Volume 4 Chapter 13 Paperwork and Troubles
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Kian had been tasked by his uncle with developing and expanding Dacia. To achieve that, he needed funds. After some discussion, he decided to try his hand at the sugarcane cultivation business. To secure land for this venture, he traveled to the Kingdom of Crete.
Whether buying land from private owners or renting neglected plots managed by the Kingdom of Crete government, it was clear that Kian acting alone would face numerous difficulties. Negotiations would be inefficient, and matters of money and rights complicated.
Thus, the plan emerged during a meeting in a town on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom: Kian would establish a merchant guild—Merchant Guild Kian—dedicated to large-scale land management, sugarcane cultivation, and the extermination of monsters. Acting as a guild, negotiations would be far smoother.
…So here they were, at the guild building, ready to get started.
”Too many people. The line is endless…” muttered an elderly warrior behind Kian, dressed in a toga and sunglasses, exuding a tropical flair.
As Isthbaran had warned, the Merchant Guild in the southern district of ‘Water Island’ in the Kingdom of Crete was packed. Its lobby featured a soaring Azrael-style dome, with pristine white marble and concrete walls and floors, creating a sense of cleanliness and openness. Yet even in a hundred-meter-square space, over fifty people pressed together felt suffocating. Particularly in front of the counter where Kian and Isthbaran stood, the crowd’s density had reached a peak.
”Yeah… it’d be nice if they split the counters,” Kian murmured. “One for guild rights issues, another for people establishing new merchant guilds…”
”I feel like I’m going to be sick,” the old warrior said.
”That’s because you drank too much honey wine until dawn,” Kian said with an exasperated shake of his head.
The warrior’s face twisted into a faint grin behind his dark glasses. “Drinking is a warrior’s pastime. To drink well, fight well, and sleep well is proof of excellence. My lord, your wine intake is always insufficient.”
Kian shook his head. “I don’t really like alcohol. I drink just for appearances.”
Even when Priscilla gave him high-end spirits, it didn’t excite him much; he usually passed them along to Robert at The Boar’s Trot Inn. Robert drank and also used the alcohol in his sweets, so there was never any shortage.
In fact, alongside ramen, alcohol-infused desserts had become a winter delight for adventurers in this town. The spirits used were far beyond what ordinary adventurers could ever drink, making Robert’s relatively cheap confections extremely popular. Despite this, Robert seemed unsettled, as if his business thrived more on gifted alcohol than his baking skills—a sentiment Kian understood, given his own rapid growth through vampire abilities.
”Did you rarely go to banks before?” Kian asked, raising his voice over the chatter of the crowd.
Isthbaran shook his head. “I went when necessary, mostly for guarding Ozeas.”
”Really? Lord Ozeas went to the bank himself? I thought he would have sent his magician—Barghest, maybe.”
”Ozeas didn’t trust Barghest,” Isthbaran said with a wry smile. “Looking back, it makes sense. He bound Barghest, who nearly rebelled after losing his bride, to him through magical contracts and forced him into service.”
Kian’s brow furrowed. “Serena reveres her brother like a saint, but knowing what Ozeas did… it changes everything. Calculating, ruthless, willing to do anything to achieve his goal, and yet never showing it openly. A true strategist.”
”Indeed,” Isthbaran said, gazing at the dome above them. “He was clever, more than anyone would suspect from Glen’s child. His talent in battle was notable, but once he became responsible for the entire pack’s finances, he barely trained… which allowed Azrael’s Death Sword User to kill him without much trouble.”
”He was skilled in combat too?”
”At least more than Serena.”
”Naturally, a man like Ozeas would have superior strength.”
Isthbaran shook his head. “His magic power was also higher, and his combat tactics were smarter. That gap is something even Serena could never close in her lifetime. If trained further, he would have surpassed even my former disciple Juji.”
Kian smirked. “Hearing that, I almost wish I could have fought Lord Ozeas.”
Isthbaran chuckled. “A fifty-year-old wolfman, bogged down in finances and governance, stands no chance against you now. No matter how clever, pure power makes all the difference. That is why warriors must constantly train—to avoid situations where victory is impossible before the fight even begins.”
”Exactly. …Looks like it’s finally our turn.”
In Crete, most imported wood was used for shipbuilding. Unlike Ramsey, the Merchant Guild’s interior contained no wood at all. Kian approached the marble counter and explained their plans to establish a guild.
Having served as deputy lord in Ramsey for a few weeks, he had studied several merchant guild charters in detail. Though new guild applications were rare during the war with the Beastmen, Kian had mastered the general format.
He requested a sample of Crete’s standard charter from the clerk, expecting possible adjustments. The clerk merely said, “There isn’t really one. Just submit your draft, and we’ll point out any errors.” Isthbaran watched behind him, disbelief written across his face. Certainly, this was inefficient, though perhaps fitting for the long line ahead.
Kian proceeded with the Ramsey-style documents, confident that essential details were intact. The clerk raised no objections. Ramsey’s format, it seemed, was recognized worldwide.
Probably, Oswald and Aisha had thoroughly investigated the Châtillon-style charters and ensured Ramsey guilds adhered strictly to them. Kian reflected:
’Lord Oswald and Lady Aisha are true experts.’
(Yes… perhaps the most knowledgeable in commercial law in the Izerland fortress.)
’Baron Mankovitch…’
(He was knowledgeable enough, of course. But when he was killed, Maribel’s faction was already about eighty percent finished. Thanks to Sarah and Linca, however, the knowledge gap was filled, and somehow, the operation has continued smoothly into the present day.)
”…Excuse me, but have you ever established a merchant guild before?”
As Talia’s voice echoed silently in his mind, Kian filled out the remaining forms with swift, practiced strokes. The clerk at the counter looked up in surprise, asking the question earnestly.
”No, this is my first time,” Kian replied.
”I-I see,” the clerk stammered.
”Did I commit some sort of faux pas?”
”Quite the opposite. I thought you handled everything very skillfully,” the clerk said with a small smile.
”Thank you,” Kian said politely.
”If only all our clients were like you, our work would be much easier,” the clerk added before letting the conversation drop.
Kian was handed a certificate proving that ‘Merchant Guild Kian’ had been provisionally admitted to the Crete Merchant Guild. He was instructed to open a guild account at the adjacent bank and deposit Priscilla’s check as capital.
Isthbaran’s face fell into a void of despair. “We waited in line for over three hours just for fifteen minutes?”
His expression completely drained when he saw the long line snaking through the bank. Feeling guilty, Kian suggested that Isthbaran spend the time wandering the nearby street stalls or beach. The old man offered to buy lunch, but both the bank and the guild offices strictly forbade eating. “Go ahead and eat first,” Kian replied, seeing him off.
’…Zzz… zzz…’
(So, even you get bored and fall asleep.)
”Good night,” Kian murmured.
This princess, perhaps even before becoming Briar Rose, seemed to have been fond of sleep.
In the end, Kian was left alone to finish the remaining procedures. After two hours in line, he finally opened the guild account and deposited Priscilla’s check into the vault. With this, Merchant Guild Kian officially had assets.
Had Priscilla’s check not existed, Kian would have had to contribute funds from sugar sales after deducting money for slave purchases. That would have left the guild barely operational, complicating future negotiations. Without sufficient funds, negotiating with the government or purchasing land from locals would have been impossible. Natra had initially hesitated about Priscilla’s request, but the two thousand Franz Kingdom gold coins made a decisive difference.
Accepting Priscilla’s unusual request had been the right decision. In hindsight, there had been no other viable choice.
(Alright, next is to return to the guild, report the completion of the capital contribution, and ensure the check is verified by the guild, confirming its value.)
If the securities held little value, it would undermine the guild’s financial foundation and harm creditors.
In Kian’s case, if Priscilla’s account were empty and the check unredeemable, claiming the guild possessed two thousand Franz Kingdom gold coins would mislead trading partners. They might deliver farming magic tools to Merchant Guild Kian without receiving payment. If the guild’s account only contained a worthless check and Kian had disappeared, recovering the funds would be impossible.
Such a scenario could inflict catastrophic losses on trade partners. Trusting in Merchant Guild Kian’s fake assets could result in the mass theft of valuable farming magic tools.
Of course, Kian knew Priscilla was wealthy and had no intention of fraud. But the Crete Merchant Guild had no way of knowing that. They had to verify that Kian’s deposit matched its stated value to protect local trade. It was a legal requirement for establishing a merchant guild, however cumbersome the process.
Kian had requested a longer stay at Priscilla’s villa to account for the time consumed by these inspections.
(Hungry…)
He left the bank and walked toward the white guild building next door. The square in front of the bank and guild was adorned with a beautiful fountain, where toga-clad, affluent citizens enjoyed leisurely lunches.
(Hmm?)
Among the fashionable crowd, Kian noticed a strange figure sitting on the edge of the flowerbed beside the guild entrance.
An Eastern man.
Black hair, yellow skin.
Male.
Unlike the wealthy citizens of Crete, he wore tattered clothes and a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his left arm.
He appeared to be barely twenty, with thin, thread-like eyes and strikingly handsome features. Long bangs draped over his right eye, adding to his distinctive appearance.
He was engrossed in sketching something on a piece of paper when a sudden strong sea breeze lifted it into the air.
”Ah—”
”—Got it,” Kian said, leaping lightly to catch the paper without scattering his own documents.
(A map? It includes the Kingdom of Crete and surrounding seas. Arrows indicate ocean currents. This is what he was meticulously drawing.)
”Excuse me, thank you.”
The young man approached slowly, his shredded shirt barely covering his shoulders. A strong scent of the sea clung to him. He was tall and slender, unmistakably young.
”You’re welcome. Be careful,” Kian replied.
”Thank you,” the eastern man said.
His Azrael language was flawless, free of accent. Though Eastern in appearance, it was likely his mother tongue was Azrael.
The youth bowed slightly and returned to the flowerbed. Through his hair, Kian glimpsed his eyes: the right a pale gray, the left black. Odd-eyed. Perhaps the eyes had differing vision.
”Pirate victim, huh?”
Two toga-wearing men whispered as they passed by.
”Poor guy, they took everything.”
”How much can insurance recover… but his lost comrades will never return.”
”Crete’s gotten dangerous. I used to think Malc and Nakash deserved death, but even if they’re gone, another pack of wolves comes.”
”An even more vicious one. At least the organized kidnappers were predictable.”
”———”
They lingered awkwardly, making their discomfort obvious. Kian shook off the distraction and entered the guild’s open lobby.
After that, he let out a heavy sigh as he stared at the long, winding line stretching into the back of the hall.
He had been here since morning, and it seemed this process would take until evening.
All he wanted was to register the merchant guild, yet it had consumed an entire day. The thought was enough to dampen his spirits.
”—Hey, you there.”
Just as Kian steeled himself to join the end of the line, a sharp male voice called from his side, halting him. He turned to see a middle-aged man dressed in a striking combination of magician’s robes and warrior armor—a look that somehow managed to be both stylish and intimidating.
”Me?” Kian asked cautiously.
”Yeah, you. Hey, you there,” the man said, striding forward with an air of authority, looking up at Kian from below.
”You don’t look familiar. What’s your name? Where are you from?”
”Uh… um…” Kian plastered on an innocent smile, the same one he had perfected as a garbage scavenger, trying to mask his suspicion.
”You’ve been here since morning, right? And I saw you earlier with that big Wolfman guy,” the man continued, narrowing his eyes.
”I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I know you,” Kian said politely.
”I’m Balinars,” the man said firmly.
”Mr. Balinars,” Kian replied, cautiously.
”You don’t recognize the name? I said it—Balinars. Court mage of Crete, and head of the Crete patrol fleet around Water Island.”
The man produced a scroll dusted with gold leaf, clearly meant to prove his rank. Even without it, the sheer aura of magical power and balance in his posture told Kian that this was no ordinary man. The gleaming armor only confirmed he truly held a prestigious position.
”Your name?” Balinars asked again.
A group of lightly armored warriors emerged from the shadows, clearly his subordinates. The line of merchants in the lobby began to stir, all eyes turning toward Kian.
”Kian,” he said.
”Where are you from?” Balinars fired off questions relentlessly, circling Kian like predators. Sun-baked, muscular warriors surrounded him, hands resting on hips or hovering near their curved shamshir swords in silent threat.
”Azrael,” Kian answered.
”Which part of Azrael?”
”Vahid Territory. The capital, Beirut.”
”That’s not the capital of Vahid,” Balinars remarked.
”That was thirty years ago. I’m thirty now. When I was fifteen, I went to Franz, so I haven’t kept up with the details of Vahid since then.”
”Ah, so you were expelled from Azrael? A good-for-nothing without a home?”
”No, that’s not it,” Kian replied calmly.
”Can you prove your identity?”
”Hey! Where did you get that toga!?” one of Balinars’ men barked. Kian raised a brow, but Balinars quickly interjected, “Stop, idiot.”
”Sorry about that, he’s a little excitable,” Balinars said, shrugging.
Kian produced his Adventurer Guild ID. The moment he handed it over, Balinars snatched it quickly and turned his back, barking an order to his subordinate.
”Write down the number.”
”Yes, sir!”
”Right… Kian, got it. Looks authentic. We’ll verify later. Your hometown is a small town on the eastern edge of the Franz Kingdom… Izerland, right? That’s a long way from home. Your parents?”
”My mother is gone. My father… I don’t know.”
”Any other family?”
”No.”
He carefully avoided mentioning Jibril. The lies honed under Sarah and Linca’s guidance seemed effective; Balinars simply hummed and returned the ID.
”Rank 7 Adventurer at thirty… not bad. If you pass the Intermediate-Rank Adventurer Exam before forty, you could reach Rank 6. Pays a lot more, right?”
”You seem well-informed,” Kian muttered.
Balinars smiled, his clean-shaven jaw flexing.
”Big guy, but magic power’s weak. Huh… probably not the people we’re looking for,” he said, assessing Kian.
Kian remained silent. Balinars’ gaze shifted to the documents in his right hand.
”Let me see that,” he demanded.
”No,” Kian replied firmly.
”Then… come to our office for a bit, will you?”
”What is this? I’m just an ordinary citizen. I’ve done nothing wrong!” Kian protested.
”There’s been a lot of pirate activity in the southern seas,” Balinars said, draping an arm over Kian’s shoulder. A subtle scent of refined men’s cologne wafted from him.
”Likely Azraelians. Ever heard of legal seizure? Getting permission from your country to raid foreign merchant ships? You might be one of them, right? Adventurers are notorious for this—short on gold, working for an Azraelian captain. Silver coins for raiding Crete’s ships, yeah?”
”Then no sane person would register at the merchant guild after plundering a country,” Kian replied evenly.
”Normally, yes. But not everyone’s sane. Some sneak into our country, track patrol routes and times… even gather merchant ship info to sell for profit.”
”I’m here to trade, not plunder,” Kian said, extending the guild documents.
”I plan to establish a merchant guild, handle monster hunting, sugarcane cultivation, and land management. Here…,” he added.
”Two thousand gold coins!? It’s a check… but it’s stamped by your local office. Verification still pending…”
”Hey, where did you get that money!?” one warrior demanded, grabbing Kian’s collar. He stared down, unflinching. The man’s expression faltered.
”P-please let go,” Kian said.
”…Kian, Kian… I’ve heard that name somewhere.” Balinars muttered as he scanned the papers.
”Common name in Azrael, meaning happiness. Parents want their child to be lucky.”
”That’s not always the case,” Kian said.
”Your parents must’ve wished happiness upon you when they named you.” Balinars returned the documents. “Anyway, the guild location’s set at a grand estate on Grass Island?”
”Yes. I borrowed it from Ms. Priscilla of the Châtillon family. Once I secure a proper trade location, I’ll move the guild there.”
”You’re connected to the Châtillon family… Wait!” Balinars’ eyes flickered with recognition.
Oswald had once protected Princess Maribel with Kian of Izerland. In Ramsey, Kian had acted as acting lord, defeating a Beastmen army and the Thorn Demon—a Master Knight in every sense.
The newly appointed Lord of Dacia, Kian, had barely taken in his surroundings when his lips parted in a dumbfounded expression. He wasn’t sure what had triggered it.
He braced himself, expecting that his true identity would be loudly exposed. But Balinars had apparently swallowed his words just in time.
”General Balinars?” Kian asked, his voice cautious. “Sir Balinars?”
”Everyone, this man is different. He is no pirate,” Balinars said firmly.
”Eh?” Kian blinked.
”…I may have drawn a little too much attention. I’ll explain later,” Balinars added, his tone almost apologetic.
”Ha… I see.” Kian’s confusion was plain. “Still, what do you mean? This suspicious Azraelian earlier…”
”Ahem… I’ll explain later. So, are you traveling?” Balinars corrected, straightening his posture and speaking with formal courtesy.
”I heard that you declined the princess’s invitation and have chosen to act independently,” Balinars continued.
”Uh… I think you have the wrong person. That’s all I can say,” Kian replied, keeping his words measured.
”I see. Ha, ha, ha.” Balinars gave a polite laugh and gestured to his subordinates to step back from Kian.
”Just as a precaution, we’ll check with the Adventurer Guild. It’s part of our duty, so please don’t take it personally,” Balinars explained.
”No… thank you for your service,” Kian said respectfully.
At that moment, a boyish voice rang out from the entrance of the Guild.
”Mr. Balinars!”
Kian and the others turned to see a man of Eastern origin striding briskly toward them from the doorway. His eyes, narrow and sharp, were partially open. Though his clothes were tattered and his frame slight, he exuded an unexpected intensity.
”Ah, what a disaster you’ve had, my friend,” Balinars greeted with a kind smile, though a hint of irritation seeped into his tone.
”Have the Reprobuses—my crew—been found?” the Eastern man asked.
”The search has been called off,” Balinars replied coldly, still smiling.
”Why?”
”Because it would be a waste of time and resources,” Balinars said bluntly.
Undeterred by the general’s cool tone, the young man pushed past the soldiers and moved right beside Balinars. He unfurled a map marked with arrows and thrust it forward.
”My ship was attacked here by pirates. When I was put on a small boat, the western sun was shining. The merchant ship drifted west, following the sun’s path.”
”Ah… west, yes,” Balinars nodded.
”Search the seas west of Crete,” the young man insisted.
”I’m afraid that area is treacherous. They call it the ‘No-Return Sea’ because of the strong currents. Local sailors never venture there,” Balinars explained. “Anyone foolish enough to enter never comes back. Not one, without exception. The currents swallow them entirely.”
”Impossible. You’re saying there’s some kind of massive whirlpool in the middle of the sea? Westward leads to Sicily, owned by the Western Church, right? That area isn’t dangerous. If it were, rumors would have spread.”
The young man’s insistence drew a long, exasperated sigh from Balinars.
”Then go check Sicily. Ask if my men have washed up there.”
”But, in our country, we have a tradition of returning the dead to the sea,” the young man said. “But no bodies or wreckage have ever reached Sicily.”
”There’s an old man named Gaius who handles disposing of bodies at sea,” the soldier added. “He ensures the bodies are returned properly.”
”Throughout Crete’s long history, no funerary bodies have ever reached Sicily. So we don’t conflict with the Western Church. Our traditions are respected,” the young man said, his tone grim.
”If any do reach there, it could cause an international incident,” the soldier shrugged.
The Eastern youth bit his lip. “Then… the Reprobuses are…” he murmured.
”After centuries, like the tens of thousands of others who were lost, they are nothing but seaweed now,” Balinars said solemnly.
”No… there must be something we can do!” the young man implored.
”I… I lost my sister in July. Up north. Her body never returned. My parents and I had a huge fight over it, so I had to leave Azrael. The only things left to me were my crew and my merchant ship!” he cried, his hands clenching the map.
Despite the impassioned speech, Kian noticed his heart remained eerily calm. He wasn’t angry or sorrowful—he was performing grief and rage as a tool to make Balinars search for his property.
(This kid’s clever for his age.)
”Please! I beg of you!” the young man pleaded.
”I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more we can do. Once your insurance pays out, take it and return home. Reconcile with your parents,” Balinars advised gently.
”That’s impossible!” the young man shouted.
”Parents are a child’s last refuge. You own a merchant ship at your age—Mr. Rou?”
”No, I’m a commoner,” he replied.
”If you speak calmly with your father, he’ll forgive you. You’re his precious child. Go back home and honor your family.”
At the word ‘father,’ the Eastern youth’s pulse quickened, his anger genuine this time. Kian, observing quietly, sensed a familiar aura about this mysterious man.
”Well then, safe travels, Mr. Kian,” Balinars said with a nod.
”Thank you,” Kian replied curtly.
”And you too, Mr. Rou. Foreign vagrants are not tolerated here. If you loiter after receiving your insurance, you will be dealt with harshly.”
The Balinars party departed. Once they were gone, the Eastern youth returned to a neutral expression. “Did it fail?” he murmured quietly.
”Excuse me,” Kian said, stepping away. He had work to finish and no intention of meddling in complications.
The young man seemed uninterested in Kian as well and left the building quickly. When Kian glanced back, a strange sense of déjà vu tugged at him from the youth’s silhouette.
Notes:
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Ozeas – Son of Glen, involved in forbidden experiments.
• Serena – Wolfmen Girl
• Juji – Male. Leader of the Wolfmen’s ‘Jinsou’. A skilled warrior with sharp senses and combat abilities. Relationship: Part of the Beastmen Alliance’s delegation.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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