Volume 3 Chapter 236 A Changing World ③
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
As the sun, once high at its zenith, began its slow descent, shadows crept steadily across the cobblestone square beneath the grand Salon. The summer air shimmered in the heat, but within the growing shade, the temperature cooled to something almost bearable.
Kian stepped out of the glaring light and into the shadow, offering a polite smile to the plump cardinal swathed in the immaculate white robes of the Church—former Archbishop Homolka.
”Long time no see, Cardinal,” Kian said evenly, inclining his head.
”You seem to find it hard to say that,” Homolka replied with a wry curl of his lips. “You can still call me Archbishop.”
”Lord Louis mentioned there might be confusion with your son,” Kian said.
”Hmm? Ah, true enough. Then let’s stick with ‘Cardinal,’” the man conceded with a soft chuckle.
A second figure approached—an elderly bishop, white-haired and bent slightly at the shoulders.
”Lord Kian, it has been a while,” said Bishop Mancuso, his voice gravelly yet warm. “I sincerely thank you for removing the threat of the Thorn Demon.”
”Bishop Mancuso,” Kian greeted, turning toward him. “I’m glad to see you safe. I had heard you escaped the demon’s vicious hands, but it’s a relief to see you uninjured.”
”Ho ho ho ho ho,” the old bishop laughed, his eyes crinkling. “A miracle thanks to God’s protection. One should accumulate virtue in daily life wherever possible.”
Homolka gestured to a woman standing just behind him. “Master Kian, this is the Inquisitor known as ‘Burier of the Cursed.’”
The woman was bound in black leather belts, her face bearing grotesque scars at the corners of her mouth—as if someone had once tried to carve it open—stitched crudely shut with thick black thread. Leather straps crossed over her eyes, yet she seemed to be staring at Kian with unsettling precision.
Without warning, she tilted her head, her lips parting to release a long, wet schlllk of sound. Her tongue slid free, unnervingly long, glistening with saliva, and dangling far below her chin. Beneath its slick surface, embedded like grotesque pearls, bulged wriggling eyeballs—each one swiveling to fix on Kian’s face.
A human? Impossible.
”Nice to meet you, ‘Burier of the Cursed,’” Kian said, forcing composure as she reached for his hand.
Her grip was icy, devoid of life. “I’ve heard rumors about you. How should I address you? Master Kian? Lord Kian? Or perhaps… Duke of Dacia?” she rasped.
”You can call me whatever you like,” Kian replied. “Titles aren’t necessary.”
The Inquisitor tilted her head again, silent for a beat.
Kian frowned. “What is it?”
She craned her neck forward with an unsettling, serpentine motion, sniffing him audibly before chuckling low in her throat. Drawing back, she smiled—or tried to, given the crude stitches. “Oh my… what a handsome man you are~♡”
”I’m sorry, but I have a girlfriend,” Kian said flatly.
”I know,” she purred. “I’ve done quite a bit of research on you.”
”…What?” Kian blinked.
Before the exchange could escalate, Homolka cleared his throat. “Some Inquisitors think Lord Kian resurrected the Thorn Demon. A foolish notion, but…”
The Burier turned her covered gaze toward Homolka. “Whether Lord Kian summoned it or not doesn’t matter. What matters is whether he holds the method. All knowledge of heresies from beyond this world is the enemy of the Western Church. It must be purged. Blasphemy against the Lord cannot be forgiven.”
Kian’s eyes narrowed. “Then where is the line, Inquisitor? If your criteria aren’t clear, I can’t know whether the knowledge I hold is dangerous or benign.”
”There is no salvation for the ignorant…♡” she murmured. “If one’s heart is pure and righteous, they eliminate heretics before temptation even comes. Those who cannot do so… have failed in their past life and should hope for the next one instead♡.”
(She’s completely unhinged… I really don’t want to lump all Inquisitors together, but people like her… best to avoid entirely.)
Determined to ignore her, Kian turned back to Homolka. “I heard from Lord Guy that you were looking for me.”
”Ah, yes,” Homolka said, lowering his voice. “It’s about the ‘Thorn Magician.’”
”I suspected as much. What exactly?”
”To put it bluntly—I want you to manage Aliona Gouldrin.”
Kian arched a brow. “In Izerland?”
Homolka shook his head. “No. Personally. I want you to watch over her for the rest of your life—until you’re too old to keep her under control.”
Kian’s expression darkened. Aliona had regained consciousness, but inactive thorn embryos, disguised as her own cells, still infested her spine and brain. He alone kept them dormant, extracting life force at regular intervals. A delay of even a few days could see them reactivate, consuming her mind.
”From what Linca reported, she’s been using simple magic again,” Homolka added. “And with her level of power… even a basic shockwave could obliterate an ordinary person without a trace.”
Kian folded his arms. “I hear she’s Church property. I don’t mind helping, but being told to do everything for free? That’s another matter. As her owner, the Church should offer at least some compensation.”
”The Church is going to distance itself from Aliona~♡,” the Burier interjected with saccharine malice.
Kian’s gaze sharpened. “What does that mean?”
”It means the Church will permanently transfer her to you.”
Homolka nodded grimly. “There’s been debate for generations on how to handle her. Even before our time, long-forgotten Cardinals kept her under guard. She was powerful, yes—but her only real relevance was to the Thorn Demon. And in the end, she was useless in battle, nearly possessed, and on the verge of becoming a monster.”
”She’s no longer needed♡,” the Burier chimed.
Homolka’s tone dropped lower. “Truth is, she once caused the Châtillon port to evaporate—supposedly to create a rain cloud.”
”I’ve heard of it,” Kian said calmly.
Homolka’s eyes narrowed. “From whom?”
”From Aliona herself,” Kian answered. “She told my whole party at a tavern in the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom.”
Homolka and Yalchin exchanged tense glances. Yalchin’s brow furrowed deeply.
”Even when we grow old, wisdom still escapes us,” Yalchin muttered.
Homolka’s voice was tight. “Lord Kian, how many people heard that?”
”I couldn’t say. It was the first floor of The Boar’s Trot Inn at dinner. A lot of Adventurers were there.”
”What a thing…” Yalchin exhaled.
Kian’s gaze swept over the three of them. “She also got into a fight with Lord Guy then. Gave him a lightning-shaped scar on his supposedly indestructible foreleg and fled. She still remembers it—said he’d tear her apart when they next met.”
The Burier’s voice slithered in. “In any case, she’s yours now~♡ If you don’t take her, it’s the Inquisition’s consensus to eliminate her.”
Kian’s voice hardened, sharper than expected. “I would like you to refrain from laying a hand on her.”
It would be unacceptable for her—the woman who had treated Kian, the garbage scavenger, without a trace of discrimination—to be discarded like refuse herself. The scent of trouble hung in the air, faint but sharp, like the metallic tang before a storm. Still, this was something he had already resolved to accept.
(The thought of Ms. Aliona becoming my companion… that was already there. This is just an opportunity.)
”Understood,” Kian said, voice steady as steel. “I will take responsibility for Ms. Aliona’s well-being. I will do my utmost to ensure she remains a good presence for the Western world.”
”Oh, really!” exclaimed a cheerful voice from across the table.
”As expected of Lord Kian~! Just as expected, just as expected,” someone chimed, clapping lightly.
”…I’ll get scolded by Linca and Rufna,” Kian muttered under his breath.
(Since I decided without consulting anyone… Still, this isn’t a party matter—it’s my personal decision. I will manage her myself, and keep Ms. Aliona from turning into a monster.)
”I have no objections to the conclusion itself,” Rufna said plainly. “Aliona is someone I owe a debt to. Then, I must take good care of her until the end.”
Kian resisted the urge to tell them to stop speaking as though he were caring for an elderly invalid. But since Aliona was, in fact, a grandmother—he stopped himself. That line of thinking was dangerous.
”Well then,” the Inquisitor sang sweetly, “the Church will not concern itself with future matters ♡ If anything happens, it’s all ♡ Lord Kian’s fault ♡”
”Understood,” Kian replied with a curt nod.
”Master Kian,” said Cardinal Homolka gravely, bowing slightly, “I sincerely apologize for imposing such an explosive situation upon you. As a cardinal of the Church, I offer my apology.”
”Cardinal Homolka, please raise your head,” Kian said firmly. “If you bow to someone like me, it diminishes the value of your words.”
”I think of you as a hero who comes once in a century,” Homolka replied, smiling faintly. “If lowering my old head can alleviate your displeasure, I will bow as much as needed. Let’s continue to get along in the future. And though he’s not here today, please extend your friendship to my son as well.”
”Of course.”
”Here it is ♡” the Inquisitor said, presenting a rolled parchment. “The official document declaring that the Thorn Magician has been handed over ♡ Could you sign it, please?”
Kian nodded, took the quill, and signed his name in two places in the common western script. He returned the Church’s copy, then promptly left Marble Square with the Burier of the Cursed trailing behind him.
”The reconstruction of Ramsey has already begun,” the bishop continued conversationally. “As a bishop, I regularly visit the refugee camp. If Lord Kian continues as an adventurer, I may request your help in monster hunting someday.”
”I can’t promise,” Kian said honestly, “but if you contact the Guild, I should be informed. Please don’t hesitate.”
”Ho ho ho. Thank you,” he chuckled.
”Ramsey has collapsed, and Princess Maribel’s authority lies in ruins,” Homolka remarked, glancing toward the Salon.
”In the north of Izerland, a power vacuum is forming. The Western Church may take control of the frontier’s grain-producing areas. If that happens, Lord Kian—Duke of Dacia—we will be neighbors. Even within the broader frameworks of the Church and Dacia, I would be grateful to maintain good relations.”
”That is an offer I could not have asked for more,” Kian replied.
”I’m glad to have a young man like you in Izerland,” Homolka said warmly. “Thank you for everything.”
Kian bowed to both Homolka and Yalchin before ascending the Salon’s stairs.
* * *
”Princess,” a merchant’s voice cut in sharply, “our investigation shows you are keeping around twenty Beastmen children west of the Witch Dormitory.”
”We intend to auction off that building first. Afterward, the stockpiled food, books, and weapons will be sold.”
”Wait, please!” cried one of Maribel’s attendants. “Those children are the future bureaucrats and military officers! The supplies are for them—”
”A filthy refugee child as a future bureaucrat?” scoffed a nobleman. “Don’t make me laugh!”
”In the future, our own children will serve beside the princess,” another interjected coldly.
”As the Chamber of Commerce,” a portly man declared, “we will provide young aides for the princess—including Gao. What is there to complain about?”
”That’s… um…” Maribel faltered.
”Princess?” another voice prodded.
”Return the money,” a noblewoman demanded. “We don’t need taxes, do we? Just auction everything for whatever purpose you claim. Even Baron Mankovitch—were he alive—would have changed his mind. Ku-ku-ku-ku-ku…”
Thud!
Maribel found herself alone, pushed into the triangular-roofed lounge of the Salon, surrounded by perfume-drenched nobles closing in like wolves.
There was no order—only a storm of accusations, words tumbling over each other until they resembled insults more than conversation.
Her strained smile barely masked the exhaustion in her eyes, the dark circles visible even beneath her makeup.
”Don’t laugh! Give the money back!” a man shouted crudely. No one reprimanded him; instead, applause broke out like the pounding of rain on stone.
Clap, clap, clap.
Clap, clap, clap—
The sound struck her like heavy rainfall, making her stumble.
At that moment, her dark blue eyes locked on Kian.
Tears welled instantly—relief mingling with a desperate plea for help.
Kian, seeing her, had an unwelcome flash of an image: Maribel entertaining lecherous old men in some gilded club for money. Disgusted at himself, he tore his gaze away.
”…Ah—” she breathed, voice trembling, a sound like something fragile breaking.
But it was swallowed at once by the nobles’ jeers.
(Dangerous. I don’t want anyone noticing I was thinking something indecent.)
Without another glance, Kian turned and slipped past the throng, heading toward the railing where Sarah and Rufna waited.
Kian’s voice carried across the stone terrace.
”Hey, Rufna. Sarah,” he called, his tone warm but measured.
”Oh-ssu, Master,” Rufna replied, straightening from her lazy lean.
”Hello, Kian. Is the wound okay now?” Sarah asked, her eyes scanning him with quiet concern.
The two women, dressed in pristine white ceremonial robes befitting the Head Magician’s court, acknowledged him with their distinct manners—Rufna lingering near the railing like a sentinel in the wind, Sarah closing the distance with eager steps. Her fingers traced his arm and brushed lightly across his abdomen, testing for injury.
”Mmm… the scent of men’s cologne,” Sarah murmured, lips curling in faint amusement. “So, you weren’t out playing around with women?”
Kian gave a rueful smile. “I have to bow to you, Sarah, for suspecting infidelity the moment we meet.”
He rested a guiding hand on her waist and steered her toward Rufna’s side, where the terrace overlooked a quieter courtyard, away from the nobles’ mocking laughter. Turning back, he regarded them both with intent.
”Sarah, I’m glad to see you well. How’s the wound?”
”No problem. Completely healed,” she said, her voice gaining a faint glow of pride. “The Wraith’s body—or rather, your genes—are amazing.”
With her makeup softly highlighting her features and her chin-length hair swaying neatly in the breeze, she looked almost sculpted from porcelain. Kian felt, absurdly, as if he might convert to the cult of short hair.
’Azrael?’
(God is dead.)
’The hair, too?’
(I’m not bald! Thanks to Linca, there’s less dandruff lately.)
’Dandruff is blasphemy. The future’s idioms are strange.’
(What is this princess babbling about?)
Rufna spoke up, silver hair tied in a side-tail dancing in the wind. “Hey, listen, Master—Milady Sarah’s gone crazy.”
Kian tilted his head. “Crazy how?”
”She says she’s going to be Head Magician under the princess,” Rufna declared, her tone heavy with disbelief.
”What?!” Kian’s eyes widened as he turned to Sarah. “What exactly does this mean?”
”Please, listen calmly,” she said, stepping forward. She took his right hand into both of hers, her fingers cool but steady. “This is for your sake.”
Kian frowned slightly. “Go on.”
”As for our reward this time… there’s no money left to pay the princess,” Sarah explained, her voice quiet but unwavering.
He gave a small nod. “That’s probably true. So?”
”But this isn’t something we can just brush off with ‘Sorry, I can’t pay.’”
”I thought you were ready to give up this time—thinking of it as tuition,” Kian reminded her.
”I did say something like that. But 1,500 gold coins is still a serious sum.” She drew in a breath. “And you went to great lengths to save Princess Maribel from Oswald. Yet you’ve received no support at all. On the contrary—you’re being weighed down with more burdens. Tell me, am I wrong?”
Kian’s voice softened. “It’s not something I can say here. And… saving Her Excellency wasn’t for gratitude. It was for my selfish, childish beliefs.”
”No matter how noble your beliefs, they won’t fill a pantry,” she countered gently. “And the equipment you lost won’t magically return.”
He let out a low groan. “Ugh… That’s true. I’m sorry. This all started with me. If we tally the costs, there’s no excuse.”
”Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling faintly.
”I’m not worried,” Kian replied, still frowning.
”I didn’t bring this up to blame you,” Sarah continued, stroking his hand as though smoothing away his doubts. “By becoming Head Magician, I can rebuild Izerland with Lord Louis. And I’ll establish a system that fully supports you.”
Kian narrowed his eyes. “And how many years will that take?”
”I’m still researching. But my master rebuilt the collapsing Vahid family in just ten years. Izerland has more resources than Vahid ever did, and with Lord Louis’s support, I can have it on track before you begin serious development of Dacia.”
Kian fell silent. His plans were methodical: work quests in the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom, pass the intermediate-rank Adventurer exam, then accrue enough merit to attempt the advanced rank. Only after becoming Rank 4 would he begin developing Dacia. Considering the deadlock of winter months and his ongoing training as a warrior monk, that future lay far ahead.
Sarah’s gaze softened. “I won’t let your efforts go unrewarded. I’ll see Princess Maribel’s regime rebuilt so that you can look back and feel saving Izerland was worth it.”
”Well… getting official government support is no small thing,” Kian admitted.
Rufna crossed her arms, her silver bangles jingling faintly. “If it’s support you want, there’ll be offers from every guild and merchant house, not just the government. No shortage of funding.”
”As an adventurer, maybe,” Sarah said, turning to her. “But as Duke Dacia? What happens when a powerful guild with economic muscle decides to make him their puppet?”
”That’s a bridge to cross later,” Kian interjected. “At first, it’ll just be a ‘pioneer village’—a dozen subjects at most. Logistics, diplomacy, sharing of manpower and tech… those won’t matter until fifty years down the line.”
”Fifty years is nothing,” Rufna shot back. “If you’re too busy surviving each day, suddenly it’s ten years gone. After that, getting free support from Izerland—especially if it’s absorbed into Châtillon—will be impossible.”
Sarah stepped toward Rufna, her robes whispering against the wind. “Listen. This is about expanding possibilities. It’s better to invest now, with the future in mind, than to wander blindly into the wilderness. The number of options will be completely different.”
”Even so, the risk is way too big,” Rufna argued, her voice sharpening.
With a sharp clang, the Dark Elf Head Magician’s palm slammed down on the iron handrail, sending a metallic tremor through the terrace.
Her eyes burned with a sharp, simmering anger, the kind that made even the bravest avert their gaze.
”You can’t possibly not know the current state of the government, right?” she said, her tone quick and edged like a drawn blade. “The young lady has to dodge enemy assassins while persuading one opposing noble after another to side with Izerland. She’s constantly negotiating with those thugs who think beating a fourteen-year-old is sport. And the rewards? Pitiful. It’s insane.”
”The party leader is Kian,” replied Serena calmly, folding her arms. “It’s up to him to decide whether I should leave or not.”
”As for me,” Sarah continued, her voice softening just a touch, “I want to do as I please. Was this also about thinking of me?”
”Yes,” Serena answered with a nod. “Besides, in the Adventurer Guild, once a party has more than five members, the points they can earn drop drastically—to prevent the rise of large factions. Kian and Ms. Serena are already in, so there are only two slots left. Ms. Linca isn’t motivated, so if I step out, the numbers will work perfectly.”
Kian tapped his chin and murmured, “Hmm.”
The matter of party member limits had come up before. They’d tried—unsuccessfully—to coax Linca, who was sulking at the thought of crawling through grimy sewers and tick-infested wilderness, into splitting the team into groups of three.
Aside from Kian, stubbornly clinging to the adventurer path, and Serena, who valued the high-rank ID for her future, the rest had the air of a “family caregiving” arrangement rather than a professional team.
If they cared only about making money, they could put magicians like Natra, Rufna, Sarah, and Linca to better use, launching a business instead.
Sarah’s earlier proposal—buying broken-down houses in Izerland, renovating them, then selling for profit—had merit. If they shifted base to Ramsey, dodging construction guild pressure would be far easier. In fact, Kian mused, they might even establish their own founding construction guild.
From a practical standpoint, adventuring together was nothing but a loss—except, perhaps, for Ross.
’Isn’t it bad to wait until you’ve made money and gained influence before becoming an adventurer?’
(Then it’s just a hobby, isn’t it?)
’You have a strong attachment… you want to rise fully through the adventurer world, huh?’
(Yeah, something like that.)
’From what I’m hearing, you, Serena, and Aliona—since she won’t leave your side—should form a party. The other magicians can handle real estate or something useful.’
(Ms. Aliona and adventuring! I want to do it!)
”How about it, Kian?” Sarah asked, glancing up at him with a faintly nervous smile.
”By staying here,” she continued, “I can move Natra and Ms. Linca freely—they’re guarding the Witch Dormitory. The downside is I’d have to leave the party, but there should be no problem with adventuring, right?”
”I understand how you feel,” Kian said with quiet approval. “And I want to congratulate you for finding your path.”
”I’m doing it for you, not for me,” she countered sharply.
”Even so, it’s good that you’re returning to politics. I like seeing you lively and working.”
She arched an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’ve never seen me at it.”
”Thank you, Kian,” she added suddenly, a sweet smile breaking through her stern demeanor.
”Well then, I’ll leave the party,” she decided. “I’ll ask Princess Maribel if she’ll hire me as a Witch.”
”If she doesn’t hire you, you can come back. There’s no shame in it,” Kian replied evenly.
Sarah’s eyebrow twitched upward in mock irritation. “Who are you talking to? There’s no way the princess wouldn’t hire someone like me—more competent than any Witch she currently has.”
Given her personality, Kian knew better than to comment. At moments like this, he was beginning to learn the art of handling Sarah.
Their discussion had barely wrapped when Maribel’s heated questioning downstairs abruptly ceased. From the foot of the staircase, Louis—leading the Châtillon forces—and Homolka, the Cardinal of the Church Forces, stepped into the Salon.
The rural nobles, previously bolstered by the safety of numbers, seemed to shrink in stature as two political titans they could never hope to rival entered. Those who had been confronting Maribel with righteous bluster now retreated a step.
Maribel sank into the chair beneath the ornate triangular canopy. The Châtillon forces formed up on one side of her, the Church Forces on the other. The remaining nobles melted into the background like shadows fading at dusk.
”He’s coming out now,” Sarah whispered quickly to Kian.
Rufna, who had been leaning on the railing above, straightened with a soft grunt—”Alright”—and moved to stand directly behind Kian.
Maribel looked drained, yet her faint voice still managed to carry into the plaza below.
”Oswald of Ramsey! Please come to the Salon.”
A sharp, clear “Ha!” rang out from below.
The measured rhythm of leather boots striking marble followed, the sound resonating through the chamber like a drumroll.
Defense Minister Louis shifted to stand protectively beside Maribel, his crimson gaze locking onto Kian. Without a word, Kian led Rufna through the crowd, stepping into the open beneath the triangular roof, opposite Louis, flanking Maribel.
”Be careful, Master,” Rufna murmured, her breath warm against his ear.
Kian nodded and looked toward the man who had ascended the stairs with Louis.
Golden hair, golden eyes. A chiseled nose and lips that could unnerve men and enchant women. The Salon’s air seemed to grow warmer, heavier, as if his mere presence had shifted the atmosphere.
A ripple of tension crossed the faces of the border nobles.
”Excuse me, Your Excellency,” said the young man.
Clad in brilliant golden armor, the Knights of the Sun’s leader—Oswald—bowed with flawless elegance, then advanced toward Kian and Louis, the metallic chime of his armor punctuating each step.
Notes:
• Louis – Trusted subordinates from the Châtillon family, part of Guy’s elite force.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Serena – Wolfmen Girl
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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