Boran left Angkor Thom at dawn, heading northeast.
Jochi had told him the journey to Orem would take an average person about a week. With his own unnatural pace, however, Boran figured he could cut that down to two or three days.
After half a day’s walk, the landscape grew wilder. The path, worn into the earth by countless travelers, was now flanked by dense forests. Where the trees gave way to plains, vast fields of golden wheat rippled in the distance.
Such abundance brought animals, and with animals came Magical Beasts.
From time to time, Boran would pause, casting his Detection Magic to scan the surrounding area. When he found a target, he would slip from the road, hunt it down, and return to his journey. Most were hardly worth the effort, but the occasional valuable find made his detours worthwhile.
The road was busier than he’d expected for a path leading out of a backwater city. He passed farmers hauling wheat to nearby villages, peddlers traveling between the cities, and armed men who looked like beast hunters or mercenaries.
A few of these travelers would cast an interested, glinting eye at the lone figure on the road. But when they saw Boran cover the ground of three normal steps in a single, effortless stride, their interest soured to caution, and they quickly looked away.
By the afternoon of his third day, the dirt path gave way to a road of solid stone. He had no idea who maintained it, but it was in near-perfect condition, making for easy travel. Curious, he probed the edge of the road with a pulse of magic. The stone didn’t even chip; it felt as though it were imbued with some kind of protective enchantment.
And finally, on the fourth day, he arrived. The frequent hunting detours had cost him some time, but he now stood before his destination: Orem City.
“Alright, alright! Form a line to enter! You there—no cutting!” a guard bellowed.
Orem was a metropolis that made Angkor look like a forgotten rural village. Its population, he’d heard, was in the tens of thousands.
A cluster of shabby huts, home to the city’s poor, huddled outside the main fortifications. Beyond them rose stone walls five meters high. At the gate, guards in polished metal armor scrutinized everyone who passed, checking their faces against a row of wanted posters tacked to a nearby board.
As Boran approached, one of the guards stepped forward, blocking his path with a halberd.
“Hold on. Your clothes are filthy. Shake the dust off before you come in here.”
The guard wasn't trying to start a fight. It was a simple fact: Boran’s clothes were caked with dirt and grime, a stark contrast to the clean attire of the city folk around him. They were the same old clothes he’d worn as a shepherd, now even more frayed after four days on the road. To Boran, who’d grown up on the water-scarce Boranis Rise, laundry was a monthly affair at best. Even Angkor, situated on the edge of the wilderness, had been a dusty place where everyone looked much the same. Here, he stood out like a sore thumb.
“Understood.”
Boran stepped back outside the gate, beat the dust from his tunic and trousers, and re-entered without further issue.
Fortunately, he was spared the trouble of asking for directions. Jochi had told him the library was the tallest building in the city. Amid a skyline of two and three-story structures, a single tower pierced the clouds, easily thirty stories high.
It must have been built with magic, he thought. It seemed impossible that mortal hands could have built such a thing.
The closer he got, the more its absurd height dominated his vision until it was almost grotesque. He stared up, wondering if a person could look down on the very clouds from its peak.
After several long moments of staring, Boran shook himself from his awe and approached the guard standing at the library’s entrance.
“I was told any wizard can enter here. Is that true?”
The guard’s expression hardened. He’d been about to send the ragged man on his way, but the question gave him pause. He wanted to dismiss it as the ravings of a madman, but a seed of doubt had been planted. And so, the guard chose to test him in a way only a wizard could.
Boran’s eyes widened. A silent, invisible current of magic power flowed from the guard’s body. It was a spell with no physical effect, designed for the sole purpose of displaying one’s strength. Batyr had taught him the spell—a way for wizards to size each other up without coming to blows—and they had practiced it together, but this was the first time another had used it on him. Then again, this was the first other wizard he had ever met.
Boran gathered his own magic, a pure, dense well of power, and projected it back.
“Hhuff…!”
The guard let out a choked gasp. His magic was, at best, half of what Batyr’s had been. Compared to Boran, it was less than a twentieth. The man stood no chance. But then, it would be absurd to station a truly powerful mage at a simple gate.
Reeling from the immense pressure, the guard bowed low.
“I-I am Kesha, a knight of House Tengiz. Your Grace, may I ask which noble house you hail from?”
“Must I state my house to enter?”
The knight seemed to take his question as a rebuke—How dare you ask such a thing of me?—and bowed even lower. “No, not at all! My apologies!”
Boran was already growing weary of the exchange.
“No, I was just asking.”
A moment of silence stretched between them. When the knight finally raised his head, he seemed to realize Boran’s sincerity. He cautiously explained that the library could only be used by those with direct permission from the lord of the city, the head of House Tengiz.
This was not what Jochi had told him.
“I heard that wizards could use it.”
“Well… to my knowledge, no commoner has ever been permitted entry, Your Grace.”
So the rumor had been born of a misunderstanding. If only wizards were ever granted permission, it was easy to see how people might assume any wizard could enter. Boran scratched his chin for a moment, then sighed.
“How do I get permission from the lord of House Tengiz?”
“That is far above my station, Your Grace. I cannot say. However, with your permission, I will contact the house and inquire on your behalf.”
“Please do.”
With that, Boran leaned against the wall across from the library’s entrance to wait. Now that his presence was known, he would soon have to endure the ‘hospitality’ of House Tengiz. It was the custom of nobles to extend their welcome—sincere or not—to any of their peers who entered their lands.
Maybe I should have just snuck in.
He had considered using the Kulan Lineage’s concealment ability to slip past the guards, but he’d decided against it. A place like this was sure to have magical security measures that could nullify such tricks. If he were caught, he’d be branded an assassin, an accusation he’d have no way of refuting, especially since his Lineage’s abilities were perfectly suited for that very purpose.
Before long, a grand carriage drawn by four horses thundered down the main street and pulled to a halt before the library. A middle-aged man holding the reins glanced at Boran before dismounting and bowing deeply.
“Welcome to Orem, the City of Wisdom, Your Grace. I am Reden, a steward of House Tengiz. The head of the house wishes to welcome you. Would you be able to spare him some of your time?”
“Very well.”
“Please, Your Grace, do not address me with such respect.”
The steward, Reden—a title Boran didn’t fully grasp—reacted with such fawning humility that he looked ready to prostrate himself on the cobblestones. Boran sighed inwardly at the display and gave a simple nod.
“Alright.”
“I shall guide you.”
Boran had seen carriages in Angkor, but this was his first time riding in one. As it rumbled through the streets, he centered himself, preparing for whatever might come. It was unlikely, but if House Tengiz attacked, he would have to use his concealment and flee immediately.
After about ten minutes, the carriage stopped. A voice called from outside. “We have arrived.”
He stepped out onto the street and found himself before a castle of pristine white stone. It was five or six stories high, a structure that clearly prioritized aesthetics over defense. The steward, having dismounted, approached him.
“I was wondering if you would allow us to assist you in refining your attire before you meet the lord?”
Boran didn’t quite understand what “refining his attire” meant, but it was clearly a necessary step, so he nodded.
Following the steward through the castle’s main gate, Boran was met by three maids.
“We will guide you to the bathhouse, Your Grace.”
This was a welcome offer. He’d felt grimy ever since arriving in the clean city. The problem began when the maids followed him into the bathhouse itself.
“We will assist you with your bath.”
Assist him? As if he were a child? Though he’d only ever lived with his mother, Boran understood the basic propriety between men and women. He frowned and shook his head.
“I’ll wash myse— I will wash alone. All of you, out.”
At his words, the maids’ faces went pale. They fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the tiled floor. “We’re sorry, please forgive us!” one of them begged. To Boran’s astonishment, the youngest maid, a girl who looked to be his age, burst into tears.
Bewildered by their extreme reaction, Boran pointed to the oldest maid. “Is it a problem if I wash alone?”
“Yes, Your Grace. If we fail to properly serve you, we will be punished. Please, have mercy…”
Boran knew there was a vast gulf between wizards and commoners, but he had never imagined it was this severe. Resigned, he let out a deep sigh.
“Do as you please.”
Moments later, the maids had undressed him and were washing him with warm water and soap. He didn’t have to lift a finger. They were so practiced at their task that they never once had to ask him to move an arm or a leg, yet they meticulously cleaned every inch of his body. Having his naked form exposed to women, being washed by others, and watching the rivulets of grime run off his skin was deeply awkward. But, that aside, the bath itself was a luxury beyond anything he had ever known.
Afterward, the maids combed out his long, tangled hair and dressed him in fresh clothes, completing the transformation. When they were finished, they stared at him with wide, amazed eyes. The youngest maid, the one who had been sobbing, blushed and let out a soft gasp.
“Wow…”
“What?”
When Boran turned to look at her, she gasped again and clapped her hands over her mouth.
The older maid stepped forward to explain. “Your Grace’s appearance is so striking, she must have lost herself for a moment. Please forgive her.” She gestured to a tall mirror that had been brought into the room.
Looking at his reflection, Boran understood.
The first thing he noticed was his gray hair. He had always kept it tied back in a lazy, rough ponytail. Now, combed and treated with some kind of fragrant oil, it fell smoothly past his shoulders, gleaming like polished steel and perfectly complementing his ash-gray eyes. With the layers of dirt washed away, his skin was paler, making his sharp, handsome features stand out all the more. The clean white clothes, embroidered with gold thread, made his tall, lean physique seem impossibly elegant.
The handsome beggar had been washed away. In his place stood a young lord, one who looked as if he had known nothing but refinement his entire life.
A short while later, his preparations complete, Boran followed the steward toward the banquet hall where the head of the house was waiting. Every servant they passed bowed deeply, their eyes fixed on the floor. Curious, Boran asked the steward walking ahead of him.
“Do they all know who I am?”
“It is the clothes you wear, Your Grace. In this castle, garments embroidered with gold are reserved solely for the nobility.”
Just as the steward finished speaking, a young woman in a bluish-gray gown, also adorned with gold thread, emerged from a side hallway. She saw Boran and tilted her head.
“Is this the guest who arrived looking like a beggar? Well, now. Wash and dress him, and he looks just like a prince.”
“Ah, my lady… to call him a beggar is…” the steward stammered.
“Oh, what does it matter?” she waved a dismissive hand. “I’m Izela. Izela Tengiz. And you are?”
From the steward’s tone and her own introduction, she was clearly a noble of this house. Her every word and gesture oozed an arrogance that made Boran think, So this is what a true noble is like. An instinctual pride rose in him, and refusing to be cowed, he held his head high.
“I am Boran.”
“Just Boran? No family name?”
“There are… circumstances that make it difficult to reveal. I have a certain conflict with a rival house.” It was the excuse he and Batyr had devised. He was a noble on a pilgrimage to strengthen his magic, hiding his identity from his enemies. In truth, the House of Kulan, which was technically his family, didn't even know he existed, so he couldn’t claim their name. But to have no name at all would only raise suspicion.
He had no sooner finished speaking than a wave of magic power flared from Izela, just as it had from the guard at the library. She was testing him, trying to see if he was a fraud.
In response, Boran unleashed his own power. The two forces collided, and the air between them crackled with invisible sparks.
“Kyaaah!”
The maids shrieked and scrambled back in fear. Boran, analyzing the brief clash, felt a jolt of shock.
Izela’s magic power was almost on par with his own.
In truth, it shouldn’t have been surprising. For all his potential, he was still a novice who had only been cultivating his magic for less than a month. Yet every wizard he had met until now had been so much weaker that encountering an equal was startling. It was like living your entire life among dwarves and then suddenly coming face to face with a giant as tall as yourself.
He looked closer and saw that Izela, too, seemed shaken by his strength.
“Wow…” she breathed. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes wide, before blurting out something utterly shocking.
“So, dear guest, shall we get married?”