Volume 4 Chapter 21 A Holiday in Crete ①
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The mysterious woman he had found in the foothills now slept in the third-floor room that Aliona once occupied.
It had been the room where Kian and Aliona indulged in days of unrestrained sex—zanmai, as the old word put it (T/N: zanmai—indulgence, obsession). But aside from Kian’s own chamber, it was the only room properly prepared with a made bed, so there had been no other choice.
Isthbaran and the Leanan Sidhe refused to enter the mansion except to use the hot spring on the first floor. That was, admittedly, mostly Kian and Aliona’s fault.
At least he and Aliona had scrubbed the place down thoroughly. No stains, no lingering smells—other than the faint trace of semen, which the sea breeze masked well enough that no ordinary human would notice. As insurance, he had placed a vase of leftover stew herbs on the desk beside the bed. That ought to pass for a perfect crime.
The woman sank again into unconsciousness, her body nestled between the thick duvet and white pillows, breathing softly. To a passerby, she would have looked like nothing more than a gold-brown wig abandoned on the bed. She barely stirred.
Perhaps she was utterly exhausted—or simply tough-minded. Possibly both.
Kian extinguished the magic lamp and slipped out of the former Aliona room in silence. He would question her properly when she woke.
By then it was already one in the morning. He had spent more time than expected with Mrs. Camilla’s wyvern golem. Hastily, he began the training he had skipped the previous day.
Stretching. Light strength work. A ration of rock-hard bread and dried minotaur meat. Then real training: sword forms of Azrael’s Dance, physical enhancement drills for the Mercenary King’s swordsmanship, beastman martial arts—methodically, one after another.
He worked with care, deliberate but intense. Languid routines built no leap power. He pushed through a high-load regimen, timing each round precisely.
By the time he finished, dawn had come—past five.
He bathed, washed away the sweat, and changed into a fresh shirt and trousers. Breakfast was an afterthought. He had been chewing dried minotaur between sets anyway. Now, after his bath, he ate more of the same with bread, thin slices of market cheese, and raw herbs torn by hand, washing it down with hot water.
”Always more like fuel than food,” he muttered. “Still, I can’t serve that to others. When the young lady upstairs wakes, I’ll have to make something proper. Maybe porridge.”
He remembered Christy’s bread porridge: milk, raisins, honey—sickly sweet. It hadn’t suited his taste, but perhaps people of Crete liked such things. They were western folk too, after all, though their faces and hair set them apart. A savory broth with spices like garam masala might not please her.
’Best make both,’ he thought.
”And then I eat whatever she leaves behind. I’ll just hope she likes it sweet,” he said aloud, rinsing dishes in the sink.
White sunlight spilled through the kitchen window. Outside, tropical birds gave their rattling calls.
It was a calm morning—after a sleepless night—until he felt presences near the guild post he had planted. Soon came the sharp clang, clang, clang of metal on the iron gate, echoing through to the kitchen. The birds scattered skyward from the palm outside.
Two visitors. One a magician.
Kian dried his hands on a cloth. A doorbell of some sort would be useful, he thought, leaving the kitchen. He slipped into sandals and went out the front.
With the beach at his left and tropical foliage flanking the narrow path, he reached the gate. Unlocking it, he smiled at the flamboyantly dressed man waiting beyond.
”Good morning,” Kian said.
”Good morning, Count Dacia!” the man replied with open arms and a dazzling grin.
He wore a wide, red-purple hat and garments all in matching hues—so garish that at a distance he might have been mistaken for one of the bright birds of the tropics.
(So my identity’s blown.)
”Indeed. And you are?” he asked politely, inclining his head also toward the magician beside the man. The other, in a black robe, appeared of similar age—a seasoned wizard with a formidable mustache.
”A pleasure to meet you! I am Michelangelo Rendano, Guildmaster of Crete’s Merchant Guild! And this is my magician, Luchia.”
”An honor to meet you, Master Kian,” the magician said smoothly.
Kian accepted their handshakes. Both men reeked faintly of expensive cologne.
”Thank you for establishing a merchant guild here under our auspices,” Michelangelo said warmly. “Crete has buzzed with talk ever since the hero of Ramsey himself joined our ranks. Truly, I should have greeted you at the guild office when you filed the paperwork, but I was unavoidably away. Once I heard the report, I resolved to come in person.”
Kian inclined his head. “That is courteous of you. Is it customary for the Guildmaster to make such visits when new guilds are founded?”
”Of course not. But since it is Count Dacia himself, I could hardly stay away. In fact, I brought a small gift—a wine from Master Padalino’s vineyard, the same vintner who supplies Crete’s royal household.”
The mustached magician produced a bottle of fine wine from nowhere and offered it forward. Such an expensive vintage was wasted on Kian’s unrefined palate; he could not taste the difference, nor imagine any fitting accompaniment.
Still, he could not stand paralyzed forever. He invited Michelangelo and Luchia to his private beach, conjuring table and chairs with a flick of magic. Luchia, ever graceful, summoned a brilliant red parasol and set it into the sand so the seats lay beneath a cool shade.
Kian busied himself, preparing a simple spread: prosciutto and cheese, a few boiled vegetables drizzled with olive oil, dusted with salt, and brightened by fresh lemon.
Though the fare was far too humble to pair with such a wine, Michelangelo laughed heartily without a hint of complaint.
”Please, don’t trouble yourself. I’m the one who arrived unannounced! Ah—this asparagus is splendid. It tastes like health itself,” he said, chewing happily.
Perhaps he had skipped breakfast, for Michelangelo devoured bread and appetizers with remarkable speed. Even Luchia’s stomach betrayed her with a low rumble, and he urged her to join in as well.
Kian set down his glass. “So then—your purpose here, Guildmaster?”
”Two matters,” Michelangelo replied, his smile fading. He laced his fingers together upon the table as the crash of surf echoed loud against the beach. “One is a regrettable announcement. The other…a request, or rather, a hope on behalf of the Guild.”
”The unfortunate news?” Kian asked.
”Crete’s Minister of War, Sir Scipio Crete, has declared opposition to your merchant guild. He claims your establishment threatens national defense and demands that harsher taxes and restrictions be imposed upon your trade.”
”Lord Scipio,” Kian murmured, recalling the anxious half-elf who had stormed in with soldiers only yesterday. The man’s suspicion was palpable, his threats sharp—determined to drive Kian away as though he were a brigand.
All Kian wished was to lease land from the Cretan government and grow sugarcane. With time, he might even trade wheat with Dacia. Why Scipio treated him as a contagion was incomprehensible.
If pushed too far, he thought darkly, he might drown the entire defense force in the sea. Best the government keep its silence and allow him his work. He longed only to finish his business and return to adventuring.
”But under Cretan law,” Kian said evenly, “as long as legal requirements are met, the state is bound to permit guild formation. Unlike Ramsey, where the crown halts foundations at whim.”
”Exactly,” Michelangelo nodded. “Minimal state interference, free competition—that is the lifeblood of our prosperity. Were the crown to intervene, men such as yourself would never grace our Guild. Scipio insists he is not restricting your establishment, yet his terms amount to the same thing.”
He refilled Kian’s glass. Kian had already drained the first.
”We are protesting vehemently. Such extralegal measures cannot be allowed; no such precedent must be set. Our Guild is essential to statecraft, and they know it. Logic will prevail, and they will withdraw in time. It may only take…a little patience.”
”How much time, exactly?” Kian asked, voice cool. “If it drags a year, I shall withdraw from Crete entirely. Perhaps Castile, perhaps Azrael’s port cities.”
”No, no—that would be disastrous!” Michelangelo exclaimed.
”Then hurry. We are restricted not by law, but by whim.”
”Of course. Not a year, not even a month,” Michelangelo assured him.
”So be it.”
Kian fell silent. Perhaps without realizing, a thread of killing intent slipped from him. Michelangelo and Luchia stiffened, their faces blanching. Yet the Guildmaster pressed on bravely.
”That leads to my second matter.”
”Related, you say? What kind of request?”
Michelangelo met his gaze. “We ask you to slay the lava mole-dragon that nests on Fire Island.”
T/N: 溶岩土竜 (yōgan doryū)—pun: mole + dragon.
He studied Kian’s face intently, raising one eyebrow when no reaction came.
”Of course, defeating such a mythic beast is near impossible. Even the founding hero of Crete failed. Its heat kills all who approach; arrows and spells cannot pierce it. Being of the dragonkind, it spawns and commands many offspring. Twelve years ago, General Asterios himself launched an assault with siege engines, but the campaign ended in ruin. Ships and weapons, wrought from precious imported timber, all lost. Ten years past, when Cyclops Island fell to Azrael, many said this failure was to blame.”
”General Asterios,” Kian said. “Crete’s great hero? Statues of him stand everywhere.”
”Yes. They say he fought wreathed in lightning, with the might of a bull. But in the last war he vanished, and since then he has not appeared. Some whisper he is truly one of the Order of the Lightning Knights…but his identity remains a mystery.”
Kian set down his glass and smiled faintly. “Curious. A true hero ought to stand before the people, to raise the nation’s spirit,” he said.
”Indeed. Azrael’s privateers gnaw at our domain, and we long for the hero’s return. If Scipio has time to meddle in our Guild, better he find the missing General. Ah—keep that thought between us,” Michelangelo replied.
Kian’s smile widened. “Secret or not, I leave no trace behind.”
At this, Michelangelo allowed himself a small smile. “Let us return to the matter at hand. Even if it is impossible to slay the Lava Behemoth, reducing the number of Salamanders would help. Fifty would suffice. They burn any who draw near, and the larger ones are immune to ranged weapons. I know I ask the impossible, but if your Merchant Guild can claim trophies from the beasts, then we can increase pressure on Lord Scipio.”
”A condition for exchange,” Kian said.
”Yes. Also, if some portion of the magic stone deposits in the Salamanders’ lair could be diverted to the Guild, it would help. Even only those already uncovered during the survey period would be acceptable.”
”I will send a letter to the survey team. But I will not recklessly endanger my guild members. We will proceed only within reason. And regardless of our results, I expect you to continue lodging formal protests with the government. I am merely founding a Merchant Guild under this nation’s laws. That we must pay tribute in exchange for protection from government pressure is absurd.”
”Of course. Of course. Of course.” Michelangelo repeated, pressing both hands forward. “But you understand—we too are limited. Even protesting carries costs.”
”Understandable,” Kian said. “That is also part of your proper duty.”
Michelangelo inclined his head. “That concludes what I wished to convey to the Count of Dacia. Luchia.”
”Yes.”
The magician produced five bottles of fine wine, appearing neatly packed in new wooden crates.
”Please accept them—a premature celebration of your Guild’s founding.”
”I accept,” Kian said.
”And I look forward to our continued cooperation, Count of Dacia.”
”Likewise. Please see to the procedures.”
Both men rose and clasped hands, and Kian escorted them to the iron gate.
”Tell me,” Kian asked, “has Azrael’s piracy truly grown so severe?”
”It has. The Twelve Divine Generals Council refuses to acknowledge Azrael’s hand in it, of course.” Michelangelo smiled bitterly. The shadows of the ironwork cast green patches upon his flamboyant attire.
”Just recently, Rou of the Kowloon Guild suffered such an attack.”
”The young man from the east? I saw him at the Guild a few days past.”
”Yes. His ship was driven west by loss of control—toward the current of no return. The pirates abandoned pursuit midway, but his crew and cargo were left aboard. All lost.”
”Perhaps by mistake he drifted to Sicily Island,” Kian said.
Michelangelo gave a sharp laugh. “If that were so, then all our drowned corpses would likewise wash up on Western Church shores.”
”Unfortunate. So young still. Without proof that ship or goods are destroyed, even insurance payments may never come.”
Luchia lowered her thick brows, pained.
”He is young enough to begin anew,” Michelangelo said. “He has family in his homeland. It is a harsh trial, but survivable.”
Then he turned back to Kian. The two now stood outside the gate.
”Then, Count, we take our leave.”
”Yes. I await your reports.”
Free of the teleportation-stop barrier, Michelangelo and Luchia opened a gate and vanished within.
Kian looked down at the crate of fine wine they had pressed upon him. Normally he would anticipate tasting it, but wine held no interest for him. He could not sell it either; it would all pass to Aliona or the guild hands on Franz’s eastern outskirts.
In his mind, Talia murmured: Scipio. Troublesome, to have drawn his gaze.
* * *
Back at the manor, Kian resumed the cleaning he had abandoned the day before, while practicing transformation into a white bull. During training he noticed that while in bovine form, he could draw power from a Spiritual Vein running beneath Crete’s seabed.
The drawback was grotesque: with his head transformed, he could only grunt and bellow like a beast. Yet even without Talia’s Star’s Song, he could replenish magic, making the form a dangerous new weapon. Unfortunately, only Crete’s seabed Vein seemed to resonate. Once back in Izerland, the ability would be of little use.
Perhaps the shores of Châtillon lie just within reach… he mused. But in Izerland, remaining himself meant tapping into the far more convenient Erynys Vein.
(General Asterios. Cloaked in lightning, fighting like a bull…)
As he scrubbed the bath after finishing the latrine, Talia whispered within: ‘Reminds me of this white bull, doesn’t it?’
”…You mean that the monster we fought on the island might have been a hero for Crete?” Kian asked.
’Only a fleeting thought. Based on what little we know, too far-fetched.’
”No mindless beast aids humanity. That Minotaur lacked will or any sense of society.”
’True. It was nothing but a monster. No question… ah, Kian? Seems our guest has awoken.’
Indeed, on the third floor, a stir betrayed the rising of the guest. Kian tugged down his rolled sleeves and trousers, left the bath, and climbed the stairs. Opening the second room on the right, he met the gaze of the woman just leaving her bed.
”Good morning,” he said.
A shaft of white light broke through the curtain’s gap, painting a line across the bed. She blinked, eyes darting. “Good morning, sir.”
She gasped. “Ah—ah! You! You’re that traveler, aren’t you? From the rocky shore on Water Island!”
”That I am,” Kian said.
He stepped past her bed and pulled the cord. The curtain rings rattled as sunlight flooded the room. The woman shielded her eyes from the glare. Without hesitation, he threw open every curtain, then pushed the windows wide. A sweet, distinctly feminine scent filled the room. If he didn’t air it out, Aliona might start suspecting things when she returned.
”Um… where am I? Who are you? And why am I sleeping here?” she asked.
”This is private land belonging to Ms. Priscilla of Châtillon, on the eastern side of Grass Island. I’m Kian. I found you collapsed in the hills last night and brought you here.”
”Oh, right. It was the sedative’s… shadow effect—”
”Sedative?” he asked.
”N-no, nothing like that!”
She flung aside the blanket, stood in a hurry, then stumbled as if her strength abandoned her. She fell back to the floor with a soft thump.
”Hey, are you all right?” Kian said.
”I-I’m fine. Fine…”
Her voice betrayed otherwise. One hand pressed to her forehead, she shook her head violently. Blue lightning surged across her body, wrapping her form in crackling arcs as she forcibly boosted her strength. Unlike western warriors, her body did not bulk up.
To Kian’s vampire-honed senses, it felt as though her very bones and muscles had been refined.
’Not like the Physical Ability Enhancement used by Balinar’s soldiers. This feels closer to Spiritcalling Magic.’
(What do you mean?)
’She’s drawing spirit power into her body, temporarily strengthening herself. It’s similar to how Lord Oswald was empowered by the Holy Sword of the Sun.’
(Fascinating.)
”Sorry! I’ve caused you trouble. I should repay you somehow, but I don’t have anything on me…. Oh, I know! Do you want my autograph?” she asked brightly.
”That depends on who you are. Most of the time, the answer would be no. What’s your name?”
”Uh…” Her eyes darted away.
Looking at her fully now, Kian realized how striking she was. Her features were unlike those of Easterners or Azraelians. Likely a Westerner, though her golden-brown hair and dark-brown eyes hinted otherwise. Her skin was sun-darkened, her brows thick, her features deeply set.
Cretan women were known for their sharp, handsome beauty. This girl, by contrast, leaned toward cuteness, her youthful face still holding traces of girlishness. Yet her height and full figure left no doubt she was a grown woman.
”I’m… Guria. Just call me Guria.”
”Well then, Miss Guria, are you hungry? I can make something. The water jug is over there.”
”Thank you, but I really must go. I can’t impose on you longer. My list of things-to-do isn’t complete yet.”
”Things-to-do list?”
”My list of things I want to do before marriage. I’m filling it now. That’s why I have no money and nothing to offer you in thanks.”
”Who are you really?” Kian asked, pouring water into a glass and offering it.
She only leaned against the bedframe, refusing to take it.
”A student. I attend school in Azrael, but I’m back home now.”
”And that lightning magic—did you learn it there?”
”No! This is different. My dream is to join the Order of the Lightning Knights. I’ve been training since I was little, which is why I can use Physical Ability Enhancement.”
Her story sounded shaky, yet every word carried confidence. The cadence of her speech, practiced and forceful, gave her lies an odd credibility. Whether she truly studied in Azrael or not, Kian was certain she had been drilled from childhood in rhetoric normally reserved for men.
”I really must go. I have to finish my list! Sorry I can’t repay you! Well then, ah—”
She tried to stride to the door but tangled her legs and nearly collapsed. Unlike Christy, who tripped out of clumsiness, Guria’s fall was terrifying, as though consciousness slipped away.
Kian leapt, intercepted, and caught her before she hit the floor. He carried her back to the bed and sat her down.
”Were you injected with a sedative?” he asked.
”…Yes. I got a little reckless. But it should wear off soon.”
”So, you’ve got complicated circumstances.”
”Something like that. But I’m not suspicious, so please—don’t report me to the order of knights, or the city guard. I swear I’m not some lost child.”
”Hmph. I won’t report you, and I won’t meddle in your affairs. I’ve already been dragged into enough trouble. I don’t need another incident.”
At that moment, her stomach roared—long and loud.
”….”
Though she had sat with perfect posture and spoken with confidence, the thunderous growl from under her blouse broke her composure. She curled slightly forward, both hands pressed over her belly, face flushing crimson.
”I can make something if you’d like,” Kian offered.
”Y-yes, please,” she whispered, eyes downcast.
* * *
She devoured Kian’s cheese curry seafood risotto with unrestrained delight, answering his questions between mouthfuls. Though she held back much, he gathered enough: she faced an unwanted marriage, and was determined to create her last memories by completing her “to-do list.”
”An arranged marriage, then. A common tale,” Kian said.
”It wasn’t forced. In the end, I decided. I don’t regret it. It’s for my family. If I bear the burden, that’s enough.”
”Yet making a list of things to do first… that’s the sort of thing people do before death, whether from illness or war. Is marriage really that dreadful to you?” he asked from across the bed.
Guria lifted her gaze from the risotto, her expression unreadable.
”Mmm… Traveler. You’re really good at talking, you know,” she said, her voice lilting. “Your tone, your timing, everything! You seem so used to girls—always probing with questions.”
”My name is Kian. You remember, I hope,” he replied.
”It’s a lovely name! In some regions it’s pronounced Keanu. Doesn’t it mean ‘happiness’? It’s quite a popular name in Azrael.”
”Thank you. And your name, Guria, it’s just as charming and beautiful,” Kian said. “Guria, Guria… yes, I like it. It rolls nicely on the tongue, smooth and natural to say. Did that sound strange?”
”Not at all!” she laughed, then tipped her head. “Ah, but maybe you seem too used to women, and that’s a little suspicious. Anyway! I was just thinking—this place is incredible. Such a mansion! What’s your relationship with the former head Witch of Châtillon? Don’t tell me she’s your lover?”
”No,” Kian said, smiling faintly. “Nothing like that. We’re just friends. I’m actually planning to establish a merchant guild here. Until I can secure some suitable land, I’m renting this place from Ms. Priscilla.”
”Ohh. A restaurant, then?” she asked brightly.
”No, not at all. Why do you think that?”
”Because this risotto is delicious!“
Guria laughed, showing her perfect teeth.
”It’s so good I finished the whole plate without realizing!”
”My honor, Your Highness,” Kian murmured.
”Oh no, I’m not a princess!” she protested, waving her hands.
(Did I get that wrong?) Behind his smile, Kian tilted his thoughts. From her cultivated speech and quiet dignity, he had assumed nobility, perhaps even royalty. Yet her denial had sounded so natural, it was hard to imagine it was a lie.
Setting the empty dish on the bedside table, Guria folded her hands in her lap and smiled.
”So then, what kind of merchant guild is it?”
”Sugarcane cultivation, mainly. And land management. For example, the Kingdom of Crete has more territory than it knows what to do with—like Fire Island. The goal is to turn uninhabited lands into places people can live, almost like the Western Adventurer Guild does.”
”I’ve read about that in my sisters’ letters,” Guria said. “The Adventurer Guild hunts monsters, doesn’t it? They’ve been expanding across the western kingdoms—places full of deep forests, endless snowfields, swamps, and wild plains.”
”Adventurers don’t only kill monsters,” Kian said. “They do everything—finding lost cats, searching for people, gathering herbs, carrying goods. They’re essentially all-purpose problem solvers tied to their communities. A kind of local handyman.”
”So your merchant guild will be like that too?”
”I couldn’t exactly write that in the business charter,” Kian admitted, “but yes—if asked, we’ll handle anything. Unlike some adventurers, we won’t take on crimes, of course.”
”I see! Hmmm…”
She fell silent, eyes shifting as if turning over something in her mind. Just as Kian parted his lips to speak, she suddenly leaned forward, bright with energy.
”Then—will you take my request!?”
”That depends on the contents,” Kian said carefully. “I hold an Adventurer’s Qualification from the West. Even before founding the guild, I can take jobs in that capacity.”
”Really!? Then I want your help completing my list of things I want to do! Will you take it?”
Guria’s golden-brown hair shimmered as she tossed it with a laugh, her white teeth flashing in delight.
Notes:
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Camilla – A woman; the subject of the chapter; her body was used to seal Erynys’ soul.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
Please bookmark this series and rate ☆☆☆☆☆ on here!
Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
Leave a Reply