Shepherd Wizard (Novel) - Chapter 153
Chapter 153
Read it only at Utoon.net!
Discord
The girl’s father was known as the Barrel Knight.
Among mages who generally maintained attractive physiques, he alone had a belly that protruded like a barrel, earning him this nickname.
It wasn’t a particularly flattering name, but her father would pat his belly and laugh, saying, “Well, my stomach holds enough liquor for a hundred men.”
The girl’s father, the Barrel Knight, died during the season when people were celebrating with freshly harvested grain.
They said he had died fighting alongside the head of the great family he served in a war against a distant eastern great family.
It was impossible to believe that her father, who just yesterday had been patting the back of her head with his barrel-like belly while stroking her hair, was now dead.
As the girl stood in a daze, unable to process the reality, her mother, pregnant with her younger sibling, collapsed beside her and wept.
After her father’s death, the girl’s circumstances changed instantly.
Though people around them continued to outwardly show respect and sympathy, inwardly they looked down on them as a fallen household.
Since both her father was a knight of common birth and her mother was also a commoner, they assumed the children would be no different from themselves, using this opportunity to release the unconscious feelings of humiliation they had previously felt while bowing their heads.
“Let’s move away.”
“Move?”
“Yes. Outside the city.”
Her mother explained that although her dead father had saved some money working as a knight for the great family, without a steady income, it would be difficult to maintain such a house, so they would need to move to a smaller one.
The girl didn’t want to leave the city she had grown fond of, but she didn’t show it.
After all, her mother looked far more distressed than she did while saying these words.
At that moment, unknown visitors came to their house.
“Are you the wife of Knight Erba?”
“Yes, I am…”
“We’ve come on behalf of the master of Parsha. Here.”
At the mention of Parsha’s master, her mother’s face turned pale.
It was understandable-her husband had rushed to answer that summons and returned dead not long after.
Taking the letter with trembling hands, her mother immediately sank to the floor and began to sob.
“Thank you, just thank you…”
“He mourns the death of his comrade who fought alongside him and has instructed us to ensure that his family does not live in poverty. If you ever face difficulties, please contact us through this channel.”
After saying this, the unknown visitor glanced at the girl and asked:
“Is this your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“She looks about ten years old. If she has talent, it will show itself soon.”
“If my daughter has any talent, I will make sure she visits Parsha’s gates first. After receiving such grace, how could I possibly do otherwise?”
After expressing her gratitude numerous times, once the unknown visitors had left, her mother took the girl aside and told her:
That they no longer needed to move.
“The master of the Parsha family has agreed to take responsibility for our living expenses until your younger sibling grows up. This is truly fortunate.”
Her mother’s eyes shone with an almost fanatical light as she explained that it was rare for even knights who had served a family for generations to receive such care, let alone the children of a wandering knight like her father who had only joined recently.
The girl listened to her mother’s praise and thought to herself:
I want to be like that too, someone who can help others.
Following her wish, objects around her began to float and orbit around her.
* * *
“I think we might be spending too much on supporting the families of the deceased, Turan. Shouldn’t we cut back a bit?”
“It’s not like we’re short on budget anyway.”
Hearing Turan’s words, Asiz groaned softly and nodded.
Though he had once been compassionate enough to shed tears over the deaths of knights he served, after taking charge of the great family’s budget, he found it difficult to be as emotional as before.
After all, positions shape people, don’t they?
“Some of the knights’ children will likely inherit their fathers’ strength. Though extremely rare, some might even possess noble-level magical power. Would they want to serve a family that responded to their parents’ deaths with mere pocket change? And what would those who fought alongside them think if they saw their comrades’ families living in poverty?”
“That’s true. But there are precedents to consider…”
“We have fewer expenses than other great families anyway. Better to use the money than let it sit idle.”
There was a natural tax that long-prosperous families had to pay.
Specifically, supporting distant relatives who had branched off generations ago but still bore the family name.
One might ask why they couldn’t simply ignore this, but having those bearing the great family’s name living in poverty was a matter of face that couldn’t be easily dismissed.
Additionally, influential branch families within the family would likely be displeased with such a policy.
Ultimately, a significant portion of the budget had to be spent on maintaining them.
In contrast, Parsha had only Turan as a direct family member, giving them relative freedom in this regard.
Of course, they had the disadvantage of lower income due to their still-developing systems.
“Go ahead and announce that we’ll maintain this level of compensation moving forward. We’re few and weak, so we need to stick together. Sheep that survive against wolves aren’t the ones that flee individually, but those that band together to face them.”
“Understood.”
Watching Asiz leave, Turan reflected on what he had just said and smiled.
Exercising influence over the children of the deceased, boosting the morale of other mages to unite them…
All those were mere excuses.
He simply couldn’t bear to see the children of the sheepdogs who had fought and died under him starving to death.
He didn’t want those who had followed the shepherd into battle to feel their sacrifice had been in vain.
‘Besides… every time I make choices like this, it feels good somehow.’
Closing his eyes and awakening his spiritual perception, Turan focused on the sensation that seemed to warm his spirit form.
One stream from the distant south, another from the far east, and the last from right where he was.
Something unknown connected to his spirit form in thin strands, transmitting both warmth and coolness.
Among them, the strand connected to this place, Kalamaf and the gray zone, had grown more intense than before.
‘Is this really people’s feelings toward me being transmitted?’
Turan suddenly recalled a conversation he had recently had with one of the half-elves from Baraha.
[You think I’m the reincarnation of the Night Hunter?]
[It’s just a hypothesis, merely a hypothesis.]
In a small cabin where shadows danced in the firelight of a hearth on a dark night.
The half-elf, sitting in an armchair, sipped hot lotus tea while answering Turan’s question apologetically.
The prison of the half-elves, originally a desolate cell, had been transformed according to each one’s preferences.
This was the result of their sincere cooperation through multiple rounds of questioning and verification.
While some had facilities worse than this, the half-elf before him had been particularly submissive and cooperative, earning him the second-best room after Lesion.
[Otas liked helping newbies, or beginners. He was also very generous to ordinary humans. He had enough resolve to firmly punish his psychopathic children. In my view, you have quite a few similarities with him.]
[Is it even possible for a dead god’s soul to reincarnate?]
[I don’t know. However, we thought that some of those who died early might have reincarnated. The souls of us who crossed over to this world were so powerful that even in fragments, they could sometimes possess human consciousness.]
The half-elf was referring to the soul fragments of gods that had possessed people like Midan and Bisen in the past.
The gods had noticed their existence early on and conducted several studies, but hadn’t achieved significant results.
They merely possessed scattered knowledge from their former lives as players, constantly attempting things like creating Fire Soul that had only worked within the game.
Hearing this, Turan recalled a question he had long wondered about.
[Come to think of it, I’ve been wondering why everyone doesn’t use things like Fire Soul. Do they already know about its existence and how to make it?]
[Yes. However, we don’t spread it as a concept of arms control. The more we raise the baseline of the weak, the more disadvantageous it becomes for us.]
Long ago, the great family of the western forest had once rebelled against the gods using the secret of making Fire Soul.
They distributed Fire Soul to their mages for battle, just as Turan now did with his direct Parsha mages, and it proved so effective that it caused considerable trouble to suppress them.
Afterward, not only was the manufacturing method thoroughly destroyed, but there was also a tacit agreement not to use such items in the future.
[Then they probably don’t look favorably on me making and distributing this either.]
[Probably not. By the way, Fire Soul is originally called gunpowder, which…]
For some reason, the half-elf suddenly trailed off.
Turan guessed that the other was holding back this information to exchange it for rewards later, but he didn’t press the issue.
It was more beneficial to play along and continue extracting information gradually than to force it out immediately.
As their proverb went, there was no need to cut open the “goose that lays golden eggs.”
[Well, fine. Let’s leave that topic there. So even you don’t know much about reincarnation?]
[Correct. If we had known, we would certainly have used it ourselves. It’s a more natural and convenient method than raising someone to steal their body. So if a large soul fragment, rather than tiny pieces, settled in a newborn, we might consider that reincarnation. Memories could be carried by small fragments, I suppose.]
The half-elf listed the reasons why he thought Turan was Otas’s reincarnation.
The most important was his extraordinary magical talent.
Using soul magic or spirit arts, one could harvest large quantities of souls from the dead, consuming them as materials to manipulate the spiritual talents of newborn children.
These elements ranged from magical aptitude to innate magical power and the number of bloodlines one was born with.
However, what Turan possessed was in a realm almost impossible to create even through such methods.
Four bloodlines, transcendent learning ability, and a growth ceiling that showed no limits even when matching the heads of great families.
This made him even more exceptional than Meisa, who had been created by Arabion and Zahar pouring countless mages, civilians, and various magical resources into her creation.
How could this be possible without a god’s soul residing within?
There were many other clues as well.
A spirit form without leashes, Bije’s existence that suggested a game’s pet system with its deep bond allowing power sharing, and facial features resembling the default face of a hunter in the game.
Of course, there were many counterarguments-the absence of leashes could be due to the Sky Mountains, or the connection with Bije applied to Meisa as well-but Turan didn’t bother making them.
‘What does it matter either way?’
While the soul magic book defined the spirit form as the true self, Turan’s perspective differed.
The accumulated memories and the personality formed from them were the only true means of distinguishing oneself from others.
A past life that he couldn’t even remember was none of his concern.
To Turan’s response, the half-elf shook his head and said:
[The problem is that I’m probably not the only one who’s had this thought. Among those who have survived, there are some who liked Otas, but also those who were hostile to him…]
* * *
While lost in thought, Turan realized he had mechanically completed his administrative duties and left his office.
Not through the door, but through a large window on one side.
Riding Bije, who had suddenly emerged from the back of his hand, he soared high into the air and, remaining invisible, left Kalamaf heading toward a nearby rocky mountain.
‘Since I have some time, I should train a bit.’
When time permitted, he would bring Solif or Meisa along, but both were currently busy.
Solif was preparing something for the war with the Ruban family, while Meisa had gone to eliminate a dwarf hideout that had appeared north of Kalamaf.
After flying for a few minutes, Turan reached a suitable location and was about to descend when he frowned at the presence he sensed below.
‘How annoying…’
Originally, the rocky mountain area near Kalamaf was so barren that neither people nor animals frequented it, but recently some curious onlookers had begun to appear.
This was because traces of tremendous magical power being exercised, accompanied by enormous booms, had been discovered in the area.
Some claimed this was evidence of a mythical magical beast residing nearby, while others correctly asserted that it was the head of the Parsha family secretly honing his magical skills.
‘I wish I had a suitable indoor training ground.’
Normally, decent great families would have training grounds in their main houses where powerful mages could hone their skills, but the hastily established Parsha family had no such facilities.
And the current situation wasn’t relaxed enough to create one anew.
Passing by the onlookers, Turan used his Holy Relic’s perception and tracking magic to find an uninhabited spot and landed.
Even if they searched for thousands of years, they would never be able to find him anyway.
“Well, let’s begin.”
He started with simple warm-up exercises.
After limbering up all his joints with the calisthenics he had learned from Haram in the past, Turan launched himself forward.
With a boom, his tremendous leg strength propelled him explosively forward as he stomped the ground.
‘Oh…’
The power of Ruban, combining both the History and Guardian bloodlines specialized in close combat, was truly extraordinary.
While it wasn’t exactly equivalent to combining the physical abilities of both bloodlines, it certainly provided overwhelming physical capabilities compared to someone with just one of them.
The speed was so great that the wind striking his face created a thunderous sound as it tore.
In response, Turan began practicing creating wind paths to reduce air resistance whenever he moved.
‘This new power also requires a lot of adjustment…’
While handling administrative duties both internally and externally as the head of the great family Parsha was certainly important, even more crucial was Turan’s own combat ability.
Ultimately, if he couldn’t overwhelm those powerful great family heads and the vessels residing in their bodies through sheer force, everything would be in vain.
In this world, violence was the only way to fully express one’s will without being suppressed by others.
Punching the air, kicking, running, and leaping.
For more than ten minutes, Turan caused massive destruction around him as he grew accustomed to his strengthened body.
Naturally, the rocky mountain that became his target was reduced to a pitiful state.
Each punch created cracks several meters in size, and a single kick sent entire cliff faces flying.
After tens of minutes of vigorous movement, Turan paused to catch his somewhat labored breath.
Normally, this level of activity wouldn’t tire him, but it seemed that with his increased strength, he was also expending more energy.
“Huff, hah…”
His bodily control wasn’t yet perfect.
Unfortunately, his martial talent wasn’t as transcendent as his magical talent.
But in some ways, he preferred it this way.
After all, the more difficult something is, the more satisfying it feels when you succeed.
In contrast, with magic, he typically achieved mastery almost instantly upon seeing and attempting to learn something, making it difficult to experience such satisfaction.
There were a few exceptions, like what he was practicing now.
After adjusting to his newly strengthened body, Turan began his formal magical training.
He first started with what he had been practicing consistently since his battle with Badal.
“Ugh-”
With a whoosh, as he activated his magic, Turan’s body was suddenly yanked forward as if someone had grabbed him by the collar.
This was the result of manipulating magnetism, the power to move metal.
For this purpose, Turan had recently changed the clothes he frequently wore.
From his outer coat to his underwear and shoes, he had appropriately embedded metal in every part so he could move when necessary.
Pulled forward from where he stood, Turan then moved sideways, upward, forward again, and then downward.
It resembled the movement of a puppet, as if someone above was controlling his body with strings.
With each movement that ignored inertia and changed direction at almost right angles, every joint and muscle in his body screamed in protest.
‘This is quite painful…’
Did Badal also endure this with his History bloodline?
Or perhaps he had a technique to move more smoothly, sparing him from such pain.
With these thoughts, Turan used the momentum from magnetic movement to throw a punch.
Whoosh, his fist swung with even greater force than before, causing the sparse grass growing at the edge of the rocky mountain to sway.
After practicing this technique, which might appropriately be called Electromagnetic Body Technique, Turan sensed the rapid depletion of his magical power and stopped.
Indeed, perhaps because he wasn’t yet proficient in handling magnetism, the efficiency was excessively poor.
‘I should conserve some. I have one last thing to practice.’
For his final exercise, Turan took out two items from the large-capacity pouch he always carried.
The sling-his first weapon, but one that had recently been overshadowed by his other abilities.
After loading a metal ball into it, he began spinning it while looking ahead.
‘Now…’
He first created a wind path to eliminate air resistance.
Then, overlapping with that wind path, he created another path.
An invisible path of magnetic force.
‘Will this really work?’
A technique suggested by three out of four half-elves when asked how to apply magnetism.
It involved using magnetic repulsion to accelerate metal balls.
What could be more perfect for Turan, who shot metal balls?
One of them had even explained something called Fleming’s Left Hand Rule, and while he couldn’t clearly explain the concepts of magnetic field and current, Turan, who had already been directly using electricity and magnetism, found even this concept somewhat helpful.
He gave that one an extra glass of wine as a reward.
Recalling what he had learned, Turan stabilized the magnetic path and, releasing the spinning sling, precisely inserted the ball into the entrance.
The Fire Soul he had placed inside the sling exploded, initially accelerating the ball, which then received additional force from the magnetic path, shooting forward with tremendous speed.
“Oh…”
Upon acceleration, the metal ball literally became light.
The speed was so extreme that it created an optical illusion, appearing as if a long straight line had formed from the starting point to the destination.
The projectile not only pierced through the targeted cliff but also created a hole several meters in diameter around the impact point.
Entering the newly formed cave, Turan passed walls vitrified by the intense heat and had to travel almost eight hundred meters before finding the half-melted metal ball.
“Incredible.”
Thinking he should reward the half-elves in the jewel box with another round of food later, Turan recalled the name of this technique.
According to their unanimous declaration from mouths that weren’t actually open, this was a railgun.