Volume 4 Chapter 12 Scrub Scrub Scrub
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”Y-you actually gathered everything? You just parted ways with Captain Drake this morning, right? That’s… incredible.”
Above them, the night sky stretched wide and glittering, filled with countless stars. From every direction, the sound of overlapping waves drifted in, each crash and swell layering over the other.
Kian, Aliona, Isthbaran, and Leanan Sídhe sat around a campfire on an uninhabited island, several kilometers northwest of Water Island in the Kingdom of Crete.
Across the fire sat the skeletal captain of a ghost ship, and one of the ghost familiars always accompanying Priscilla—an advanced-rank Wraith, dressed like a noblewoman and wearing a white mask.
After felling the white bull, Kian’s group had escaped the labyrinth without a single wrong turn, arriving at this island on Isthbaran’s blistering-fast flight to complete the handover.
It was close to midnight now.
Aliona, who had apparently been keeping a regular sleeping schedule lately, stifled yet another refined yawn.
”To get an ‘Underworld Smoke Crystal’ in such a massive chunk… and a ‘Death Fruit’ as fresh as if you’d just plucked it. And this heart, overflowing with life force!” Priscilla’s excited voice spilled from the noblewoman-shaped ghost.
Then, her tone shifted as she mumbled something unintelligible in a low voice. She had been doing this repeatedly—interrupting the conversation with muttered asides. Likely, it was a habit she had carried over from the last four months spent alone in her workshop.
A series of harsh, phlegmy coughs—seven or eight in quick succession—finally seemed to snap her out of her private world.
”I’ve put up a barrier,” Aliona said sleepily to the ghostly noblewoman. “But please be careful during transport and when opening it, Ms. Priscilla.”
Beyond the flickering, crackling fire, a glass jar floated in the air. Inside was the heart of a Minotaur, cursed by time. Thick blood and sinew clung like cobwebs to the inner walls, while the massive organ moved in an unnerving slow-motion crawl, as if biding its time for escape.
”Of course,” Priscilla said breezily. “There’s not even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of a mistake. And if I did mess up, Guy or Adrian would kill me.”
Kian glanced at her, ready to reply, but in the end, he stayed silent.
People had been worrying about her. They said she only traveled between the Restricted Archive and her workshop. They told her to visit the salon, to let Mrs. Fhana see her well.
They had offered condolences for her father’s passing. They told her she was still alive, that she shouldn’t remain shackled to the dead, that she should look toward tomorrow.
It was easy to speak such pretty words. Surely, Mrs. Fhana and Guy had already said them to her countless times.
So what would it mean if an outsider like Kian said the same thing? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Renaud de Châtillon, killed in August by “glasses,” had been an unpleasant man—Kian’s adversary through and through. But to Priscilla, he had been her only father, one who had likely raised her with abundant love.
That bond was not something Kian could deny, nor would it move her if he tried. Fhana and Guy had asked him to convince her, but he simply had no words to give.
”Thanks so much, everyone! Lord Kian, General Isthbaran, Aliona, Leanan Sídhe—you’re the best! I’m so grateful!” Priscilla said brightly.
”I’d rather you show that gratitude in money,” Kian replied dryly.
”Of course. I’ve got a check ready.”
The noblewoman-shaped ghost twirled her closed parasol. In an instant, a finely crafted wooden box appeared before the group. Inside was a heavy parchment bearing the name of the largest bank in Châtillon, the words ‘Gold Coins: 2,000,’ and Priscilla’s signature.
”Wait,” Aliona said, suddenly more alert. “Can we even withdraw this money in the Kingdom of Crete?”
”Ah… hmm. You can use it in Franz’s Royal Capital, Castile, or Phoenicia in Malc’s domain. But Crete? I… forgot. Wow, I used to be Head Magician, too,” Priscilla admitted sheepishly. “Do you need the money right away? You doing something over there?”
”In a way,” Leanan Sídhe said evenly. “My master is looking for a slave of exceptional quality—one that must be purchased here in Crete, for racial reasons. But the funds we have aren’t enough.”
”Oh? And how much do you need?” Priscilla asked.
”Kian, how much can you give me?” Leanan Sídhe turned to him.
”This feels like a test of my generosity,” Kian said with a faint smirk.
”I believe no such thing,” Leanan Sídhe said, lowering her brows.
”The lady has been making magic tools tirelessly for Dacia’s development,” Kian continued. “If we can only bring back a mediocre slave, she’ll lose motivation. This isn’t the time to be stingy.”
”Are you poking at Princess Maribel, Lord Kian?” Priscilla asked, chuckling from behind her familiar. It was a laugh that sounded rusty, awkward, like she hadn’t done it in a long time.
”Perish the thought. I am her loyal Master Knight,” Kian replied lightly.
”With your record, no one in the world could deny that,” she said. “If Papa were alive, though, he’d probably… no, never mind.”
A sharp smack echoed from within the ghost—both cheeks slapped at once.
”Reissuing the check would be a pain, so I’ll send an extra five hundred gold coins,” she decided.
”Are you sure?” Kian asked.
”Well, with such a quick delivery, I can loosen my purse strings. And the quality’s top advanced-rank. Double the ‘Underworld Smoke Crystal’ from thirty to sixty kilos, add five kilos to the ‘Death Fruit,’ and I’ll give you the extra five hundred gold coins. No one else would take the surplus, and having spares helps me if something fails.”
”Ms. Leanan Sídhe, is five hundred enough?” Kian asked.
”It’s sufficient,” she replied.
”Then it’s settled. Ms. Priscilla, please,” Kian said.
He accepted the check worth two thousand gold coins from the noblewoman ghost. Regardless of whether it could be cashed in Crete, it would serve as Kian’s in-kind contribution to the soon-to-be-founded merchant guild.
This check would become the guild’s first asset, and with it, Kian would secure the position of owner.
Until they had a dedicated management team, he would act as its leader himself.
”So then,” Kian said, “I’ll cash it at Châtillon’s bank and hand it over in Azrael Gold Coins. It depends on how many Gold Coins the bank has right now, but with transportation included, expect it to take four or five days.”
”Four days…” Leanan Sídhe mused. “Well, if we find a slave that matches the conditions, we can secure them with a purchase contract in advance so no one else snatches them.”
”Even if we find one tomorrow,” Aliona added, “they won’t mind if payment is delayed by about four days.”
”For you and me, Aliona, that’s not long at all,” Priscilla said with a faint smile.
”Captain Drake, the key,” Priscilla ordered.
The skeletal captain bowed with exaggerated grace and presented a small, weathered wooden box. Inside lay a bundle of ancient-looking keys.
”These are for my villa where you’ll be staying,” Priscilla explained. “I bought it but never used it. Still, I’ve had a familiar clean it every year. I had it cleaned again just last week for your arrival.”
”The keys alone look like they have quite a history,” Aliona remarked.
”Heh. Don’t worry—it’s not some decaying haunted house just because it’s mine. I think you’ll like it,” Priscilla replied.
Then she added sincerely, “Once again, thank you. I’m glad I relied on all of you. An average Rank 1 would have failed this quest.”
Kian wondered what exactly she meant by “average Rank 1,” but before he could ask, Aliona spoke up, her voice cautious.
”Ms. Priscilla? As you know, smokey quartz and certain fruits are prohibited imports. Please be careful not to get caught by patrol ships. Even after leaving the teleportation barrier, sail normally for a while until you’re completely out of detection range.”
”I know, I know. Don’t worry,” Priscilla replied, waving a hand dismissively.
’Is she really going to be fine?’ Talia wondered silently.
Kian hesitated before calling to the noblewoman’s ghostly figure as she turned away. “Wait.”
”…What is it?” Priscilla’s tone hardened. Isthbaran and Aliona glanced at Kian with slight tension.
’Kian, you should stop. This will probably turn into an argument,’ Talia cautioned.
”…Two small boats,” Kian said finally. “Could you lend them to us?”
”Hm? Ah, I see—you can’t exactly sail back to Water Island aboard the general’s ship,” Priscilla replied, sounding relieved. Beside Kian, Isthbaran exhaled quietly.
”Alright, understood. Are you camping on this island tonight?”
”Yes, that’s the plan,” Kian said. “Tomorrow we’ll head to Water Island, handle the merchant guild registration, then go to your villa.”
”Very well. Good luck with the rest of your work.”
The sound of movement from within Priscilla’s form faded. Her two familiars bowed in western-noble fashion to Kian’s group before gliding toward the anchored ghost ship over the dark water.
Once they were gone, Aliona stretched and muttered, “Well, I need to bathe before sleeping. Can’t risk dying from labyrinth toxins.”
* * *
After receiving the two small boats from the ghost captain, Kian bathed in the night sea with Isthbaran, using soap Aliona had provided to wash away the grime from the labyrinth.
Meanwhile, Aliona and the Leanan sídhe were already sound asleep inside a magic-crafted stone dome.
”Alright then,” Kian said. “Time to start absorbing the minotaur.”
”And I,” Isthbaran announced cheerfully, “will enjoy a drink with the octopus I caught.”
With a pleased grin, the old warrior produced a bottle of mead from Izerland Fortress. Mead or kumis were his drinks of choice; wine was only for when nothing else was available, and he never drank ale. He refused to say why.
”Does octopus even go with mead?” Kian asked, skeptical.
”Who knows? Worth trying,” Isthbaran replied, settling himself by the campfire in nothing but his undergarments.
Kian took a piece of frozen white minotaur meat—specifically the right leg—from a crate. Talia thawed it swiftly.
”This creature probably ate humans, right?” Kian asked.
”When eating the torso, it’s best to remove the stomach and intestines,” Isthbaran advised while turning the octopus over the flames. “If hair or bone remains, the texture is terrible.”
”Stop,” Kian grimaced.
”If it bothers you, perhaps an enema instead?” Talia suggested dryly.
”That’s even worse,” Kian muttered, forging a crude but sharp dissection knife from the sand.
”Well, legs are just meat,” he continued. “Whatever it ate, the flesh’s composition is the same.”
”True, though diet affects flavor,” Isthbaran said, biting into an octopus tentacle. “Mm. Quite good.”
Kian shot him a resentful look. Sometimes, Isthbaran seemed to enjoy teasing him mercilessly. Still, he didn’t truly mind—it was just part of the old man’s nature.
He pushed thoughts of the creature’s diet aside. The blood was non-toxic—though how it generated that poisonous lightning remained a mystery—and the meat behaved like that of any large beast.
”No strange odor,” Kian observed after chewing. “Tastes like beef. Tough, though.”
”Was that bull really just a bull?” Isthbaran asked.
”What are you talking about? It was a minotaur, not a bull. I just call it that for convenience.”
”I meant,” Isthbaran said, taking a long drink of mead, “remember the story we discussed before meeting the great sea serpent? The legend from the Kingdom of Crete.”
”The one where a king angered a god named Zeus by refusing to sacrifice a white bull, and the queen fell in love with it?”
”Yes. According to legend, she hid in a wooden cow and coupled with the bull. Supposedly, a child was born.”
”Right. They said the royal bloodline thereafter carried the bull’s blood.”
”What if,” Isthbaran continued, glancing toward the frozen remains of the white bull, “a child truly was born of that union, and it was abandoned on that hidden island in the ‘Great Current’?”
Kian chewed the dense meat, swallowed, and shook his head. “Isthbaran, a human and a cat can’t make cat beastmen. Same for humans and bulls—they can’t make minotaurs. Minotaurs are neither human nor bovine. They lack a cow’s multiple stomachs and a human’s developed brain. They’re just man-eating monsters.”
”I know that,” Isthbaran said, but he still looked troubled.
It was an interesting theory, but Kian doubted it happened. He wasn’t even sure such a god as Zeus existed here. For him, there was only Azrael.
’You don’t believe in gods,’ Talia thought toward him.
(I believe in them… in a way. When people have nothing else, they turn to gods. I don’t, but many do, and I won’t deny them that.)
Faith could save people. It could unite even disparate races. As someone born in the multiethnic nation of Azrael and raised in the harsh desert, Kian held no contempt for faith.
(Talia, how do I transform? Will you handle it?)
’Focus on your stomach,’ Talia instructed. ‘You should feel the foreign essence being absorbed into you.’
Kian closed his eyes. This wasn’t mysticism—just something natural to one with a vampire’s super senses. He could feel the white bull’s flesh mingling with his own.
It seemed to be shifting in a fuzzy ripple toward his right arm.
Kian understood instinctively how to transform.
He only had to entrust the process to these strange factors.
He had to make them remember the original form—
”Ho!” he exclaimed, clenching his right fist.
He didn’t really need to shout or brace himself, but the moment his knuckles tightened, his right arm began to swell and whiten with a creaking strain. Thick, pale beast fur sprouted over it.
”Whoa, that’s amazing!” Kian said, staring down at the limb that no longer felt like his own.
”The strength is on another level… The texture, the smell, even the blood composition—it’s no longer mine,” he murmured.
”Hmm. This scent… yes, it belongs to that bull over there. So once you’ve finished absorbing it, my lord, will you be able to become a bull entirely? Or only in the right arm?” asked Isthbaran.
”The whole body. I can become a white minotaur, General,” Talia answered.
”If you stay in bull form too long, you might start thinking like a bull,” she continued, “but there’s basically no time limit. Those who try to identify you by scent or magical power waveforms will have an even harder time guessing your true identity.”
”So that means I could accidentally get hunted down, doesn’t it? I mean, I’m happy about gaining strong powers, but…” Kian said.
”There are few in this world who could even attempt to hunt you,” Talia replied evenly.
”Can you use lightning or poison?” Isthbaran asked.
”Wait a sec,” Kian said.
He bit into a fresh skewer of meat, stood up, and poured his focus into his transformed right arm.
”Fnnnnnnnnnnnngh! Obobobobobobo! Oooooooooh! Nnnnooooooohoooooooo!”
”???” Talia tilted her head.
”Silence, pig-brain. Someone’s trying to sleep over there,” Talia snapped.
”Hooooooh! Hah… hah… nope, nothing. No tingling,” Kian panted.
”The minotaur would take lightning strikes and convert them into blue thunderstone,” Isthbaran explained. “Sir Kian might also need to take a lightning strike to store the power.”
”You’re saying that bull left the middle of the labyrinth regularly just to get hit by lightning?” Talia asked. “Or, considering the massive blue thunderstone crystals in the room, maybe it was generating its own electricity.”
”Self-generation… that’s it,” Kian muttered.
He looked down at the thick, white fur on his right arm, then grabbed it with his left hand and began vigorously rubbing back and forth.
”…?!?!?! What are you doing, pig-brain?” Talia demanded.
”Rubbing! Self-generation!” Kian declared.
”I see. So that’s how you made the lightning?” Isthbaran mused.
”Absolutely not, General,” Talia deadpanned.
”Uoooooooh! Daaaaaaah! Haaaaaaah! Opohhhhh! Rubrubrubrub—ah! Got it!”
Kian raised his right arm high. The thick, white fur now shimmered with blue sparks.
Zzzz, zzzzt! Electricity spilled from his arm in the most spectacular way possible.
(An electric-strike user—what a title to stir a man’s heart!)
”…To think you could actually make lightning. Looks like I was wrong,” Talia admitted.
”Seems like it generates without the rubbing,” Isthbaran noted.
”Eh?” “Eh?” Kian and Talia blinked in unison.
”There’s a heat-generating organ in your arm,” Isthbaran said, gesturing with the hand that held a sake bottle. “I didn’t notice it during the battle with the bull.”
”Rather than rubbing, I’d say the kneading motion stimulated this newly-formed organ, causing it to generate electricity,” Talia reasoned. “The white bull probably had several such organs across its body, using blood flow to produce electricity. That would make sense.”
”Sir Kian, can you produce poison?” Isthbaran asked.
”No, nothing like that. I think poison comes from the Death Fruit, so I’d probably need to absorb that first,” Kian replied.
”I see. Still, lightning alone is a huge upgrade. If you can generate as much as that bull, you’ve taken another step toward becoming the strongest,” Talia said.
”Knowing about the seven magic swords and Oswald’s power, Talia, I’d call it a very small step,” Kian muttered.
It took another five hours to fully digest the giant beast’s right leg.
Partway through, Isthbaran grew bored and went off to catch octopus. Kian thought him a cold-hearted fellow but kept up his solo practice—shocking his right arm into bull form over and over—until even Talia drifted off into dormancy.
He only stopped when the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon.
Aliona woke and called out, “Oh, up all night?” The sound made his heart nearly stop in his chest. Though he had shared a bed with her several times before, Kian had never seen her in her waking moments. This was the first time he had witnessed her freshly-awakened and unguarded.
Her silky platinum hair had a few split ends, and her youthful cheeks were pale from sluggish blood flow. Her pointed ears drooped slightly as she breathed out a small “afu.” The sight made continuing his training utterly impossible.
Like a starving vampire, Kian drifted toward the goddess in her pink negligee, inhaling deeply.
It was sweet—the scent of a woman’s skin.
Though she often called herself an “old woman,” she looked no older than a beauty in her twenties from the western lands. Linca’s race gave her a baby-faced look, but if Sarah and Aliona stood side by side, few would be certain who was older.
Even the scent was that of a young woman, at least to a vampire’s senses. Though she had lived for years untold, her body was as youthful as her appearance.
”Ah… the smell of the sea is wonderful. Fresh air is still the best… Hm? What is it?” Aliona asked, eyeing him strangely.
Kian forced himself to appear calm. “Good morning,” he said.
If it were Natra or Linca, he might have tossed in a teasing remark, but with Aliona, he could never bring himself to say such things. Before her, he was always a gentleman’s gentleman.
”Ufufu, good morning, Kian. It’s a fine day. One big job done, and I feel lighter. Now, today, instead of heading straight to Ms. Priscilla’s villa on Grass Island, we first go to Water Island for the merchant guild’s founding and your membership registration, correct?”
”And to inspect the slaves,” came another voice.
From behind Aliona appeared a Leanan sídhe in a faded-leaf-colored negligee. Behind her, the shelter they had slept in crumbled silently into sand.
”Breakfast, perhaps?” Isthbaran asked.
”Good morning, General. Good morning, Lord Isthbaran,” Aliona added.
”Mm, good morning. A fine morning indeed!” Isthbaran lifted a basket writhing with octopus and grinned.
”Good morning, Isthbaran. Looks like a good catch today,” Kian remarked.
”Rations alone dull the spirit. Food affects morale,” Isthbaran replied.
”Truth. In war, food is an important pleasure,” Aliona agreed. “It’s the same for us now.”
”Once we’ve eaten, we’ll set off. While you eat, I’ll check the condition of the two small boats,” the chestnut-haired girl said, moving away from the fire.
Kian tossed a load of dry driftwood onto the dying flames.
* * *
The trip to Water Island turned into a boat race between him and Isthbaran. With Aliona cheering from the opposite seat, Kian had no intention of losing—so he called upon the power of the white minotaur he had only just mastered the night before.
The white bull had strengthened its muscles and skin through both electricity and venom, and Kian, too, had tapped into the power of electricity to enhance his own strength. According to Aliona’s explanation, it seemed the famed warriors of the Kingdom of Crete’s Order of the Lightning Knights also fought by channeling electricity through their bodies. It was said to be a form of enhancement magic surpassing the physical strengthening techniques of western swordsmen, and indeed, once Kian tried it, he found the claim convincing.
He had defeated Isthbaran with ease.
Though he had been thoroughly outmatched in swordplay, his newfound strength was enough to match Isthbaran—Fraus in human form—in sheer physical might. Still, considering his roots lay in Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship, he could not help but feel some unease toward a method of growth that relied on consuming strong creatures to forcibly remake one’s body.
Upon reaching the coast, where unauthorized vessels were forbidden to dock, the group secured permission to stay on Water Island at the property of old Gaius. The old man, it turned out, was on his way to dispose of a corpse that morning and had just descended to the cliff below his shack when they met him.
Had they not encountered him, they might have had to leave a note on his door—but fortune had been on their side.
The party then skirted the rocky shoreline to reach the western district of Water Island. They passed through a residential street and set their sights on the southern quarter, where the merchant guild building was said to stand.
In the Kingdom of Crete, once a merchant guild fulfilled the legal requirements for establishment, the state was obliged to recognize it as a corporate body—an automatic recognition system.
This stood in stark contrast to the immature economies of Izerland’s territories. In Ramsey, for example, where Kian had once served as deputy to the acting lord, a license system was in place: the administrative government decided, at its own discretion, whether to grant permission for a guild’s establishment.
The number of guilds there was kept small, and in that grain-producing frontier, the government controlled which guilds were founded to manage the planned sale and pricing of agricultural goods.
The drawback was that merchant guilds became closed circles, with little capital or influence from the Royal Capital or Azrael entering the region. Cities like Châtillon, with their glittering yet chaotic free-market vibrancy, never came to be there.
That aside—while Crete’s system did not require government approval at the founding stage, one still had to complete registration at the merchant guild and settle the matter of contributions at the large bank housed within the same building. That was their immediate goal.
The preliminary articles of association and appointment of officers had already been decided among Kian’s companions.
As they neared the end of the residential district, Aliona’s voice cut through the sea breeze.
”So,” she said, glancing back toward a tall, dark figure on a white building, “that statue—I’ve seen it all over town. What is it?”
”That,” Kian replied, turning his head, “is said to be General Asterios.”
The statue was encased in black full armor, oddly reminiscent of a gambling-addicted adventurer Kian had once met. Upon its head sat a helm crowned with two massive horns.
They looked entirely impractical for combat, yet Kian found them impressive—handsome, even.
”From what I’ve heard,” he continued, “he was a mighty warrior who defended Crete from the threat of Azrael. But during the joint invasion by the Malc and Nakash families ten years ago, he never appeared. Crete lost the war because of that. Some locals say they’re not even sure if he ever truly existed.”
”Well,” Aliona said with a slight smile, “if his statues are everywhere, surely he must have been real? You wouldn’t build one otherwise.”
”Perhaps,” Kian conceded.
He looked once more at the horns jutting from the general’s helm, as if they were a natural extension of it.
Leanan sídhe’s voice broke the moment. “I’m going to the slave market. This is where we part.”
”Wait,” Aliona said quickly. “If they only speak Azraelian, you’ll need an interpreter.”
”Any slaver dealing with western clients can speak the western common tongue,” Leanan replied coolly. “It’s their business to.”
”Even so, better to be safe. Kian, is that all right?”
Kian nodded. “Understood. We’ll split into two groups. This side’s paperwork will probably take longer. Let’s meet back at the merchant guild.”
”Got it,” Aliona said, returning the nod.
Kian turned to Isthbaran. “Shall we?”
”Yes,” the old warrior said with a faint grimace. “Strange, is it not, that we—who live farthest from such things—are headed to the land of guilds?”
His shoulders shifted in discomfort, as though the thought itself sat ill with him.
Notes:
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• 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.
• Fraus – Male. Son of Arminus. Member of the Black Panther Tribe. Shares his father’s enhanced physical abilities and combat prowess. Relationship: Subordinate and family to Arminus.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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