After they had talked for some time, Lida went back inside, saying she had to tend to the House Head again. Unless she recovered her mana and returned to her post promptly, the others would have to exert themselves all the more.

As a servant escorted Turan back to Lida's mansion, he went over their conversation in his mind.

'Baraha's House Head...'

To think he had taken the outrageous step of visiting another great house's stronghold and attacking its head. Merely leaving his own seat to visit another house was extraordinary, yet even that seemed trivial beside what he had done this time.

Had Osel not fallen into critical condition, Baraha could hardly have complained if Ravista declared war. Nor would the other houses have dared defend such a treacherous surprise attack.

'Did he think Ravista was beneath him...? No, they said he was badly injured too.'

It would have been another matter if an immense gulf separated Baraha's House Head from Osel. But the fact that he had suffered serious injuries himself suggested the difference was small enough for a fight to be possible. Of course, being in Ravista's stronghold would also have given Osel more resources to draw on.

Taken together, the information suggested that the Baraha House Head's actions were more likely born of excessive haste. Whatever the reason, he probably needed Solif that desperately.

'The Enril Desert stands between us, but... word will reach them soon enough. We'll have to be on our guard.'

One consolation was Lida's account that Baraha's House Head had also suffered considerable injuries. Unless they were truly fatal, he would recover naturally with time, but that recovery would not be quick. And with so many Baraha nobles killed in their two clashes with Turan, they would likely have their hands full simply looking after themselves for now.

In any case, all of this led to one conclusion. He needed to find and return Ravista's stolen Holy Relic, as Osel and Lida had once asked him to do.

That would give Kalamap a powerful ally to the south and allow Turan to cure his lung ailment. He could achieve the latter simply by using the Holy Relic briefly before bringing it back.

'The grasslands, was it?'

Even amid the turmoil following the Baraha House Head's attack, Ravista had never stopped searching for the thief who had fled with the Holy Relic. From Zahar's Enril Desert to the islands of the South Sea, the great southeastern grasslands, and even Baraha's land of lakes to the east, hundreds of wizards struggled through foreign lands, sending word home by various means.

Their efforts had recently brought a report of traces of the traitor in the southeastern grasslands. Apparently, people wielding powerful healing magic had joined a confederation of wizard tribes renowned for its strength even there.

Naturally, Ravista could not recover it unaided. Its nobles were poor fighters by the standards of the great houses, and every powerful high-ranking noble was occupied with treating the House Head. Yet asking another great house for help risked having them pocket the Holy Relic and deny all knowledge of it.

Curiously enough, Turan had arrived exactly two days after that report reached them.

["So there was a reason you specifically asked me to come here."]

["It was too dangerous a matter to put in a letter. You have no idea how delighted I was to hear you were at my mansion. Though I was surprised when you immediately realized what had happened to Osel."]

Recalling their final exchange, Turan took out his hand mirror upon returning to the mansion and fed mana into it. Three weak pulses, then three strong ones. Shortly after he sent the agreed signal, Maysa's face appeared on the other side. This was the result of improvements she had made to the magic tool recently, once she had some time to spare.

["You're calling early. You're in Merem, right? Did the treatment go well?"]

"Unfortunately, I haven't had it yet."

Turan gave Maysa a brief account of his conversation with Lida. Her expression grew grave as she listened.

["Then..."]

"It looks like I'll have to go all the way to the grasslands."

["Will you be all right?"]

"Who could lay a hand on me if I'm traveling alone? I'm more worried about you two."

The grasslands at the southeastern edge of the world lay an enormous distance from Kalamap, which stood somewhat northwest of the center. Ordinary people would have to allow almost half a year just to make the round trip on foot.

Of course, Turan could make the journey in days on Vije's back, but even that felt too far. Who knew what might happen in that short time?

Maysa let out a quiet sigh at his words.

["It can't be helped... Take care of yourself. Not that you're likely to find anyone who can match you in a backwater like that."]

"True. How are things going there, though?"

["Well. Solif secured support for the alliance from three cities just today. I'd say we're about halfway there."]

After concluding the nonaggression pact with Zahar's nobles, Kalamap's leaders had begun a new operation: uniting the Gray Zone where they lived. That was the genteel way of putting it, of course. To be blunt, they were making the city of Kalamap into something akin to a great house, commanding the allegiance of every wizard house in the Gray Zone.

Rule by three powerful nobles of different bloodlines, as in Turan's group's case, was so nearly unprecedented that neither they nor anyone else quite knew what to call it.

Unexpectedly, the wizard houses of the Gray Zone offered little resistance to Kalamap's efforts. Since the war some twenty years ago, they too had felt the need for a great house to protect them. In those circumstances, the rise of a power strong enough to negotiate with Zahar as an equal was welcome. Though a few ambitious souls might be coughing blood in frustration.

Still, word of Turan's Zahar bloodline had quietly spread, causing some concern. Would they effectively become a Zahar dependency, provoking Arabion into a second great war? Given how bad relations between Turan's group and Arabion actually were, it was hard to dismiss those fears as unfounded.

"Anyway, I'll do my best to get back as soon as possible."

["All right. I'll be waiting. Goodbye, then."]

Even after they finished speaking, neither cut off their mana, leaving each other's faces visible in the hand mirror. Turan hesitated for a moment, then murmured, "I love you."

The mirror went dark the instant it heard that. Apparently, even hand mirrors knew how to blush.

* * *

With no time to waste, Turan immediately left Merem and began flying east. Had Vije sensed his urgency? Thanks to her flying at full strength, he was beyond Shiraf Marsh and looking out over the blue South Sea that very night.

Unlike his previous journey, when he had found a suitable ship, this time he took the bold approach of flying the whole way on Vije. It was somewhat less safe, but far faster.

Three days. That was how long it took Turan to cross the South Sea and reach the grasslands. On one of those days, unable to find any island fit to stop on, he had even lain down on the sea itself to sleep. He woke the next morning to find he had been sleeping with his face underwater. Fortunately, he had activated the Karmine bloodline, so breathing had not been a problem.

On the third day of that relentless flight, Turan reached the grasslands. He first comforted Vije after her strenuous journey, then let her into his body and headed inland.

Had he been walking for about an hour? A fairly strong reek of blood assailed his nose. The world was full of creatures eating and being eaten, even out of sight, so the smell of blood was nothing remarkable. Human blood, however, was different. Wasn't that how he had noticed the death of Rabus, the prominent villager, back on Hisaril Hill?

"Mm, are we fighting...?"

"It's nothing. You can go back to sleep."

Vije had awakened at the change in his emotions and spoken in a sleepy whine from inside him. Soothing her, Turan headed straight toward the source of the smell. Before long, he saw a small nomadic tribe that appeared to number several dozen.

"Aaaagh!"

"Run! Hurry!"

"Where?!"

The nomads' tents were half collapsed, and people were fleeing in every direction, screaming. Their attacker was a single enormous horse, a monster larger and more ferocious even than tilly.

CRACK!

Each time it charged with its mane streaming, heads burst and torsos crumpled beneath its hooves.

The nomads had apparently tried to fight back. Broken spears and arrows lay scattered everywhere, but naturally, not one had pierced its hide or drawn blood.

'Is this how things are everywhere without a proper wizard house?'

Solif had once told him that the nomads of these grasslands enjoyed raiding not only one another, but also Baraha's rich lands to the north. By the way of classifying people that Turan had learned from his mother and made his own, they were wolves.

But watching them being trampled by a monster, it was hard to picture such brutality in them. They were no different from sheep being bitten to death for nothing.

After a moment's deliberation, Turan stepped forward, conjured a spear of flame, and hurled it at the monster.

NEIGH!

With a monster's sharp reflexes, the horse detected the fiery javelin and twisted aside. But Turan had already set the Holy Relic to the Sun bloodline. He smoothly curved its trajectory and pierced the creature's chest. The enormous horse's body blackened and burned in an instant.

'That's that.'

It possessed mana on the level of a middle-tier noble, enough to make quite a name for itself on the northern continent. To Turan, however, killing it was as easy as breathing.

Silence fell over the grassland in an instant. While Turan absorbed its mana, the nomads struggling to stay on their frantic horses jumped down and prostrated themselves.

"O shaman."

"To burn so mighty a beast... Truly, you possess wondrous power..."

"Stay still."

Turan's command was directed not at the people, but at their panicking horses. Frightened by the monster, and perhaps also by Turan burning it to death, they were about to trample the masters who had leaped from their backs. He restrained them physically with telekinesis while calming them with mind-control magic. The awe in the nomads' eyes deepened.

After a moment, a middle-aged man who looked older than most of the others stepped forward to address him.

"O shaman of the great spirit, have you come from some land beyond these grasslands?"

Turan was wearing traveling clothes Maysa had personally enchanted. Naturally, their style differed from that of the local nomads, making him easy to recognize as a foreigner.

He sensed a complicated mix of emotions in their eyes: admiration and gratitude, certainly, but fear as well. Perhaps that was because the foreign wizards they encountered were mostly from Zahar or Baraha, come to subjugate them.

"I'm looking for the Golden Fleece Tribal Confederation. Do you know where it is?"

"I've heard they're a powerful tribe inland, but they live far from us. We know only the name."

Turan clicked his tongue at the disappointing answer, but accepted it. He hadn't helped them expecting any meaningful reward in the first place.

"Ugh."

Then the now-familiar cough broke out. As Turan discreetly covered his mouth and coughed, a curious light entered the middle-aged man's eyes.

"Are you unwell, by any chance?"

For some reason, he seemed pleased to learn that Turan was ill. When Turan shot him a glance, the man realized how inappropriate his reaction had been and hurriedly bowed his head.

"It's just that, about half a day's journey south of here, there's a tribe with a shaman who possesses healing powers. If you wish, we could guide you there."

"Healing powers?"

Wasn't Ravista's traitor supposed to be with that Golden Fleece Tribal Confederation? After a moment, Turan realized they would not be the only Healers here. Of course the Ravista wizards pursuing them would be here too. It was probably one of them.

"Half a day to the south, you said?"

* * *

A few dozen minutes later, using flight and Search magic, Turan found the tribe described by the chief of the nomads he had rescued. They numbered around three hundred. Sure enough, just as he had heard, there was a single lower-tier noble-caliber wizard among them.

What surprised him was that he sensed no other knights or nobles. According to Lida, Ravista had sent nobles out in parties with knights to conduct the search. Could this actually be a local noble of the Healer Bloodline?

In any case, he could find out by asking in person, so Turan approached the nomads directly. A few of them, who had been peacefully letting their sheep graze, spotted him and rode over.

"Halt!"

"Where the hell are you from?"

Unlike the earlier group, these people looked at Turan with intense hostility and fear. His foreign clothes were probably the source of their hostility. Their fear likely came from how unnaturally clean those clothes were, and the fact that he wasn't even riding a horse. Traveling alone through grasslands like these without a horse meant he was either a madman or a wizard.

To live up to their expectations, Turan lightly snapped his fingers and kindled a flame.

"F-fire..."

"A fire shaman! The demons from the north!"

"Aaaah!"

"Help us, shaman!"

At that small demonstration of fire magic, the nomads immediately fled toward their tents, screaming. They didn't even give him a chance to explain that he hadn't come to subjugate them.

Fortunately, the Ravista wizard noticed the commotion, emerged from a tent at once, and approached him. He was a pale-faced man who looked about forty. Judging by his mana, though, he was probably somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty.

"Are you from Baraha, by any chance?"

"No, I'm not. And you?"

"My name is Mago. A wandering noble without even a surname."

Despite his words, Ravista's two symbols mingled within him. It was probably a cover identity meant to conceal the fact that Ravista was searching these grasslands.

When Turan took a step closer, the man raised a hand slightly, apparently wary. He posed no threat anyway, so Turan ignored the gesture and whispered too softly for the nomads behind him to hear.

"A pleasure, Mago. Lady Lida sent me."

"When you say Lady Lida..."

"Yes. I'm here to find the Holy Relic."

Mago's eyes widened. He seemed unsure whether Turan was telling the truth or merely trying to sound him out.

"I hear the traitor is with a group called the Golden Fleece tribe. Is that right?"

"Y-yes... You really were sent by Lady Lida."

Apparently deciding that someone who knew that much had to be an ally, Mago finally burst into tears of emotion. Had he suffered terribly here? His clothes were as shabby as the local nomads', and dark circles shadowed his eyes. Even a lower-tier noble should have had little difficulty living comfortably.

"Then you should be able to guide me to the Golden Fleece tribe."

"Yes, of course. But, forgive me... your name?"

Rather than answer, Turan merely gave him a gentle smile. He had changed even his face as a precaution, so he could hardly offer his real name, and inventing an alias felt like a bother. Perhaps sensing the unspoken pressure, Mago changed the subject instead of pressing him.

"The grasslands are in considerable turmoil at present."

"So it would seem."

Hadn't he just seen a single monster trampling a tribe? Mago shook his head at Turan's response.

"It's more than mere unrest. There's practically a war going on. I originally had several companions, but they were all killed after we became caught up in it. I'm the only one left, taking shelter with this tribe."

He explained that the grasslands' sparse population meant its wizards were generally fewer and weaker than those of other regions. Still, the land was so vast that a few powerful nobles could be found. All of them were fighting over the mighty healing abilities of the newly arrived Ravista traitor. Mago and his companions had met disaster while trying to slip among them to confirm the traitor's identity for themselves.

"In that situation, does the traitor even still have the Holy Relic?"

"I haven't seen it myself, so I can't be certain..."

Mago muttered, almost apologetically, that since no rumors of the object itself had spread, surely the traitor still had it. Turan nodded and patted his shoulder.

"In any case, you've been through a great deal. I'll handle things from here. Just show me the way."

"W-will that be all right...? Perhaps we ought to request more support."

To Mago, Turan looked far too young. Lacking confidence in his own mana, he hadn't tried comparing their reserves, but even if Turan was strong, surely he would fall short of older, seasoned nobles. Wouldn't it be better to have at least one or two of the house's more capable members join him?

In response to that concern, Turan projected his mana, carefully moderating its strength.

Mago stopped suggesting that they needed support.