Volume 4 Chapter 29 The Lightning Knights’ Interrogation
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”…To think I would meet the warrior who felled the Sword Saint of the Sun. Yet why are you here in Crete, Kian of Izerland?”
The white fox girl looked up at him. Behind her white skirt, something twitched—her tail, neatly trimmed, not overly fluffy. Scissor-marks marred the fur; she cut it herself.
”To establish a merchant guild, Rita,” Guria interjected, holding back the fox girl’s wary stance.
”You ran out of money and had to start trading?” she asked.
”Aye,” Kian said.
”The first knight of Princess Maribel, short on gold? Strange tales indeed.”
”He was given no real reward,” Guria explained. “The land he received was empty wilderness—barely a soul to govern.”
”That sounds less like a lord and more like a brigand’s squabble,” Rita said sharply. “We speak of a baroness who rules Franz’s frontier and a hero of high renown. Princess, it is not wise to swallow every tale whole.”
The fox girl pulled Guria behind her and shielded her, facing Kian squarely.
”Lord Kian, forgive me, but I must request that you accompany us. Or else remain here until my order’s commander and vice-commander arrive.”
”I would rather be on my way home,” Kian said, glancing back toward Priscilla’s manor.
And he meant it.
He needed to send word to Aliona quickly, and a letter to Priscilla as well. Her request for the “heart of the immortal minotaur” might have meant the very heart of General Asterios, Crete’s cornerstone of defense. If the organ had not yet been used in necromancy, it must be returned and the white bull restored.
’It’s already too late. She’ll summon General Asterios right after the New Year. It’s the night of the twenty-seventh—by the time a wyvern golem carried you back from Chatillon, the year would be gone.‘
(Even so, I must ask…)
’As you wish. But your effort will be wasted. Better to plan another path.‘
Unlike “Glasses,” Talia cut matters cleanly when they proved hopeless. But to Kian, the white bull’s heart was no matter to discard.
Time pressed. He had to salvage this.
”The vice-commander will be here shortly,” Rita said, ears twitching. “Wait a while longer, and then you will come with us to our garrison.”
”Kian fought the Azrael Army,” Guria pressed. “Before that, he ran alongside me to recover the Blade of Dust. He deserves to go home.”
”The Azrael Army? On Cyclops Island? Then that red-haired Azraelian lying there is your prisoner?”
Rita’s sharp gaze moved to the unconscious youth.
Kian nodded.
”According to Kian, he’s… something like Shakerdoust,” Guria added.
”Abbas Shakerdoust? General Mansoor’s son?”
”Yes! That’s it! Right, Kian?”
”Aye.”
Kian looked at the beautiful young man bound hand and foot, pale from blood loss. Talia had reattached his severed hands, but his body was cold. Without Sarah, Linca, or Aliona present—none with their stock of tonics—he had no way to treat him.
Rita’s eyes widened, lips parting without words. She glanced between Kian and Guria, then back at Kian, face tight. After a few heartbeats, she finally muttered, “I see.”
”The Blade of Dust’s shards have been retrieved as well. And we struck at the Azrael Army’s fortress, where they masqueraded as pirates raiding the seas,” Guria added.
”Pirates are not proven Azrael’s pawns. Princess, I know you have victories to boast of—but enough. The man goes home now.”
Rita’s words were cut short. From the pier came the pounding of boots. Blue lightning flashed across the night sky. In the next instant, armored figures landed in a ring around Kian.
Wind roared, tossing skirts into the air. Sand swept across the posts of Kian’s merchant guild sign like a storm.
Blue sparks tore through the dust. Around Kian stood warrior-maidens in feather-crested helms.
Helms hid their faces; silver breastplates gleamed. Their skirts ended high above the knee, and boots of thick Kelpie hide gripped their legs.
Their crouched landing bared thighs, shoulders, and arms—strikingly sensual in the torchlit night.
Kian’s groin stirred. He slipped his hand into his pocket and adjusted himself with practiced ease.
’What are you doing?! Don’t touch something filthy while I’m here, pig!‘
(Sorry.)
’Say that filthy pun and I’ll kill you.‘
(…Sorry-tan.)
T/N: pun on “sumanko”—mix of ‘sorry’ and slang for female anatomy.
”Princess, your safety gladdens us,” one of the knights said calmly.
A warrior with bronze thighs stepped past Kian, removed her helm, and approached Guria. Incense-like perfume followed her, rich and intoxicating. Kian’s eyes traced her figure despite himself.
She seemed half dark-elf, half human—her ears long, but not like Rufna’s.
She wore glasses, silver hair falling about her gray eyes. Alluring, dangerous beauty, no older than Sarah.
Rita tried to move from Guria’s side, but Guria seized her hand and pulled her close again.
Spears aimed at Kian. The silver-haired half-elf adjusted her glasses with one finger, gaze unreadable.
Kian, though the short spears of the armored valkyries bristled toward him, caught sight of the silver-haired half-elf adjusting the side of her glasses with one slender finger.
”It’s time for you to go home now. Rita, thank you for your service. I will escort the Princess back to the palace,” she said.
”Yes, understood,” Rita answered.
”But I want to go with Rita!” the Princess cried.
”P–Princess…” Rita stammered.
”Very well. Rita will join us. Rita, do you mind?” the half-elf asked gently.
”I’m fine, but… entering the palace itself is—” Rita began.
”Of course, only to the gates,” the half-elf assured her.
The bronze-skinned beauty inclined her head, finally glancing toward Kian.
”And who might that man be?” she asked.
”That’s Kian!” the Princess declared.
”Supposedly the one who defeated the Sword Saint of the Sun—Lord Kian of Izerland,” Rita supplied, covering for Guria’s vague answer.
The half-elf, addressed as Vice-Captain Medea, widened her eyes faintly before murmuring, “I see.” She signaled to three knights, who closed protectively around Guria and Rita.
”Kian! See you tomorrow! Wait—today already! You promised to help me with the list, remember?” Guria shouted.
”Princess, you mustn’t! This way, please!” Rita scolded, tugging her charge by the wrist. Guria struggled, but despite her larger frame and natural strength, Rita effortlessly dragged her toward the pier.
One of the knights called out, mock-formally, “Open the gate!” and the teleportation portal flared into being. Guria and her escort disappeared beyond the glowing threshold.
”Good evening, Master Kian. I am Medea Crete, court mage and vice-captain of the Thunderlight Knights. Forgive the imposition, but I have a few questions. Would you accompany us?”
She adjusted her glasses again, her smile poised and elegant. With her right arm folded beneath her chest, her curves were drawn upward, almost distracting—though Kian reminded himself he had endured far worse temptations.
’You’re not enduring. You’re a beast. Hide it—how vulgar.‘
”If it’s only a few questions, could you ask them here?” he replied.
”….” Medea’s smile remained, though she shook her head softly. Lightning arced across the spears of the waiting knights as their tips inched closer, nearly brushing his bare stomach.
Kian sighed, raised his hands slightly, and sank to one knee.
”Oh, there’s no need to kneel,” Medea said smoothly. “Simply come quietly with us.”
”Then kindly lower the spears first. As you can see, I carry no weapon and my magic is pitiful. I have no intention of resisting.”
”Then you will accompany us to our station?”
”I said—”
”You will accompany us?” she repeated, firm.
”…Fine,” he conceded. Resistance now would waste more time than it saved. He would have to send his letters to Aliona and Priscilla by ordinary post in the morning.
”This way,” Medea directed, gesturing toward the pier where her knights were recovering the unconscious Abbas. From nowhere, she produced a binder and graphite, swiftly scratching notes.
”That red-haired Azraelian—is he with you?” she asked.
”No. That’s Abbas Shakerdoust. Princess Guria and I captured him together.”
Her pen froze. “—! I see. Ahem. We had already heard of your presence in our lands for some days now, Master Kian. Though what Sir Scipio reported seems… different.”
”I don’t know what His Excellency told you,” Kian answered.
At the title, something flickered sharp in Medea’s eyes beneath her lenses—so brief in the darkness that few would have caught it.
”I only mean to imitate the work of an adventurer’s guild here,” he continued. “I swear I will never act against your country’s interests.”
”‘Never’? Or… ‘from now on’?” she pressed.
”…Never. Forgive me. My years in the West dulled my Azraelian tongue. My phrasing may sound odd at times.”
”And why would Princess Maribel’s favored man come here to play at guildmaster? Shouldn’t you be aiding Ramsey’s monster hunts? I heard their defenses were devastated after the last war.”
”That is—”
”Or perhaps you quarreled with Lord Oswald?” Her tone was calm, but the question pierced, meant to probe the core.
”That has nothing to do with you, nor should it matter,” Kian thought grimly. Aloud he said, “I need funds to develop the land of Dacia, which Princess Maribel granted me.”
”Your payment fell short, then? I’ve heard such disputes between lords and mercenary captains are common in the West.”
”Something like that,” Kian admitted.
”Very well. Lower your weapons,” Medea commanded. The knights lowered their spears, but pressed close, forming a living wall around Kian.
He smirked and winked at the nearest knight. She inhaled sharply at his wild, magnetic charm before hastily turning her face away.
”And how did you first meet the Princess?” Medea asked, easing the flustered knight back.
”Two nights ago. I found her collapsed behind my guild’s mountain storehouse. She’d been drugged with a sedative, hadn’t she?”
”And afterward, she requested your help with her… list?” Medea asked.
”That’s right. It was a quest to recover the Blade of Dust.” Kian spoke evenly. “That pack contains a block of Blade of Dust’s soil. Handle it with care.”
”I understand. You heard him—take care not to let it get wet,” she said.
”Yes, ma’am!” the knight replied.
”After we retrieved the block from Cyclops Island, Princess Guria Serda and I were captured. Our captors were Flora Malc of the Twelve Divine Generals, Abbas of the Shakerdoust Family, a warrior monk named Meisa, and a wolf-woman called Tersea—both lieutenants of Jibril.”
Kian continued.
”To save the Princess and recover the block, I set fire to the fortress along Cyclops Island’s coast. In the chaos, I cut down Flora Malc, took Abbas alive, and escaped. The warships plaguing this sea domain—” he gave a slight twist to the word “domain”—”belonged to Azrael’s army. Interrogate Abbas for details.”
”In other words, Master Kian, you are the Princess’s savior?” Medea asked.
”You’ll have to ask Princess Guria Serda herself. What she thinks of me is for her to say.”
”She seemed quite fond of you. Asking for your help with her list, as if inviting a friend out to play.”
”…”
Kian only shrugged, as if the matter was beyond his understanding. Medea studied his face over the rim of her glasses, eyes probing.
”And now—”
She shifted the conversation to lighter questions, almost idle chatter meant to put him off guard. But the rhythm was clear: small talk, then probing. Each cycle repeated, the questions subtly rephrased. By the third round, they had already reached the southern sands near the base of the Order of the Lightning Knights.
The fortress loomed ahead, layers of barriers concealing its interior. To the ordinary eye it seemed only an empty training ground, but to Kian’s vampiric senses the ground tremors of patrolling golems resounded clearly.
Dragged into a white, flat building called the guardhouse, Kian finally faced a true interrogation. He told himself he’d done nothing wrong, though it helped that Medea was distractingly beautiful—her glasses framing sharp eyes, her figure near explosive. All in all, he found little to complain about.
Her questioning stretched until dawn.
”So, you mean to found a merchant guild to fund the development of Dacia?” she asked.
”I’ve said it a dozen times already,” he replied.
”Indeed. My apologies.”
She smiled lightly. Kian’s chair groaned under him as he shifted, and the knight-women posted by the wall tore their eyes from his scarred, bare chest, regaining focus only at the sound.
Holding up under the weight of his pheromones was impressive enough.
”And Lord Jibril—you’ve had contact recently?”
”No. I parted ways with him fifteen years ago. Though for a half-elf, that may count as recent.”
”Not at all since then?”
”Correct.”
”And you have no idea what he does now?”
”Beyond the fact that his underlings attacked me—no.”
”Then why call Meisa and Tersea his lieutenants?”
”Because they told me themselves.”
”Truly?”
”Yes. Don’t believe me?”
Without reply, Medea scratched her quill across parchment.
”Are you hungry, Master Kian? I baked some biscuits myself.”
’Don’t touch anything she gives you, Kian. It’s laced with magic.‘
(Understood.)
”Forgive me, I’d rather not.”
”You dislike biscuits?” she asked.
”No. I just don’t trust you.”
”My, how cautious you are.” She laughed softly, moving to her next question. “About Umar the elder—”
”Medea, vice-captain!”
The interrogation chamber door opened. A knight entered, armored in a short-skirted uniform.
Medea excused herself, pushing her glasses up as she rose. She joined the knight at the door, speaking in a voice too low for mortal ears. But Kian heard every word.
”Vice-captain, another message from Western Church territory—they demand confirmation again.”
”Again? What nonsense is this about ‘a corpse washing ashore’? Do they plan to annex sea domains under Azrael’s shadow? Instead of uniting against him, too many cardinals chase profit—or perhaps Azrael has already bought them.”
”But if we ignore repeated protests, they may share them with western kingdoms, forcing more pressure.”
”You speak of the Sea of No Return. Even if one flies above, it drags you down. A domain of death itself.”
”Then shall we tell Cardinal Homolka we will not investigate?”
”…Tch. Fine. Reply: ‘An immediate investigation will begin.’ Notify General Balinars as well. Are Lady Circe and Sir Scipio awake yet?”
”They insist on speaking with your superior, vice-captain.”
”Very well. I’ll handle them myself.”
The conversation ended.
The interrogation chamber door opened once more, and Medea entered with her usual expressionless face.
”Master Kian, I apologize. My questions end here,” she said.
”Does that mean I can go home now?” he asked.
”No, not yet… it seems that is not possible. I am sorry.”
Medea’s gaze flicked toward the female knights stationed against the wall, and she massaged the crease between her brows. Her glasses clicked faintly as they shifted.
The order’s knights had spent hours inhaling the faint drug-like haze of Kian’s pheromones. Their faces burned crimson. Though they struggled to maintain composure, hot breaths hissed through parted lips, and some darted bloodshot eyes toward the muscular line of Kian’s back.
”Finally, will you accept some pancakes? A token of apology for the long session. They are dusted with sugar and flavored with fermented tea leaves,” Medea offered.
”No, thank you,” he said.
”…I see.”
She shook her head slightly, straightened her posture, and extended her right hand.
”Thank you for your endurance. Later, with an additional gift of apology, I shall formally call upon your merchant guild. For today, please accept our gratitude. We pray for the continued success of the Kian Merchant Guild.”
* * *
At last, freed from questioning, Kian stepped outside.
The faint morning sun slanted in from the right. In the fishing village, market stalls should already have been heaped with fresh catch, but he had no time to wander. Rou was waiting at Priscilla’s villa, serving as temporary guild house.
So Kian sprinted the sand-packed shoreline at dawn and soon reached the villa’s front.
”Minotaur meat—at first I thought it too tough and foul. Now, though, I’m addicted to that hardness,” he muttered, gnawing the last of his jerky until his teeth ground it to shreds.
He checked the postbox. Yesterday’s mail had already been taken in by Rou, leaving it empty save for grit and fallen leaves, which Kian brushed away with his boot and a flick of magic.
”The taste is beef enough for me. Quite delicious. Just not something I’d ever serve Ms. Aliona or Isthbaran,” he said.
’About that white Minotaur… I think we need to return quickly and confirm the facts,’ Talia said as she stirred awake from her long doze during interrogation. ‘And did you notice? Beyond the chamber where the Minotaur stood, there was another—a vast hidden room. It was sealed with heavy wards.’
”And the golden chains and the magic circles in the Minotaur’s chamber still bother me,” Kian said. “We had no time before, but they demand inspection. Only then will I know if my fears are baseless illusions—or grim truth.”
’Most likely it was General Asterios himself, bound in that form,’ Talia said.
Kian sighed. Letters for Aliona and Priscilla must be written before anything else. With that thought he strode down the path to the guildhouse. Just then the gates opened, and Rou emerged in his work clothes. Behind him towered a red-haired giant Kian recognized from Cyclops Island.
”Ah, welcome back, kind one!” the youth greeted.
”Rou… what is the meaning of this?” Kian asked.
Rou tilted his head slightly. “Leprobus said you saved him, Master Kian. Was that not so?”
”It’s true,” Kian admitted. “I saved him. But I didn’t realize he was your acquaintance.”
He looked up at the giant. The red-haired colossus had stitched scraps of cloth into one piece and draped it toga-style, Crete fashion.
”Leprobus, did you not introduce yourself properly?” Rou asked.
”Sorry. I was half-asleep. Pirates drugged me into a daze. I might’ve even eaten a few of them,” Leprobus said.
”You truly are incorrigible… but I’m glad you survived,” Rou sighed, then turned and clasped his hands before Kian.
”Master Kian. Not only I, but my friend Leprobus as well, owe you our lives. Thanks to you, the guild escaped total annihilation.”
”It was nothing,” Kian said. “But others may yet be imprisoned in different bases. In the section I infiltrated, only Leprobus was held. —Kian of Dacia. Pleased to meet you, Leprobus.”
”Likewise, Kian. I serve Ryu. He wanted to attempt something grand. It sounded fun, so I joined his journey.”
”Ryu?” Kian asked.
”My true name,” Rou murmured, head bowed. “But that name is dead to me. My father stripped me of house and name.”
”Ryu… I’ve heard it before. Though it’s common enough in the East.”
”Yes, ordinary. I feel nothing discarding it. From now on, Leprobus, call me Rou. I am no longer Ryu.”
”Got it!” Leprobus said brightly.
”One comrade returns, yet will you resign from the guild?” Kian asked.
Rou’s face grew grave. “No. If possible, allow me to remain a while longer. Other comrades may still return.”
”Of course,” Kian said.
”And… I have personal business to settle here in Crete.”
Kian rubbed his brow. “Ah, yes. To uncover your sister’s true intent, was it?”
Rou’s eyes opened fully for once, sharp with resolve. “Exactly. Before I set forth again, I must sever my attachment. Depending on her truth, I may need to inherit the family after all.”
”He fought with his old man,” Leprobus said, jabbing a thumb at Rou. “The old man insists he inherit and curry favor with the authorities. His mother piled on, scolding him too.”
”But if my sister truly cared for me, I must honor that. She financed me. I must restore our declining house,” Rou said firmly.
”Why bother? Just let it crumble,” Leprobus yawned.
”Silence, Leprobus.”
”Yes, yes,” the giant muttered.
”How exactly will you discover your sister’s true intent?” Kian asked, swallowing his last scrap of jerky. “Drink poison, slip into a deathlike trance, and commune with the dead?”
Rou drew a worn booklet from his cloak. “Precisely that.”
”Our family’s old grimoire records that, on the isle of Crete, one may find two fatal reagents—Death Fruit and Underworld Smoke Crystal. With these I shall brew an elixir to cast myself into suspended death.”
”Wait, Rou? You’re actually going through with this? If you fail, you won’t wake up,” Leprobus said, frowning.
”Of course. This is the only path forward for me.” Rou nodded with solemn conviction.
”I know where those two things can be found,” Kian said.
”What—!? Truly, Master Kian?” Rou’s eyes widened.
Kian inclined his head.
”Aye. West of here lies the Black Island. I gathered those very materials there, just a few days past, while on a quest.”
Notes:
• Abbas – The heir of the Shakerdoust family, a prominent clan within the Twelve Divine Generals.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Tersea – A shaman who assisted Barghest and is connected to the summoning ritual.
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Leprobus – Rou’s comrade who sacrificed his chance to escape during a pirate raid by pushing Rou off in a small boat. He returned to the deck, sword in hand, to protect the others. Distinguished by his giant blood and burning red hair, marking him as more than human. He is released by Kian on Cyclops Island jail.【v4c23】.
• Ryu – Linca’s little brother.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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