Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 53 Leaving Kalamaph behind, Turan flew westward, using the Old Empire's ancient roads as his guide.
Before long, he spotted the fortifications where the Arabion army had been stationed during their campaign against the Dark Elves.
They didn't even bother tearing it down before they left.
Given the number of mages in their ranks, it wouldn't have been a difficult task, but they likely saw no reason to expend the effort. Perhaps it would eventually serve as a rest stop for travelers moving between the Gray Zone and the mid-western regions. Of course, since the structure had been hastily erected with magic, it was more likely to collapse long before then.
Passing the outpost, he continued his flight westward. The gray, jagged peaks eventually gave way to a landscape where lush forests and rolling plains blended in perfect harmony. This was the Western Forest Zone, home to the largest and finest timber in the West. It was near a city in this region that Turan had first met Asiz.
There really isn't a single living soul left.
He cast a detection spell tuned for humans across a radius of several dozen kilometers, but it caught nothing. The cities and villages scattered across the ground below were nothing but hollow ruins. It was no exaggeration to say that death had settled over the entire land.
Are the Dark Elves truly like wolves that can never coexist with humans?
According to what he had learned from interrogating a captured Dark Elf, the reason for this Great Invasion was simple retaliation. The Necromancer King's favorite youngest daughter and her husband had been killed while sightseeing on the surface. Since humans ruled this land, the King assumed they were responsible and sought to quench his resentment by slaughtering their entire race.
It was an absurd reason for the deaths of so many, but in their society, the command of the royalty who controlled the dead was absolute law. There was no choice. In that regard, their society bore an unpleasantly close resemblance to human society, where the orders of mages were final.
The daughter and son-in-law were probably the two who tried to kill Asiz.
Turan wondered if this fact was known within Arabion. He figured the chances were fifty-fifty. It would depend on how well the Berk family had kept their mouths shut.
He didn't feel particularly guilty about it. Letting Asiz die and allowing those two Dark Elves to hunt humans for sport wouldn't have been the right thing to do either. Though, the people who had been sacrificed in the aftermath might think differently...
May you rest in peace in the Celestial Palace.
Turan offered a silent prayer for the souls below. He couldn't be certain anymore if the gods truly resided in the Celestial Palace or if they would even accept human souls... but if they didn't—if the dead had no place to rest—it would be a reality far too miserable to bear.
*
Unlike his frantic flight across the Enril Desert in the past, Turan was in no hurry. He traveled at a leisurely pace, giving Bije plenty of rest. He only flew during the day when the sun was high, the air was warm, and visibility was clear. When Bije grew tired, he tucked her under his arm and walked. At night, he found a suitable abandoned village to camp in.
One major change from his previous travels was his diet. Thanks to the high-capacity pouch he had received from Meisa, which he had stocked with various dried foods, cooking utensils, and spices, he was able to prepare decent meals even on the road.
"Is it good, Bije?"
[Too salty!]
"Stop complaining and eat. It's not like you're the one cooking."
[I could cook better with my paws!]
Arguing occasionally with Bije, who claimed she could do better with her paws than he could with his hands, the two made steady, peaceful progress.
On the fourth day of their journey, Turan realized they were near the forest where he had first met Asiz. A little further on, he saw Maderi City, the place he had once warned about the hidden Dark Elf city. Naturally, it too had been raided and left in ruins.
"Would things have been different if I had spoken more forcefully...?"
Bije tilted her head beside him, wondering what he meant, but Turan just brushed it off with a smile. In truth, even if he had insisted back then, nothing would have changed. The Dark Elves' offensive had been faster and more powerful than anyone could have anticipated. Perhaps if the local nobles had united to respond, the story might have been different, but who would have believed such a thing until it actually happened?
Another day of flying past Maderi, and the western forests began to thin out into rolling hills. Finally, he saw signs of life again. He had arrived at the Western Wilds—a place he had once thought of as incredibly bustling, but which was actually a remote frontier in the grand scheme of the world.
He bypassed several cities he had found bothersome in the past and soon spotted Orem City.
...Was it always this small?
When he had seen it years ago, it had seemed like the most crowded place in the world. But back then, Turan had only ever seen a small village of dozens and a tiny town of a thousand. Seeing a city of tens of thousands for the first time, it was bound to look massive.
Now, however, Orem City looked to be about the size of Kalamaph, or perhaps even smaller. Having reigned as the savior and master of a city of that scale, Orem now looked tiny in Turan's eyes.
"Good job, Bije. I'm going to head in for a bit. Do you want to rest here?"
[It won't take long, right?]
"It won't. Well, probably. If nothing happens."
Perhaps remembering the times he'd said that only to take forever, Bije tilted her head suspiciously before writing a note asking for a delicious meal later and flying off.
Turan gave a light wave and entered Orem City.
Ah, it's that guard from back then.
The man who had once told Turan to go wash up because he smelled was still guarding the east gate. It hadn't been that many years, so it wasn't surprising that the personnel hadn't changed. Since Turan was using stealth magic, the man didn't even notice him walking right past.
Entering the city gates undetected, Turan headed straight for the library visible in the distance. Using his stealth abilities so actively made him realize just how unreasonable this power was. If he wanted to, he could probably storm the central mansion right now and slaughter the Baltas family without them even being able to resist.
However, as he walked through the city under the veil of stealth, he noticed the atmosphere felt somewhat restless.
Did another magical beast appear?
Turan briefly considered dropping his stealth to ask someone, but decided to just keep heading for the library. It would be a hassle if someone recognized him.
Passing the knight standing guard out front, Turan gripped the padlock on the library door. He blew air into the keyhole a few times to grasp the internal structure, then used psychokinesis to precisely align the internal cylinders and release the lock.
Success.
Normally, even with psychokinesis, one would likely crush the internal mechanism rather than delicately unlocking it without knowing the structure. However, by using the power of the Storm bloodline, he could blow air inside and sense the flow to map out the lock. It was a simple trick Turan had picked up during his time in Kalamaph.
He glanced back, but the knight was still staring forward, oblivious. Despite having senses sharper than a commoner's, the knight should have heard the click.
This was the power that made Zahar's stealth special: it prevented others from perceiving the natural reactions caused by the user's actions. Just as one might subconsciously overlook footprints appearing in the sand, the knight heard the sound of the lock but failed to connect it to the presence of another person. He likely wouldn't notice anything until there was direct contact or an incoming attack.
Turan entered the library, closed the door, and looked around. The first things he saw were the circular walls and the spiral staircase, sights he had grown familiar with after several visits. And there, sitting at the desk, was the middle-aged man—the Librarian.
"Elder?"
He called out just in case, but the Librarian didn't seem to sense him. It seemed that even a spirit created by a god couldn't see through Zahar's stealth. Since his mana was depleting rapidly due to the bright magical lights on the ceiling, Turan deactivated his stealth and approached.
"It's been a long time, Elder Librarian."
But for some reason, the Librarian didn't react. He just sat there at his desk, staring blankly. He didn't even blink, looking like a well-crafted doll.
"...Elder?"
Turan poked the Librarian's shoulder, but his finger passed right through as if there was nothing there. He then remembered that he couldn't physically touch the spirit. In his confusion, he had momentarily forgotten.
Is it because I didn't come in with an official pass?
Since the head of the Baltas family was the master of this city and the library, perhaps the spirit only recognized visitors who entered with his permission.
As Turan's expression grew serious, the Librarian suddenly whipped his head around.
"So, was it convincing?"
"...Yes."
Turan let out a hollow laugh of disbelief, and the Librarian grinned mischievously. He had known from their first meeting that this spirit was like this, but he hadn't expected another prank.
"You really startled me."
"Seeing your face made it worth the effort. So, you've returned quite quickly. You left with such bravado that I thought it would take at least ten years."
"To be honest, I thought so too. But I've seen and heard too much for such a short trip."
From the secret of his birth to the mysteries surrounding the gods and bloodlines, and even a mysterious conspiracy—there were so many things he wanted to ask. Turan decided to start with the easiest thing to verify.
"Could you check my bloodline again?"
"That's easy enough."
Just as before, the Librarian plunged his fingers into Turan's chest.
"Pursuer, Hunter, and... an Aeromancer."
'Aeromancer' likely referred to the power to manipulate wind within the Storm bloodline. It seemed that after being absorbed into the Arabion bloodline long ago, it had been integrated under the name 'Storm' and forgotten.
"And one still hasn't awakened. To inherit two types from each side... you really are incredibly lucky."
As he had suspected, the bloodline ability to manipulate lightning was also latent within him. Satisfied with that knowledge, Turan asked another question that had been on his mind.
"Were all the members of the Frea Divine Clan possessed of four bloodlines—or 'types,' as you call them?"
"Hmm? Yes, that's right. You certainly haven't been idling. Where did you hear such a thing? Are there other spirits left besides me?"
"I'm not sure if it was a spirit, but I saw something similar."
Turan described everything he had seen to the Librarian: the ruins in the distant Enril Desert known as the Tomb of the Gods, the labyrinth sleeping beneath them, the monsters the gods had fashioned from giants, and the process of turning mages into gods. Finally, he showed him the experimental logs left by the unknown creator of the labyrinth.
The Librarian groaned softly and twisted his beard as he looked over the information.
"Hmm, an underground labyrinth and experiments to create gods... Who on earth could have done such a thing?"
"Was it the Lame Goddess?"
"Probably not. Wait, let me search through the records of the past."
The Librarian's eyes rolled upward as if he were thinking, and then they began to spin rapidly. They didn't just move up, down, left, and right like a normal person's; they literally spun in one direction continuously.
After a few minutes of this eerie eye-rolling, the Librarian suddenly snapped his fingers, and a translucent book appeared before Turan.
"Read this. It's one of the documents lost after the fall of what you call the Old Empire. The handwriting is identical to this text."
The ability to manifest a lost book was something the Librarian hadn't shown before. Turan tried to turn the page, but like the Librarian's body, he couldn't touch it. Instead, he found that pressing strange symbols on the left and right would turn the pages one by one.
This handwriting...
As the Librarian said, it was the exact same script as the one used by the master of the labyrinth who had written about the Night Hunters. It looked like a diary, but the owner didn't seem very enthusiastic about keeping it, as there wasn't much content on each page.
[Otas, that pig, is a total moron.
I told him that if we leave races capable of scientific thought alone, they will surely become a threat to our descendants, so we must exterminate them in advance. But he's too lazy to listen.
If I didn't need his tracking abilities, I wouldn't have bothered asking him for anything.
Let him spend the rest of his life whoring around for all I care...] Turan didn't know who Otas was—perhaps a god—but the entry was filled with malice toward him. The next page provided the answer to the previous complaint.
[I've thought of a way to exterminate those steampunk rats without Otas's help.
I'll modify the ones I've captured.
I'll ensure that the next generations manifest low intelligence, superior physical abilities, and excessive aggression.
It would also be good to keep them in a constant state of heat and enhance their pheromone tracking abilities.
In a situation that is practically an apocalypse, if I release a large number of these specimens to breed, the entire race will be morons within dozens of generations.
Even the defense systems they pride themselves on won't work against their own kind as long as they can breed.
At least our descendants won't have to worry about being hunted by rats in steam-powered airships in the distant future.] The way the writer treated an entire race like a toy was chilling, even considering the subjects weren't human. Turan asked the Librarian about a word he didn't understand.
"Do you know what the word 'steampunk' means?"
"Who knows."
The Librarian gave an ambiguous answer, making it hard to tell if he knew or not. Turan stared at the two diary entries and realized that the 'steampunk rats' referred to the Dwarves. Devolving their intelligence while maximizing their physical traits—it fit them perfectly. Furthermore, the fact that ancient Dwarven relics used steam aligned with the mention of 'steam airships.'
...As I suspected, this god had the power to manipulate life.
However, among the Frea Divine Clan Turan knew of, and even among the bloodline abilities passed down to their descendants, there was no such power. Perhaps it was a god from the South or East that he hadn't visited, or a forgotten god who left no descendants and thus wasn't recorded in the scriptures.
Turning the page, he found entirely different content.
[The humans here are fundamentally flawed.
It's not just because they've lived as slaves to other races for so long; they simply lack the ability to explore new phenomena.
That's why they haven't progressed a single step in hundreds of years, only using what we provide.
Is this a problem with their brain structure?
Is it possible to artificially inject 'creativity' into humans?
And in that process, will we be able to maintain control over them?] The writer, who had previously seemed concerned for his descendants, was now showing an attitude of wanting to modify and control humans at will. Had his heart changed over the long years between these entries?
Feeling a strange chill, Turan turned to the next page and realized it was the last one.
[To think there is a lifespan... it's ridiculous.
There must be a way.
What is there???
The Class Change experiment I did last time.
If I use that as a vessel and move my body first—]
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