Chapter 51

Several more tests confirmed that the silent sling technique did far more than simply reduce noise. It was a formidable technique that more than doubled the stone’s speed and increased its penetrating power even further. Even a noble’s reflexes would struggle to detect and evade it. In effect, once he fired it properly, it was an assured hit—a lethal technique.

Of course, it had its drawbacks. First, he could no longer run about freely, flinging stones as he had before. Creating the wind channel took a second or two even for a relatively close target, and more than five seconds for a distant one. If he moved, the starting point changed, forcing him to build the channel anew.

And second—

“Another failure...”

BANG!

Turan sighed in disappointment as the stone flew off with a deafening report. Far away, the deer he had been aiming at bolted in alarm.

The silent sling technique worked by extending his mana ahead of time to control a wind channel, then clearing the air as the stone approached, eliminating resistance and allowing it to accelerate.

That meant he could not quickly correct its course if the target moved while the stone was in flight. If his guidance magic shifted the stone even slightly, part of it would catch the air, ruining its trajectory.

He could, of course, compensate with mana and forcibly propel it even then, but both its efficiency and power fell apart at that point. He tried several approaches, but there seemed to be no way around the problem.

‘No opponent is going to stand still for me in a fight, so I’ll have to reserve this strictly for surprise attacks. Or for enemies who can’t move...’

Even so, it was a terrifyingly powerful technique. If he launched such an attack while concealed, pouring in as much mana as possible to increase its force, his opponent would have no chance to react. Even a top-tier wizard like Maysa would probably be knocked unconscious or suffer a comparable blow if it struck a vital spot without a defensive magic tool to protect her.

‘I suppose that’s enough practice for today.’

The sun was already setting, so Turan called Vije over from where she had been playing some distance away and returned to Kalamap.

It was now the third week since he had announced the removal of the western threat. Winter was gradually retreating, leaving the air pleasantly cool, and the citizens’ clothes had grown noticeably lighter.

Looking down from above, however, he noticed quite a commotion at the city’s southern gate. Had something happened?

Activating his senses, he detected three or four nobles and more than twenty knights near the entrance. Once he had confirmed that none posed any particular threat, he landed. A police officer who had been hovering anxiously nearby rushed over to report.

“Protector! The ruler of Vigen has come in person and requests an audience. What should we do?”

“The ruler of Vigen?”

Turan searched his memory for a moment. Wasn’t that the city southeast of Kalamap, the closest geographically to the Enril Desert? He also recalled that one of the nobles who had visited before was its lord’s son.

“We can hardly turn away someone who has come all the way from another city. Escort him to the central mansion.”

The officer’s expression cleared at the order. Having to leave another city’s ruler waiting outside the gate with an entire entourage of wizards must have been nerve-racking.

“Yes, sir!”

Ever since Kalamap had weathered its crisis, Turan had pursued a policy of helping the poor who lived in the central mansion build new homes of their own, however small, and move out. It was not that he had suddenly developed a taste for mansion life. He simply knew that whoever came to rule the city would never allow commoners to keep living there.

He had indulged in no luxuries such as replacing the expensive furniture that had all vanished or tending the gardens, so the place remained rather bare. Still, it was better than city hall.

A short while later, Turan sat facing Vigen’s ruler in the former lord’s office, furnished with nothing but a desk and a few chairs.

“Our first meeting in person, Protector of Kalamap! I am Alos, Lord of Vigen and head of House Maburn.”

“Turan of Kalamap.”

Alos was a middle-aged man who, like the son who had visited earlier, looked shrewd—or, put another way, sly. After briefly gauging Turan’s mana, he immediately adopted a deferential manner toward the young man, who looked at least a hundred-odd years his junior.

“My foolish son visited you before. I hope he wasn’t rude.”

“Not at all. Though the sudden talk of marriage did take me aback.”

“Haha, that was less my own suggestion than something all the local lords agreed upon...”

In Turan’s experience, lords of regions such as the Gray Zone, with no sovereign to serve, were often arrogant and overbearing. Yet this man seemed accustomed to watching how others reacted to him. His practiced deflection of responsibility just now was evidence enough.

“In any event, I’ve come in person because of that matter.”

Neither needed to spell out which matter he meant: the condition for becoming the city’s ruler—investigating the movements of Turan’s mother. Turan had expected Vigen to have a good chance of succeeding, given that it was the closest city to Zahar territory, the Enril Desert.

“Have you found a lead?”

“I can confidently say that we have established exactly who the woman was. I doubt any other lord here could have learned as much. Has anyone come to you before me?”

“No. Not yet.”

The certainty in those words sent Turan’s heart pounding. Yet, oddly enough, after making such a bold claim, Alos scratched his eyebrow with a rather uncertain expression.

“However... this information gives little indication of where she is now. If that is what you wish to know, then frankly, it is unlikely to be much help.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Turan already knew that his mother had arrived at Hisaril Hill, given birth to him, raised him, and died. What he wanted to know was who she had been and what she had been doing here. If the lord of Vigen’s claims were true, he had brought precisely that information.

“Before we discuss the matter in earnest, may I ask one question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Protector of Kalamap, do you happen to have close ties to House Arabion?”

Turan narrowed his eyes at the question. He could roughly guess why Alos was asking. Word had spread widely that he had contacted Arabion’s army and predicted the end of the western calamity. The question was why the man had brought it up now.

“It’s just that, well... as you know, House Maburn served as a base for House Zahar during the war. That was purely a matter of geography. I wished to make it clear that I personally remain firmly neutral.”

Turan already knew the broad outlines from what the city’s leading figures had told him. Vigen’s original lord had been the elder brother of the man before him, a supporter of Arabion. Then, one day, he had been found dead, and his younger brother had inherited the house—or so the story went.

There was no proof, but people had openly said that Zahar must have assassinated him. In short, Alos was worried that Turan’s possible friendship with Arabion might prejudice him against him.

“I belong to neither house, so you needn’t concern yourself. Rest assured, I have no intention of calling House Maburn to account for its past actions.”

Having answered firmly, Turan gazed steadily at Alos. Several seconds passed before the man nodded, breaking into a slight cold sweat.

“I-I’ll take your word for it... Without trust, this transaction could never happen in the first place. That aside, do you have anything to substantiate your promise? Rulership of a city is hardly something to be exchanged on words alone. I am also somewhat concerned about the descendants of its former ruling house.”

All that remained of Kalamap’s former ruling house were two nobles with little time left to live and five young knights. Even if the city were returned to them, they lacked the power to protect it. Moreover, when disaster struck, they had been the first to strip the central mansion of its valuables and flee. Neither Turan nor anyone else cared what rights they claimed.

In other words, that last remark was merely something Alos had tacked on to lend weight to his argument.

Rather than point this out, Turan summoned Daruk and had him bring a scroll. A skilled scribe had painstakingly written it on the finest parchment, setting out the transfer of the city’s rulership. Naturally, the recipient’s name and house had been left blank.

“The moment I enter your name and house here, Lord Alos, and sign below, this agreement will be protected in the name of the great Freyans. Anyone who breaks it will become my enemy.”

All the nobles from the seven cities who had gathered recently had experienced Turan’s mana firsthand, so that would surely prove a powerful deterrent. No city was worth making an enemy of someone who could rank among the strongest even in a great house, far outstripping the heads of ordinary noble houses.

The terms of the agreement were exactly as he had stated before. He would transfer rulership of the city to whoever supplied the most detailed information he sought. The recipient, however, would be obliged to protect the citizens faithfully as their ruler.

“This condition about protecting them faithfully seems somewhat vague...”

“It means doing everything in your power, short of risking death or serious injury. At the very least, if you hear that someone has been attacked by a monster, you should go on patrol or hunt it down.”

“Hmm. That is not an unreasonable request. I already manage my own territory in that fashion.”

“Needless to say, neglecting that duty will also constitute a breach of contract.”

There seemed no need to add that Turan would become his enemy in that event. Judging by his flinch, Alos understood perfectly well.

After discussing a few more points, the two reached a reasonably satisfactory agreement. Once they had settled all the terms, Alos asked him to wait a moment, left the room, and returned with a woman.

“M-my name is... Sarina, descendant of the great gods.”

She looked perhaps forty. Her face would have been quite beautiful in her youth, and her refined speech and posture suggested she had been trained to serve nobles. Alos placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke.

“Tell this gentleman exactly what you told me before. If all goes well, I will see to it that not only your old age, but your children’s futures as well, are secure.”

Startled by his words, Sarina looked back and forth between Alos and Turan. Apparently, she was surprised to see a visibly much younger noble treated as at least the equal of her own city’s lord.

When she hesitated, Alos urged her on with an edge of irritation.

“Quickly!”

“Y-yes! I’ll explain. I am a servant from a family that has served House Maburn of Vigen for generations. During the war, I was assigned to attend to the nobles of Zahar... If a pregnant woman fled on a golden horse, she must surely be the person I have in mind.”

“How did you know her?”

At Turan’s question, Sarina stole a glance at Alos before beginning her explanation.

“W-well, I was responsible for overseeing her.”

“Overseeing her?”

“Yes. She was one of the spoils brought back when Zahar raided the Arabion heartland...”

Sarina stopped because Turan’s face had hardened frighteningly as he listened. His presence had become so fierce that even Alos, listening quietly behind her, flinched.

“Keep explaining.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Some twenty years earlier, during the war, she had worked for the Zahar nobles who used Vigen as their base. Her most important duty had been overseeing the ordinary women among those taken during raids on the Arabion heartland.

“Were there many of them?”

“Not very many. Perhaps twenty at most...”

The most valuable captives were usually enemy wizards crippled in battle, but there were valuable spoils among ordinary humans as well: flowers whose beauty and accomplishments had been cultivated solely to make them nobles’ concubines, like the women once offered to Turan.

Sarina said that Turan’s mother had been one of them.