As they left the snowfields and traveled east, Turan first checked exactly what condition the librarian was in. His comment about feeling weaker, perhaps because of the distance from the library, had been troubling Turan. Of course, with neither the ability to handle spirits nor any knowledge of them, their approach could only be haphazard.

After several crude experiments that involved entering and leaving the jewelry box, they reached a simple conclusion. The librarian was now a spirit wholly bound to the box, and in the process he had lost most of the powers he could use while connected to the library. Among them was the ability to identify bloodlines that he had used before.

“I'm sorry I can't be of help.”

The librarian spoke with his usual bored indifference, but the way he subtly avoided Turan's eyes betrayed a hint of guilt. Turan smiled reassuringly.

“It's all right. You've already helped me a great deal.”

That did not mean the librarian was no longer useful, of course. He still retained a record of every book that had ever been held in Orem's library.

“So the Silver Sun's two unknown bloodlines were Guardian and Healer?”

“Most likely. According to the histories, he often called himself a ‘Protector,’ and there are accounts of him healing the wounded simply by laying a hand on them.”

On the swing pulled by Vije, Turan analyzed the ancient gods' bloodlines with the librarian, who sat in midair across from him. When he repeated the librarian's words for the others, Solif whistled beside him.

“And I've never seen any of those stories. I went through every history book in the house, too, since history interests me.”

“Then they were probably concealed deliberately, to eliminate clues to completing a type—or a bloodline, as you call it.”

Turan could more or less guess why. Perhaps they feared nobles might complete a god's bloodline on their own. As for the relatively well-known bloodlines of the Night Hunter, two were already extinct, so there was no particular reason to worry.

“Then the Silver Sun's bloodlines were Sun, a combination of Pyromaniac and Illusion, along with Guardian and Healer... Solif, do any of your relatives have those last two?”

“I don't think so. My grandfather is a Sun-blooded noble, and my grandmother was a commoner concubine. On my mother's side, my grandfather is an Earthkeeper and my grandmother has the Sun bloodline. I don't really know further back than that.”

“That does leave things rather uncertain.”

There might be an unexpected factor in his commoner grandmother's ancestry, as there had been for Turan, but otherwise he seemed far removed from the Silver Sun's bloodlines. Had they intended to substitute the power of a god's soul for the Guardian and Healer bloodlines? Maysa, who had been listening quietly, spoke in a low voice.

“Mine is clearer by comparison. My father has Storm and Strongman, and my mother had the Enchanter bloodline.”

“The name of the bloodline responsible for lightning within Storm is—”

“Thundercaller. Though the name has been forgotten in this age.”

Listening to the librarian's quiet explanation, Turan took out a small sheet of notepaper and a piece of charcoal and began to write.

[Silver Sun = Pyromaniac + Illusion + Guardian + Healer]

[Thunder Lord = Thundercaller + Aeromancer + Enchanter + Strongman]

[Night Hunter = Pursuer + Hunter + Shadow + Alchemist]

[Frigid Wrath = Berserker + Frost...]

Once he added others, including the Earth Mother revered as the progenitor of the Earthkeeper bloodline and the limping goddess revered by Enchanters, he had quite a long list. Solif pointed to the Thunder Lord's entry.

“Going by this, Maysa might acquire all four of a god's bloodlines on her own. Assuming she awakens more, like Turan did.”

“I doubt it.”

“No, you never know. You and I were both chosen as vessels by the gods... Damn it, why don't I have anything like this?”

As Solif's grumbling shifted from praise to self-pity, Maysa shook her head and looked at Turan.

“It's only a slim possibility anyway. Turan's much better off in that respect. He's already guaranteed four bloodlines.”

“Well, I'm not sure. It's only a guess, but I think the combination matters just as much as the number.”

According to everything they had investigated so far, no Freyan had possessed the same bloodlines as Turan. He still did not know whether combining them required a god's soul or had something to do with acquiring all four bloodlines.

Turan was about to write down the Biologist next, but abandoned the idea when it occurred to him that writing the name might attract attention just as speaking it would. Instead, he wrote down the owner of his Holy Relic.

[Drowned God = Waverider + Mimic + ? + ?]

Maysa pointed to the word Waverider.

“Could this mean the Rapids bloodline?”

“Probably not. The door in the labyrinth told me that exceptional physical ability was one of the Waverider bloodline's traits.”

By contrast, the Rapids bloodline, which handled water and other fluids, was not particularly suited to close combat. Solif had learned something similar in his own investigations, which was why he had sought out pirate nobles with exceptional physical abilities, such as Tasan of the Red Whale Pirates.

“Do you happen to know anything about it, sir?”

The librarian considered Turan's question for a moment, then shook his head.

“Nothing at all. My knowledge is limited to books that have passed through the library.”

Apparently, records of that god had never reached Orem City. Clicking his tongue in disappointment, Turan continued organizing the gods' bloodlines, then voiced a thought that suddenly occurred to him.

“I've thought this for a while, but aren't the names of bloodlines all over the place?”

“How so?”

“Even among great houses, some combine two bloodlines into a single name, like Storm or Sun, while others don't. Some names describe a phenomenon, but others describe the person using the power...”

Pyromaniac and Illusion, the components of the Sun bloodline, were prime examples. The former meant someone who enjoyed setting fires, while the latter referred to the ability itself.

He had noticed and asked about this even when first learning from Keorn, but the old knight had said that was simply how he had been taught, and he did not know where the names originated.

Maysa and Solif exchanged glances, looking equally puzzled by his point.

“Are they...?”

“Everyone calls them that, so I just took it for granted.”

Unlike Turan, neither seemed to find the naming conventions particularly strange. He tilted his head at that odd incongruity, but the librarian soon offered a simple explanation.

“In fact, Pyromaniac was sometimes called the Flame bloodline, and Illusion the Illusionist bloodline. I don't know how each name came to take hold... Hmm, I think I should go back inside. I'm getting tired.”

The librarian gave a small yawn, then turned to smoke and seeped into the jewelry box before anyone could reply. This was another change brought on by his binding to the box: spending long periods outside now tired him.

Turan looked down for a moment at where the librarian had vanished, then raised his head to Vije flying overhead. Her wingbeats had weakened, and a deep exhaustion reached him through their soul bond.

“Let's land and get some rest ourselves. We're well beyond House Nagin's territory now, so we should be safe enough.”

* * *

After landing among the low hills in the northern Dakayn Plains, Vije fell asleep in utter exhaustion, almost as though she had passed out. Their grueling journey certainly justified it.

She had flown for hours to Orem City, rested for about half a day, then immediately flown north for a day and a half. After a brief rest, she had flown for another full day. And she had not merely been flying alone, but carrying a large metal swing and three people from her feet.

It would have been impossible had Vije not possessed mana comparable to a respectable upper-tier noble's, and had Turan and Maysa not taken turns supporting her flight with wind magic.

After making camp and spending the night, the party headed east on foot, taking turns carrying the utterly exhausted Vije. Fortunately, by using tracking magic to locate and avoid signs of people, they encountered no one.

After two days of rest and a steady supply of delicious food, Vije was fully restored. Rather than immediately bringing out the swing, Turan tied a letter to her ankle and sent her off. An hour later, she returned with a new letter tied to her leg.

[I've been spending my time watching plays as usual. You're all doing well, aren't you? It's lonely here on my own...]

The letter recounted everything that had happened lately and ended by saying he wanted to see them again. Turan finished reading, folded it, and summarized its contents in a single sentence for his waiting companions.

“Looks like Asiz is doing well.”

Before leaving, he and Asiz had agreed on a code in case they exchanged letters. Mentioning “plays” in the first paragraph meant the letter had not been written under surveillance.

“Vije, you followed my instructions, right?”

[Yes! I made a big loop before meeting Asiz! And when I left, too!]

He had sent her at dusk to make her less conspicuous, but it would still be troublesome if someone spotted her and deduced their movements. Rather than flying straight to House Berg, he had instructed her to take a wide detour and make it look as though she had come from the south. Likewise, she had flown south upon leaving before circling around and heading north again.

Considering how fast Vije could fly unburdened, no one would be able to follow her.

“What a relief...”

“I'm glad he's doing well. I'd like to go back for a drink sometime. I liked the food, too.”

Not only Maysa, his close relative, but Solif looked relieved by the news as well. After spending so long enjoying House Berg's hospitality, he was bound to have grown fond of them.

After another half day's flight with Vije, they finally left Arabion's sphere of influence.

“Whew...”

Maysa sighed in relief as she watched the Dakayn Plains recede behind them. Though she had not shown it over the past few days, remaining within Arabion's reach seemed to have placed her under considerable strain.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I feel a little safer now. The whole time we were there, it felt like something was pressing down on my chest.”

That pressure was probably the presence of Arabion's main house, which had oppressed her for so many years, and her father Badal, the Thunder Lord's vessel. Solif challenged her remark.

“But should we really feel safe? Didn't he say the god in Karmine was in bed with another race?”

“Our interests haven't come into conflict with theirs yet. I'm not certain, but perhaps we could even make an ally of them.”

Judging from Armani, the merfolk prince he had met before, merfolk offered at least a better chance of reasoned discussion than Dark Elves or dwarves. Above all, Karmine's god probably had no inkling they even existed, so there was no need to be overly wary. Solif answered Turan with a quiet hum and a nod.

They had been traveling and talking for perhaps an hour when, near sunset, Turan surveyed the scenery, recognized the surrounding terrain, and spoke to his companions.

“Let's stay in that village tonight.”

“Already? I think we could go a little farther.”

“I'm for it. She only just recovered from overworking herself, and I'm starting to want a good meal and a bed.”

Maysa seemed eager to put more distance between herself and the Dakayn Plains, but nodded in agreement after Solif spoke. Still relying on Turan to feed her, she could hardly dismiss her companion's desire for a good meal. It would sound as though she did not care simply because she would not be eating anyway.

A little later, they entered a village on a hill amid the rolling countryside. A man trudging along with a hoe, apparently returning from the fields, noticed them and approached.

“Haven't seen you around before. Where are you... Oh!”

He had seemed wary of the strangers, but at the sight of Turan's face, he dropped his hoe in shock and fell to his knees. Solif and Maysa turned to Turan.

“What did you do here to get that reaction?”

“Did you kill someone?”

“Kill someone? I saved someone, actually. I've come to see whether the child I left in your care is doing well.”

“Ah... O-of course! She's doing well, very well!”

“Take me to her.”

This was the village where he had left the sole survivor of the settlement destroyed by Orville the Burner. A little later, Turan was reunited with the girl for the first time in a year.

“Th-thank you for saving me...”

“The villagers haven't been mistreating you, have they?”

“Not at all. Everyone treats me well!”

Fortunately, neither her manner nor her scent suggested she had been threatened. Nor were there any visible signs of abuse. Her hands were a little rough, but that was unavoidable: living as a commoner meant learning to work.

Satisfied, Turan called over the anxious village chief and placed a few gold coins directly in his hand.

“Oh, you're too generous...”

“This is payment for our stay tonight.”

Of course, the village chief was not foolish enough to miss that it was a reward for faithfully following his instructions.

Settled in the village's finest house, Turan told his companions what had happened in the area. Since he had already told them about Orville, both expressed surprise at learning that this was the place.

“You're probably the only person who'd actually come back after saying something like that. I'd have forgotten all about it and passed straight by.”

“If you give your word, you should keep it.”

“At times like this, you show a gentle side.”

Maysa's smiling remark made Turan uncomfortable, and he turned his head away. It felt much the same as when Keorn had called him a good person.

“It was just something I had to do.”

His wish to look after the girl he had left here came purely from a sense of responsibility. Having come under his protection, however briefly, she was a young lamb for whom he was responsible.

Turan felt a similar responsibility toward Kalamap's citizens and the people he had rescued from the island in the South Sea. He intended to check on how they were living, and to retaliate if anything happened to them.

Hearing this, Solif shook his head in exasperation.

“We've spent quite a while together now, but I still can't figure you out. One moment you're utterly ruthless, and the next you're soft as anything...”

“Either way, both of us were helped because of it, weren't we?”

“Well, that's true enough.”

At Maysa's words and wistful expression, Solif raised both hands as though he had nothing more to say.

* * *

After spending the night in the village, Turan's party did not head straight for the North Sea. Instead, they zigzagged through the hills between Arabion and House Karmine, sweeping the area. The librarian had told them of a record concerning a mythical-class monster that had disappeared nearby some five hundred years ago.

Contrary to their hopes, however, every monster they encountered during their search was too weak to be worth hunting. After several days of roaming and killing only the excessively aggressive ones, Solif suggested giving up.

“Well, it makes sense when you think about it. If something that strong had stayed here, it would've been hunted down long ago. Either that, or someone here is keeping it, like that monkey...”

“Wait.”

Cutting Solif off, Turan closed his eyes and concentrated on his sense of smell. Maysa watched him from beside him and asked,

“What's wrong?”

“There's a strange smell. Something's burning...”

The acrid stench reaching his nose brought an odd sense of déjà vu. It was so strong he might have thought there was a forest fire.

A moment later, he remembered encountering the aftermath of Orville the Burner's work.

“Vije, that way!”

As a rule, they avoided letting people see them riding Vije whenever possible, but Turan broke it and sent her straight toward the smell. When they arrived a little later, the sound of burning mingled with screams.

“Help us, please save us—!”

“Please! Please stop!”

It was a small village of slash-and-burn farmers nestled in the woods. The villagers, who had probably lived in isolation, were tied to posts, waiting their turns as they burned one by one.

And in the middle of the square stood a woman with her arms spread, catching the falling ash. Her back was turned, hiding her face, but Turan thought he knew who she was. He leaped from the swing and immediately called her name.

“Bisen.”

“Who's calling... Oh, Master Turan?”

Bisen Kaman, leader of the band of fledgling nobles who had once hunted Orville with him, turned her head. Her eyes shone with an uncanny clarity.