“I owe you a debt I can scarcely repay. Thank you.”

After waking and hearing the details from Lida, the first thing Osel did was bow his head to Turan and offer those words. Unlike before, when he had condescended to him as a wandering noble, he now treated him with the courtesy due an equal.

Rather than boast of his achievement, Turan accepted the thanks gracefully with a faint smile.

“As I told Lady Lida earlier, I would prefer that you not reveal my ability to use restorative magic to the public.”

“Of course, if that is your wish. But how in the world...”

Osel trailed off before he could ask how Turan had come to use restorative magic. If Turan had wished to explain, he reasoned, he would already have done so.

Ordinarily, he would have demanded an answer to satisfy his curiosity regardless, but he could hardly behave so arrogantly toward the man who had just saved his life.

In truth, he had some idea. There had to be a reason Turan had specifically insisted on disposing of Moroz’s mana himself when accepting the commission.

“Leaving that aside, the reward we originally offered has become useless. You may not quite match me, but you have become a powerful Healer with few rivals yourself.”

“So it would seem.”

This was precisely why Turan had revealed his ability to the two before him. Not only could he hasten a recovery that would otherwise have taken a long time, but he also needed to make it clear that the healing magic they had promised in return for the Holy Relic was no longer of any benefit to him. They would therefore have to offer something else to satisfy him.

“How about this?”

Osel held up the very Holy Relic that had just saved his life: the Humble Wish, the necklace that bestowed eternal life upon its wearer. At the unexpected offer, Turan allowed himself a restrained show of surprise.

“There is someone I would like to give it to, even if I would not use it myself... But are you sure? You had set it aside as a reward for finding a White Elf Living Spirit Sorcerer.”

In fact, the Humble Wish was not a top-tier Holy Relic worthy of myth, like Turan’s Mimic Holy Relic. If he had to assign it a rank among Holy Relics, it would fall somewhere in the middle.

Yet given that its function was nothing less than to guarantee agelessness, judging it by rank alone was difficult.

Even powerful wizards could not escape the bent backs, dimming eyes, and weakened bodies that came with age. Indeed, the more powerful they were, the longer they lived—and the longer they had to remain trapped in aged flesh.

But with this necklace, they could avoid all those inconveniences and remain young until death. If old nobles who had lived for centuries could return to their youth and obtain it, they would likely surrender even a top-ranking Holy Relic without hesitation.

“It would hardly be right to put our own circumstances first when rewarding you. Besides... this object is not particularly suited to combat.”

At Osel’s pointed remark, Turan understood why he had offered it. Giving away any powerful treasure as a reward would mean accepting a loss in the house’s fighting strength. He had therefore chosen something of great value but little use in battle.

“War?”

“Naturally.”

Ravista had welcomed Baraha’s House Head as a guest, only to be repaid with a treacherous surprise attack. They had been helpless while Osel lay critically wounded, but now that he had fully recovered, they had to raise the banner of vengeance.

This was not merely a matter of wounded pride. What would the world think of Ravista if it failed to retaliate after such an unprovoked attack? People would conclude that the house of Healers was indeed so feeble that it could not even protest a one-sided beating. If that view spread, Ravista’s name would be dragged through the dirt.

“Of course, we must wait for those exhausted from healing me to get enough rest, and make all the necessary preparations for war. It will likely take several months.”

Deep weariness showed on Osel’s face as he murmured. The anguish of leading a vast organization sat strangely on those youthful features.

Watching him quietly, Turan asked the question he had prepared.

“May I ask what you and Baraha’s House Head discussed in private?”

“Hmm? It was nothing important enough to keep secret. He pressed me about whether their heir had stayed here, and I simply told him I knew very little. But then the subject took a rather strange turn.”

According to Osel, Baraha’s House Head had brought up some very metaphysical matters during their private conversation. There was more to this world than what met the eye, he had said, before asking whether Osel understood the value of the soul and so forth.

Osel had some knowledge of souls from Ravista’s past research into eternal life, so he had been able to hold up his end of the discussion. But it had not lasted long.

“All of a sudden, he said, ‘It seems this is not the one either,’ and attacked me without warning. After that, well... I fought with all my might and barely drove him off, but ended up like this.”

Osel lifted his clothing to reveal an ugly burn scar across his smooth abdomen, which had little muscle, as befitted a boy. It was a trace of the curse Baraha’s House Head had used.

“Our mana reserves were about equal, but he used all sorts of strange magic that defied reason. Had I not used every Holy Relic passed down in our house and received help from the others, I could never have beaten him one-on-one.”

Osel’s face darkened, as though recalling the power Baraha’s House Head had displayed. Turan could also glimpse his doubt about whether they could win a war if they started one now.

Listening, Turan began to understand why Baraha’s House Head had launched his surprise attack. Those questions had clearly been meant to determine whether Ravista’s House Head, who had spirited Solif away, knew soul magic—or was himself one of the fallen gods. Upon deciding otherwise, he had judged Osel easy prey and attacked, only to encounter unexpectedly fierce resistance that prevented him from crushing him.

“Fortunately, things were not entirely peaceful in Baraha while I was unconscious. I hear their heir reappeared, turned the house upside down, and vanished again. Their strength must have suffered.”

Ravista had also lost a couple of upper-tier nobles during the surprise attack, but calling that a heavy blow would have been laughable compared with Baraha, whose main house had practically been overturned. After recounting all this, Osel came to the point.

“I ask just in case, but would you consider joining our war against Baraha? Bring your friends as well, and I will see that you are generously rewarded. We have greater need of nobles that powerful than of one or two ordinary combat Holy Relics.”

As Osel went on to promise them a generous share of the spoils, Turan quietly judged his moment. When he was nearly finished, Turan brought up the matter he had organized in his mind.

“There is something I need to tell you both.”

* * *

Turan gave Osel and Lida a brief account of what he knew: the fallen gods’ twisted form of eternal life and the alignment of the powers that shaped the world.

From his subtle probing as he spoke, Osel and Lida seemed to know almost nothing about it. The fallen gods had scarcely touched them, leaving them to their own devices.

“How could such an absurd thing...”

“I can hardly believe it. Could the Earth Mother still be alive as well?”

“I do not know that much myself, but I suspect not.”

Turan believed that if the Earth Mother, Ravista’s chief deity, still existed, she would long since have infiltrated House Ravista by one means or another. Of course, without knowing the structure of the gods’ own society, he could not be certain.

He addressed the two, who looked profoundly shaken.

“In any event, that is why I would advise against attacking Baraha right away. At the very least, Zahar, which is closely allied with them, would regard it as a challenge to themselves as well. And I am in an awkward position to move against Zahar at present.”

“You said you signed a nonaggression pact?”

“Yes, though neither side trusts the other.”

That went without saying when even the hostage offered in return had yet to arrive.

While he was at it, Turan also told them about his own circumstances. He was no longer wandering, but had established a base in Kalamap and was working to unite the entire Gray Zone.

“Then you, too, are becoming the head of a new great house, Turan. My congratulations.”

“Please treat me as informally as you did before. I would prefer it.”

Lida nodded with a pleased smile at his words. Looking down at the map, Osel stroked his beardless chin and murmured.

“So ours is the only great house without the gods’ protection—or, put another way, outside their control. If you establish another great house, Turan, there will be just two of us.”

“With that in mind, I would like to formally propose an alliance with Ravista. Would you be amenable?”

“Need you even ask? We could ask for nothing better.”

Of course, the scale of Turan’s forces stationed in Kalamap was pitiful compared with Ravista’s. The number of wizards forming their core amounted to no more than House Berg, which they had peeled away from its position as Arabion’s vassal.

Yet with three formidable wizards like Turan, Maysa, and Solif, their actual fighting strength could even be said to exceed Ravista’s. A single powerful wizard was incomparably superior in mobility and concentration of force to ten lesser wizards capable of matching that wizard together.

“We can draw up the agreement later. First, we should discuss our grand strategy. The question of how we are to coordinate is a concern in itself.”

Between Shiraf Marsh, ruled by House Ravista, and Turan’s Gray Zone lay the forest region and the Enril Desert. The western forest region, at least, had no great house ruling it and could readily serve as a trade route. But Zahar, in the Enril Desert, could sever their connection whenever it wished.

“I will handle dealings with Zahar. But please do not consider them an ally.”

“Understood.”

“There is one more thing I would like to teach you. You are welcome to spread it widely among the others.”

What Turan imparted to them was none other than the fundamentals of soul magic. Considering how much he, Maysa, and Solif had struggled to learn it, it would hardly come easily to them either.

Still, the nature of Healers would make it easier for them to approach death and return, so some among them might awaken the ability.

“Manipulating the soul is the secret behind the mysterious power Baraha’s House Head used. I do not know how to apply the powers of a Healer and Purifier to it myself... but I hope you will achieve results.”

Turan patiently explained to Osel and Lida the trial and error he had gone through while learning soul magic. At first glance, he might have seemed to be giving without receiving anything in return, but this was essential to keeping the other gods in check and strengthening his allies.

Above all, if Ravista’s nobles studied soul magic in depth, some of them might gain insights that had eluded Turan and his companions. If they shared those insights, he would receive more than he had given.

“It goes without saying, but I never taught you any of this.”

“Naturally.”

If it became known that Turan was openly spreading soul magic to other factions, even Zahar might abandon its nonaggression stance and turn hostile. If they learned of it at all, it had to be after so many nobles in the Gray Zone and Shiraf Marsh had mastered soul magic that there was no turning back.

Once their discussion was settled, they left the operating room. The high-ranking Ravista nobles who had been waiting outside for some time were stunned to see Osel restored to health.

“H-House Head!”

“You have recovered!”

“You must all have been worried. I have recovered completely, so there is no need for concern. And offer your thanks to Lord Turan here, who has been a tremendous help.”

Ravista’s nobles did not miss Osel’s use of “Lord Turan.” A noble their House Head treated as an equal? Surely he would not do so merely because the man had saved his life.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Turan. I am Ablim Ravistas.”

“My name is Koloa Ravistas.”

A flurry of introductions followed. Though it might have been overwhelming, Turan deftly memorized their names as he exchanged greetings. He now understood very well that this sort of socializing, too, was necessary to build his power as a noble.

“Then, a banquet to celebrate the House Head’s recovery...”

“There will be no banquet.”

Osel’s curt refusal instantly dampened the mood outside the operating room. With a solemnity that belied his youthful appearance, Ravista’s House Head issued an order to his retainers.

“We have enough to do preparing our revenge against the curs of Baraha who ambushed me and insulted our house.”

“... Indeed.”

“Vengeance!”

Ravista’s nobles displayed a ferocious anger at odds with their image as Healers. Some of that fervor was likely a deliberate display intended to prove their loyalty.

Osel declared quietly to them,

“First, we must be ready for war at any time. We will also be preparing to enter a formal alliance with Lord Turan’s forces, so make the necessary arrangements for that as well.”

“An... alliance?”

“Yes. His house has no name as yet, but it has such potential that I almost fear Ravista’s name may pale beside it. Do not treat him lightly.”

As Osel continued to praise Turan, bewilderment crossed the faces of the Ravista nobles watching him. Even those who had met him before had considered him merely a wandering noble Lida kept around, so they struggled to accept the situation.

Still, since Turan truly did command a force of that caliber, cooperation between the two houses would proceed smoothly. As he was thinking this, a faint vibration against his chest made him frown.

'Maysa?'

It was the vibration of the hand mirror he shared with her. They had not spoken since around the time he crossed the South Sea, as the increased distance from Kalamap made the mana cost too steep. Had something happened?

Excusing himself to Osel, Turan went to a secluded corner and activated the hand mirror.

“Maysa, what is...”

[“We’re under attack! Arabion is invading!”]

On the other side of the mirror, Maysa cried out sharply, blood staining her face. Turan’s expression hardened as he asked,

“How many?”

[“I don’t know exactly! We’re evacuating according to plan and buying time for now... Ah, this is using too much mana! Can you get here quickly?”]

“I’m coming right away.”

As soon as he answered, Turan switched off the hand mirror to spare her any further expenditure of mana. Then he strode toward Osel, who was speaking with the house’s senior members.

The aura pouring from him was so murderous and aggressive that some of Ravista’s nobles took defensive stances, forgetting Osel’s recent instruction to regard him as the leader of an allied power.

“Osel.”

“Speak, Turan. My friend.”

“As your friend, I need your help.”

Since they had deployed scouts in advance and put an evacuation plan into action, the battle was unlikely to be decided within a day or two. And as it happened, gathered here were Ravista nobles powerful enough to be of considerable help in a fight.

If Maysa and Solif could buy enough time, and Turan could bring reinforcements back before it ran out, they had every chance of victory.