Translator: Pai_

When it came to using magic, causality was an incredibly complex factor.

Whether the phenomenon being induced was natural, whether the user clearly recognized the cause of the magical phenomenon, and whether the amount of consumed magic power was appropriate to induce that phenomenon...

Among these, the ability to recognize the cause of a phenomenon was a critical factor that simultaneously affected both the success rate of the magic and the amount of magic power consumed. Knowing or not knowing this made a significant difference.

The problem was that 'decay' was almost impossible to understand in principle just by looking at it from the surface.

Wasn't it only after Turan magnified his vision using magic learned from the librarian that he became aware of the existence of microorganisms?

On top of that, there was an unintended trap: casting decay on a living animal was exponentially more difficult than using it on something like a piece of fruit.

'That was dangerous.'

Turan placed the decaying live mouse on the ground, realizing that more than a third of his magic power had been consumed.

What was the difference between a living mouse and an apple?

The lack of a continuous supply of life force? The difference between animals and plants?

Because it was a spell he rarely used, it was difficult to accurately guess the exact reason.

Perhaps he could learn more if he later tried using the spell on the corpse of a dead animal...

For now, though, he had to act as if he had succeeded effortlessly without revealing any strain.

"Alright, I guess it’s my turn now."

As Meisa said this, she made a light gesture, and a gentle breeze began to blow over the garden.

Moments later, a rat wandering near the edge of the garden was unfortunately swept up by the wind, flailing helplessly before landing squarely in her hand.

[Squeak!]

She, too, attempted the same magic as Turan, but the mouse twisted and squirmed in an attempt to escape, showing no significant reaction.

"Hmm..."

Meisa held a mouse in each hand, her eyes darting back and forth between them as if trying to discern what difference lay between the two.

Seeing her peculiar actions, Ashiz, who had by now freed himself from the vines, spoke with a disgusted expression.

"Really, of all magic to use, you use that? It's disgusting."

"It’s just the first thing that came to mind."

Actually, the reason he chose this magic was because it was magic with little practical use.

In most cases, when wizards fought each other, they wouldn't have the luxury of holding their opponent still for several seconds.

Also, he wanted to gauge how much knowledge the House Arabion possessed about the laws of nature.

'Could it be that even a great family like Arabion doesn’t... know much about this?'

When Turan had learned ancient knowledge from the librarian, he had suspected that prominent wizard families might monopolize such information.

A wizard who knew this knowledge would hold an absolute advantage over those who didn't.

However, contrary to his expectations, Meisa didn’t seem particularly well-versed in this area.

Was it because she was still young and inexperienced? Or was it something else...

"Looks like it’s not working out, Meisa. How about we call it a win for Turan?"

While Turan was lost in thought, Ashiz, with a teasing tone, spoke to Meisa, who was frowning while holding the struggling mouse.

The moment she heard this, the perpetual gloom and languor in her eyes sharpened.

"I can do it, too."

Inhaling lightly, Meisa glared intently at the mouse as if her gaze alone could pierce it.

One way to compensate for a lack of causality in magic was to pour in a massive amount of magic power, compensating for inefficiency with sheer quantity.

In extreme cases, a powerful wizard, such as the head of a great family, could even kill an ordinary knight with nothing but a word, as if slaughtering an animal.

Of course, the price for doing so would leave them almost completely drained.

"Just a little more..."

Meisa continued to focus her magic while clutching the mouse.

Rot, rot, rot while alive-

She persistently willed the inefficient magic, which was unfamiliar to her and whose principles she barely understood.

How much effort did she pour into it, ignoring the rapid drain of magic power from her body?

Finally, the seemingly fine mouse began to rot.

Though it was slower than what Turan had done earlier, it was unmistakably the same phenomenon.

"Oh, it worked?"

Next to Ashiz, who exclaimed in admiration, Turan also widened his eyes in surprise.

Could it be that she figured out that the secret of decay magic was 'the growth and strengthening of microorganisms that cause living things to rot'?

"...It’s done."

At that moment, Meisa uttered those words and then collapsed on the spot.

As the mouse slipped from her hand with a shrill squeal and scurried away, Turan and Ashiz quickly moved to support her fallen body.

"Meisa! What’s wrong!? Open your eyes!"

While Ashiz shouted urgently, Turan examined her face and physical condition.

'What’s the reason? Did she use too much magic power? But simply running out of magic power shouldn’t make someone collapse.'

Turan recalled how, as a child, he had run out of magic power several times while practicing magic, but he had never passed out because of it.

At most, he had only suffered from a sense of powerlessness because his body lacked the strength to reinforce itself...

As he thought this and observed Meisa’s frail body, a realization struck him.

'That’s it.'

"There isn’t a wizard with the Healer Bloodline here, is there?"

"No, there isn’t!"

"Then bring water and salt to her room. Call the adults, too."

After giving instructions, Turan promptly lifted Meisa into his arms.

Her weight was comparable to that of three or four newborn lambs...

It was clear that a body like this couldn’t function properly without the assistance of magic power.

Her body, which had been forcibly sustained through magic reinforcement, had collapsed after her magic power was depleted.

* * *

"Ugh..."

"Meisa, are you alright? Are you awake?"

Meisa Arabion opened her eyes with difficulty at the sound of a woman calling her name.

Looking down at her with a face full of concern was Midella, the head of House Berg and her distant aunt.

"Why... am I...?"

"Ashiz said you collapsed while practicing magic with the guest. Is that true?"

At those words, fragments of memories she had momentarily forgotten began to resurface.

The magic duel with that slick-looking man whom her cousin brother praised as both a lifesaver and a magic genius, the humiliation of watching him effortlessly perform what she couldn’t, and the excessive magic power she poured into trying to replicate his feat...

"Yes, that’s right. What about the two of them?"

"For now, they’re staying at the temple and being monitored. Just in case that person did something strange to you."

"No, that’s not it. I did something foolish."

Shaking her head weakly, Meisa struggled to sit up in bed.

As the clothes she had been changed into slipped down slightly, exposing her frail arms, Midella carefully spoke.

"I had some soup prepared for you. I know you don’t eat much because of magic, but you should consider your health. I hope you don’t mind."

"Thank you, aunt. May I rest for a bit?"

"Of course. Rest as much as you need."

After confirming that Midella had left the room, Meisa gazed silently at the soup placed beside her bed. Then, with a light gesture, she levitated it and brought it in front of her.

The rich aroma of flour, butter, and milk filled her senses, making her stomach churn with hunger.

It was as though her body was screaming for nourishment.

Grasping a spoon, Meisa carefully took a small sip of the soup.

The tongue and stomach, thrilled to taste something other than water and salt for the first time in a long while, rejoiced wildly.

And then,

Four pairs of eyes filled with tears of blood glared at her.

[Please save us, Meisa. You can do it...]

[It hurts so much, noona.]

"Ughk-"

Feeling the sour stench of vomit that wet her mouth and body, Meisa laughed as if sobbing.

* * *

In the basement of the House Berg mansion, there was a temple dedicated to The Lame Goddess.

This temple served two primary functions.

This shrine served two main functions.

A space for family members to pray to the goddess and as a temporary holding cell for individuals of high status or those for whom imprisonment in a regular prison would be inappropriate.

This was because the temple had only one entrance, and both the door and the walls were so solidly constructed that breaking out was virtually impossible.

"So don't get any funny ideas."

"Yes, I understand."

After taking Meisa to her room and explaining the situation, Turan was politely but firmly confined to the temple by Midella.

Even though Ashiz had testified on his behalf, there was still the possibility that Turan had done something underhanded to harm Meisa.

In any case, since the truth would be revealed once Meisa woke up, Turan chose to quietly remain in the temple rather than protest and make a scene.

It was understandable that Ashiz, who was present during the incident, wasn’t confined as well, after all, he was a member of the same family.

Sitting against the wall, Turan stared at the guard stationed across from him.

A broad-shouldered man with a sturdy build, wearing a large longsword at his side.

His name was Haram Berg, a noble of the Guardian Bloodline who had married into House Berg.

With nothing better to do, Turan sat still, closed his eyes, and began to mentally replay the magic Meisa had performed earlier. Suddenly, the sharp sound of a blade slicing through the air reached his ears.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Haram vigorously swinging his sword in the air.

"What are you doing?"

"Training."

Haram gave a short reply and resumed swinging the longsword.

A downward slash from above, a thrust, a spinning slash followed by raising the sword overhead, and then consecutive slashes from side to side...

If a commoner or knight were to wield a blade like this, it might look laughable. But when a noble with the physical prowess granted by their bloodline performed such techniques, the level of intimidation was entirely different.

It was as if the shadow of the blade enveloped the space around his body.

Turan wondered if it was appropriate to be practicing swordsmanship so vigorously in front of the goddess's statue, but the movements were so elegant, almost dance-like, that he silently observed.

"Oh..."

An involuntary sound of admiration escaped from him.

Hearing this, Haram suddenly stopped his sword practice and stared intently at Turan.

"Ah, my apologies. Did I interrupt you?"

"No."

Despite saying this, Haram didn’t resume his sword practice. Instead, he continued to stare at Turan as if examining him.

After a brief silence, Haram spoke out of the blue.

"Are you interested in swordsmanship?"

"Huh?"

What kind of question was this out of nowhere?

Feeling momentarily confused, Turan decided to answer honestly.

"I’m not sure if I’d say I’m interested, but I thought it looked impressive."

"I see."

Haram, who responded curtly, unsheathed his sword once more, performed a few additional movements, and then spoke again.

"Most nobles look down on martial arts or weapon techniques. They find it easier and more powerful to attack directly with magic. They think this sort of thing is only worth learning for knights or the like."

"That’s probably because, unless their bloodline specializes in close combat, it’s a bit inefficient."

Nobles could generally be divided into two categories based on their bloodline abilities: those who were adept at applying their power to their physical bodies and those who were skilled at projecting their power outward. Most nobles fell into the latter category, so it was rare for a noble to excel in close combat.

Turan’s own bloodline ability, if quantified, leaned roughly 70% toward long-range capabilities and 30% toward close-range capabilities. He was relatively proficient at projecting magic over distances.

"But when it comes to real combat, there are situations you have to face head-on, even if you’d rather avoid them,"

Turan remarked, recalling the time he kicked the Leopard Magical Beast on the hill and when he slit the throat of the Rabbit Magical Beast.

As he recounted this, Haram tilted his head slightly in curiosity. Then, without warning, he flipped the sword in his hand and offered it to Turan, holding it out by the hilt.

"Want to give it a try?"

"Considering that I’m a suspect being detained here, is it really okay to hand me a weapon?"

"You’re not a warrior, so it doesn’t matter."

Turan mulled over Haram’s words for a moment before realizing their meaning.

It was clear what Haram meant: since Turan’s skill with the sword was obviously poor, it didn’t matter whether or not he handed him a weapon.

Judging by the dazzling display of swordsmanship earlier, this wasn’t arrogance on Haram’s part but a matter of undeniable skill.

If they were both to fight with swords, without magic, even ten Turans wouldn’t be a match for him.

"Alright, then..."

Turan clumsily gripped the longsword with both hands and mimicked the posture and movements Haram demonstrated.

Unlike magic, which he could execute precisely in an instant, this felt awkward even to himself.

"Not like that. Extend your front leg a bit more-"

"Your elbow is too high. If you keep it that way, you’ll end up slashing your own thigh."

"Raise your arms higher."

At first, Turan had thought Haram was a man of few words, but once he began teaching swordsmanship, he became unexpectedly talkative.

After about thirty minutes of basic sword training, Turan massaged his sore wrist and returned the sword to Haram.

"Here you go. I’d like to continue, but I’m exhausted..."

"This sword is tailored to my bloodline. It’s heavy for most nobles."

That explained it. Normally, even swinging an ordinary iron sword for three hours wouldn’t have been so tiring, let alone thirty minutes.

Was this swordsman using the training as an excuse to wear Turan out, making it harder for him to attempt escape?

As Turan considered this possibility, Haram, noticing him rubbing his arm, offered advice as if in warning.

"It’s a good idea to set aside some time to train your body. Magic ensures a baseline level of physical ability, but whether you properly build up your strength or not makes a big difference."

Indeed, if there came a desperate situation where hand-to-hand combat was unavoidable, learning some of these techniques would certainly be useful.

While fighting someone like Haram, whose bloodline was specialized for close combat, would be an uphill battle, against an opponent of similar strength, having such skills could be an additional weapon in his arsenal.

As Haram showed Turan one last stretching exercise to loosen his overworked muscles, the temple door opened, and Midella, the head of the House Berg, entered.

The first thing she did was bow politely and apologize.

"My deepest apologies, Turan. We’ve treated you unfairly, especially considering you’re a benefactor."

"It seems the miss is safe. I should be the one apologizing. My behavior as a guest was less than appropriate."

Turan accepted Midella’s apology with a calm and gracious demeanor.

After all, given the circumstances, where the successor of the family they served had suddenly collapsed, the actions they took were, in a sense, reasonable.

Hearing their exchange, Haram nodded and remarked,

"It’s a relief that nothing happened."

"You’ve worked hard, Haram."

"I was simply following the orders of the head. Well then, I’ll take my leave."

Haram gave a brief bow to the family head and left the temple immediately.

"I hope Haram wasn’t too rude to you. He’s a rather curt man by nature, but he meant no harm."

"On the contrary, I learned a great deal from him."

Hearing Turan’s response, Midella gave a faint smile and nodded before bringing up an unexpected matter.

"That’s good to hear. By the way... Meisa said she’d like to apologize to you. Could you spare her some time?"