Translator: Pai_

After negotiating with the innkeeper and getting a decent room, Turan decided to take a walk to the commercial district of Vanipel City to aid his digestion.

This place, part of the grand trade route connecting the east and west of the world, was a hub where merchants from the east and west met to exchange various goods and cultural items.

Black sugar from the South Sea, silk and herbs from the east, and more...

The items displayed in the market were just a fraction of what was available, yet browsing through them was so captivating that one could easily lose track of time.

As Turan spent some time asking about and purchasing small quantities of new goods, something resembling a small white stone caught his eye.

“What is this?”

“This? It’s called saltpeter. It’s something that only comes from the islands of the South Sea. If you grind it into powder and consume it, it can extend your lifespan.”

While so-called elixirs of immortality were sold everywhere and were nothing special, the unfamiliar name stirred Turan’s memory.

Saltpeter... It was definitely a name he had seen somewhere before...

‘Ah.’

Having recalled it, he took out an old notebook from his bag.

This was an item he had obtained about a month ago after killing the Pyro Executioner, Ovil.

On its back were written various mysterious formulas. Back then, Turan had attempted to find some of the ingredients for these formulas in Abacha, only to be disappointed by their unavailability.

‘Spirit of Fire: Combine 75 parts of saltpeter powder, 15 parts of wood ash, and 10 parts of sulfur using magic to bind the three together.’

He didn’t know what the Spirit of Fire was, but he thought it might be worth trying to make it since it was likely related to the 'god' that had influenced Ovil.

Judging by the fact that other formulas used a similar notation, the numbers likely represented ratios.

After purchasing two or three chunks of saltpeter, Turan asked the merchant another question.

“Do you happen to have anything called sulfur?”

“Sulfur? Never heard of it.”

Even after wandering through various parts of the market and inquiring about sulfur, he finally got an answer from a merchant who imported goods from the east.

Sulfur, mostly sourced from volcanic regions, was used for disinfection but was not in high demand, so very few merchants dealt in it.

Naturally, it was almost impossible to find among the caravans traveling through the Enril Desert.

‘If I’d known it would be this hard to find, I would’ve looked for it back in Komad. They probably have more eastern goods there.’

On second thought, even if it wasn’t in the eastern continent, there were bound to be volcanoes elsewhere. It didn’t seem worth the effort to search so desperately.

After all, Ovil wouldn’t have traveled all the way to the eastern continent just to get sulfur.

“So, are you not going to buy this black sugar?”

“I’m not really into sweet things.”

After exploring the market further, Turan left the city at sunset and summoned his golden eagle through the soul bond.

It wasn’t long before a jet-black shadow descended and landed beside him.

The golden eagle glared at Turan before scratching the ground with its talons to write a message.

[Late!]

“Sorry. There was so much to see at the market. But I brought you something tasty.”

When Turan offered dried pork jerky coated with a unique spice that was hard to pronounce, the golden eagle sniffed it briefly before using its beak and claws to tear it apart and chew it.

[Delicious!]

“I’m glad you like it. Nothing happened while I was gone?”

After finishing the pork jerky, the golden eagle began writing on the sandy ground again at a speed so fast that Turan had to half-guess its meaning to keep up.

It wrote about how, on the mountain opposite the large building, there were other golden eagles like itself, how there were foxes on the hill next to the city, and how there was a rabbit holes right next to that...

While none of this was particularly fascinating to Turan, each of these facts seemed to be an interesting topic for this fellow.

“I’m glad you had fun. Do you think you could stay around this area for a few more days?”

[Why?]

“I don’t think I’ll find a very good place to stay. I’ll come to see you every day. We can visit other cities together, too.”

Turan didn’t bother explaining to the golden eagle that its presence would draw too much attention, making it difficult for him to blend in as a commoner.

It was hard to explain properly anyway, and he didn’t want the bird to think it was a burden.

Fortunately, living in the wild seemed to suit the eagle’s preferences quite well, and it agreed without much resistance.

However, it attached one condition.

[More tasty food!]

“Alright.”

*

For the next few days, Turan spent his time leisurely.

Most days, he stayed cooped up in the inn reading books, went out to practice magic near the city, or called upon the golden eagle to play or use it to visit nearby cities to look for ingredients like sulfur for the formulas.

Among these activities, his magic practice naturally focused on manipulating sand, given that they were in the desert.

‘This is pretty good.’

In front of Turan, who nodded in satisfaction, a large groove had been carved into a towering rock wall.

The experiment he had conducted this time was to fill his slingshot with sand instead of stones and launch it.

Ordinarily, the sand would scatter, but by compacting it into a round shape like a stone, he had used it as ammunition.

The sand bullets created this way had several advantages.

They could be reshaped mid-flight into a conical form to penetrate the target, or split into smaller fragments for area attacks.

Although using magic to compact the sand required more energy than simply throwing a stone, the difference wasn’t significant unless the battle dragged on.

‘This way, I’ll have to conserve the stones. I don’t have many of them anyway.’

The carefully carved stones he favored weren’t easy to carry in large quantities due to weight and size limitations.

The number he typically carried varied, but it was usually around five or six.

If he faced a tough opponent like Dolph again, he would run out of ammunition and have to rely on other spells like fireballs.

Of course, that was partly because fire magic was particularly effective in the desert.

Beyond this, there were many other things he could do with sand.

He could bind an enemy’s ankles, mix it with wind magic to scatter it and obstruct vision, or manipulate the sand to move as though swimming through it.

Sand was far more fluid than earth but heavier than liquids, and exploiting this intermediate property was proving to be quite entertaining.

‘That aside… what the hell are those nobles doing in the tomb? How many days has it been?’

It had been six or seven days since he’d arrived here, yet the blockade on the Tomb of the Gods showed no signs of being lifted.

He wondered if it would be better to skip this place entirely and explore other cities instead.

After some deliberation, Turan concluded that it would be better to sneak in.

‘If I get caught, I’ll just run.’

Thanks to the golden eagle, he’d gained the courage to take such risks.

Even if there were some security measures and he was caught, what could they possibly do to stop him?

He was slightly concerned about the possibility of offending the spirits in the tomb, but he couldn’t waste forever waiting around here.

That night, after getting a good rest to fully restore his body and magic power, Turan set out for the Tomb of the Gods.

The dark night made it easy to conceal himself, minimizing his magic consumption.

Just as the entrance to the tomb came into view, he spotted two knights dragging someone along.

[Mmph– mmph–!]

“Damn it, why is he so noisy?”

“Keep it quiet. Don’t kill him, though.”

The knights struck the person, who was bundled in a sack, and dragged them further into the ruins.

Remaining concealed, Turan trailed behind them, narrowing his eyes.

Expanding his senses, he detected the presence of three nobles inside the ruins.

Could they be the very nobles who had occupied the tomb?

As he entered the tomb, Turan first observed his surroundings.

From the ceiling to the floor, the stone walls were so tightly fitted that not even a needle could slip between them.

The material, all unnaturally pristine white, gave Turan a sense that was reminiscent of the ancient empire’s roads.

Inside, there were relics of the ancient empire preserved in glass cases, their shapes so peculiar that it was impossible to discern their purposes.

A large, black rectangular box with glass attached to its front, a rod connecting two circular disks, and an iron plate covered with dozens of small buttons, everything seemed enigmatic.

As Turan casually scanned these items and ventured further in, he saw the two knights who had entered earlier, three nobles, and the disheveled man who had been bundled in the sack.

‘Something feels off.’

Anxiousness, fear, and something else, an unidentifiable, eerie aura emanated from both the high-ranking nobles and the ragged man.

It made sense for someone who looked like they’d been abducted to exude such emotions, but why the nobles?

The eldest of the nobles gestured to the disheveled man and spoke.

“Well done. You’ve brought him here. Now, you! Take the cargo and carry it inside.”

Turan’s eyes widened in shock as he followed the noble’s gesture.

On one side of the floor, made of pristine white bricks, was a space where a pitch-black vortex swirled violently.

It was unmistakably unnatural, a space imbued with magical power.

Beside it were more than a dozen large barrels.

“W-What is that?”

"I did not permit questions. Go in."

The man’s courageous inquiry was swiftly suppressed.

With just a single command from the noble, the man’s body stiffened and moved awkwardly. He picked up two barrels and disappeared into the vortex.

Magic to control living beings.

Turan was familiar with using such magic, but this was the first time he’d seen it cast on a human.

Turan cautiously glanced around.

What was that mysterious space? What were they putting inside it?

Given the uncertainty of the situation, it seemed wise to retreat for now.

But...

His gaze lingered on the pitch-black vortex in the corner of the ruins.

For some reason, it felt like the vortex was calling out to him.

Telling him to come quickly, to hurry over, as if it had been waiting for him.

At that moment, the nobles began to speak.

“Will Lord Ferga be safe?”

“We can only hope so. We’ve been continually supplying food and water...”

“Do we really not need to contact the main house?”

“Have you considered what might happen if Lord Ferga’s competitors intercepted that message?”

Ferga. A name Turan had heard before.

If he remembered correctly, the woman from the House Zahar branch family had mentioned that Ferga was one of the candidates for the next heir of the House Zahar.

Apparently, Ferga had come here as a guest and ended up trapped in that mysterious space.

‘This could be dangerous.’

If Ferga was a candidate for succession, then even if he wasn’t as formidable as Meisa, he would still be an incredibly powerful individual. A space capable of trapping someone like him could very well pose a threat to Turan as well.

Just as he was about to quietly retreat, a thought suddenly crossed Turan’s mind.

‘This might be an opportunity.’

If Ferga was in trouble, saving him might earn Turan some favor.

Just as he had once infiltrated the House Berg by rescuing Ashiz, this could be a chance to naturally slip into the inner workings of the House Zahar and potentially uncover information about his parents.

Actually, none of that truly mattered.

An irrational impulse gripped him.

It didn’t matter why, what mattered was the overwhelming urge to enter that space immediately. It was as if it promised him that everything he wanted was waiting for him inside...

Still maintaining his concealment, Turan silently approached and grabbed the two barrels that the disheveled man had carried earlier.

Thanks to being fully concealed, the nobles didn’t even notice his actions.

Carrying the barrels, Turan stepped into the vortex.

*

‘It’s dark.’

That was the first impression Turan had after stepping into the vortex.

Ever since awakening his magic and inheriting the abilities of the Zahar bloodline, he had practically forgotten what darkness felt like.

But here, even he found his vision hindered by the oppressive blackness.

‘Damn it.’

As soon as he stepped inside, Turan’s head cooled down in an instant, and he realized just how foolish his earlier logic had been.

Earn favor and infiltrate?

What guarantee was there that Ferga would be the type of person, like Ashiz, who would repay a debt of gratitude?

If Ferga survived and then turned on him, what could Turan possibly do?

More importantly, what if the members of the Zahar main house recognized traces of Talis in his face?

Would he just have to make excuses, claiming he was merely someone who looked similar?

It might work for an outsider like Karl, but it would never fool those in the main house, who had likely seen Talis up close on numerous occasions.

These worries flitted through his mind for only a moment before a piercing scream shattered his thoughts.

“Arghhhhh!”

“Good, another one’s come in.”

“It seems my men outside are continuing to send them in.”

Beyond the dark, murky field of vision, Turan could see the disheveled man who had entered earlier sprawled on the floor.

His arms were broken, and in front of him stood over a dozen nobles dressed in rags, their appearances hardly better than beggars.

From the circumstances, it was obvious that they were the ones who had harmed the man.

As they gathered food and water, one of them pointed to the man writhing on the ground.

“Ah, that guy is way too noisy. Someone deal with him. We need to conserve our supplies anyway.”

“Yes, Lord Ferga.”

One of the other nobles respectfully replied to the order and promptly snapped the disheveled man’s neck.

Turan remained concealed, silently watching as the nobles gathered their supplies and disappeared.

‘So that’s Ferga Zahar...’

Even as they killed a man to steal his food and water, there wasn’t a shred of guilt or remorse on their faces.

At the very least, Ferga didn’t seem like the type of person who would repay a favor.

Turan frowned at the sight, but his thoughts were interrupted as a voice echoed in his mind.

[No.]

[You]

[Are Wrong.]

[The Night Hunter]

[No.]