Shepherd Wizard (Novel) - Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Discord
As they left the snowy plains and headed east, Turan first checked on the librarian’s exact condition.
He was concerned by the librarian’s earlier remark about feeling weakened, possibly due to the distance from the library.
Of course, lacking both the ability to manipulate spirits and detailed knowledge about them, their approach was inevitably crude.
After repeatedly entering and exiting the jewel box in a series of primitive experiments, they reached a simple conclusion.
The librarian had become fully bound to the jewel box, and in the process, he had lost most of the powers he once wielded while connected to the library.
For example, this included his former ability to discern bloodlines.
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
The librarian spoke in his usual listless, bored tone, but he subtly avoided eye contact, betraying a hint of guilt.
Turan smiled and reassured him.
“It’s fine. You’ve already helped me a great deal in the past.”
That said, it wasn’t as though the librarian had become useless.
Thanks to his retention of all the records from the books in Orem’s library, he still held value.
“So, the two unknown bloodlines of the Silver Sun are Guardian and Healer?”
“Probably. According to the records, he often referred to himself as a ‘protector,’ and there are tales of him healing the wounded by laying hands on them.”
On the swing pulled by Bije, Turan sat analyzing the bloodlines of ancient gods with the librarian, who hovered in the air across from him.
He repeated the librarian’s words aloud so the others could hear, prompting Solif, seated beside him, to whistle.
“I’ve never come across that story myself. I’ve dug through all the records in my family’s library because I’m interested in history, but nothing.”
“Then it was likely deliberately concealed. To erase clues that could lead to completing a lineage—what you call a bloodline.”
The reason was easy to guess.
Perhaps it was to prevent nobles from independently reconstructing a god’s bloodline.
The Night Hunter’s bloodline, being relatively well-known, was likely less of a concern since two of its components had already faded into obscurity.
“So the Silver Sun’s bloodline is Pyromaniac and Illusion combined into Sun, plus Guardian and Healer… Solif, any relatives with those two bloodlines?”
“I doubt it. My grandfather was a Sun bloodline noble, and his concubine grandmother was a commoner. On my mother’s side, her grandfather was an Earthshaper, and her grandmother had the Sun bloodline. I don’t know much beyond that.”
“It does seem a bit murky.”
Like Turan’s case, there could be a variable in the commoner grandmother’s lineage, but otherwise, it seemed distant from the Silver Sun’s bloodline.
Were Guardian and Healer bloodlines meant to be supplemented by a god’s soul?
At that moment, Meisa, who had been listening quietly, spoke softly.
“Compared to that, mine’s a bit clearer. My father has Storm and Historian, and my mother has the Enchanter bloodline.”
“The name of the lightning-specialized branch of the Storm bloodline is—”
“Thunder Caller. A name forgotten in modern times, though.”
Hearing the librarian’s low explanation, Turan pulled out a small notebook and charcoal, jotting down notes.
[Silver Sun = Pyromaniac + Illusion + Guardian + Healer]
[Thunder Lord = Thunder Caller + Great Artificer + Enchanter + Historian]
[Night Hunter = Tracker + Hunter + Shadow + Alchemist]
[Fury of the Cold = Berserker + Frost…]
He continued listing others, like the Earth Mother revered by the Earthshaper bloodline or the Lame Goddess revered by the Enchanter bloodline, forming a sizable list.
Solif pointed to the Thunder Lord entry and said,
“If this holds, Meisa might just gather all four of a god’s bloodlines herself. Assuming she awakens more, like Turan.”
“No way.”
“No, you never know. You and I are bodies marked by gods… Damn, why don’t I have something like this?”
Meisa shook her head at Solif’s praise-turned-self-deprecation and looked at Turan.
“It’s just a slim chance anyway. By that logic, Turan’s in a much better spot. He’s already guaranteed four bloodlines.”
“Well, it’s a guess, but I think the combination matters as much as the number, so I’m not sure.”
Based on their investigations so far, no Freya god shared Turan’s exact bloodline combination.
Whether this mix could achieve something with a god’s soul, or if it was tied to acquiring all four bloodlines, remained unclear.
Turan was about to write down the Biologist next but stopped, realizing that writing it might draw attention just as speaking it would. Instead, he noted the owner of his holy relic.
[Drowned God = Wave Rider + Mimic + ? + ?]
[TL note- I’ll be using Mimic Holy Relic instead of Imitator Holy Relic, as the terminology suits more for the context.]
Meisa pointed to “Wave Rider” and asked,
“Could this refer to the Eddy bloodline?”
“Probably not. I heard from the labyrinth gate that one of the Wave Rider bloodline’s traits is exceptional physical ability.”
In contrast, the Eddy bloodline, which manipulated water and fluids, wasn’t particularly suited for close combat.
Solif, who had independently researched this in the past, had sought out nobles with strong physical prowess—like Tasan of the Red Whale Pirates—because of this.
“Elder, do you know anything about it?”
At Turan’s question, the librarian pondered briefly before shaking his head.
“I haven’t the faintest idea. My knowledge is limited to the books that entered the library.”
It seemed records of that god hadn’t reached Orem City.
Clicking his tongue in disappointment while sorting the god bloodlines, Turan voiced a thought that had long nagged at him.
“By the way, hasn’t anyone else noticed how inconsistent bloodline names are?”
“What do you mean?”
“Even among great families, some combine two bloodlines into one name like Storm or Sun, while others don’t. Some names describe phenomena, others the people wielding the power…”
Take the Sun bloodline’s Pyromaniac and Illusion, for example.
The former referred to a person who loved setting fires, while the latter named the ability itself.
When he first learned from Keorn, he’d felt this discrepancy and asked, but the old knight said he’d been taught that way and didn’t know the origins of the names.
Meisa and Solif exchanged glances, looking equally puzzled.
“Is that… so?”
“I just assumed that’s how it was since everyone calls them that.”
Unlike Turan, the two didn’t seem to find the naming conventions odd.
Tilting his head at the subtle dissonance, the librarian offered a brief explanation.
“In fact, Pyromaniac was sometimes called the Flame bloodline, and Illusion the Illusionist bloodline. I don’t know how or why certain names stuck… Hmm, I should head back in. I’m getting tired.”
With that, the librarian yawned lightly and, without waiting for a reply, turned into smoke and seeped into the jewel box.
This was another change from his binding to the box: he now felt fatigue after prolonged activity outside.
After gazing at the vanished librarian for a moment, Turan looked up at Bije soaring in the sky.
The beast’s wingbeats lacked vigor, and a deep fatigue flowed through their soul bond.
“Let’s land and rest soon. We’ve long left Nagin territory, so it should be safe enough.”
—
After landing on a small hill in the northern Dakein Plains, Bije collapsed into a near-comatose state from exhaustion.
It was understandable after such a grueling journey.
Flying for hours to Orem City, resting half a day, then heading north for a day and a half with brief breaks, followed by a full day of flight.
And not alone—carrying a large metal swing and three people dangling from its talons.
Had Bije not possessed magic rivaling an upper-tier noble, and had Turan and Meisa not alternated wind magic to assist, it would’ve been impossible.
After setting up camp and staying the night, the trio took turns carrying the utterly drained Bije as they walked eastward.
Thanks to tracking magic to avoid human traces, they encountered no one.
After two days of steady feeding and rest, Bije fully recovered, but instead of boarding the swing, Turan tied a letter to its ankle and sent it off.
An hour later, Bije returned with a new letter attached.
[I’m just living as usual, watching plays and all. How are you all doing? It’s lonely here by myself…]
The letter detailed recent events and ended with a longing to see them again.
Folding it after reading, Turan summarized it for the waiting pair in one sentence.
“Asiz seems to be doing well.”
Before parting, he and Asiz had exchanged a code for letters.
Mentioning “plays” in the first paragraph signaled the letter wasn’t written under surveillance.
“Bije, you moved as I instructed, right?”
[Yeah! I took a big detour before meeting Asiz! Same when leaving!]
Though sent at dusk to avoid notice, Turan had told Bije to circle south and approach the Berk family as if coming from there, just in case someone spotted it and traced its path.
The return trip followed the same roundabout route via the south before heading north.
Given how fast Bije flew unburdened, no one could possibly follow.
“Good…”
“I’m glad he’s doing well. Makes me want to visit for a drink again. The food was great too.”
Meisa, a close relative, and even Solif—who’d stayed with the Berk family long enough to grow attached—showed relief.
After another half-day flight on Bije, they finally left Arabion’s domain.
“Phew…”
Meisa sighed in relief, gazing at the receding Dakein Plains.
Though she hadn’t shown it, staying in Arabion’s territory had clearly weighed on her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I feel at ease now. Being there felt like something was constantly pressing on my chest.”
That pressure was likely the looming presence of Arabion’s main family, which had oppressed her for years, and her father Badal, vessel of the Thunder Lord.
Solif interjected with a jab.
“But is it really safe to relax? Didn’t they say Karmain’s god teamed up with other races?”
“They don’t have any direct conflict with us yet. I’m not certain, but they might even be potential allies.”
Based on his encounter with the mermaid prince Armani, mermaids seemed more reasonable than dark elves or dwarves.
Moreover, Karmain’s god likely had no inkling of their existence, so excessive caution wasn’t warranted.
Solif hummed softly and nodded at Turan’s words.
An hour or so later, as the sun began to set, Turan scanned the landscape and recognized the terrain, addressing the others.
“Let’s rest in that village over there tonight.”
“Already? We could keep going a bit longer.”
“I’m for it. Bije’s still recovering from overexertion, and I’d love some good food and a bed.”
Meisa seemed eager to put more distance from Dakein Plains, but she nodded at Solif’s reasoning.
As someone reliant on Turan for sustenance, she couldn’t ignore a teammate’s desire for decent food—lest it seem she didn’t care, not eating herself.
Soon, they entered a hilltop village in the rolling terrain.
A man trudging back from farm work with a hoe spotted them and approached.
“New faces, huh? Where are you fr—whoa!”
Initially wary of strangers, he dropped his hoe and knelt in shock upon seeing Turan’s face.
Solif and Meisa turned to Turan.
“What did you do here to get that reaction?”
“Did you kill someone?”
“Kill? I saved someone. I came to check on the kid I left here.”
“Oh… O-Of course, sir! She’s doing great!”
“Lead the way.”
This village was where Turan had entrusted the sole survivor of a village destroyed by the Pyre Lord Obil.
Moments later, he reunited with the girl after a year.
“Th-Thank you for saving me…”
“Has anyone here been mistreating you?”
“Not at all! Everyone’s kind to me!”
Her demeanor and scent showed no signs of coercion or distress.
There were no visible marks of abuse either.
Her hands were rough, but that was inevitable for a commoner learning to work.
After confirming, Turan called over the nervous village chief and placed a few gold coins in his hand.
“Oh my, this is too much…”
“It’s for staying here tonight.”
Of course, the chief wasn’t so dim as to miss that it was also a reward for faithfully carrying out Turan’s instructions.
Staying in the village’s best house, Turan explained to the others what had happened here in the past.
Since he’d already told them about Obil, both expressed awe that this was the place.
“Most people who say stuff like that wouldn’t actually check in. I’d have forgotten and passed by.”
“If you make a promise, you keep it.”
“You’ve got a kind side at times like this.”
Turan shifted uncomfortably and looked away as Meisa smiled and spoke.
It felt similar to when Keorn had called him a good person.
“I just did what I had to.”
His care for the girl left here stemmed purely from a sense of duty.
For the brief time she was under his protection, she was a lamb he was responsible for.
He felt the same toward the citizens of Kalamaf and the people he’d saved on the southern islands.
He intended to check on their lives and retaliate if anything went wrong.
Solif shook his head in exasperation.
“We’ve been together a while now, and I still can’t figure you out. Ruthless one moment, soft the next…”
“But we’ve both been helped because of it, haven’t we?”
“Well, yeah.”
Meisa’s wistful expression silenced Solif, who raised his hands in surrender.
—
After a night in the village, instead of heading straight to the North Sea, Turan’s group zigzagged through the hills between Arabion and Karmain territories.
The librarian had mentioned a record of a mythic beast that vanished in this area 500 years ago.
But contrary to expectations, the beasts they encountered were too weak to bother with.
After days of eliminating only the overly aggressive ones, Solif suggested giving up.
“Well, it makes sense. If something that strong lived here continuously, it’d have been hunted by now. Unless it’s being raised here like that monkey…”
“Wait.”
Cutting Solif off, Turan closed his eyes and focused on his sense of smell.
Meisa, beside him, asked,
“What’s wrong?”
“A strange smell. Something’s burning…”
The acrid scent tickling his nose stirred a sense of déjà vu.
It was strong enough to suggest a forest fire.
Then he recalled facing the aftermath of Obil’s rampage.
“Bije, that way!”
Though he usually avoided revealing Bije’s flight to others, Turan broke that rule and directed it toward the smell.
Soon, they arrived at a scene of crackling flames and screams.
“Save us, please—!”
“Please! Stop!”
A small slash-and-burn village nestled in the woods.
Likely isolated, its people were tied to poles, burning one by one as they awaited their turn.
In the plaza’s center stood a woman with arms outstretched, catching the ashes.
Her face wasn’t visible from behind, but Turan had a hunch.
Leaping from the swing, he called her name.
“Bisen.”
“Who’s calling—oh, Turan?”
Bisen Karmain, leader of the rookie noble group he’d hunted Obil with, turned around.
Her eyes gleamed with an eerie clarity.