Chapter 36

After negotiating with the innkeeper for a suitable room, Turan headed for Banipel’s commercial district, partly to walk off his meal. The city lay on the Great Trade Route connecting the east and west of the world, where merchants coming from either direction met and exchanged all manner of goods and ideas.

Black sugar from the distant South Sea, silk and medicinal herbs from the east... Even though the goods on display in the market represented only a fraction of that trade, simply browsing them was enough to make him lose track of time. After spending a while asking about unfamiliar wares and buying handfuls of each, Turan noticed something resembling pure-white stones.

“What is this?”

“This? It’s called saltpeter. Only comes from islands in the South Sea. Grind it up and eat it, and it’ll extend your life.”

Supposed elixirs of immortality were sold everywhere, so that was nothing special, but the unfamiliar name stirred his memory. Saltpeter. He was certain he had seen that name somewhere...

‘Ah.’

Realization struck, and he pulled an old notebook from his bag. He had obtained it after killing Orville the Burner about a month ago. Several mysterious formulas were written in the back. At the time, Turan had searched Abacha for some of their ingredients, only to be disappointed when he found none.

‘Spirit of Fire. Formula: mix 75 powdered saltpeter, 15 powdered charcoal, and 10 sulfur, then bind the three together with magic.’

He did not know what the Spirit of Fire was, but since it was likely connected to the “god” that had influenced Orville, he thought it worth trying to make at least once. Given that the other formulas followed a similar format, the quantities probably indicated proportions. Turan bought two or three lumps of saltpeter, then asked the merchant a question.

“Do you happen to have something called sulfur?”

“Sulfur? Never heard of it.”

After asking around the market for sulfur, he finally obtained an answer from a merchant who imported eastern goods. It was mainly found in volcanic regions and used as a disinfectant, but demand was low, so few merchants carried it. Naturally, finding any among the caravans traveling through the Enril Desert was all but impossible.

‘If I’d known, I would have asked around in Komad too. They must get more goods from the east there.’

On reflection, there had to be volcanoes outside the eastern continent, so he probably did not need to go to such lengths to find it. Orville could hardly have gone all the way east to obtain his sulfur.

“So, aren’t you going to buy this black sugar?”

“I’m not particularly fond of sweets.”

After browsing the market a little longer, Turan left the city around sunset and called the black eagle through their soul bond. Within minutes, a pitch-black shadow landed beside him. The eagle glared at him, then began scratching letters into the ground with its foot.

[You’re late!]

“Sorry. There was a lot to see at the market. I brought you something tasty, too.”

He offered it some pork jerky seasoned with an unusual spice whose name he could barely pronounce. The black eagle sniffed it for a moment, then began tearing off little bites with its beak and talons.

[Tasty!]

“I’m glad. Nothing happened, did it?”

Once it had chewed and swallowed all the pork jerky, the eagle began writing one thing after another in the sand. It wrote so quickly that Turan had to guess at almost half of it rather than actually read it.

A family of black eagles like itself lived in the mountains on the far side of that enormous building. There was a fox on the hill beside the city, and a rabbit burrow right next to it... None of this was particularly remarkable to Turan, but each discovery seemed to be a fascinating subject to the eagle.

“I’m glad you seem to have had fun. Do you think you could stay around here for the next few days?”

[Why?]

“I don’t think I can find very good lodgings. I’ll come see you every day. We can go look around other cities together, too.”

Turan did not tell the eagle that its presence made him too conspicuous to pass as a commoner. That would be difficult to explain properly, and it might think it was getting in his way.

Fortunately, life in the wild seemed to suit the eagle quite well, and it readily agreed. With one condition, however.

[More tasty things!]

“All right.”

* * *

Turan spent the next several days at leisure. He usually stayed in his room reading or went outside the city to practice magic. Sometimes he called the eagle to play, or rode it to other relatively nearby cities to search for sulfur and other ingredients listed in the formulas. Given his desert surroundings, most of his magical training involved manipulating sand.

‘This works pretty well.’

Turan nodded, looking at the large gouge in the towering rock face before him. This time, he had experimented with launching sand from his sling instead of stones. He had gathered the sand, which would ordinarily have scattered, into a round, stone-like mass to use as a bullet.

These Sand Bullets had several advantages. He could reshape them into cones in midflight to inflict piercing wounds, or divide them into several smaller masses for an area attack. Holding the sand together took power, making them slightly more costly in mana than simply throwing stones, but the difference was negligible unless the battle dragged on.

‘Then I should save my stones. I don’t have many, anyway.’

The weight and bulk of his favored shaped stones prevented him from carrying very many. The number varied, but he generally kept five or six on hand.

Against someone as tough as Dolf, he would run out of ammunition and have to rely on other magic, such as fireballs. Of course, he had also used those because fire magic was more efficient in the desert.

There were plenty of other things he could do with sand as well: bind someone’s ankles, combine it with wind magic to scatter it and obscure vision, or move it around himself to travel as though swimming. He found it quite entertaining to exploit its peculiar properties—far more fluid than solid ground, yet heavier than liquid.

‘Anyway... what on earth are those damned nobles doing in the tomb? How many days has it been now?’

He had been here for six or seven days now, yet there was no sign that the closure of the Tomb of the Gods would be lifted. It was not as though he absolutely had to see it. Would he be better off exploring other cities instead? After some deliberation, Turan concluded that he might as well sneak inside.

‘What the hell. If they catch me, I’ll just run.’

The black eagle had given him the confidence to think that way. Even if some security measure detected him, what could those fools do if he fled? He was a little concerned that he might offend a spirit living in the tomb, but he could hardly sit around here forever.

That night, after a good sleep restored his body and mana to peak condition, Turan set out for the Tomb of the Gods. Concealing himself took little mana on such a dark night. Just as the entrance began to come into view, he saw two knights dragging someone along.

[Mmph—mmph—]

“Damn it, why’s he so noisy?”

“Shut him up. Don’t kill him.”

The knights struck the person bundled in cloth and dragged him straight into the ruins. Still concealed, Turan followed them, narrowing his eyes. Extending his senses, he had detected no fewer than three nobles inside. Were they the illustrious visitors who had taken over the ruins?

Upon entering the tomb, Turan first examined his surroundings. From ceiling to floor, the stones in the walls fit together so tightly that not even a needle could slip between them. Their material was uniformly, unnaturally white, and reminded him of the old empire’s roads.

Inside were relics of the old empire preserved behind glass. Their shapes were so peculiar that he could not tell what any of them were for: a large black rectangular box with glass on the front, a rod connecting two circles, and even a metal plate covered in dozens of small buttons. Glancing over them as he ventured farther inside, he spotted the two knights who had just entered, along with three nobles—and one shabby-looking man who had been bundled in the cloth.

‘That’s strange.’

Anxiety, fear, and something else. The same smells rose from both the illustrious nobles and the shabby man. It made sense for someone who had clearly been abducted, but why the nobles? The oldest of them gestured at the shabby man and spoke.

“Good. You found someone. You! Pick up those supplies and go in there.”

Turan’s eyes widened in surprise when he looked where the noble was pointing. In one part of the white-brick floor lay a space filled with a swirling black vortex. It was plainly unnatural, unmistakably the work of magic... Beside it sat a dozen or so large barrels.

“W-what is that?”

“I will permit no questions. Go in.”

The shabby man’s brave question was instantly silenced. At the noble’s single command, his body began to move stiffly. He picked up two barrels and promptly disappeared into the vortex. Animal control magic. Turan was well versed in the technique himself, but this was his first time seeing it used on a human.

Turan quietly looked around. What was that mysterious space, and what were they putting inside? With so much unknown, the wise course would be to withdraw for now. But...

He gazed at the black space within the ruins. For some reason, the mysterious vortex seemed to be calling him. Come here quickly. I’m waiting for you.

Then the nobles began to speak.

“Do you think Lord Perga is safe?”

“We must hope so. We’ve been sending in food and water continuously...”

“Shouldn’t we contact the main house?”

“Have you imagined what would happen if Lord Perga’s rivals heard that message?”

Perga. He had heard that name before. Hadn’t the woman from Zahar’s collateral branch said he was one of the candidates to become House Zahar’s next heir? So he had come here as a guest and become trapped in that mysterious space.

‘This could be dangerous.’

A candidate for succession had to be tremendously powerful, even if not quite on Maysa’s level. Any place that could trap such a person might be dangerous enough for Turan too. He was about to slip away when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

‘Perhaps this is an opportunity.’

If Perga was in trouble, Turan might be able to rescue him and put him in his debt. If that allowed him to slip naturally into House Zahar, just as saving Asiz had gained him entry to House Berg, he could obtain information about his parents.

No, none of that really mattered. An irrational impulse had seized him. The reason did not matter; he had to enter right now. Everything he wanted was in there...

Still concealed, Turan moved forward and quietly picked up two barrels like the ones the shabby man had carried earlier. With him fully hidden, the nobles did not even notice anything had happened. Remaining that way, he slipped into the vortex.

* * *

‘It’s dark.’

That was Turan’s first impression inside the vortex. Ever since awakening his mana and gaining the abilities of the Zahar bloodline, he had all but forgotten the very concept of darkness. Yet this place was so dark that even he found it difficult to see.

‘Damn it.’

Now that he was inside, his head cleared in an instant, and he realized how foolish his earlier reasoning had been. Gain entry by doing someone a favor? What guarantee was there that Perga would know how to repay kindness as Asiz did? If he changed his attitude once they escaped alive, what could Turan possibly do?

More importantly, what if the people of Zahar’s main house saw traces of Talis in his face? Would he have to insist it was merely a resemblance? That might work on an outsider like Karl, but not on members of the main house who would have seen Talis frequently.

His deliberations were cut short by a piercing scream ahead.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“Good, another one’s come through.”

“It seems my household is still sending them in from outside.”

Through the gloom, he saw the shabby man who had entered moments before sprawled on the floor. Both his hands were broken. In front of him stood a dozen or so nobles who looked little better than beggars themselves. The circumstances made it clear that they had injured him. While gathering the food and water, one of them pointed at the man writhing on the floor.

“Ugh, that bastard’s too noisy. Someone deal with him. We need to conserve food anyway.”

“Yes, Lord Perga.”

Another noble answered the order respectfully, then promptly broke the shabby man’s neck. Turan remained still and hidden, watching as they gathered the food and water and disappeared.

‘So that’s Perga Zahar...’

He showed not even a trace of guilt while killing a man to take his food and water. At the very least, he did not look like someone who knew how to repay kindness.

Turan had barely begun to frown at the sight when a voice sounded in his mind.

[No]

[You]

[Are wrong]

[The Night Hunter]

[You are not]