Shepherd Wizard (Novel) - Chapter 88

Chapter 88

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After executing Bisen, Turan and his group decided to stay in the slash-and-burn village to help with reconstruction and spend the night. Nearly half of the villagers had died, leaving a shortage of hands to repair the collapsed and burned houses and storehouses. The villagers shed tears of gratitude once again for this assistance.

“Meisa, you put the roof up wrong.”

“Isn’t this how it’s done?”

“If you do it like that, it won’t fit properly and rain will leak through. You need to turn it about halfway.”

Turan rotated the roof frame Meisa had lifted with telekinesis, explaining in detail how it should be constructed. Meisa, encountering new architectural knowledge, asked with a curious expression, “Where did you learn all this?”

“I just picked it up while living.”

“Wow…”

Though he wasn’t particularly skilled in construction, Turan had experience repairing the shack he lived in as a child and building a few structures in Kalamaf. The storehouse they were working on wasn’t especially complex either.

“So this is how it’s done?”

“Yes, like that.”

As Meisa floated the roof again and turned it about ninety degrees, a hint of intrigue lingered on her face. Turan had worried she might find this tedious, but she seemed to enjoy helping people quite a bit.

After confirming Meisa was following his instructions, Turan approached Solif, who was building a chicken coop nearby, and scolded him. “If the fence has gaps like this underneath, wildcats or foxes will come and take everything.”

“What? How could they get through such small holes?”

“Animals like cats have practically no bones, so if their head fits, their whole body can squeeze through.”

“That’s amazing… Isn’t that the real magic?”

While Meisa might be excused, even Solif, who was forty years older and far more traveled, didn’t know this. The villagers lacked the courage to correct the lofty nobles, so Turan had to teach them step by step.

After much effort, Bije swooped in and scratched words into the ground.

[I finished cleaning!]

“Already?”

[Yes!]

Turan had tasked Bije with tidying the plaza, a mess from erecting pillars and carrying people. True to its word, the area was completely cleared, likely swept clean with wind magic since digging it up manually with its small frame would have taken too long.

“You’re the best.”

Turan patted Bije’s head, and it shrugged its shoulders proudly.

Finally, using earth-shaping magic, they created graves for the dead. The villagers gathered in the relatively intact meeting hall for a communal dinner to mourn the lost, with Turan’s group naturally given the seats of honor.

“We’re poor and have little, so we could only offer this meager food. Please forgive us…”

Indeed, the food they presented was hardly impressive: a stew made with smoked mountain game, coarse black bread—barely better than what Turan ate in the Hisaril hills. Before the villagers themselves sat watery grain porridge and wild greens, likely the best hospitality they could muster for their saviors.

Turan picked up a spoon, took a bite of the stew, and followed it with a mouthful of pickled vegetables spiced with something unidentifiable. “This is fine. It’s practically a feast.”

“Come on, calling it a feast is a bit much—ow!”

Turan kicked Solif’s leg under the table for his blunt objection. Seeing the villagers relax slightly at Turan’s unhesitant eating, Solif grumbled but began his meal too. All eyes then turned to Meisa, the last one left.

“Hmm.”

At the Baltas family banquet, Meisa had coldly ignored stares questioning why she didn’t touch the food. But she seemed burdened by the villagers’ earnest gazes now. Turan gently stopped her as she cautiously lifted a spoon.

“You don’t have to force yourself. We’re eating, so it’s fine if one of us looks picky.”

“If you eat and throw up, it’ll just make them sadder,” Solif added.

Meisa shot him a sharp glance before shaking her head and scooping up some stew. “I think I can handle a bite right now.”

Staring at the piece of meat and broth on her spoon, she closed her eyes tightly and shoved it into her mouth. After chewing for a few seconds, she swallowed.

Turan braced for a dramatic reaction, wondering if he should ask Solif to cast an illusion, but contrary to expectations, Meisa didn’t spit it out. Breathing deeply a few times, she slowly opened her eyes.

“Hm?”

“What, it worked?”

Not only Turan and Solif but even Meisa herself seemed unable to believe she’d successfully eaten. After a moment of bewilderment, she smiled brightly, took another spoonful of stew, and bit into the rough bread. The villagers finally sighed in relief.

“Oh, she’s eating…”

“It seems to suit her taste!”

“Thank goodness, thank goodness.”

Calling it “to her taste” was a generous euphemism; Meisa devoured the food like a starving beggar. Given she’d barely eaten for over a decade, blaming her was harsh.

“Taste good?”

“I don’t really know the taste… It’s been too long. But just being able to chew and swallow feels so—ulp!”

Her enthusiastic feasting didn’t last long. A delayed wave of nausea hit, and she covered her mouth. Seeing her cheeks puff out, Turan quickly pulled her from the table and led her outside the hall.

“Blegh—”

As Meisa vomited everything she’d just eaten, Turan patted her back. “You okay?”

Unable to speak from shortness of breath, she nodded. Surprisingly, when she looked up, tears glistened in her eyes, yet she was smiling.

“I ate… just a little, but I did.”

“First time in ten years, right?”

“Yes.”

After conjuring water to rinse her mouth, Meisa let out a deep sigh. “It’s like what my mother and sister used to say: ‘If you’ve helped that much, it’s okay to eat this much.’”

Of course, it wasn’t her family granting permission but her own heart. Perhaps the self-loathing from abandoning them had been offset by the pride of helping others, proving her worth.

This gave Turan a clue about overcoming her eating disorder. If she kept helping people and came to see herself as valuable, she might eventually eat normally again.

When they returned to the hall after tidying up, Solif awaited them with a grim expression. “Hey…”

“What?”

“These guys are wondering which of us is the kid’s dad. Do something about it quick.”

Turan glanced over, and the villagers, who’d been watching with keen interest, hurriedly bowed their heads. At least they didn’t think she’d thrown up because the food was bad, so that was a small mercy.

***

The next morning, Turan’s group left the village. Giving up on finding beasts in the area, they flew straight east.

While riding the swing and taking in the scenery, Solif spoke to Turan. “By the way, I’m not sure if this is okay.”

“What?”

“We killed a Karmain noble, whatever the reason. Wouldn’t it have been better to take the body formally and explain why she died to clear things up? If distorted rumors spread through those villagers later, it could be trouble.”

Meisa, sitting across from them, didn’t speak but seemed to agree. Turan organized his thoughts before replying. “If we took it, we’d have to formally settle responsibility with a great family. Karmain wouldn’t want to admit their noble went on a massacre. Since we’re wanderers, it’d be easy to pin it on us. Showing our strength might change that, but then we’d draw attention another way.”

“Hmm…”

“Besides, rumors spreading from that village aren’t likely. It’s not a proper settlement, just a slash-and-burn hamlet. I told them it wouldn’t be good for them either if word got out.”

“Isn’t that a threat?”

“It’s advice. If Bisen was trying to become a second Pyre Lord, Karmain might slaughter the villagers to silence witnesses.”

Meisa nodded with an “ah.” “They’re not fools just because they’re uneducated. They can judge what’s at stake for their lives. Plus, we helped rebuild the village.”

“So they won’t talk out of gratitude?” Solif asked.

Turan sensed a hint of condescension in his words, as if Solif thought them naive. But that wasn’t why he’d mentioned it.

“No. If the village collapses, they’d scatter to other villages to survive, and rumors could spread then. Keeping an isolated slash-and-burn community intact reduces that chance. They’re usually self-sufficient with little outside contact.”

“You thought that far ahead while helping them?”

“Not just for that. It’s just an added benefit.”

After explaining that much, Turan added his final thought. “Above all, if Kamain somehow learns the truth, they’d likely want to bury it. Turning three wandering nobles into enemies over a lunatic who died doing crazy things doesn’t add up. If it went public, pride might force them to frame us, but otherwise, there’s no need to push it.”

With Bisen’s handling settled, the topic shifted to the divine fragment within her—specifically, how to collect more.

“Wouldn’t tracking down beast hunters give us some leads?” Meisa suggested.

“I’ve checked whenever I’ve met them, but no luck so far. There are just too many of them,” Turan replied.

Some beast hunters, like Midan’s group, were purely driven to become mages, but most used it as a livelihood, often combining it with regular hunting. The lowest-tier beasts they killed served as training fodder for young mages. Since it was easier to pay bounties than search themselves, mage families rewarded these hunters. Most Turan had encountered were of this practical sort, none bearing a divine fragment like Midan.

“Hmm, searching for odd-acting mages… inefficient?” Solif mused.

“Yeah. It’s not exactly common,” Turan agreed.

Considering the only sure way to identify them was Turan’s own eyes, they’d have to rely on chance encounters.

After chatting on the swing for a while, Solif, with the sharpest eyes among them, pointed ahead. “We’re here.”

“Already?”

“Flying really is fast.”

Soon, the horizon came into view for Turan and Meisa too. Since Bije was flying so high, it took another hour and a half to reach the coast.

Landing on the shore, Solif gazed at the sea with a nostalgic tone. “It’s been a while since I last came to the North Sea.”

“You’ve been here?” Meisa asked.

“I crossed over from Baraha to the North Sea originally.”

“Oh, right. This is my first time at the sea,” she said.

Meisa dipped her hand in the water, splashing playfully, then tasted it and grimaced at the saltiness. Her childlike curiosity brought a smile to Turan’s face.

After lingering at the beach, they headed to a nearby fishing village to pinpoint their location. Simple inquiries revealed they were on a coast north of Abacha.

Solif clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Tch, I wanted to visit Abacha sometime.”

“From what I saw, it’s nothing special. Wouldn’t visiting the resting place of the Drowned God’s remains be more interesting?” Turan replied.

“Well… true.”

According to Ymir, a Freya god nicknamed “Lawyer” resided in Abacha, Kamain’s capital. Turan had passed through unaware before, but knowing this now made entering feel daunting. Solif, aware of this, only grumbled lightly without pressing further.

After visiting a few more fishing villages, they secured a decent-sized fishing boat: a single-sail vessel with a spacious cabin and a small room for a toilet below deck, suited for near-coastal travel.

“Just in case, don’t take it too far out. A slightly rough wave could flip it,” the old fisherman who sold it advised.

With Turan’s refined noble air, Meisa’s cool demeanor, and Solif’s slightly rugged yet clearly privileged look, none of them resembled seasoned sailors. The fisherman couldn’t help but worry despite having been paid.

“Thanks for the advice,” Turan said with a gentle smile, brushing off the concern before preparing to set sail.

As Solif helped ready the boat, he asked, “Is this little thing really okay? I got lucky last time and avoided it, but I’ve heard North Sea storms are brutal.”

“With two Arabion nobles here, what’s the worry? If it gets bad, we can ditch the boat and fly. A cheap one’s better for that,” Turan replied.

“Fair enough.”

Soon, with preparations complete, they raised the anchor and unfurled the sail. As Turan and Meisa took turns summoning wind, Solif parted the water at the bow, and the boat surged forward like it was flying.

“Cool!”

Surprisingly, it was Meisa, not Solif, who shouted. Her first voyage, brimming with speed, clearly left an impression. She might find a slow, ordinary sailboat unbearable later.

Fortunately, none of them suffered seasickness, so the journey faced no major hurdles. Food and water were plentiful at sea. Aiming for Miguel Island, a past stop, Turan set a southeast course using a gifted compass and began the voyage.

About a day and a half later—

“This is boring…”

Meisa, initially excited by her first sail, didn’t need a sluggish ship to feel boredom set in. People tire of constant stimuli, and sailing was a repetitive affair.

“Turan, find anything?”

“No, not yet.”

“Turan, now?”

“Nothing.”

“Tu—”

“Still nothing.”

Only Turan could sense magic through the Mimic holy relic among them. Before long, their exchanges devolved into Meisa and Solif asking if he’d found anything and him replying he hadn’t.

He could detect plenty of beast signatures through the relic. Unlike on land, the sea was a battleground where beasts, rarely hunted by humans, preyed on each other. Yet even the strongest among them were only mid-tier or upper-mid-tier noble level—none powerful enough to benefit the trio.

The only one enjoying it was Bije, happily devouring horse mackerel Turan caught.

Solif stared at the sea and lamented, “I mean, just sitting around idly is like when we fly, but sailing feels oddly dull.”

“That’s because flying on Bije usually includes stops to rest, or we’re too rushed to feel bored,” Turan explained.

“Makes sense.”

“Maybe it’s because the boat’s small. Bringing something to read might’ve helped,” Meisa added.

As Turan considered stopping at a Kamain port city other than Abacha, he suddenly widened his eyes at a presence ahead.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Your wish just came true,” he said to Solif.

“A beast? How strong? Top-tier?”

Calming the overly excited Solif, Turan raised a hand to feel the wind’s flow. Meisa, sensing it too, frowned slightly.

“No, a storm.”

Solif’s face crumpled at Turan’s words.