Chapter 5

Parched, reddish-brown earth, a tree here and there, and dust staining the distant horizon yellow.

The wilderness below Hisaril Hill made it impossible for any large village or city to develop nearby. There was neither enough food to support a large population nor any local specialty worth trading for food from elsewhere.

As a result, Turan had to walk and walk through the wilderness without meeting a single soul. The scenery was a refreshing change from the hill, but the novelty only lasted so long. After a full day, he could not help growing tired of it. He had been walking somewhat slowly, partly to enjoy his first journey and partly to conserve mana in case something happened, but even that was as fast as an ordinary person could run.

An ordinary traveler on foot would probably have needed three days just to get this far. Yet there was still nothing in sight, which suggested he had passed a few villages without finding them. With no need to worry about food or drink, he was bound to arrive somewhere if he kept walking, but...

"Come."

He stretched a hand toward the sky and gave the command. A bird flying in the distance came over and perched on it. Commanding animals was something he had done without fail ever since gaining magic, so it came as easily as breathing. With his other hand, Turan broke the bird's neck, then took a knife from his bag to pluck and skin it. Finally, he slit its neck and concentrated, making the blood pour out.

'Let's see...'

A dark red, sticky clot dropped from the flowing blood, while clear water separated out and floated into the air. This was magic for extracting drinking water from blood. One of the techniques Keorn had taught him, it was hundreds of times more efficient than creating water out of thin air. After filling his waterskin, he roasted the bird and ate it with some of the sheep's-milk cheese he carried. That took care of his meal.

How far had he walked since filling his stomach?

As the sun approached its zenith, he spotted people descending a low hill ahead. There were six in all, every one of them a man. They wore the dust-covered cloaks typical of travelers and carried short swords, presumably for self-defense. They were pulling a large, cloth-covered cart behind them, so they seemed to be peddlers traveling between villages. He had never met any himself, but he had heard that such people occasionally visited the village below the hill.

When Turan stepped into their path, a middle-aged man who appeared to be their leader eyed him warily and spoke.

"Who are you, blocking our way?"

"I'm traveling alone. Could you tell me where the nearest city is?"

At his polite question, the apparent merchants tilted their heads and exchanged glances. Then Turan noticed several of them watching him intently. Their eyes held not so much wariness as desire, like hunters looking at prey...

Their leader spoke far more rudely than before.

"Keep going the way we came and you'll reach a city called Murei. Follow the wheel tracks, and unless you're an idiot, you should find it easily enough."

Turan frowned slightly at the unpleasant tone, but nodded. He had no desire to challenge the man over his manners. After all, he was the one who had suddenly blocked their path to ask a question, and they had given him the information he wanted.

"Thank you."

He bowed his head in thanks and was about to follow the wheel tracks as instructed when one of the merchants stepped in front of him. A nasty smile spread across the man's face.

"Hold on. You get something, you give something back. You think you can take our information and run?"

"Open that bag first. Looks like you've got quite a bit stuffed in there."

The merchants had surrounded Turan before he knew it. Some had even drawn their swords, looking ready to cut his throat the moment he resisted.

"Robbers?"

"Call it a sideline. Just leave the bag and get lost. We'll let you keep your clothes. We don't like taking lives either."

Turan's heightened sense of smell sometimes detected even a living creature's emotions as scents. It did not always work, and it was limited to a few particularly intense emotions in those nearby. Right now, the robbers surrounding him smelled like predators just before they sank their teeth into prey. Their promise to let him go was a lie. They probably wanted him to take off the bag himself to keep its contents from getting bloody.

"All right. I'll use you lot for practice."

"What?"

Turan swept his open hand sideways, imagining the tiny breeze he created growing hundreds of times stronger. Feeding on his mana, it swelled into a gale that swept all six robbers off their feet and sent them flying.

"Aaaagh—!"

Sure enough, amplifying a breeze made with his own hand consumed far less mana than simply creating wind. Like extracting water from blood, this was another technique he had learned from Keorn. Looking at the scattered robbers, he saw that one could not get up, perhaps having broken his neck in the fall. Another had limped a few steps on what seemed to be a broken leg before collapsing.

Turan used a second spell on the four dirt-covered robbers staggering to their feet. He began by opening the waterskin at his waist. Water crept out of its mouth, giving off heat as it transformed into a sharp-pointed spike of ice. At his gesture, it shot through the air and buried itself in one robber's abdomen. Hadn't Keorn said this spell was useful when there was plenty of water nearby?

"Aaaaagh!"

"We're sorry! Please forgive us!"

While the man with the broken leg threw away his sword and screamed for mercy, Turan considered the spell he had just used with dissatisfaction. Its speed, power, and accuracy were all absurdly inferior to his slinging. Then again, slinging was a skill he had honed all his life; naturally, it differed from simply firing something. As an experiment, he made a second ice spike circle a couple of times before launching it. It flew several times faster than the first and pierced the neck of a robber fleeing in the distance.

"Die—!"

At that moment, two robbers who had been creeping closer charged Turan with a shout. He was about to kick them both away, but changed his mind and stamped hard on the ground instead. Several large spikes of earth instantly erupted from the reddish-brown wasteland, piercing the charging men's bodies in multiple places. This technique raised and reshaped the ground into a weapon, and could only be used on earth.

"Guh..."

These humans were so feeble that he could have finished them with a single command to die. Still, even this rough taste of actual combat gave him some sense of how he should fight in the future. He was also beginning to see which of the techniques he had learned over the past three days were useful in battle and suited his talents. The man pierced through the belly seemed certain to die soon anyway, so Turan slowly approached the last survivor, the man with the broken leg.

Keorn had taught him never to show mercy to the likes of these highway robbers. Spare even one out of pity, he had said, and someday the man would repay that kindness by harming ten innocent people. Turan intended to follow that lesson to the letter.

"Ah..."

He reached toward the man, who was trembling so badly he had wet himself. Then, instead of finishing him off, Turan voiced a question that had suddenly occurred to him.

"Let me ask you something."

"P-please, go ahead, Master Wizard! I'll answer anything!"

Apparently thinking he had a chance at salvation, the robber bowed his head, ignoring even the pain of his broken leg.

"Why did you attack me so recklessly? A lone traveler could be a wizard, as you've just discovered."

Had Turan been a robber, he would never have attacked someone like himself. Even setting aside the most basic moral rule of not striking first at someone who meant him no harm, surely anyone would assume that a person traveling alone through this wasteland had something up his sleeve. Nor had they possessed anything to justify their confidence.

The robber hesitated for a moment before answering.

"W-well, you bowed your head, Master Wizard..."

"What?"

"Even when the boss talked down to you, you bowed and thanked him. We naturally assumed you were an ordinary person."

So the deliberate rudeness had been a test. When Turan had offered a perfunctory bow and moved on because he could not be bothered to argue, they had judged him weak and decided to indulge their greed.

"Thank you. You've taught me something useful."

Showing weakness where no one else was around could tempt others to attack. In return for that valuable lesson, Turan touched a finger to the last survivor's forehead and commanded him to die. At least his death was painless.

* * *

The robbers' cart was packed with everyday necessities that were difficult to make in the countryside. They showed little sign of use, so they did not seem to have been stolen or plundered. His assumption that the men had originally been merchants had not been entirely wrong. Taking everything would have been cumbersome, so Turan collected only the money on their bodies, abandoned the cart, and followed its wheel tracks.

Perhaps because he was heading toward a city, he noticed more and more weeds growing over the reddish-brown earth and an increasing number of trees as he went. Now that he had a clear destination, he ran at an easy pace several times faster than before. By sunset, he reached the city the robbers' leader had called Murei.

"Wow..."

Turan exclaimed at the sight of the city spread out below a low hill. Beneath the setting sun, well over a hundred people were walking the streets or going about their work, and those were just the ones he could see. Even the entire population of the village below Hisaril Hill would not have amounted to that many. Never in his life had he seen so many people together.

Entering the city, Turan slowly threaded his way through the crowds, taking in the first city he had ever seen. The dark brown brick buildings were all similar in shape, standing two or three stories high. Some had stalls out front, presumably for selling things. The passersby seemed uninterested in one another, exchanging neither words nor greetings when they crossed paths. After quietly observing them, he picked out the fruit seller who looked least busy and approached.

"Excuse me."

"Hmm? Buying something?"

"No, I was hoping you could tell me where to find an 'inn'—"

Keorn had taught him about places where strangers could stay. Apparently, almost every city had one. But before Turan could finish, the fruit seller snorted and shook his head.

"If you're not buying fruit, get lost!"

Turan's face briefly hardened at the man's unkindness. Should he get angry here to avoid being taken lightly? But perhaps buying fruit before asking questions was an unwritten rule in the city. After a moment's thought, he nodded and took out his purse.

"All right. How much is this?"

"Two dupits an apple. You look like an outsider. Other coins of about the same size will do."

When he asked what a dupit was, it turned out to be a copper coin used in this city. He had a few among the money he had taken from the robbers, so he handed them over and bought the fruit. He had never seen a fruit called an apple before, but this one looked rather shriveled and smelled off. It did not seem very fresh.

"Go straight down that street and take a left. The inn's the building with the blue roof and a picture of a beer mug."

Having finally learned where the inn was, Turan took a bite of the apple as he walked, only to throw it by the roadside. It tasted so horribly sour and astringent that he wondered whether it was poisoned. Fortunately, the fruit seller had not lied about the inn's location—if he had, Turan had intended to go back and give him a stinging taste of magic. The inn stood where the man had said it would.

When he went inside, a young serving woman approached him.

"Oh, aren't you handsome! Looking for a room?"

"Mm."

Turan assented with a silent nod. He was privately flustered by the woman's clothes, which were not merely loose but practically see-through. He had heard that some women in places like this waited on guests and sometimes served as prostitutes as well, but hearing about it and seeing it in person were very different things.

"How much for a night?"

"Sixteen dupits. You can pay with one rum, too. If you've got some other currency, I'll have to ask the owner."

A rum, it turned out, was a silver coin. When Turan handed over the money, the serving woman accepted it with a coy smile and subtly rubbed herself against his shoulder.

"The room will be awfully cold if you sleep alone. Shall I warm it up for you?"

"No, thank you."

Keorn had repeatedly cautioned him against casually sleeping with prostitutes, including serving women at inns. He said that most women in that trade had venereal diseases. Powerful knights and nobles were highly resistant to illness, so they would not suffer themselves, but they would pass the diseases on when they later slept with other women.

"There's something I'd like to ask you instead."

Turan wanted to know whether any monsters near the city had bounties on them. Killing monsters and absorbing their mana would let him grow stronger, with the added bonus of earning money. But rather than answer his question, the serving woman pointed to a large cask beside her.

The second lesson he learned after leaving the hill was that, in a city, no question came free.