Chapter 8

Early in the morning, Turan left Murei and headed northeast. According to Midan, the journey between the two cities took an ordinary person about a week on foot. At his pace, he could shorten that to two or three days.

About half a day after leaving the city, he could distinctly feel the countryside growing richer. Forests grew on either side of the road worn into the earth by passing travelers, and whenever the land opened into plains, he could see golden wheat fields in the distance.

Naturally, richer land meant more animals, and more animals meant more monsters. As he walked, Turan periodically cast Search to check for monsters nearby, then hunted them before returning to the road. Most were growing too weak to be worth catching, but one or two worthwhile specimens among them made it rewarding enough.

Perhaps because the road led to a large city, he also encountered travelers fairly often: farmers taking wheat to nearby villages to sell, peddlers traveling between cities, and armed people who might have been mercenaries or monster hunters. A few eyed the lone Turan with a gleam of interest, only to lower their gazes in alarm when they saw him cover three or four ordinary strides with every step.

On the afternoon of the third day, he reached a highway paved with solid stone rather than dirt. He did not know who maintained it, but apart from a few damaged patches, it was exceptionally well kept and easy to walk on. Out of curiosity, he made a light attempt to break its edge with magic. It resisted, suggesting that some magical power lay within it.

Then, at last, came the fourth day. His frequent detours to hunt monsters had delayed him a little, but Turan finally arrived at his destination, Orem.

"Come on, now! Keep in line as you enter! You there! No cutting in!"

Orem was a great city that made Murei look like a backwater village. Hadn't he heard that its population alone numbered in the tens of thousands? Shabby huts, apparently inhabited by the poor, crowded its outskirts, while farther in, a stone wall roughly five meters high marked a boundary.

At the gate, guards in metal armor watched people coming and going. Judging by the many portraits laid out beside them, they seemed to be checking for wanted criminals. As Turan tried to enter, one suddenly stepped into his path.

"Hey, your clothes are filthy. At least dust yourself off outside the walls before you come in."

The guard was not merely finding fault. Turan's clothes really were unusually dirty compared with those of the people around him. He had been wearing this same outfit since his days as a shepherd, so it was badly worn to begin with, and he had spent the past four days sleeping outdoors without properly washing it.

Besides, having grown up on water-scarce Hisaril Hill, Turan thought laundry was something to do about once a month. Murei, too, stood beside the wilderness and had little water to spare, so everyone there was just as dirty. Here, by contrast, everyone was neat and clean, making his disheveled state all the more conspicuous.

"Understood."

He dusted off his clothes outside the gate and entered again, this time without being stopped. Fortunately, he would not have to buy something he would never use just to ask for directions to the library. Midan had told him it was the tallest building in the city. Among buildings mostly two or three stories high stood a lone tower that looked to be over thirty stories tall.

'They probably built it with magic, didn't they?'

Its grandeur was hard to credit to human strength alone. Up close, its absurd height made it look almost bizarre. He wondered whether he might even look down on clouds from the top. After gazing at it, spellbound, for some time, Turan came to his senses and addressed the guard at the entrance.

"I heard wizards are allowed inside. Is that right?"

The guard's face stiffened at Turan's question. He had meant to brush off this fellow dressed like a beggar, but what was this all of a sudden?

Privately, he thought it was just some madman's bullshit, but a sliver of doubt crept into his mind. So he decided to verify the stranger's identity in a way only a wizard could.

'Hmm?'

Turan's eyes widened at the flow of mana spilling from the guard's body. It was magic manipulated to produce no phenomenon in itself, serving purely as a demonstration of power... Hadn't Keorn said wizards devised it to gauge one another's mana and establish their relative standing without a fight?

He and Keorn had tested it on each other several times after he learned it, but this was his first time receiving it from someone else. After all, this was his first encounter with another wizard. Turan likewise drew up pure mana and projected it straight at the guard.

"Hah...!"

A breathless gasp escaped the guard as he received it. His mana felt about half as strong as Keorn's, not even a twentieth of Turan's current strength; he had no hope of withstanding it. Then again, it would have been rather absurd to station someone exceptionally powerful here. Realizing the gulf between them, the guard bowed his head.

"I-I am Kesha, a knight of House Valtas. My lord, might I ask which house you come from?"

"Must I tell you to enter?"

"No, my lord! Forgive me!"

Apparently taking that to mean How dare the likes of you ask me such a thing, the knight bowed even more deeply. Turan was already beginning to find this conversation exhausting.

"No, I really am just asking."

After a brief silence, the knight raised his head. Seemingly realizing at last that Turan was sincere, he explained timidly that only those permitted by the local lord, the House Head of Valtas, could use the library. That was quite different from what Midan had told him.

"I heard that wizards could use it."

"Well... to my knowledge, no commoner has ever been granted permission."

Had the story become distorted because everyone who came and went was a wizard, turning into a claim that any wizard could enter? Turan scratched his chin for a moment and sighed.

"How do I obtain the master of Valtas's permission to use the library?"

"That is a matter for my betters, beyond the knowledge of one so lowly as myself. With your permission, my lord, I shall contact the house and inquire."

"Please do."

With that, Turan leaned against the wall across from the library's main entrance. Now that he had revealed what he was, he would soon have to accept House Valtas's 'hospitality.' When a noble entered another noble's territory, it was proper both to offer hospitality and to accept it...

'Maybe I should have just sneaked in.'

He could have slipped inside using the Zahar bloodline's stealth ability, but the thought of security measures capable of defeating it kept him from trying rashly. If he did that, he could hardly complain about being mistaken for an assassin. Especially since the Zahar bloodline's ability was among those best suited to assassination.

A short while later, an enormous carriage drawn by four horses raced down the avenue and stopped outside the library. The middle-aged man driving it spotted Turan and immediately bowed low.

"Welcome to Orem, the city of wisdom, my lord. I am Reden, butler to House Valtas. The master of Valtas wishes to receive you. Might you spare him some time?"

"I would be happy to."

"Please, my lord, you need not address me so courteously."

The butler named Reden—though Turan did not really understand what a butler was—responded to his polite speech with such servility that he looked ready to grovel on the ground. Embarrassed by the reaction, Turan sighed inwardly and nodded.

"Very well."

"Allow me to show you the way."

Turan had seen carriages a few times in Murei, but this was his first time riding in one. During the journey, he composed himself and prepared for any eventuality. Unlikely as it was, if this house suddenly attacked him, he would have to conceal himself and flee at once. About ten minutes later, the carriage stopped, and a voice came from outside.

["We have arrived."]

He opened the door and stepped out to find a castle of pure white stone. Perhaps five or six stories high, it appeared designed more for beauty than defense. The butler climbed down from the driver's seat and addressed him.

"Before you meet the House Head, might we assist you in making yourself presentable?"

Turan did not understand exactly what making himself presentable entailed, but presumed it was necessary for the meeting and nodded. Following the butler through the main entrance, he was approached by three maids.

"We shall escort you to the bath, my lord."

Having become conscious of how dirty he was since arriving here, he welcomed the offer. The problem was that the maids followed him into the bathing room.

"We shall attend you in your bath."

Attend him in his bath? Surely they did not mean to wash him like a child? Though he had lived alone with his mother, he knew at least the rules of modesty between men and women. Turan frowned and shook his head.

"I'd prefer to wash—I'll wash myself. All of you, wait outside."

At that, the maids turned pale and threw themselves to the floor, begging, "We're sorry! Please forgive us!" The youngest even burst into sobs. Bewildered by their reaction, Turan singled out the oldest maid and asked her a question.

"Is it a problem if I wash myself?"

"Yes, my lord. We will be punished if we fail to attend you properly. Please, have mercy..."

He had known there was a great divide in status between wizards and commoners, but never imagined it went this far. A wave of weariness washed over him. He sighed deeply and nodded.

"Do as you see fit."

Soon, the maids undressed Turan and washed him with warm water and soap. He had no need to do anything himself. Evidently well practiced, they cleaned every inch of him without so much as asking him to move an arm or a leg.

Being naked before women, entrusting someone else with washing his body, and letting them see the streams of dirty water running off him were all excruciatingly awkward. Apart from that, however, being attended in the bath was certainly worthwhile.

After his bath, they combed out his tangled long hair and dressed him in fresh clothes. When the preparations were complete, the maids' eyes widened. The youngest, who was around Turan's age and had been sobbing only moments ago, even blushed and let out an admiring exclamation.

"Wow..."

"What is it?"

When he turned to ask, she gave a startled gasp and hastily clapped her hands over her mouth. The older maid explained in her place.

"You are so beautiful, my lord, that she must have lost herself for a moment. Please forgive her."

As she spoke, she brought over a large mirror standing nearby and showed him his reflection. Once he saw it, he understood their reaction.

The first thing that caught his eye was his gray hair, which he normally tied into a rough ponytail because cutting it was too much trouble. The maids had combed it smooth, applied some unfamiliar oil, and left it hanging loose. Now it gleamed like polished steel, perfectly complementing his ash-gray eyes.

With his skin scrubbed clean of the grime that had darkened it, his strong features stood out clearly. White clothes embroidered with gold thread lent his tall, lean physique an added elegance. If he had looked like a fairly handsome beggar before his bath, now he looked every inch a young noble accustomed to a lifetime of being waited upon.

A little later, with all his preparations complete, Turan followed the butler toward the banquet hall where the House Head awaited him. Everyone they passed bowed low as though they knew him, prompting him to question the butler walking ahead.

"Do they all know my status?"

"It is because of your clothing. In this castle, only nobles are permitted to wear garments containing gold."

At that very moment, a young lady appeared from one side of the corridor, wearing a gray-blue dress embroidered with gold thread. Seeing Turan, she tilted her head and asked,

"Is this the guest who came dressed like a beggar? Well, look at that. Washed and dressed, he's practically a prince!"

"M-my lady. To say he was dressed like a beggar..."

"What does it matter? I'm Izella. Izella Valtas. And you?"

Judging by the butler's manner and how he addressed her, she was probably a noble of House Valtas. Arrogance permeated her every word and gesture, making Turan wonder whether this was what a true noble was like. Instinctively unwilling to be cowed, he kept his head high and declared,

"I am Turan."

"Just Turan? What about your house?"

"Circumstances prevent me from revealing it. There is a house hostile to mine."

This was an excuse Turan had prepared beforehand in consultation with Keorn: he would pose as a noble who had embarked on a pilgrimage to build his mana, concealing his identity because of an enemy house. House Zahar, which could be called his own house, did not even know he existed, making him reluctant to claim its name. Yet if he simply concealed his background without explanation, people might suspect he had committed a crime and fled.

No sooner had he finished than a surge of mana rose from Izella's body, just as it had from the library guard earlier. It was as though she meant to test whether he was an impostor. Turan released his own power in response, and sparks of lightning flew as their mana collided.

"Eek!"

As the maids screamed and backed away, Turan analyzed the collision and felt a fresh shock. Izella's mana was almost equal to his own.

In truth, it was hardly surprising. Whatever his potential, Turan was still a novice who had begun gathering mana less than a month ago. But every wizard he had met so far had been far weaker than him, making the encounter with someone in his own league all the more startling. It was like spending his whole life among dwarfs, then suddenly meeting a giant his own height. Looking closer, however, he noticed that Izella, too, seemed shocked by the power she had felt from him.

"Wow..."

Izella paused after that exclamation, then abruptly blurted out something astonishing.

"Say, our dear guest... shall we get married?"