Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 3 After crushing the magical beast's head with a single blow, Turan approached Keorn, his sling still gripped firmly in one hand.
In truth, the decision to help the knight had carried a significant risk. If Keorn were to return to his liege and report that a young, capable slave was living here, Turan would have to flee immediately.
Nevertheless, he had stepped forward. Protecting a guest was the duty of the Lord of Hisaril Hill—and the old knight had shown him genuine respect, maintaining the etiquette of a proper guest.
"Are you alright?"
For some reason, Keorn wasn't looking at Turan. He was warily watching the leopard beast lying sprawled on the ground, its head shattered.
"Watch out!"
Turan didn't need to ask why.
The leopard's headless torso suddenly lurched upward and lunged at him. In place of the head that had been pulverized, a shimmering, pale green radiance surged forth.
Fortunately, having heard the warning, Turan was able to kick the pouncing beast away and put some distance between them. The creature's body tumbled dozens of meters, struck by the powerful kick, but it didn't seem to have taken any real damage.
"A spirit cannot be killed by physical attacks!" Keorn shouted.
"Then how do I kill it?"
"With fire or lightning!"
Following the advice, Turan immediately tried to ignite a flame on the beast's body. However, just as before, a spark of lightning flickered, and the budding flame was snuffed out helplessly.
Seeing this, Keorn was finally certain: it was Turan who had killed the beast earlier.
It was basic common sense for a mage that applying magical power directly to another magical creature required a proper connection of causality. Yet, the young shepherd before him seemed utterly ignorant of such principles. Naturally, he wouldn't have known the logic of needing to disperse a dead beast's mana either.
"Don't just try to ignite it! Manifest the fire and launch it!"
Even as he gave the advice, Keorn doubted Turan could pull it off. While even young mages could instinctively ignite a flame, controlling and projecting it was a technique that required specific training.
But no sooner had the words left his mouth than a flame erupted above Turan's hand. It swirled around his palm before being launched at the beast as if propelled by centrifugal force.
He had perfectly applied the principles of his most familiar method of attack: the sling.
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As the flying flame caught onto its spirit body, the beast let out a grotesque shriek and rolled on the ground. It tried to extinguish the fire by rubbing against the earth, but the magical flame burned relentlessly, consuming its master's mana.
Unlike Keorn's attacks, which had been entirely ineffective, Turan's mana was clearly superior to his opponent's. Turan focused intensely, continuously pouring power into the flame to ensure it wouldn't go out.
After about thirty seconds, the spirit body enveloping the beast let out a final scream, and the physical carcass was incinerated in an instant.
Turan and Keorn exhaled in relief at the same time.
"Is it really over now?"
"It is... First, absorb the mana. Unless you want to encounter another spirit."
The method for absorbing mana wasn't particularly difficult. He simply had to reach out over the corpse and imagine he was inhaling something invisible.
With that alone, an aura of the same color as the spirit from moments ago flowed out and seeped into his body. Turan trembled at the sensation, one he was experiencing for the first time in his life.
The feeling of something stacking up inside him, piece by piece—the sense that he was transforming into something stronger and more otherworldly than before. The chilling pleasure was enough to send goosebumps racing across his skin.
"Is this truly your first time absorbing mana?" Keorn asked, stunned.
"Yes."
"Hard to believe..."
Normally, mana grows slowly with age after the initial awakening, and the rate of increase is negligible unless one kills and absorbs other magical beasts or mages. If so, did this mean his current ability was purely the result of his innate power?
Considering that the limit of growth through mana absorption is proportional to one's innate mana capacity, his potential was staggering. Realizing this anew, Keorn cleared his throat lightly and spoke in a polite tone.
"I have been quite rude, Young Lord. May I ask which family you belong to?"
Turan felt uncomfortable with Keorn's sudden shift in tone. He couldn't explain exactly why... but he didn't want to see this old knight humbling himself.
"Let's get you patched up before we talk."
Blood was still streaming from the gash above Keorn's eyebrow where the claws had struck him.
*
"Ugh..."
Keorn let out a small groan as Turan applied hemostatic herb juice to his head and wrapped it in a bandage. Turan's house was stocked with herbs and bandages—which were actually just well-washed scraps of cloth—in case of injury, so he was able to provide decent first aid.
It would have been nice if he could have healed it instantly with magic, but based on his experience treating his mother's bruises in the past, healing another person's wounds consumed an excessive amount of mana. It would likely take all of Turan's mana just to knit together a tenth of the torn scalp.
"I am truly sorry, Young Lord. To have someone of your status doing such a thing..."
"I've told you several times, I'm not a 'Young Lord.' I'm just a shepherd who doesn't even know who his father was."
Turan glared at the old knight, his eyes practically shouting for the man to stop. After a brief staring contest, Keorn shook his head as if giving in.
"Alright, alright... Don't look at me like that."
Turan let out a small smirk at the sight.
"But why is a powerful mage like you working as a shepherd in a place like this? I don't mean to disparage the work, but it doesn't seem to suit you."
It was a question that mirrored the one Turan had asked him yesterday—why a man like him was hunting beasts in such a place. Turan couldn't answer with the same pride in his work that Keorn had shown.
"It's a bit of a long story."
Turan calmly recounted his childhood: realizing his magic, the terrifying stories about nobles he'd heard from his mother, and his life on the hill.
After hearing it all, Keorn nodded. "She was a wise woman."
"You think so?" Turan raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had expected Keorn, who was so proud of his status, to say his mother had been too fearful or that the world below the hill wasn't actually such a hellscape.
"Twenty years ago, the Arabion family I served fought a war against the great Zahar family. At that time, over nine hundred of Arabion's three thousand knights perished."
"Nearly a third of them died."
"The truly unlucky part is that everyone I knew was included in that third. My two best friends, my wife, and my son all died. Only I survived."
As Keorn spoke, his face held an emotion that was difficult to describe. Turan couldn't begin to fathom his grief. He could only guess that it must have been as painful as when he lost his mother—perhaps even more so.
After a long silence, Keorn brightened his expression and changed the subject.
"As your mother said, the lives of knights are sometimes lost more easily and pointlessly than those of commoners. But if there's one thing she was wrong about, it's that your talent isn't merely at the level of a knight."
"Is that so?"
"It's embarrassing to say in this state, but I am a knight of considerable skill. Yet you easily dispatched a beast that even I found difficult to face. And that was before you had even properly absorbed mana."
Keorn took a sip of goat milk and declared, "With that level of power, you have the talent of a noble—and a high-ranking one at that."
It didn't feel real to Turan. Perhaps it was because he had lived so long under his mother's assessment that his talent was only at a knight's level. He even wondered if Keorn was overestimating him.
"My mother said my father was a knight. Was that a lie?"
"Just as tall people don't always give birth only to tall people, there are always exceptions. It's rare, but sometimes a noble gives birth to someone who isn't even fit to be a knight, or a knight gives birth to a noble-class mage."
Turan thought of the villagers, specifically the carpenter's family. The short carpenter couple's first son was short like his parents, but the second son was lanky and tall. Of course, that second son's face bore a striking resemblance to a certain burly woodcutter in the village...
"In that sense, I believe it would be better for you to go down the hill," Keorn said.
"Why is that?"
"We humans need more nobles and knights. Humanity is not yet the true master of this world. Not only the magical beasts, but various other races that were pushed aside by the gods long ago are constantly looking for a chance to rise again. Meanwhile, the nobles are busy fighting wars among themselves. We desperately need even one more noble who is as strong and kind-hearted as you."
Other races... They were beings Turan had only heard of in his mother's fairy tales, feeling as far-fetched as gods or demons. He didn't know much, but it seemed they were considered a practical threat in the world below.
"Besides, it's a pity to see a talented young man wasting his life here. You aren't satisfied with living as a shepherd, are you?"
Turan remained silent for a moment before nodding in affirmation.
"You don't need to worry too much about what your mother feared," Keorn continued. "A common knight might be a different story, but even the great families show at least a minimum of respect to a fellow noble. Especially one as powerful as you."
"So I don't have to worry about being dragged off to some family against my will?"
"I can't say for certain, as is the case with everything in this world."
All sorts of thoughts crossed Turan's mind. The desire to believe Keorn's words clashed with the fear of nobles he had harbored his entire life. The two emotions were locked in a tense struggle.
While he was lost in thought, Keorn sat patiently on the bed, waiting for him. After several minutes, Turan asked softly, "What could I gain down there?"
Reading the underlying will to venture out into the world, Keorn smiled. "That depends on what you want. Wealth, fame, power... or perhaps family and friendship. None of those things are easy to find here, are they?"
Keorn listed the possibilities one by one. He could wander the world like Keorn, slaying beasts; he could become an explorer, venturing into the unknown lands humanity had yet to reclaim; or he could be adopted into a family and walk the path of power. One thing was certain: any of those sounded more interesting than herding sheep on Hisaril Hill.
"Come to think of it, I forgot to ask—what kind of bloodline ability do you have? I should have asked this first."
"Bloodline ability?"
When Turan asked about the unfamiliar term, Keorn clicked his tongue. He still wasn't used to the fact that this young shepherd was ignorant of the magical world.
"Do you know that the magical power we possess originates from our ancestors, the Frea Divine Clan?"
"I've heard that from my mother."
"Nobles are beings closer to the Frea Divine Clan, and they inherit some of the characteristics their divine ancestors possessed. The presence or absence of this bloodline ability is what distinguishes a noble from a knight. Families also tend to gather those with the same bloodline abilities."
"How can I tell if I have one?"
"When you use magic, have you ever found a certain type exceptionally easy, while others feel difficult? Or do you naturally possess abilities superior to others even without using magic?"
"It wouldn't be just being stronger than others, would it?"
"Mages naturally have stronger physical abilities just by possessing mana. Great strength is indeed one of the bloodline abilities, but I don't think your strength is quite at that level."
Turan fell into thought. Something among his abilities that was exceptionally prominent...
"I have a good nose. My eyes and ears are better than others too, but my sense of smell is the most distinct." He was particularly adept at smelling blood; he could even distinguish what kind of creature had bled just by the scent.
Keorn nodded. "A superior sense of smell... if it's that precise, it's more than enough to be considered a bloodline ability. And?"
"I'm good at throwing stones. Though that's because my mother taught me since I was little."
Turan had used a sling since he was five years old. It was the most effective way for a shepherd to deal with wolves and leopards. Furthermore, he had noticed that his mana consumption was exceptionally low when he threw stones with his power infused into them.
"Skill with projectile weapons. That is one of the characteristics of our Arabion family. Though I'm not sure if it's at the level of a bloodline ability."
"Is that so?"
"Actually, it's a fairly common trait. Being skilled with projectiles, skilled in hand-to-hand combat, or being decent at both. It's generally categorized into those three."
Turan and Keorn continued their back-and-forth, categorizing his strengths. But for some reason, Keorn's face grew darker as the conversation progressed. This gloom deepened until, after the final question, his expression was almost one of lamentation.
"I think I know," Keorn whispered.
"Which one is it?"
Keorn didn't answer immediately. After hesitating several times, he finally spoke reluctantly.
"There are a few candidates, but... the characteristics of the Zahar bloodline are the most prominent. They are called the Pursuers, or sometimes the Hunters."
Zahar. As Turan rolled the name around in his mouth, he felt it was strangely familiar. He had never heard stories about mage families from his mother, so why did it ring a bell?
Looking at Keorn's somber face, he realized the reason.
Zahar was the name of the family that had gone to war with Keorn's family, Arabion, and slaughtered everyone he loved.
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