Volume 4 Chapter 67 The Visit of the Bull ②
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Silence hung heavy in the lavish room, the kind of place where just the deep red carpet alone probably cost more than an entire year’s income for an adventurer party from some small town on the eastern edge of the Franz Kingdom.
Kian had taken off Asterios’s helmet and sunk into the couch, explaining everything to Homolka and the quiet figure known as “Mist Eater” across from him. The truth was that Kian had slain Asterios, devoured his flesh, and used a vampire shapeshifting art to take his form—but saying that outright would make the Inquisitors, who hunted vampire relics, descend on him in an instant. And Homolka, given his position, couldn’t possibly keep a secret like that buried.
So instead, Kian had spun a tale: that Asterios hadn’t been on Underworld Island, and power-hungry Kian had seized the chance to put on the black full armor and answer the summoning in Asterios’s place. If anyone found out, he would dramatically declare, “Then I’ll save Crete in Asterios’s place!”—but for some reason, his role-playing had been so flawless that everyone had accepted him as the real Asterios, and that was how they’d ended up here.
By the time he finished telling that absurd story, Homolka was rubbing his temples like a headache was clawing at him.
”…Why didn’t anyone in Crete notice?” Homolka let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Didn’t a single person think your voice sounded off, or that something about the way you responded was strange? No one even tried to make you take off the helmet?”
”Well, I had no choice but to take the armor off when it came time to spend my first night with Princess Guria Selda, but… aside from the princess, not one person has even suspected me so far. I’m not sure why.”
”I think it’s because you’re just that good at acting, Kian. But maybe… maybe it’s also because none of us ever actually tried to look at who Asterios really was.”
Guria spoke up softly from the couch beside him.
”Your Eminence,” she went on, “even I—and the rest of the royal family—only ever saw Asterios as an enchanter who could power up the whole army. Whether he was kind or cruel, what his voice sounded like… none of that mattered as much as whether he would hand us the power of lightning. And honestly, who would even want to peek inside the mind of some reckless monster of a man, who might have a stray blast bomb hidden anywhere on his body? No one did. And it’s already been nearly a week.”
”To be fair to Crete’s government,” Kian added, “Asterios supposedly lived on Underworld Island, protected by the Sea of No Return. Summonings are done from a magic circle deep in that island’s dungeon. So, really, I doubt anyone in the Kingdom of Crete’s government even imagined that someone other than Asterios could be summoned from there.”
At that, Homolka dropped his hand from his forehead and leaned back into the cushions.
”Now that the sea currents are gone, it’s only a matter of time before the government starts to consider that possibility. What will you do then?”
”My comrades have already set up a base on Underworld Island and begun turning it into a stronghold for the Kian Merchant Guild. We’ve also officially been granted management rights over the island. If any investigation teams come, we can deal with them in advance. I have plenty of skilled magicians. And honestly, with the government still struggling to even figure out why the Sea of No Return vanished, they won’t be able to start exploring the dungeon under the island for a long time.”
”You’re as calculating as you are fearless. Remarkable. Well, I suppose you’d have to be—no one could have defeated Oswald, the beast hordes, and the Thorn Demon otherwise.”
”Kian promised that if I helped him impersonate Asterios, he would drive away Azrael. I know it means betraying the royal family’s trust, but with Asterios gone, we need the might of the Kian Merchant Guild. If it means my beloved Crete will be safe, then that’s enough for me.”
”I see. Then this matter will remain top secret—shared only among myself and a handful of cardinals. I have no intention of letting it leak to the Crete government.”
”Thank you.”
Homolka took a sip from the glass of warm water on the table, then laced his fingers together on the tabletop.
”The Western Church doesn’t want to see Crete fall. Because Crete acts as a kind of… buffer zone against Azrael. Or more like a seawall, really, since it’s across the sea. As long as Crete stands, it’s harder for Azrael’s armies to strike directly at the Western Church or Chatillon. Though, I hear Chatillon has suffered occasional raids from warrior monks ever since they lost Cyclops Island.”
”Like Nizaam’s sabotage missions or those infiltration operations in Izerland by Nakash’s daughters,” Kian said.
”Exactly. And now that the Sea of No Return is gone, if Crete falls to Azrael, our own coastal lands will be next to suffer from so-called ‘pirates.’ So we want to support Lord Kian’s efforts to protect Crete—quietly, from the shadows.”
”From the shadows, huh.”
Kian echoed the words.
Homolka’s brows furrowed.
”Please understand. If we loudly announced some anti-Azrael alliance, the main Azrael Army led by Lord Jibril could come crashing down on us. Then we’d be locked in a full-scale East–West war, no turning back. A world war. Who knows how many lives would sink into the Azrael Sea. The entire Azrael Sea economic sphere would collapse, and the Western world’s economy might tumble back into something like the primitive ages.”
The Azrael Sea wasn’t just for trading essentials—it was where gems, alchemy products, and even slaves changed hands in staggering amounts of wealth. If that economy died, half of the Western world’s would die with it.
And maybe, cultural ties would snap too. The whole Western world had to avoid that at any cost.
Homolka went on.
”And if we preached anti-Azrael and failed to get results, the Western Church’s authority, built over five centuries, would crumble. So no, we can’t give you full support.”
”Fair enough. Then if Crete looks like it’s about to win, feel free to jump in halfway through.”
As Kian said that, Mist Eater narrowed his pale blue eyes—the look of someone silently asking, You really think you can win with what you have now?
”For reference,” Homolka said, “how do you plan to fight? Use the insane power of those seven magic swords to wipe out their army?”
”Can’t. They took them all as the price for defeating the Thorn Demon.”
”Just Lady Aliona won’t be enough. Their magician forces alone number in the hundreds—over a thousand just in Nile’s strongest magician corps.”
”I’m aware. My Head Magician used to be Nile’s Head Magician.”
”—Wait, seriously!?”
Guria’s eyes went wide as she stared at him.
”Oh. Did I not mention that?”
”You definitely didn’t. I thought it was just Ms. Aliona and Mrs. Camilla? whoever that is.”
”Sarah Nakash is also Lord Kian’s Head Magician,” Homolka said with a wry smile. “And wasn’t Linca Tsai a magician too? And Natra Nakash?”
”Yes. Though Natra’s more of a swordswoman, technically.”
Kian drew a long breath and steered the talk back on track.
”As for how to wipe out the enemy—based on my view, if we can hold off their initial assaults a few times, they’ll collapse on their own. It’s January tenth now… almost the eleventh. If we can pin their main force on Cyclops Island until the end of the month, Crete will win.”
”Why would that happen?” “W-wait, what do you mean? Explain, Kian!”
Homolka and Guria both leaned forward, and even Mist Eater’s blue eyes widened, locked on him.
He had all the info from Rufna and Rou. Especially Rou, who had squeezed in little lectures about the old war ten years ago and strategies for this one whenever they had spare moments. He just had to spit it out now.
Kian pulled a folded map from the shadowy folds of his Wraith cloak—a map of the seas around them, already marked up with black ink circles and arrows by Rou’s hand.
”In short,” he said, “by the end of this month, the enemy won’t just lose support from Azrael’s homeland—they’ll be branded as mere bandits and shut out from every coastal port. Jibril and the Twelve Divine Generals Council won’t tolerate Mansoor or Gensou waging war or piracy. And if they keep fighting past the end of this month, the opposition at home will drag them down from the Twelve Generals’ seats. Especially Mansoor—he’ll probably get taken out by political assassins sent by Jibril and the others.”
The map didn’t matter yet. Kian angled his body toward Homolka and Guria.
”How much do you two know about Crete’s war against Nizaam and Shajar ten years ago?”
”That we lost because they had more magicians. Because Asterios didn’t give us his lightning, and we got crushed by numbers.”
”That’s about what I heard too. Is that wrong?”
Kian nodded.
”It’s not totally wrong. Asterios’s absence did cast a big shadow. But that wasn’t all. In fact, Crete actually had the superior magician force back then. And just like now, Nizaam and Shajar were under a time limit.”
”…Time limit?” Homolka frowned.
Kian’s eyes glinted.
”How do you mean?” Homolka’s tone was calm, but a sharp crease pulled between his brows.
”The whole reason they went to war was the worst possible kind,” Kian said. His voice stayed even, almost detached, like he was just reading out facts on a weathered map, but there was an edge under it that made Guria’s fingers clench against her skirt. “They claimed Crete’s ships had been raiding the coasts of Phoenicia and Nile, and said they had to crush the pirates’ nest to protect their homeland. So they attacked Cyclops Island. Later, though, it turned out that was all staged by Nizaam himself. In other words, ten years ago, Nizaam set fire to his own coastal cities, accused Crete of it, and teamed up with Shajar to launch an invasion of Cyclops Island.”
”S-so that’s how it really started…” Guria’s voice wavered.
”Yeah. Since it didn’t make sense from Crete’s side, people just assumed Nizaam wanted territory and took Cyclops. Which is basically true. But the reason he put forward—the official one—was that Crete was a danger to his coasts, so he had to wipe them out.”
Homolka bit down on his lip, his knuckles pale as they pressed into the couch arm.
”What a vile thing… No wonder even Izerland, all the way off in the distance, was raising protests at the time.”
”Azrael is an empire of invasion,” Kian said, still calm, “but it’s also one of the most civilized nations in the world—and a trade empire. As the country grew, more and more scholars and wealthy merchants from all over the world gathered at its center. That made it harder to fund wars without hitting limits set by public opinion and law. It’s not like some Izerland petty lord who’ll attack because ‘the wheatfields next door are golden.’ Do that now, and they’d be condemned brutally afterward. War costs money, but ruling new territory after taking it costs even more. Scholars will attack them for lacking legal grounds or ethics, and the economic heavyweights will resist war just because it raises their taxes. So they always need a convincing cause to make the public and the elites accept a war.”
”But their cause was staged. So they had to win and crush Crete before anyone found out?” Guria asked.
”Exactly. That was their time limit.”
”I see. And… when you said Crete didn’t really lose because of weaker magician forces, what did you mean?” Homolka asked.
Kian set a fingertip on the map spread across the table, over the Nile region—the homeland of Sarah, Rufna, and Natra.
”Rufna’s spies got word to Shajar that the casus belli was staged. She told them, ‘Then finish it quickly before anyone finds out.’ But Shajar didn’t. Azrael may be an empire, but it still claims to be just. That Azraelite faith—the belief that bound so many different peoples with different races, environments, and creeds together—meant they couldn’t just start a war on false pretenses. If it got exposed, no one knew what the scholars in Nile’s academia would write. And back then, Umar’s golem tech had just sped up the production of manuscripts like crazy. Shajar feared for her own political life and held back her elite Nile troops.”
”So… Crete was basically…”
”Yes. Nizaam charged in alone, abandoned by his supposed ally. Shajar only shipped supplies to an uninhabited island nearby, never lent her ports, never let Malc soldiers march on her coasts. Because of that, the Malc army had to stretch their routes thin, and their forces were too few—so without Asterios, they ended up in a ‘fair fight’ against Crete. It should’ve been over in one leap if Asterios wasn’t there.”
Crete had been lucky, in a way. Beyond navy and money and wildcards like Asterios, they had survived thanks to the tangled greed and fears of powerful people along the Azrael Sea coast.
”Nizaam had a time limit and weaker magician forces. He should’ve lost in a straight fight,” Kian went on, “but he was too good at war to let that happen.”
He skimmed his finger down the map. Below Cyclops Island to the south was the uninhabited supply island, then Cyclops itself, then “Grass Island,” and a little northwest from that, “Water Island.”
Cyclops Island was huge—nearly ten thousand square kilometers—with mountains down the center. To defend it, they had to split bases between the north and south coasts to cover the shoreline.
”Crete deployed almost all one thousand of its magician troops to Cyclops, along with the Order of the Lightning Knights and the guard forces. Teleportation gate access was granted to every magician considered impossible to betray, so they could travel freely between the islands.”
”That gave Crete a massive defensive edge,” Homolka murmured. “Speed is everything in war. And if they used gates for communication between units, it would be almost instant.”
”Nizaam flipped that on them. He loaded about eight hundred magician soldiers on ships, ignored Cyclops Island completely, and sailed straight toward Water Island.”
Kian traced the path from the uninhabited supply base, curving far to the right around Cyclops toward Water Island.
Basically, Nizaam sent all his large-scale break-destruction magic forces sailing for the enemy’s capital. Cyclops to Water Island was about two days by ship. By ignoring Cyclops, he should’ve exposed his flank to Crete’s warships there.
Also, ships couldn’t link to the Spiritual Vein, so they had only simple barriers for defense. Meanwhile, Crete’s ground troops could draw power from the Vein to raise iron wall-class magic barriers.
If Crete’s forces had calmly split their men and fought from Cyclops or Water Island’s shores, Nizaam’s fleet would have stalled at sea, isolated and crushed. With Vein power, a strong barrier could always outlast an ambush. It wouldn’t win fast, but it wouldn’t lose—and if it didn’t lose for long enough, the enemy would wear out their supplies and collapse on their own.
They could have won just by holding.
But the Crete army didn’t stay calm. They decided to crush the magician fleet in one strike. The Cyclops commander left only enough troops at the north base to guard old King Minos of Crete, and gathered everyone else at Water Island and the northwest Pier. They sat there, watching the horizon, waiting for Nizaam’s ships to appear.
”That’s when Nizaam struck. He landed on Cyclops’s south base, which had been left almost undefended, bringing his elite warrior monk corps—his own personal disciples. They stormed the base, sweeping through one strongpoint after another, and curved around counterclockwise toward the north base.”
The north base held King Minos and the main operations HQ.
Nizaam only had three hundred, but they moved like lightning. They crushed the south base within an hour of landing, and before two hours passed, they were at King Minos’s throat.
The HQ realized the ambush and ordered half the Water Island defenders and all the northwest Pier troops to return, while they retreated with the king through a teleportation gate.
But it was the middle of the night.
The magician units rushing from the northwest landed too late, unable to read Nizaam’s position, and he tore through them one by one. Many tried to retreat to their warships and regroup by teleporting to the sea—but at that moment, Nizaam’s main fleet, which had been playing decoy offshore, swung back and hit the Crete coastal defenders from behind.
A sudden storm of falling meteors.
And from the front, the strongest assassination corps, hidden in the dark.
King Minos and the top commanders were already gone to Water Island. The panicked defenders had no one to rally them. And if they retreated, Cyclops Island—the shield before Water Island—would be lost completely. So the magicians fought desperately alongside the Order of the Lightning Knights and the guard corps. By dawn, Cyclops’s mountains and beaches were buried in the corpses of Crete’s army.
”For a full year before the war even began,” Kian said quietly, “Nizaam had been sending his disciples to carry out assassinations. Their targets weren’t just skilled civilian magicians, but also military commanders—the ones who could keep calm in surprise attacks, make clear calls, and crush small forces with sheer numbers. From nobles to commoners, he picked them off. In Crete, where royalty’s blood often puts you in high-ranking bureaucracy, that kind of clear-eyed commander tended to be lower-rank field officers. And those were the easiest to kill.”
”So that’s how Crete lost most of its magician corps and Cyclops Island and had to surrender,” Homolka said, almost under his breath.
”Exactly. Nizaam didn’t push on to Water Island, because of the cost in money and men. And their stated cause was just to crush the ‘pirates’ and protect the coasts. To go past Cyclops, they’d have needed a new cause. So instead, they accepted Crete’s surrender, took Cyclops, and demanded reparations.”
The day after the decisive battle, Shajar—who had stayed neutral until then—declared she was joining and sent troops to Cyclops. Since she had been supplying materials from the start, Cyclops ended up under joint Malc-Nakash rule. It was late, but in the end, she had taken Rufna’s advice.
The morning light filtering through the stained-glass windows had gone soft and golden, pooling in warm, broken shards across the velvet carpet when Kian finally fell silent. For a long moment, only the faint ticking of the clock on Homolka’s desk and the whispery crackle of the hearth filled the air.
”…In the end, even Nizaam paid for it,” Kian said at last, his gaze sliding between Homolka and Guria like a knife being sheathed. “After the Cyclops Island campaign, the Twelve Divine Generals Council found proof that the coastal fires had been staged. Because he dragged the war out too long, he failed to erase the evidence. And while his men were tied down on Cyclops, he couldn’t block the council’s investigators from slipping into his territory.”
Homolka’s eyes narrowed. The faint smile lines around them deepened, but not kindly.
”That meant Shajar as well,” Kian added, “because she had joined the war knowing it was fabricated.”
Guria gave a tiny gasp, but Kian wasn’t done. “Rufna got blamed for it. Shajar chewed her out in the Nile Palace, right in front of all her Witch subordinates. Told her—well, Rufna’s version was ‘this is your mess, fix it, you idiot’… something like that.” A brief corner-smile flickered across his lips, gone before it could soften him. “Rufna scrambled to gather statements and reports, arguing Nakash had done almost nothing and Shajar had only acted to stop Malc’s rampage. She pushed that narrative through, and it barely saved Shajar from punishment.”
”And Nizaam?” Homolka asked quietly.
”He couldn’t escape. Once called ‘Azrael’s strongest,’ he vanished from the stage of history, stripped of real power. The only reason Malc didn’t collapse completely was because his daughter managed to take his seat as one of the Twelve Divine Generals. Lucky, in a tragic sort of way.”
The room settled into a hush again. Then Kian’s voice cut back in, steady and cool.
”Now. Let’s return from ten years ago to this case.” His eyes caught both of them, sharp as thrown glass. “This time, they don’t even have a fake cause. Mansoor and the others just dressed as pirates, attacked Crete’s merchant ships, and when it leaked, they directly hit Water Island, murdering Crete soldiers in a surprise raid.”
Homolka exhaled through his nose, and Guria stiffened like a bowstring drawn too far.
”They didn’t expect us,” Kian went on. “They didn’t expect Guria and me to break into Cyclops and return with Abbas alive. That wrecked everything. The crimes came out before they could gather their forces, before they could finish their assassinations, before they could even announce some grand justification.”
He leaned back, arms folding, the flicker of the fire catching in his eyes like small knives. “The Twelve Divine Generals Council won’t allow that. If they tolerate a war with no legitimacy, then the Generals will start devouring each other’s territories just to satisfy greed. Azrael would turn into a world of survival of the fittest, and the people would start questioning the council’s very authority. If that happens, this empire will split apart.”
”So… the council will publicly condemn Mansoor’s invasion,” Homolka said slowly, “and later might even send warships?”
”Warships, maybe not. But stripping Mansoor and Gensou of their seats and sending replacements is very possible. Either way, Mansoor and Vahid will run out of supplies first. Right now they’re completely dependent on Lee’s lands and Malc’s ports.”
Homolka nodded once, just barely.
”Our envoy’s already in the Holy City Azrael,” Kian continued. “The council will try to stall, but they can’t delay forever. While they hesitate, Crete keeps taking hits. Soon they’ll have to declare Mansoor’s invasion as rogue action. Then they’ll block their fleet from stopping at Azrael ports, and at the same time drag Mansoor, Gensou, and Shidarkan down from power. Once that happens, the expeditionary force collapses on its own.”
”So that’s why you said the time limit runs out by the end of this month.”
”Right. Ten years ago, Nizaam was dismissed exactly one month after Crete’s protest reached them. If the council moves at the same pace collecting evidence, Mansoor’s dismissal will come in the same window. That makes the end of this month his deadline.”
”…So if we just hold twenty days, we win?” Guria asked, her voice trembling but hopeful.
”Less than twenty. If we repel one or two major offensives and lock them in a stalemate, it’s over. By then, the Western Church and Chatillon will join Azrael in condemning Mansoor. He’ll be alone.”
Kian’s tone stayed matter-of-fact, but something dangerous sparked under it.
Guria’s heart thumped. “I… I feel like maybe we can win this.”
”We will. If I’m allowed to command, we absolutely will. The only problem is that nobody listens to Asterios, because his brain is all muscle.”
”…Fair enough,” Homolka murmured. His mouth quirked faintly. “I’ll talk with Cardinal August, see if we can move our Knights to defend Crete. Of course, if they have no will to fight, it’s pointless.”
”You don’t need the old turtles, Your Eminence. I’ll go.”
The voice cut in like a cold blade. Mist Eater spoke for the first time.
Homolka’s gaze slid to him. The towering man answered it without flinching, clenching his massive bandaged fists once.
”Mansoor’s had dirty rumors for a long time,” he said. “This morning, in Crete’s morgue, we found several undead soldiers. Bite marks on their necks. The ‘Burier of the Cursed’ will be eager. The ‘Sick Cat’… who knows. But if the Captain agrees, we’ll move.”
”Captain?” Guria asked softly.
”‘Shield of God,’” Homolka answered. “He’s in the back of this mansion, guarding Cardinal August. Perfect. I’ll tell August about all this. If the breakwater—Crete—can be a good breakwater, the Western Church will want to keep it.”
He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp in the still room, then brightened like something had just popped into his head.
”Oh, right! I might’ve mentioned this before, but August came here to find his daughter. Lyritisse, her name. According to what we heard, if it’s the same girl, she was a Rank 1 Adventurer in a town on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom. But when we asked the Guild, they said she went on a quest to Ramsey in summer and vanished. Lord Kian, do you know anything?”
”I do.”
”…Really? I thought so!” Homolka’s voice lit up. “She was from the same town as you, wasn’t she? And left for Ramsey at the same time!”
”I know who’s holding her body. But…” Kian’s eyes lowered. “Sadly, her body’s an empty shell.”
”…What do you mean?”
He hesitated, then decided it was safe. If Kharab hadn’t appeared even when spoken of before, it probably wouldn’t now either.
’Honestly, something must’ve happened to Kharab. Either its vessel got destroyed and it was banished from this world, or someone stole its spirit core to use like a Phoenix…’
(Even strong beings get eaten by clever summoners once they’re known. Rean barely survived. Lyritisse and Ninini… and Vestacia… maybe weren’t so lucky.)
”She was tricked by a bad man and had her soul taken by a demon,” he said aloud.
”More precisely, Rean pawned her soul,” Kian corrected himself. “When he failed to harvest enough souls by the deadline, it got repossessed. If Kharab hasn’t consumed it yet, we could summon it and demand her soul back. It might give it.”
”No need to ask. We’ll just exorcise the demon and take Cardinal August’s daughter’s soul back by force,” Mist Eater said flatly.
”But first,” Homolka said, “that Rank 1 Adventurer Rean will pay. We’ll hear his side, yes, but he’ll be wanted.”
He straightened, nodding once like closing a book. “Lord Kian, forgive me. I know you’re in a hurry, but I must wake Cardinal August. Will you meet him?”
Kian glanced at Guria. Even though this had nothing to do with her, she nodded quickly.
”Of course. We’ll wait here.”
”Thank you. I’ll explain about Crete’s defense as well. Ten minutes.” Homolka turned. “Lord of Mist Eater, keep Lord Kian and Princess Guria Selda company.”
”Understood, Your Eminence.” Mist Eater gave the faintest grin. “I’ve always wanted to talk properly with the hero of Ramsey.”
’Don’t let him find out you’re a vampire,’ Talia’s voice echoed in his mind.
(I know. The last thing we need is more enemies when war’s about to start. Fighting him hand-to-hand is fine, but I don’t want to face the ‘Burier of the Cursed’ or that woman with the dangerous aura—the ‘Sick Cat’—until our full team is here. At least Linca or Natra has to be with me.)
’Then don’t let them go,’ she whispered back. ‘I won’t scold you again. I’m a princess, after all.’
(Sometimes I really don’t understand you.)
The thought faded as the door at the far end of the chamber clicked shut behind Homolka, and the huge man opposite Kian lowered himself heavily onto the couch with a soft thump. For a heartbeat, the room was still. Then, to Kian’s surprise, the air slowly unwound into something almost… relaxed.
Mist Eater’s spiked blond hair and bandaged arms made him look like he’d break walls for fun, but he turned out to be surprisingly easy to talk to. Unlike the ‘Burier of the Cursed,’ who couldn’t hold a conversation to save his life, this man actually listened. The fact that Homolka had chosen him as his escort suddenly made perfect sense.
After a while, the inner door creaked open again. Homolka shuffled back in, steadying the elbow of a very old man as they stepped slowly across the carpet. Behind them glided a tall, striking figure with long gold hair tied back neatly—a prince-like man, the kind who made the sunlight look dimmer just by standing there.
His gaze, calm and soft as silk, stayed on Kian and Guria Selda from the moment the door cracked open… no, probably from before.
”Ohh. Master Kian. A pleasure to finally meet you,” said the plump white-haired elder, leaning on his cane.
Kian rose at once. The man’s eyebrows drooped comically long over eyes like clouded glass, and a large black mole clung to his cheek. Kian stepped forward, clasping his hand.
A sharp whiff of old-man scent—like the faint sting of urine and old paper—drifted up as their hands met.
”August Visconti,” the old man said cheerfully. “Pardon the Knight gown.”
”An honor, Your Eminence. Kian of Dacia.”
”Asterios’s wife, Guria Selda of Crete. It’s lovely to meet you, Your Eminence,” Guria said brightly, bowing with her usual quick spark.
”Mm, mm. Loud and clear. Fine children indeed,” the old cardinal chuckled, eyes crinkling. He gave a small nod toward Mist Eater. “Would you give me a hand?”
The giant moved at once, lowering himself and lifting the frail man with surprising care into a chair, then taking his cane as if it were a sacred relic.
”I’ve heard the situation from Homolka,” August said, folding his hands. “We’ll lend you Mist Eater and the ‘Sick Cat,’ and their Knights. However, Mist Eater will command them. Lord Kian, contact him if you need them. Mist Eater—understood?”
”Yes.” The big man’s voice rumbled like low thunder.
He glanced at the golden-haired noble beside August. The man was still smiling softly… and still staring right at Kian, like nothing else in the world existed.
”When the battle turns in our favor,” August went on, “specifically, when you win the first engagement, we’ll issue a statement condemning Mansoor and Gensou and call on the western lords to crush them. But forgive me—if this ship starts sinking, we won’t bet on it. If losses pile up and Crete falls, we’ll pull out completely. So, please. Win.”
”Of course,” Kian said simply.
”So confident,” August murmured with a dry little laugh. “Even without command authority.”
Then his eyes, which had been soft, snapped open with sharp clarity. “There’s another condition. My daughter. Will you deliver her to me? In secret, through the Chatillon family. No one can know she came to me. I can’t afford to make new enemies—or show weakness to the ones I already have. Can you do it?”
”Yes. I’ll link her to Ms. Priscilla of Chatillon, secretly. However…” Kian hesitated, “since her father passed away, she rarely leaves her workshop. If the timing is bad, I may not be able to hand her over before you leave.”
”That’s fine. I’ll be touring Chatillon on the way back. Please handle it. ‘Shield of God,’ you agree?”
”Yes, Your Eminence.”
The golden-haired man touched his chest lightly, still smiling like sunlight through amber.
”Hey, Captain,” Mist Eater called lazily. “You’re not going to rampage this time?”
”This time I serve an important role as His Eminence’s guard,” the ‘Shield of God’ replied. “You and the ‘Sick Cat’ will rampage in my place.”
”I wanted to see you cut the sea again.”
”I am the Church’s shield. I rarely cut. Besides—control the ‘Sick Cat’ for me. When her spirits rise, she kills too many. Friend or foe.”
”Of course.”
The words were calm, but the air between them buzzed like a live wire. Kian wanted to dig into it, to peel back these two and see what lived underneath—but if there was a chance to speak with Blumer later, he had to save his energy. Best to end this meeting quickly.
”I’ll send a bird to Ms. Priscilla right after this. Should I return the reply to this residence?”
”Yes. As you can see, my legs are far too weak now… I’ll be here as long as I’m in this city. I won’t go out unless Homolka begs me.”
”August developed severe back pain on the way here,” Homolka added quietly. “Just sitting or standing seems hard for him now.”
”Sitting is harder than standing,” August said with a thin laugh. “Ugh. I don’t want to be old.”
They shook hands again, and then Kian stepped out of the parlor with Guria. August disappeared back down the hallway, while the ‘Shield of God’ and Homolka followed Kian into the mansion’s wide lobby.
There, Scipio was pacing like a trapped cat, while Medea sat silently nearby, her gaze somewhere far beyond the walls. Circe was gone—probably pulled away by something urgent.
”Princess Guria Selda! Cardinal Homolka!”
Scipio broke off and strode toward them in long, anxious steps, ignoring Kian in his armor—Asterios’s face—and beelining straight for Guria.
”Were they polite? Did that rampaging bull behave?”
Despite his nerves, Homolka just smiled.
”Yes. We had a very fruitful talk. Sir Asterios was a wonderful negotiator.”
Notes:
• Nizaam – A former member of Azrael’s Twelve Divine Generals and the current head of the Malc family, though he has passed both titles to his daughter to return to the battlefield. He is a prominent warrior noble in Azrael, known for his love of beautiful boys and fierce battles.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
• Camilla – A woman; the subject of the chapter; her body was used to seal Erynys’ soul.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Mansoor – Crimson-eyed elder monk and Azrael’s Divine General from the Shakerdoust domain near Dacia. Wielding mist form, blood-drinking, rapid healing. He ties to allies like Ryoma and Hanami Tsai. First appearing in Vol. 4 Ch. 25. Quick tag: vampiric red-eyed grandpa-general who mist-forms and drinks blood, obsessed with rescuing his captured son unlike other human monks.
• Gensou – Eccentric young Eastern monk-general in Azrael’s army, playful yet ambitious. Wields sun-like magic, swordsmanship, and assassination tactics. Linked to three masked wives—Seishi, Oushoukun, and Yougyokukan (Head Magician). Ally of Mansoor and Oji, serves under Jibril, proposes Operation Assassination. First appears Vol. 4 Ch. 45. Reminder: playful Eastern general with masked harem wives, always late but magically explosive, contrasting serious monks with his bathrobe vibe and schemes.
• Abbas – The heir of the Shakerdoust family, a prominent clan within the Twelve Divine Generals.
• Shidarkan – Gloomy, bearded son-in-law of the Malc family (Flora’s clan); once a modest Malc magician, ordinary next to Shajar’s elites. Attends the Cyclops Island war council after losing his wife, Flora, and sisters-in-law in the northern base’s destruction. First appears Vol. 4 Ch. 45. Reminder: bereaved Malc son-in-law—sober, doubtful, and dim but dutiful.
• Kharab – The enemy who stole Talia’s soul and possessed her body; referred to by the Black Onyx Spirit; defeated by Kian.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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