Chapter 35

Dolf tilted his head as he watched Turan vanish into the darkness. Stealth magic? Wasn't that a paltry trick learned by knights who worked as spies, one that hid appearances but left their presence plain to sense?

But when he thrust a hand toward where his opponent had stood and caught nothing, puzzlement turned to shock and fear. Stealth that left not even footprints in the sand, that concealed a presence from even his keenest hearing and sense of smell...

Everyone in this desert knew what that meant.

"Don't tell me you're Zahar—agh!"

Before he could finish, Dolf screamed and dropped to one knee as agony struck the back of his head. Warm blood ran down his neck. Had his skull cracked?

'What? What hit me?'

Turning, he saw an egg-sized stone rolling across the ground. Before he could make sense of it, a second and third stone flew at him in succession, hammering his side and back. Each blow had more than enough force to shatter an ordinary noble's bones.

Fortunately, he saw the last one coming and knocked it aside with his arm. Amid the terrible pain, the mind of a noble who had survived a century of wandering frantically sought a way to stay alive.

"Flames!"

Fire rose around him at the unfamiliar incantation. The first rule of countering stealth magic: illuminate the surroundings.

But the flames failed to spread beyond Dolf's immediate vicinity. Such was the nature of the Strongman bloodline, ill-suited to projecting magical power outward. His opponent was surely preparing another attack in the darkness beyond the firelight.

'Where are you? Where!'

Dolf kept turning his head, trying to work out where the next attack would come from. If his opponent threw stones, they would become visible the instant they left his body, giving Dolf a chance to deflect or dodge them. And if he came close to attack, Dolf could take one blow and grab him. Then victory would be his...

Just then, five or six fireballs blossomed some distance away. They spun several times in place before hurtling toward him at tremendous speed.

"Aaaaaagh!"

Dolf charged, covering his face with both hands as he endured the incoming fireballs. He felt his clothes burning over his arms, shoulders, and abdomen, his flesh cooking beneath them, but gritted his teeth and bore it. If he could just, somehow, get his hands on that bastard—

"Come out! I said come out!"

Reaching the spot where the fireballs had originated, Dolf roared, flailing his arms in every direction and kicking up sand. But he felt no contact with anything.

A hopeless battle against something he could neither see nor sense...

As his mind, half-paralyzed by pain and terror, cooled, some of his judgment returned.

'Run!'

Fighting a Zahar wizard in the desert at midnight was quite literally suicide. All the more so for a mere noble of the Strongman bloodline who did not even belong to a great house.

Dolf picked a direction at random and broke into a run. Even the pouch at his waist hindered him, so he tore it off and flung it away.

"Hah, hah, haah!"

True to his Strongman bloodline, he ran far faster than ordinary nobles. Twice the strength did not mean twice the speed, but powerful legs certainly helped.

His stamina was better too. If he simply kept running, he would survive for now. The thought of spending the rest of his life pursued by a Zahar noble nearly made him piss himself, but—

As though mocking his relief, a faint flutter of wings sounded behind him. Dolf turned, and his face went white.

"Ah..."

High in the pitch-black sky, Turan looked down at him, one hand gripping the black eagle's leg.

"You're tough, even if you don't quite match the guardian bloodline. An ordinary noble would have died long ago after taking that much punishment. Or do you have a magic tool that helps protect you?"

"P-please, mercy—"

"You know I can't do that."

The gray eyes looking down at him held not a shred of humanity, let alone mercy. As a fireball plunged toward him, Dolf squeezed his eyes shut.

* * *

Turan looked impassively down at the charred corpse sprawled on the ground. He felt not the slightest guilt at the sight of that wretched, burned body. The man had been stronger, that was all. In the end, he was no different from the bandits Turan had encountered when he first came down from the hill.

'Still, he was much stronger than I expected... No, tougher would be the word. If a Strongman can take that much, I'll need more powerful attacks against someone with a guardian bloodline.'

He doubted he could have won easily had his opponent been a properly trained Strongman and had he not used the Zahar bloodline's power. The man's physical defenses had withstood more than a dozen blows from stones and fireballs.

Of course, it was a meaningless hypothetical when those defenses themselves came from the Strongman bloodline ability. Still, Turan had to consider it, reluctant as he was to openly display his own powers.

"Good work."

[Easy]

The black eagle scratched the word into the sand and sent him a feeling of pride. Smiling, Turan scratched its head. Without it, catching the fleeing Dolf would have been difficult.

He would have to look for a magic tool suited to attacking if he got the chance. Either that, or develop a powerful spell capable of breaking through those defenses.

A little later, Turan absorbed Dolf's mana together with the black eagle. Monsters normally absorbed mana by eating, but the eagle's spiritual bond with Turan allowed it to absorb mana like a human wizard under his guidance. As he watched the pale-green radiance flow half into him and half into the eagle, another beam of light suddenly rose from the corpse.

"... Huh?"

The light was being drawn into his pocket. The mysterious Holy Relic he had recovered from the sea was taking a share of Dolf's mana, as though it were a wizard itself.

As soon as the absorption ended, Turan opened the Holy Relic's lid. A small amount of green liquid had appeared in its previously empty interior. It was not hard to guess what it was.

'To think it was something that stored mana.'

He rolled the liquid around inside the Holy Relic and tried absorbing it, but nothing happened. How was he supposed to use it? Surely he wasn't meant to drink it?

After pondering for some time, Turan closed the lid. Few toxic substances could harm a noble's body, but he still balked at swallowing something unidentified.

Especially when this was an object left behind by one of the Freyans, or a being of comparable power. Better to learn more before deciding.

After absorbing the mana, he searched the corpse, but unfortunately found nothing particularly useful. Then again, if Dolf had owned some amazing magic tool, he would have used it when facing death.

At least the pouch he had thrown away during his flight contained a few gems, which ought to help replenish Turan's depleted finances. Remembering how he had once struggled with too many gold coins, he preferred these anyway.

'Well then... time to send you off.'

He set fire to the corpse, now drained of mana. Before long, clothing and flesh alike turned to ash and drifted high into the sky. Finally, he crushed the bones and scattered them on a conjured wind, erasing every trace that a man named Dolf Meren had ever existed in this world.

* * *

The next morning, Turan set off southwest with the black eagle. He had felt it before, but the world looked so very small from the sky. Small enough to make him wonder what people struggled so desperately for down there.

"You're not getting tired?"

The black eagle chirped, sending him a feeling that it was perfectly fine. Dolf's mana had provided only a moderate boost to Turan, who was stronger than him, but had helped the eagle considerably. Now it could fly for quite some time without Turan even lightening his body.

After a day and a half of flight, passing dozens of small oases and three fairly large cities, Turan realized he had reached his destination.

'There it is.'

The structure was essentially a pure-white, square-based pyramid, but its precise shape was hard to discern from anything but a great distance. Its height and the length of each side of its base were all measured in hundreds of meters. Its sheer scale left one convinced that only gods could have built it...

Looking down at it, Turan felt an awe much like what he had experienced on first seeing Orem's library.

According to the travel guide, the structure was called the Tomb of the Gods, though despite its name, no gods were actually buried there. Hadn't it said that a few relics of the old empire, their exact purposes unknown, were on display? As with Orem's library, anything truly valuable had probably been spirited away around the time the empire fell.

Landing a little way from the Tomb of the Gods, the first thing Turan noticed was how much warmer the air had become. Was it because he had traveled south?

It was not hot yet, but someone with a sturdy constitution could probably do without long sleeves. In summer, it would no doubt become scorching, just as the guide described.

"Want to go amuse yourself somewhere until evening? I'll call you then."

[Something tasty!]

"All right. I'll have something tasty ready, so don't worry."

After sending off the eagle, which could now even use punctuation, Turan entered Banipel looking like any ordinary traveler. His experience posing as a fallen noble had taught him that he preferred traveling as a commoner unless there was a real need to do otherwise. Most importantly, he could reveal himself as a noble after pretending to be a commoner, but the reverse was difficult.

"A customer? Are you alone?"

"Yes."

Once inside the city, Turan found an inn that served food and ordered a simple meal. Perhaps because he was the only customer, the innkeeper sat opposite him to chat, giving him a chance to gather information.

"You ran away from home to travel alone? Good grief, you're a reckless lad. Didn't run into any bandits or monsters?"

"I was lucky."

The innkeeper, a man in his forties, regarded him as though he were a foolish youngster. Admittedly, that was a fair response to a merchant's son who claimed to have run away and walked for a full week just to see some ruins.

"Anyway, do you know how I can get into the Tomb of the Gods here? The book said anyone could enter as long as they paid."

"You've read books too? You really must come from money. Anyway, as far as I know, you can't get in right now."

"Why not?"

Turan was certain that was what the guide said, but then realized it must have been written at least a dozen years ago. Perhaps even decades. The head of the house ruling Banipel might have changed the policy in the meantime.

But the innkeeper's next words suggested otherwise.

"Nothing much. It's been that way ever since some important folk arrived about a week ago. Some people in a caravan that visited recently wanted to see the ruins, but apparently they couldn't either."

"Important folk?"

"You know. Them."

"Ah."

The man's evasiveness, as though he feared even mentioning their name, finally told Turan what he meant. Zahar knights or nobles had come to the city.

'How annoying.'

So these exalted visitors were monopolizing the ruins because they wanted to look around without the rabble getting in their way. He had no idea what they could have spent an entire week doing when there supposedly wasn't much to see.

After a moment's consideration, Turan decided to simply stay here until they left. Showing his face might prove troublesome if someone spotted Talis's likeness in it, as House Head Karl had.

"I'll have to stay here for a while, then."

"Have you got the money?"

"Of course."

However much leisure nobles enjoyed, surely they wouldn't spend weeks or months sightseeing at a ruin.

'What should I get the eagle?'

It hadn't seemed particularly fond of dates before. Since he couldn't get fish in the desert, he would probably have to catch a monster nearby for it.

* * *

"Perga! Perga! Where are you!"

"I'm here, so stop shouting! They'll hear you!"

In the pitch-black darkness, Perga Zahar snapped irritably and hooked a chakram over his finger. A grotesque cry came from beyond the darkness, which even the Zahar bloodline's night vision could not pierce.

There was a hidden underground level beneath the Tomb of the Gods. His grandfather, the Zahar House Head, had told him so when he was a child. Almost jokingly, he had said that Perga might become the next House Head if he could unravel its secret.

For decades afterward, he had visited the Tomb of the Gods once a year, searching for a passage below. Forcing his way through a structure built by the gods was out of the question, so he had tapped at cracks in the walls and spoken secret languages found only in ancient books. Naturally, he had achieved nothing.

Then, a few days ago, he had visited the tomb with a handful of close friends, largely out of habit, and a door leading underground had suddenly opened. Delighted that he had finally solved the mystery and would become the next House Head, Perga had rushed down.

But what awaited him was a labyrinth filled with darkness so dense he could barely see ahead, and unknown monsters lurking within it.

[□□□□□□----!]

Strange creatures that seemed neither monsters nor humans nor members of the other races. They looked like humans twisted into the most malicious forms imaginable. Not only were they powerful, but their familiarity with the uncanny darkness made them difficult opponents even for Zahar's elite. Worse still, the passage back up had vanished, leaving the group trapped underground for more days than they could count.

"How much water is left?"

"None..."

"Make some, quickly. We need at least enough to wet our throats."

A monstrous shriek rang out behind them as he gave the order. For some reason, Perga felt he could understand a little of the meaning in that voice. And it seemed it was not merely his imagination, for the friend beside him murmured,

"The Night Hunter... has returned... to the desert?"