Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 48 The moment Turan saw a dwarf in person, the first word that came to mind was "mole."
As if to confirm their blindness, their eyes were milky and sunken. Their noses and front teeth protruded sharply, and their burly, muscular frames were covered in a coat of thick, coarse hair.
These hideous creatures emerged from every direction, screaming as they aimed the menacing artifacts Turan had previously seen in the illusion at the Arabion army. However, Turan's relic senses didn't detect a trace of mana from them, suggesting they weren't actual magic tools.
"Dev-ils! Kill-!"
["Kill-!"]
Accompanied by the guttural, mangled speech characteristic of their race, a sharp hiss of escaping air rang out. Suddenly, a hail of metal shards rained down upon the Arabion army.
But unlike the previous ambush that had caught them off guard, the soldiers were prepared. They raised their defensive magic tools or crouched behind whatever cover they could find.
"Argh!"
"Are you alright?"
"It'll take more than this to kill me!"
Casualties were minimal—at most three or four dead, with about twice as many wounded.
Turan, positioned at the vanguard, activated his Guardian magic tool. He gauged the impact as he deflected half a dozen metal shards.
At this level… a direct hit would definitely leave a mark.
If you take a hit, you pay it back in kind.
The Arabion army launched their counterattack. First, a blinding white flash erupted from the hands of Meisa, who stood at the front of the line.
["Kyarrrrgh!"]
"Dev-il! Dev-il!"
Only those at the very edge of the blast survived to scream. Those at the center had been incinerated before they could even make a sound. Considering their bodies were tough enough to shrug off the spells of an average knight, the sheer amount of mana loaded into that lightning was staggering. Had she dispersed that power over a wider area, a single strike would have been enough to wipe out thousands of ordinary men.
Following her lead, the Arabion nobles and those of other bloodlines unleashed their own powers.
"Kill them all!"
"Filthy mole rats!"
Fire, lightning, ice spears, and boulders rained down, clashing with the continuous volley of metal shards. Then, the ones who had led the Arabion army into this trap—the dark elves—joined the fray.
One dark elf male stood significantly taller and more slender than his kin. Judging by the silver crown resting on his brow, he was the self-proclaimed Necromancer King.
"It's the Necromancer King!"
"Lady Meisa!"
Responding to the shout, Meisa hurled a bolt of lightning at him. However, over a dozen spirits manifested instantly, sacrificing their ethereal bodies to absorb the strike. The King then summoned a tide of beast- and human-shaped spirits to swarm her. Their numbers and strength were on a completely different level from the necromancer Turan had faced in the past.
Following their leader's example, the other necromancers summoned their own spirits and sent them charging toward the human lines. Perhaps because many had been raised from the corpses of Arabion mages, the human-shaped spirits were shrouded in flickering lightning and howling wind.
[Kill—you—!]
"Block them!"
As the spirits lunged at the nobles, their eerie, echoing voices chilling the air, the knights stepped forward to hold the line and buy time.
Amidst the chaos, Turan used his relic senses to pinpoint the enemy casters.
First target… that one.
A stone, spun with enough mana to hum, cut through the battlefield and sniped a necromancer's head with surgical precision. Like the one he had fought before, this necromancer was shielded by spirits, but Turan's projectile pierced through them effortlessly, shattering the elf's skull in an instant.
It was a simple matter of mana density.
Protected by the knights, Turan smoothly crushed the heads of a second and then a third target before drawing more stones from his high-capacity pouch. Since he had pre-shaped these stones into egg-like projectiles using Earth Manipulation Magic, he didn't have to worry about running out of ammunition.
[Kaoooo!]
Suddenly, three beast-shaped spirits lunged at him from the flank. Had they noticed his sniping?
Turan accelerated his thought speed. He drove his sword into the head of the leading spirit, which resembled a massive bear.
[Keong—!]
Even though physical attacks were usually ineffective against spirits, the creature writhed in agony. Turan could see the mana structure of the spirit collapsing where his blade had struck. If he had more time, he would have studied how this was possible, but in the heat of battle, he simply conjured a burst of fire and turned the creature to ash.
He then hurled another stone at the necromancer who had sent them, crushing his skull.
"Dieeeee!"
Before he could catch his breath, a group of dwarves who had been firing from a distance charged him. There were seven in total. Despite their heavy, grotesque appearance, they moved with surprising speed, swinging spears tipped with blades. To be precise, they were the same shard-firing tools, now fitted with bayonets.
"Kek!"
An ordinary noble would have retreated, using a knight as a shield while casting from afar, but Turan possessed a tempered body and superior combat techniques. He dodged the first attacker and crushed its head with a roundhouse kick. He decapitated the second with a swift stroke and smashed the crown of the third with a downward elbow strike.
The others stabbed at his back and flank, but his Guardian magic tool held firm, leaving only light scratches on his armor.
"Hard?"
"Dev-il… no pierce…."
Muttering in their slurred speech, the dwarves looked confused as to why their blades wouldn't bite. Turan didn't give them time to wonder; he beat them into a pulp with his sword and fists.
The last dwarf held a slightly different device, which erupted in a sudden burst of flames.
"Ugh!"
Turan boosted the output of his Guardian tool, charged through the fire, and thrust his sword through the dwarf's head. The heat was intense; without his fire resistance ring, he would have suffered serious burns.
What are these things? They have so much power despite having no mana. If I were still my old self, this would have been lethal. Are these really magic tools?
He was only slaughtering them because he was now among the strongest of the nobles. Before meeting Asiz, this would have been a desperate struggle.
As if to prove his point, a young noble nearby was sent flying with a thunderous bang.
"Young Master! Are you alright?"
"Heugh…."
Whatever had hit him, the noble's chest was caved in, his ribs pulverized. Turan turned and saw a massive, scaled-up version of the dwarves' handheld weapons. He quickly fired several fireballs at the crew. With a roar, a cloud of scalding steam erupted from the device, engulfing the dwarves.
"Kaaaaargh!"
"Hot! Hot!"
When he looked back at the fallen noble, the youth was already healing his own injuries. Shouldn't a Healer be at the center of the formation? Turan thought, but looking around, he realized the formation had long since dissolved.
There's no one commanding them… Even I'm just moving on instinct now.
Meisa was locked in a duel with the Necromancer King, and Kadram was tied up by three powerful necromancers. The Arabion army was fighting a messy, disorganized brawl.
However, the tide was clearly in their favor. The dark elves and dwarves were being decimated, and only a few necromancers remained. Finally, a massive bolt of lightning struck the center of the enemy lines, signaling the end of the battle.
*
"Whew…."
Unlike other nobles who relied solely on their bloodline abilities, Meisa Arabion fought like the genius she was. She manipulated the earth to create rock spikes to impale dark elves, clapped her hands to create sonic bursts that shattered the dwarves' sensitive hearing, and used the wind to levitate and dodge spirit attacks.
All the while, she relentlessly hammered the Necromancer King with lightning. Even when an attack bypassed her spells, her clothing—top-tier defensive artifacts crafted by the head of the Berk family—protected her.
After a grueling exchange, Meisa incinerated the last of the spirits and struck the Necromancer King's head with a final, decisive bolt. Just as a mage is merely human without mana, a necromancer is nothing more than a dark elf without spirits.
All that remained of the charred corpse was a silver crown.
"Ah…."
As victory was confirmed, a familiar dizziness washed over her. It was the toll of her malnutrition. Someone grabbed her wrist and supported her before she could fall.
"Are you alright?"
Realizing it was Turan, Meisa let out a breath of relief. He was the first person she had met with talent equal to her own. And whether he was truly ignorant of his bloodline or simply hiding it, he was the one who had shown her mercy when she was at her weakest.
That alone made him more trustworthy than the "family" who had murdered her mother and sister and now tried to control her. Meisa desperately needed an ally outside her family's reach.
"I'm fine, just a bit lightheaded… How is the battle? I couldn't see past my own fight."
"It's almost over."
As he spoke, the fighting entered its final stages. While the remaining enemies were being hunted down, knights were already beginning to recover the human dead. An Arabion noble, face flushed with adrenaline, approached Meisa.
"A great victory, my lady!"
"Casualties?"
"We're still counting, but it's less than a quarter of last time! We've confirmed two dead nobles and about thirty knights."
"How did the nobles die?"
"One was hit by a heavy siege tool, and the other was overwhelmed by a spirit. Um, but my lady…."
Noticing the noble's awkward gaze, Meisa realized she was still leaning heavily on Turan.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I lost myself for a moment."
"It's fine," Turan replied. He almost said she was light enough that it didn't matter, but he caught himself, realizing it might sound like a jab at her condition.
Meisa stood tall and resumed her command. "Capture a few alive. Especially the dwarves—find one that looks intelligent."
"Understood."
"Find out if they built those tools themselves or if they were taught. Collect all intact artifacts as well."
After the noble left, Turan watched Meisa, who was still rubbing her temples. "I heard those were relics of the ancient dwarves."
"Did Keorn tell you?"
"Yes."
"It's true. In the ancient past, dwarves weren't blind. They were master craftsmen. Now, they're little more than beasts."
"Did the gods do that to them?"
Meisa turned to him in surprise. That wasn't a thought someone who worshipped the Frea Divine Clan would usually voice. She only knew of the possibility because of the family's forbidden archives.
"…Why do you think that?"
"I've seen evidence before. If the gods can create life, they can certainly take away its sight or its mind."
"Don't say that anywhere else," Meisa warned.
Turan nodded. Her reaction confirmed his suspicion: the Great Families held many secrets regarding the true nature of the gods.
*
Once the battlefield was cleared and the wounded tended to, the distribution of rewards began. The corpses of the enemies were burned as trash, but the mana from the spirits and fallen mages had to be harvested.
"First, Meisa, you defeated the Necromancer King, so you have the first claim, but…."
"Forget it, Uncle. These small fry are useless to me."
"I suppose so," Kadram agreed.
As a mage grows in power, low-quality mana becomes less effective. For Meisa to advance now, she needed the mana of mages of her own rank or the essence of Mythic-rank magical beasts.
"Then, since the merits are a mess, we'll distribute based on capacity and injury. I've reached my limit, so I'll pass as well. The next in line is—"
"I'll yield my share of the spirits to Turan," Meisa interrupted.
The Arabion nobles stirred instantly. To Meisa, these spirits were "small fry," but to an ordinary noble, the Necromancer King's spirits were a massive windfall. To give that to a mercenary—an outsider—was unheard of.
"Did you not set a condition excluding him from the harvest?" Kadram hissed. "Surely you didn't offer mana as a reward?"
"How else would I recruit someone of his caliber? Besides, I'm only giving away my own share. It shouldn't matter to the rest of you."
"Still, this is a matter of precedent… You should have consulted us." Kadram sighed and leaned in to whisper to her. "Think carefully, Meisa. There are already rumors that you've lost your mind over this man."
"I appreciate the concern, Uncle, but my judgment is sound."
They locked eyes for a moment before Kadram shook his head and stepped back.
Turan was allocated six of the strongest spirits from the Necromancer King's hoard. They wouldn't provide a massive leap in power, but any growth at his level was significant.
"Begin the absorption."
Turan felt the stinging hostility from the surrounding nobles as he sat down. He ignored their glares and began to draw in the mana from the ashes of the spirits. Since one of the spirits had been an Arabion noble, he secretly deployed his Mimic Relic beneath the soil to siphon the unique bloodline essence.
One, two, three, four, five….
As he absorbed the sixth and final spirit, Turan's eyes narrowed. It might have been his imagination, but deep within his core, he felt a sensation like a heavy, metallic clank.
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