Slingshot still in hand, Boran walked toward Batyr. The magical beast’s head was a ruin at his feet, shattered by a single, decisive strike.
In truth, helping the knight had been a tremendous risk. If Batyr returned to his noble house and spoke of a talented young slave on this hill, Boran would have to flee for his life.
Even so, Boran had intervened. Protecting a guest was the duty of Boranis Rise’s master, and besides, the old knight had never abandoned his courtesy. He had shown Boran respect.
“Are you all right?”
But Batyr wasn’t looking at Boran. His weary eyes were fixed on the sprawled, headless body of the leopard beast.
“Be careful!”
There was no time to ask what he meant.
The headless corpse of the magical beast surged to its feet and charged. From the mangled ruin where its head had been, a pale green light began to pulse and rise.
Forewarned, Boran managed to kick the creature’s charging body, launching himself backward to create distance.
The beast tumbled dozens of meters away, but it scrambled up again, seemingly unharmed by the blow.
“Undead spirits can’t be killed by physical attacks!” Batyr yelled.
“Then how?”
“Fire or lightning!”
Boran immediately tried to summon a flame over the beast’s body. Just as before, the spark that threatened to erupt into a bolt of lightning simply fizzled and died.
Seeing this, Batyr’s last doubts vanished. It was this boy who had killed the beast. For any wizard, it was basic knowledge that one couldn’t simply force magic into another magical creature; a proper channel was required. But the young shepherd before him seemed utterly ignorant of such principles.
He would, of course, also be unaware of the need to disperse a slain beast’s lingering magical power.
“Don’t just try to light it! Form the fire and throw it!” Batyr shouted, though he doubted the boy could manage it.
While simply igniting a flame was something even a young apprentice could do instinctively, shaping and controlling it was a skill that required dedicated training.
But as if to mock his concerns, a flame bloomed over Boran’s palm, spun like a whirlwind around his hand, and then shot toward the beast, propelled by centrifugal force.
He had thrown it just like a stone from his slingshot, the method of attack he knew best.
A shriek that was more a distortion of the air than a sound erupted from the spiritual form as the flame took hold. The beast thrashed on the ground, trying to smother the fire against the earth, but the magical flames clung to it, feeding on their host’s power.
Unlike Batyr’s own futile attacks, this was proof that Boran’s magic was superior to his foe’s.
Boran’s focus sharpened, his energy pouring into the fire, ensuring it would not die out.
After thirty seconds that stretched into an eternity, the spiritual body let out a final, silent wail as the corpse it inhabited was consumed in a flash of brilliant flame, turning to ash in an instant.
Boran and Batyr both let out a sigh of relief.
“Is it over? For real this time?”
“Yes… For now. Absorb the magic. Unless you want another undead spirit showing up.”
The process wasn't difficult. He stretched his hand over the ashes and imagined inhaling something invisible.
At once, an aura the same pale green as the spirit’s light flowed from the remains and seeped into his body.
For the first time in his life, Boran felt a chilling energy flow through him. It was as if something was being stored away inside him, making him stronger, transforming him into something other than what he had been. The thrilling, unsettling pleasure sent a shiver down his spine.
“Is this really your first time absorbing magic?” Batyr asked.
“Yes.”
“Hard to believe…”
A person’s magical power grew slowly with age after their awakening, but the rate of growth was minimal unless they actively absorbed it by killing magical beasts or other wizards. If that was the case, did it mean the power Boran had just displayed was purely his own innate strength?
Considering the limit of one’s growth was proportional to their innate power, the boy’s potential was extraordinary.
Realizing this, Batyr cleared his throat and addressed him in a much more formal tone.
“Forgive my disrespect, young master. May I ask the name of your house?”
Boran felt a prickle of discomfort at the knight’s deferential attitude. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he didn’t want to see this old man humbling himself before him.
“Let’s see to your wounds first. We can talk after.”
Blood was still streaming from the gash above Batyr’s eyebrow where the beast’s claws had torn into him.
“Ugh…”
Batyr grunted as Boran dabbed the wound with a hemostatic herbal juice and wrapped it with a bandage. Boran kept a small stock of medicinal herbs and clean cloth strips for just such an occasion, enough for basic first aid.
Healing the wound with magic would have been ideal, but he knew from treating his mother’s bruises that healing another person consumed a staggering amount of power. It would likely take everything he had just to close the torn skin on Batyr’s scalp.
“My apologies, young master. I have forced you to perform such a menial task for me.”
“I’ve told you already, I’m no master. I’m just a shepherd who doesn’t even know his own father.” Boran stared at the old knight, his frustration plain in his eyes. Stop treating me like that, the look said.
After a moment, Batyr shook his head as if in surrender. “Alright, alright… you can stop glaring at me.”
Boran let out a small, relieved laugh.
“But why is a wizard as powerful as you working as a shepherd in a place like this? I mean no offense to the trade, but it doesn’t seem to suit you.”
It was the same question Boran had asked him the day before, simply reversed. But Boran couldn’t answer with the same pride Batyr had shown for his own work. He felt no pride in being a shepherd.
“It’s a long story.”
Boran began to speak, his tone indifferent as he recounted his childhood. He told Batyr about his awakening, about the terrifying stories his mother had told him about the nobles, and about her warnings.
When he finished, Batyr nodded slowly. “She was a wise woman.”
“You think so?” Boran raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had expected someone like Batyr, who seemed so proud of his station, to dismiss his mother’s fears as paranoia, to insist the world beyond the hill wasn’t the hell she had described.
“Twenty years ago, my House Samarkhan went to war with the great House Kulan. At the time, Samarkhan had three thousand knights. Over nine hundred of them were killed.”
“Nearly a third,” Boran murmured.
“The bitterest truth is that everyone I knew was among them. My two closest friends, my wife, my son… they all died. I was the only one left.”
Batyr’s face was a mask of emotions too complex to read. Boran couldn’t begin to imagine the depth of his sorrow, but he could guess it was as profound as what he’d felt when he lost his mother, if not more so.
After a long silence, Batyr seemed to shake off the memories, his expression brightening as he changed the subject.
“As your mother said, the life of a knight is often more fleeting than that of a commoner. But if there’s one thing she was mistaken about, it is this: the talent you possess is far greater than that of a mere knight.”
“Is it?”
“It’s a bit embarrassing to admit in my current state, but I am a knight of considerable skill. And yet you, without ever having properly absorbed magic before, easily defeated a beast that would have given even me a desperate struggle.”
Batyr took a sip of goat’s milk before making his declaration.
“Your level of ability is that of a noble. Not just any noble, but one from the upper echelons.”
The words felt unreal to Boran. Perhaps it was because he had spent his whole life believing his mother’s assessment that his talent was only that of a knight. Or perhaps Batyr was simply overestimating him.
“My mother said my father was a knight. Could she have been lying?”
“There are always exceptions, just as not all children of tall parents grow to be tall. Sometimes a noble-level wizard is born to knights, and sometimes a noble house produces someone with less talent than a common soldier. It’s rare, but it happens.”
Boran thought of the village carpenter’s family. The carpenter and his wife were both short, and their first son was short as well. But their second son had shot up like a weed. Of course, that second son also happened to look remarkably like a certain burly woodcutter from the village…
“For that reason, I believe you should leave this hill.”
“Why?”
“Because we need more nobles. More knights. Humanity is not yet the true master of this world. The magical beasts, the non-human races pushed aside by the gods in ancient times… they are all biding their time, waiting for a chance to rise again. Meanwhile, our own nobles are too busy fighting one another. We desperately need strong, virtuous nobles like you. Even just one more.”
Non-human races. Boran had only heard the term in the old stories his mother told, fantastical tales of beings as unreal to him as gods or demons. But it seemed that in the world below the hill, they were a tangible threat.
“Besides,” Batyr added, “it’s a shame to see a talented young man waste his life here. You’re not truly content living as a shepherd, are you?”
He must have remembered how Boran had dodged the question earlier. After a moment’s silence, Boran gave a slight, assenting nod.
“Your mother’s fears were understandable, but they are mostly unfounded. An ordinary knight might be at risk, but even the great houses show a certain respect to their fellow nobles. And someone with your power? There would be no question.”
“So I wouldn’t have to worry about being forced to serve some house against my will?”
“As with anything in this world, there are no absolute guarantees.”
A storm of thoughts raged in Boran’s mind. Part of him wanted to believe Batyr, but the fear of nobles his mother had drilled into him for a lifetime refused to disappear. The two feelings warred within him, a tense and heavy conflict.
While Boran was lost in thought, Batyr sat patiently on the bed, his body wrapped in bandages, quietly waiting.
After several long minutes, Boran finally spoke, his voice low.
“What would I gain if I went down there?”
Seeing the resolve in Boran’s eyes, Batyr smiled.
“That depends on what you desire. Wealth, fame, power… or perhaps family, friendship, and love. Whatever it is you seek, you are unlikely to find it here.”
Batyr began to list the possibilities. He could roam the land as a sellsword, slaying beasts that threatened the common folk. He could become an explorer, venturing into lands unknown to man. Or he could be adopted into a noble house and walk the path of a ruler…
What was certain was that any of those lives would be more thrilling than herding sheep on Boranis Rise.
“Come to think of it, I forgot to ask. Do you have a Lineage ability? I should have asked first, it slipped my mind.”
“Lineage ability?” Boran repeated the unfamiliar term.
Batyr clicked his tongue, realizing his mistake. He was still not used to how little this young man knew of the world of magic.
“Do you at least know that our magic originates from our ancestors, the Tengri Sky Clan?”
“My mother told me that much.”
“As nobles are closer in lineage to the Tengri, they inherit certain divine traits. The presence of these Lineage abilities is one of the key distinctions between nobles and knights. Entire houses are often formed around a shared ability.”
“How can you tell if you have one?”
“Is there a type of magic that comes unusually easy to you, while others feel difficult? Or perhaps you have some innate talent, something you excel at far beyond others, even without magic?”
“You don’t just mean being strong, do you?”
“Wizards gain enhanced physical abilities simply by possessing magical power. Growing faster, stronger, and tougher is a natural instinct for all living things. Strength can be a Lineage ability, but I doubt yours falls into that category.”
Batyr’s words made Boran pause and think. Among all his senses and skills, what stood out the most?
“I have a good sense of smell. My sight and hearing are better than average, too, but my sense of smell is exceptional.” In particular, he could detect the scent of blood with remarkable clarity, enough to tell what kind of creature was bleeding from the smell alone.
Batyr nodded. “An exceptional sense of smell… if it’s that precise, it could certainly be considered a Lineage ability. Anything else?”
“I’m good at throwing stones. But that’s probably just from practicing with my mother since I was a child.”
He had been learning to use a slingshot since he was five. For a shepherd, it was the best defense against their most common enemies: wolves and leopards. He had also noticed recently that throwing stones with force used a surprisingly small amount of his magical power.
“Proficiency with projectiles… that is one of the traits of my own House Samarkhan. Though I’m not sure it qualifies as a full-fledged Lineage ability.”
“Is that so?”
“To be honest, it’s a fairly common trait. Most people fall into one of three groups: those skilled with projectiles, those adept at close combat, or those who are moderately capable at both.”
They continued their discussion, with Boran listing the things he was good at and the things he wasn’t. But for some reason, the more they talked, the darker Batyr’s expression became. The grim look deepened with every answer, until finally, he looked as though he were about to weep.
“I think I know,” Batyr said at last.
“Which is it?”
Batyr didn’t answer right away. He hesitated, then finally spoke, the words coming out as if against his will.
“There are a few possibilities… but the traits of the Kulan Lineage are the most prominent. They are often called the ‘Pursuers,’ or the ‘Hunters.’”
Kulan.
Boran mouthed the name. It felt strangely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. His mother had never spoken of wizarding houses, so why did the name stir something in him?
One look at Batyr’s bleak expression gave him the answer.
Kulan was the house that had waged war against House Samarkhan. The very house that had slaughtered Batyr’s friends and family.