oh, do you have anything to do now?”

“Why?”

“Let’s go out and have some fun. Zavillin may not be the capital, but there’s still plenty to enjoy. Surely you’re not planning to shut yourself away practicing magic all day like you did in the other cities?”

“I am.”

“Oh, please. Let’s enjoy life a little, my friend!”

At the word “friend,” Turan finally let Asiz lead him out of House Berg’s residence by the hand. He was able to take in the city by daylight, something he had not properly seen the previous night after curfew.

A few passersby reacted slightly to their clothes, but none bent double or prostrated themselves as people had in other cities. They merely dipped their heads respectfully and passed on.

After about ten minutes of walking, they reached a busy street lined with shops.

“So, what are we doing for fun?”

“That depends on what you like. Drinking, gambling, women. Which is your preference?”

“Libraries.”

“I’m reminded all over again just how stuffy your tastes are.”

“I haven’t had many chances to really enjoy myself. But none of those three sounds appealing.”

He had drunk alcohol a few times while visiting various houses and found it unremarkable. Gambling put him off because his mother had repeatedly warned him against it as a child.

As for the last option, women, he had several reservations even apart from his mother’s and Keorn’s warnings. All the more so now that he was in a region where his birth bloodline was despised.

“Hmm, none of them...? Then how about a play?”

“A play?”

He had come across a brief explanation in a book. Something about acting out particular events or legends on a stage. Of course, he had never actually seen one.

When he heard that, Asiz’s eyes widened.

“What? You’ve never seen a play? Not even once?”

“No.”

“Then I have no choice but to show you. As it happens, Zavillin’s finest theater isn’t far away. They even have a knight among the actors.”

Turan knew little about actors, but enough to understand that their profession was something like a jester’s, which made the idea staggering. People considered almost mythical around Hisaril Hill were putting on performances for the public here... A great house’s territory truly was a world apart from other regions.

“Welcome, gentlemen!”

A short while later, when they arrived at the theater, a small boy greeted them with a deep bow. Asiz grinned and pointed at the playbills set out to one side.

“See if there’s anything you like over there. They should have the titles and a rough outline of each play.”

Turan had only been idly looking through the playbills for a moment when one particular advertisement made him freeze. Asiz came up beside him, glanced at it, and spoke.

“<Keorn the Hero>? Want to see this one?”