Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 4 Life often presents awkward moments where words simply aren't enough.
Turan was in such a predicament now. Should he apologize for being born with the same blood as the man's enemies? Even if it was the work of relatives he had never met, the foundation of his immense magical power originated from that very lineage. It felt brazen to claim the inheritance of their strength while dismissing their sins as none of his business.
A heavy, suffocating silence stretched between them. Finally, Keorn gave Turan's shoulder a firm, reassuring pat.
"Don't look so downcast! It's not as if you were the one fighting in that war, was it?"
Turan wanted to point out that it was Keorn who had looked miserable just moments ago, but he held his tongue and simply nodded.
"It is meaningless for the youth to be shackled by the affairs of the older generation," Keorn continued. "If we try to wash away blood with more blood, the fighting will never end. And in the end, it's always the ordinary people who pay the price."
Despite his noble words, a bitter shadow remained etched in the lines of Keorn's face. Turan looked at him and asked softly, "Do you regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"Telling me to go down the hill."
If Turan chose to pursue power, he would inevitably cross paths with the Zahar family. As Keorn had said, only those of the bloodline could become core members of the house. This would likely deal a blow to the Arabion family Keorn had once served. It was only natural to worry; a powerful mage was essentially joining a faction that had once been their mortal enemy.
Keorn shook his head. "I trust your character. I've seen your kindness—how you treated a stranger with hospitality and risked revealing your identity to save me. If someone like you joins the Zahar family—and perhaps even rises to leadership—you might be the one to ensure such a terrible war never happens again."
Turan felt that Keorn's estimation of him was far too high. He had only been hospitable because his mother had raised him that way, and because he was starved for conversation. He had saved Keorn simply because he didn't want to see a man he liked die. If Keorn had been a rude traveler, Turan wouldn't have cared whether he lived or died.
As Turan stared at the floor, lost in thought, Keorn spoke again to break the tension. "Well, there's no need to be so serious. It's not like you've decided to join them yet anyway."
"That is true."
In truth, Turan was more drawn to the idea of wandering and hunting magical beasts, much like Keorn did. He didn't want to be tied down, and he wanted to see the world. Moreover, after hearing the history, he had developed a vague distaste for the Zahar name.
"I plan to stay here until your injuries are fully healed, regardless. I'll take my time to think."
"Calling these 'injuries' makes them sound far too grand. They're just a few scratches!" Keorn let out a hearty laugh.
*
While Keorn recovered, Turan began to study magic in earnest under his guidance. Since he had only ever used his power haphazardly, there was a vast world of theory he had yet to uncover.
"Magical power, or mana, is often called the Key of Omnipotence," Keorn began.
"The Key of Omnipotence…"
"But it isn't truly omnipotent, despite the name. To be precise, bringing about a specific phenomenon requires a corresponding amount of mana as a price. I'm sure you've felt this yourself."
"What determines the 'corresponding' amount for a task?" Turan asked. This was a question that had always nagged at him.
Keorn gave a light cough and held up three fingers. "The difficulty of magic is largely determined by three factors: Bloodline, Individuality, and Causality."
Bloodline, Individuality, Causality. Turan committed the terms to memory.
"The first, Bloodline, refers to the influence of your innate heritage. This doesn't apply to knights. For example… it would be nearly impossible for you to heal my wounds, wouldn't it?"
"It would."
"Those of the Lavitas bloodline—the Healer bloodline from the southwest—can use healing magic naturally without training. The strongest among them can reattach severed limbs or cure any disease. In contrast, other bloodlines can almost never achieve such feats, no matter how hard they try."
Turan thought of his mother. If he had been born with that power, she wouldn't have died of illness… He bit his lip, pushing the useless regret aside.
"And the second factor, Individuality?"
"It's also called proficiency. A mage can more easily perform tasks they are accustomed to or naturally inclined toward. A mage who frequently swings a sword finds it easier to create an intangible blade. A mage who loves the water will find it easier to move beneath the waves."
"Does that apply to how I threw flames as if I were using a sling?"
"Exactly. You're sharp. If you had simply shot the flames normally, they wouldn't have possessed that level of speed or destructive power."
Turan nodded. Having experienced it firsthand, the concept was easy to grasp. Keorn smiled like a teacher proud of a star pupil, but his expression soon turned solemn.
"The third factor, Causality, is the most important, but also the most complex. To be honest, even I don't fully grasp it. It is the principle that 'natural' events occur more easily…" Keorn stroked his chin, searching for the right words. "What would happen if you tried to use mana to kill me directly?"
"A useless shimmer of mana would probably appear around my head, and that would be it," Turan replied, recalling his recent struggle against the magical beast.
"Precisely. That is a failure caused by a lack of Causality. It happens when there is no appropriate cause for the desired effect, or when the task is excessively difficult. In your case, both applied."
"I think I understand what you mean by 'cause.'"
"Can you explain it?"
"Yes. For example, if I wanted to kill you, instead of just vaguely wishing for your death and consuming mana, I should provide a cause—like creating a fireball and launching it. Creating and shooting fire is considered more 'natural' than simply making someone drop dead."
Keorn clapped his hands in admiration. "Exactly! You have the mind of a scholar, Turan. You're a very quick study. As you said, establishing a proper cause drastically reduces mana consumption."
"But I can kill or control ordinary wolves and sheep as I please. Why is a 'cause' only necessary for magical beasts?"
"Because creatures with mana gain the ability to resist magic in proportion to their own power. However, if you manifest a completed spell—like a physical flame—and bring it into contact with them, you can bypass a significant amount of that resistance. Of course, if the gap in power is too great, the magic might still fail."
He explained that this was why Keorn's spells had been ineffective while Turan's flames had incinerated the spirit instantly. In essence, it was nearly impossible to cast magic directly onto another mage.
Turan massaged his temples as his head began to throb from the influx of information. "Magic really isn't easy, is it?"
"A great mage isn't made by raw power alone. You must understand the principles, your own limits, and how to utilize your surroundings."
Turan closed his eyes, reviewing the lessons. Then, a thought occurred to him. "Come to think of it, does the Zahar bloodline have any special magic?"
The traits Keorn had mentioned—keen smell, night vision, and projectile accuracy—weren't exactly magical spells.
Keorn nodded. "There is. Zahar mages excel at Stealth and Tracking. Have you ever used those?"
"I've used tracking to find lost sheep or check on my mother. I've never tried stealth."
He had never needed to hide on this hill.
"Give it a try. While many mages can use basic invisibility, the highest level of stealth—one that completely removes your presence from perception—is an ability unique to the Zahar bloodline."
Turan focused his mind. I don't want to be seen. I want my sounds and my scent to vanish…
The moment the thought took hold, the mana in his body began to drain rapidly. He looked down at his hands, but nothing seemed to have changed. "Did it work?"
Instead of answering, Keorn looked toward Turan with unfocused eyes. "It's a success. I can't see you. Are you still there?"
Turan stood up and walked around the room. Keorn continued to stare blankly at the empty chair where Turan had been. Even when Turan stomped on the floor or snapped his fingers, Keorn didn't react.
Turan cut off the flow of mana. Keorn's eyes widened as Turan suddenly reappeared, and the old knight let out a deep sigh of relief.
"It's been a long time since I've seen it, but it's still a terrifying ability… During the war, the knights of Arabion prayed for the sun never to set. It was common to wake up and find an entire barracks of men with their heads gone."
"This… seems like a very unfair ability," Turan muttered. It was a terrifying power. How could anyone fight an opponent they couldn't even perceive?
"It's not invincible," Keorn countered. "High-ranked magic tools can detect it, and one can counter it with blinding light or indiscriminate area attacks. But even so, it is a fearsome power—the reason the Zahar became a Great House."
The only downside was the heavy mana consumption, but Turan knew he could overcome that by hunting more magical beasts to increase his capacity.
"Anyway, that's enough theory. From now on, I'll teach you a few practical training methods…"
*
During the three days it took for Keorn to heal, Turan learned more than just magic. He learned the geography of the world, the names of the Great Houses, and the common sense required for travel.
Finally, on the morning of their departure, Turan packed his leather backpack with dried food, clothes, cooking utensils, and his mother's keepsakes.
Keorn, waiting outside in the sunlight, looked at him. "You look troubled."
"I'm leaving the only home I've ever known."
"Don't take it so heavily. If you find you don't like the world, you can always come back."
Turan gave a bitter smile. No matter how much he might dislike the world below, he wouldn't return to this lonely hill. He'd sooner find another place to hide.
As they descended, Turan stopped at the village to see the elder. "I'm selling all the sheep left in the pens," he announced.
The elder gasped. "You're leaving? Then who will do the shepherding?"
"That's for you to figure out. I want a fair price. If not, I'll go back up, let them all loose, and leave. You can try rounding them up yourselves, but you'll have a hell of a time."
The elder, knowing Turan was a man of his word—a man who really would break an arm if he threatened to—offered a reasonable price without a fight.
As they left the village, Turan jingled the pouch of silver coins. "Those villagers cheated you out of your reward for the beast. Should I go back and get it?"
"I had no intention of taking it," Keorn chuckled. "The beast turned into a spirit, so there's no evidence. Besides, you were the one who actually caught it."
Keorn didn't seem to care about the money. He had likely come to hunt the beast as a form of volunteer work anyway.
Eventually, they reached a fork in the road. Turan's voice grew thick with emotion. "I suppose this is where we part ways."
"Indeed. You've decided to go south, so take the right path."
Turan had hoped to travel with Keorn, but the knight had declined, claiming he preferred his own company. Turan felt a pang of disappointment but hid it well.
"Stay well, Turan. I hope we meet again with smiles on our faces."
"Thank you, sir. I've learned a lot."
Keorn turned and walked down the left path without looking back. Watching him go, Turan finally realized why he had been so drawn to the old knight. Though he had never lacked his mother's love, he had secretly longed for a father figure—someone kind and steady to show him the kind of man he should become.
Turan watched the north until Keorn disappeared from view, then he turned and began his walk south. An unknown world was waiting for him.
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