Translator: Pai_

Watching Turan’s figure vanish into the darkness, Dolph tilted his head in confusion.

Concealment magic?

Wasn’t it just a crude magic that only concealed appearances while leaving traces intact, something typically learned by knights playing the role of scouts?

However, the confusion quickly turned to shock and fear when he reached out to the spot where his opponent had been standing, only to find nothing there.

Disappearing without leaving footprints on the sand, and with no traces detectable even when using both hearing and smell, concealment of this level...

There was no one in this desert who didn’t understand what that implied.

“Could it be, Zahar- ack!”

Before he could even finish speaking, Dolph let out a scream as sharp pain surged from the back of his head, forcing him down on one knee.

Hot blood trickled down his neck, making him wonder if his skull had been fractured.

‘What... what just hit me?’

When he turned around, he saw a stone, about the size of an egg, rolling on the ground.

Before he could even process what it was, a second and third stone came flying in quick succession, slamming into his side and back.

Each blow carried enough force to break the bones of an average noble.

Fortunately, he managed to spot the final stone in time and deflect it with his arm.

Through the excruciating pain, the mind of the noble, who had wandered and survived for over a century, began desperately devising a way to survive.

“Flames, rise!”

With an unfamiliar incantation, flames ignited around him.

The first method to counter concealment magic: Illuminate the surroundings.

But the flames failed to extend beyond Dolph’s immediate vicinity.

It was a limitation of the Fighter Bloodline, which was not accustomed to releasing magical power.

His opponent was undoubtedly preparing another attack from the darkness, beyond the reach of the light.

‘Where is he? Where?’

Dolph frantically turned his head, trying to figure out where the next attack would come from.

If the attacks were from a distance, he could spot them mid-flight and either block or evade them.

If the opponent attacked from close range, he’d take a hit, but as long as he could grab hold of him, victory would be his...

At that moment, in the distance, five or six fireballs flared into existence.

The fireballs spun in place a few times before hurtling toward him at incredible speed.

“Kaaaaaagh-!”

Shielding his face with both hands, Dolph charged forward to meet the incoming fireballs.

He could feel his clothes burning away at his arms, shoulders, and abdomen, his flesh sizzling beneath, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

If he could just, just catch him...

“Come out! Come out here!”

When Dolph reached the spot where the fireballs had originated, he let out a furious roar, swinging his hands wildly and kicking up sand all around him.

But there was no sensation of touching anything.

A hopeless fight against an opponent he couldn’t see or feel...

As his mind, half-paralyzed by pain and fear, began to cool, his judgment returned to him.

‘Run!’

Fighting a Zahar wizard in the desert at night was, quite literally, an act of suicide.

Especially considering that he was just a noble of the Fighter Bloodline, not a member of a great house.

Without hesitation, Dolph turned and ran in a random direction.

Even the pouch at his waist, which hindered his running, was ripped off and thrown away without a second thought.

“Huff, huff, huff!”

As expected of someone with the Fighter Bloodline, his speed far surpassed that of ordinary nobles.

While doubling one’s strength didn’t mean running twice as fast, having strong legs certainly helped.

His stamina was also superior, so as long as he kept running, he could survive for now.

The mere thought of spending the rest of his life being hunted by Zahar nobles made him feel like wetting himself, but

Just as he began to feel a sliver of relief, a faint flapping sound came from behind him.

When Dolph turned his head, his face went pale.

“A-ah...”

Above the pitch-black sky, Turan looked down at him, holding the leg of the golden eagle with one hand.

“You’re quite tough, even if not as much as the Guardian Bloodline. A normal noble would’ve been dead long ago after taking that much damage. Or maybe you’ve got a magic artifact that aids your defense?”

“P-please, show mercy-.”

“You know that’s not possible.”

The gray eyes looking down at him showed not a shred of mercy, not even a sliver of humanity.

As a fireball came hurtling down, Dolph tightly shut his eyes.

*

Turan gazed at the corpse lying on the ground, body completely burned, his expression dry and emotionless.

He felt no guilt whatsoever at the miserable sight of the burned body.

He had simply been stronger. At the core, the man was no different from the bandits Turan had first encountered when he descended from the hill.

‘That aside, he was much stronger than I expected… no, should I say tougher? If this is what a Fighter Bloodline is capable of, I’ll need stronger offensive measures when fighting someone with the Guardian Bloodline.’

If the opponent had been a properly trained Fighter, and if Turan hadn’t used the power of the Zahar Bloodline, it wouldn’t have been an easy fight.

The physical durability of the man had been enough to endure over a dozen hits from both stone throws and fireballs.

Of course, considering that such durability came from the Fighter Bloodline ability itself, it might seem like a moot point. Still, for someone like Turan, who found it uncomfortable to openly display his abilities, it was something he had to factor in.

“Good work.”

[Easy.]

The golden eagle scratched words into the sand with its claws, sending a wave of satisfaction through their bond. Turan smiled and patted the creature’s head.

Without the eagle, catching Dolph as he fled would’ve been far more difficult.

It seemed like it was time to consider acquiring a magic artifact suitable for offense.

Or perhaps he could develop a powerful spell capable of piercing through defenses.

Shortly after, Turan absorbed Dolph’s magic power with the golden eagle.

Magical beasts typically absorbed magic power through consumption, but since Turan was spiritually bonded to the golden eagle, the creature could absorb magic power in a manner similar to human wizards under his guidance.

Half of the pale green glow flowed into Turan, while the other half was absorbed by the golden eagle.

But as they watched the transfer, suddenly, another beam of light erupted from Dolph’s corpse.

“…Huh?”

The light was being drawn into Turan’s pocket.

It was the unidentified sacred relic he had obtained from the sea.

As if it were a wizard itself, the relic was siphoning off a portion of Dolph’s magic power.

Once the absorption was complete, Turan immediately opened the lid of the sacred relic.

Inside the previously empty relic, a small amount of green liquid had appeared, though he couldn’t pinpoint when or how it had formed. Its identity wasn’t hard to guess.

‘Could this be… a container for storing magic power?’

He shook the relic and even attempted to absorb the contents, but there was no response.

How should he use this?

Was he supposed to drink it directly?

After mulling over the thought for a while, Turan closed the lid.

Although nobles were rarely harmed by toxins, he was still reluctant to consume something he couldn’t identify.

Besides, this was an item left behind by the Preah God Tribe or something of equal magnitude.

It seemed wiser to study it further before making any decisions.

After completing the magic power absorption, Turan searched the corpse, but unfortunately, he didn’t find anything particularly useful.

If Dolph had possessed some extraordinary magic artifact, he would’ve used it in the face of imminent death.

The only consolation was the pouch Dolph had discarded while fleeing. It contained a few jewels, which could help replenish Turan’s depleted finances.

Considering how burdensome it had once been to have too many gold coins, this was perhaps a more manageable situation.

‘Now then… time to send him off.’

After scattering Dolph’s remaining magic power, Turan set the corpse ablaze.

Before long, the clothes and flesh turned entirely to ash and rose high into the sky.

Finally, Turan crushed the remaining bones into powder and scattered them into the wind, erasing every last trace of Dolph Merenio’s existence from the world.

*

The next morning, Turan began flying southwest, riding atop the golden eagle.

As he had felt before, the world looked incredibly small from above, so small that it made him question why anyone struggled so desperately to live in such a place.

"Are you not tired?"

At Turan’s question, the golden eagle chirped, conveying a sense of complete ease, as if to say it was no trouble at all.

While Dolph’s magic power had been nothing more than a modest source of nourishment for Turan, it had been quite a significant boost for the golden eagle. Now, the bird could fly for a considerable amount of time without Turan needing to lighten his weight.

After flying for a day and a half, passing over dozens of small oases and three rather large cities, Turan finally arrived at his destination.

‘That must be it.’

What lay before him was a massive white, pyramid-shaped structure. However, it was difficult to grasp its precise shape unless viewed from a great distance.

Its height and the length of its base were both measured in hundreds of meters, an overwhelming scale that could only be described as the handiwork of gods themselves.

As he looked down upon it, a sense of awe washed over him, reminiscent of the time he had first laid eyes on the library in Orem.

According to the travelogue, this structure was called the Tomb of the Gods. Contrary to its name, no actual gods were buried there.

It was said to house a few relics from the ancient empire, though their exact purpose was unknown.

Much like Orem’s library, it was likely that truly valuable items had been secretly taken away somewhere during the empire’s fall.

As Turan landed a short distance away from the Tomb of the Gods, the first thing he noticed was the noticeably warmer air.

Perhaps it was because he had traveled further south.

Although it wasn’t warm enough to be called hot, it seemed like someone with a strong constitution wouldn’t need to wear long sleeves.

Come summer, it would likely become unbearably scorching, just as described in the travelogues.

“Why don’t you go hang out somewhere until evening? I’ll call you then.”

[Delicious food!]

“Got it. Don’t worry, I’ll have something delicious ready for you.”

After sending off the golden eagle, who could now write full sentences in the sand, Turan entered the city of Vanipel, disguised as an ordinary traveler.

Having pretended to be a fallen noble before, Turan had realized that, unless absolutely necessary, moving around as a commoner suited his preferences better.

More importantly, it was always easier to reveal oneself as a noble after pretending to be a commoner than the other way around.

“Welcome, sir. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

Upon entering the city, Turan sought out an inn that also served as a tavern and ordered a simple meal.

Since he was the only customer there, the innkeeper sat across from him and struck up a conversation, which allowed Turan to gather some information.

“You ran away from home to travel alone? Good grief, you’re a reckless one. Haven’t you run into any bandits or magical beasts?”

“I’ve been lucky.”

The innkeeper, a man in his forties, looked at Turan as if he were a naive youth.

Claiming to be the son of a merchant who had run away to see a single ruin after a week-long journey naturally invited such looks.

“By the way, do you know how I can enter the Tomb of the Gods here? From what I’ve read, it seems like you just need money.”

“You’ve read books, too? You must come from a well-off family. Anyway, as far as I know, you can’t go in right now.”

“Why not?”

As Turan pondered how the travelogue had mentioned that access was open to anyone with enough money, he realized that the book had likely been written at least a dozen years ago.

Or perhaps even several decades ago.

During that time, the policies of the family governing Vanipel might have changed.

However, according to the innkeeper’s next words, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“It’s nothing major. Apparently, ever since some important people arrived about a week ago, no one’s been allowed in. There were some merchants who wanted to visit the ruins recently, but they couldn’t see them either.”

"Important people?"

"You know, those people. Them."

"Ah."

Turan immediately understood what the innkeeper was implying through his roundabout way of speaking, as though afraid to even mention their names.

Knights or nobles of the House Zahar had come to this city.

'This is troublesome.'

In other words, the so-called important people had monopolized the ruins, wanting to enjoy their visit without being disturbed by commoners.

There wasn’t supposed to be much to see in the first place, so what they were doing for an entire week was beyond him.

After a moment of consideration, Turan decided to stay in the area until they left.

There was no point in poking his head into the matter and risking someone recognizing Talis’s shadow in Turan’s face, just like Karl, the head of his house, once had.

“I guess I’ll be staying here for a while, then."

“You have money, right?”

“Of course.”

No matter how leisurely nobles might be, they surely wouldn’t spend weeks or months sightseeing at the ruins.

‘I should figure out what to feed the golden eagle.’

It didn’t seem to like dates much before, and since there was no way to catch fish in the desert, he’d probably need to find and hunt a magical beast nearby.

*

“Ferga! Ferga! Where are you?”

“I’m here, so stop shouting! You’ll let them hear us!”

In the pitch-black darkness, Ferga Zahar snapped irritably, twirling a chakram around his finger.

Beyond the impenetrable darkness, which even the Zahar Bloodline’s night vision abilities couldn’t pierce, strange cries echoed.

The Tomb of the Gods held a hidden underground chamber.

This was something Ferga had heard from his grandfather, the head of the House Zahar, when he was a child.

The head had joked, saying that if Ferga could uncover that secret, he might just become the next head of the family.

For decades since, Ferga had inspected the Tomb of the Gods annually, searching for the passage to the underground chamber.

Because brute-forcing a structure built by the gods was impossible, he had resorted to tapping the walls for gaps or reciting the ancient, secretive languages found only in old texts.

Naturally, his efforts had been fruitless.

But a few days ago, while visiting the tomb half out of habit with a group of close friends, a door to the underground suddenly opened.

Elated, Ferga had rushed down, convinced that he had finally uncovered the secret and that he was destined to become the next head of House Zahar.

However, what awaited him was a pitch-black labyrinth where nothing could be seen clearly, and within it lurked mysterious monsters of unknown origin.

[□□□□□□----!]

These grotesque creatures were neither magical beasts, humans, nor any known race.

They looked as if someone had twisted human forms into the most malevolent shapes possible.

Not only were they extraordinarily powerful, but their familiarity with the bizarre darkness made even Zahar’s elite forces struggle against them.

To make matters worse, the passage leading back up had vanished, leaving Ferga and his group trapped underground for what felt like days, though they had lost track of time.

“How much water do we have left?”

“None…”

“Make some quickly. At least wet your throat.”

As Ferga barked out orders, another monstrous cry echoed from the rear.

For some reason, he felt as if he could vaguely understand the meaning behind those cries.

Judging by the murmurs of his companion beside him, he wasn’t the only one.

“The Night Hunter… has returned… to the desert?”