Volume 4 Chapter 70 Twisting Fate ② ♡
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The gambling hall built into the inlet’s ancient cavern had a few public seats set outside, carved right out of the cliff rock to give the ceiling’s hall enough height.
In the early morning the back counter stayed shuttered, so no alcohol was served and hardly anyone came. Only the ones who’d drunk too much last night and passed out here, or the few who had grown sick of the cavern’s damp air and needed sunlight and sea breeze on their faces.
Kian led only Priscilla out to the empty counter seats on the edge of the outer gallery built over the waves, leaving Blumer behind near the rail where he leaned, staring toward the horizon. No one else was around. The tables were upside down on top of each other, chairs stacked like bones.
Priscilla stood stiff in her all-black witch’s dress, black beret still perched on her pale hair. With her parasol finally closed, he noticed a sleek black leather bag slung from her belt—rich, understated, and as dark as the rest of her. If a crow saw her, it might think it had found one of its own.
But her tension was obvious.
Not the kind from that one incident with the golden-ball bra—no, this wasn’t the look of someone fearing she might get pushed down and ravished again. This was the look of someone bracing herself, certain he was about to mention that job. Her blue-glazed eyes were fixed stubbornly off to the side, like a kid pretending not to listen.
”I called you here for one reason, Ms. Priscilla,” he said softly. “There’s something I must tell you.”
”…What? I paid what I owed. You’ve got no complaints.”
”That’s not what this is about,” Kian replied. “It’s to introduce someone.”
”――――!?”
He rolled up his sleeve, letting the pale mouth open along his forearm.
”Pleased to meet you,” the little lips said smoothly. “I’m Talia Cain, Kian’s magician.”
”Talia? Cain!? Wait—that’s…”
”I hadn’t told you yet, Ms. Priscilla. She’s the vampire princess who helped us subdue the Thorn Demon. She was only a soul, kept caged in the territory of Count Cain, until I freed her. Now she lives in my right arm as a temporary home.”
”Nice to meet you, Lady Priscilla,” Talia added primly.
”Uh… y-yeah. Nice to meet you too… wow, there’s really a mouth on your arm. Ugh. Ughhh.”
”Even holding that parasol,” Kian noted, “you couldn’t see her soul, could you?”
”Lord Kian’s soul is weird,” Talia said cheerfully. “It throws people off.”
Priscilla bent closer, eyes glittering with wary curiosity, then straightened again. “So… is this what you wanted to talk about?”
”It’s related to her,” Kian said. “We want to temporarily place Talia in Ms. Lyritisse’s body. She’ll move the body from inside and help maintain its life. Is it possible?”
”She’s the daughter of a Western Church cardinal, right?”
The black witch’s pale brows furrowed. She straightened her back, worry flickering through her eyes.
”And August used to be an Inquisitor. He’s the kind of lunatic who’d destroy anything even rumored to be vampire-related.”
”It will be fine, Lady Priscilla,” Talia said smoothly. “Please just tell them you’ll be using your own spirit form to maintain her body. They won’t immediately suspect a vampire.”
”True. No one would know you’re a vampire princess unless we told them. As long as you don’t drink blood using Lyritisse’s body, they probably won’t notice…”
”It’s necessary to gain the Western Church’s cooperation,” Kian pressed. “Please.”
”I don’t mind. Honestly, it’d be a relief. Maintaining her body has been eating into my time and focus.”
”It might not be immediate,” Kian warned. “If they don’t approve, we’ll have to do the handoff at Chatillon like Lord Blumer said.”
”Got it.”
Priscilla’s gaze flicked from his face to his arm, lips pursed.
”Alright. Tell them I’ll be placing my spirit form into her to sustain her life. But strong spirit forms can affect the body… and sometimes refuse to leave once they’re done. It’s considered a dangerous art for good reason. I can’t promise I’ll convince August.”
”Would it be possible to have Cardinal Homolka examine Ms. Lyritisse’s body first?”
”Sure. Show him her condition, see how he reacts. My ship’s anchored three kilometers north-northeast of here.”
”Lady Priscilla,” Talia said politely, “Kian and I will handle the soul transfer. It may look like some wicked ritual to outsiders. Please clear the room. Also, bring chalk and candles.”
Priscilla nodded. That was that.
Kian almost asked if she was eating properly, but she would hate being worried about, so he let it go.
He stepped out to the gallery, relayed the plan briefly to Blumer, then climbed the cliff alone and kicked his Chin-Chin into motion.
* * *
He shot across the plateau settlement, picked up Homolka and his bodyguard—one of the silent ‘Mist Eaters’—and flew to Priscilla’s ghost ship. By luck, no Balinars patrols spotted them. Surprisingly sloppy security.
Kian carried Homolka down to the deck in a princess-carry, making sure the old cardinal didn’t trip, and then followed Priscilla below after the brief formal greetings were exchanged. She led them to the narrowest back cabin.
Inside, on the white bed—
—lay what used to be Lyritisse.
A pale, stick-thin woman lay like a corpse.
Tubes ran under the blanket and into her nose and mouth from the tall machines lined up around her.
She wasn’t as bad as Mrs. Camilla had been when they first found her, but still—this was a mummy. Her once-bright hazel eyes were sunken black hollows. Her flaxen hair had gone dry and brittle, scattered across the pillow like old straw. She’d been twenty-one when they found her. She didn’t look remotely human anymore.
”Th-this is…”
Homolka stepped up beside him, and even the ‘Mist Eater’ craned its neck around him with a faint hiss. Its blue eyes tightened in a rare flicker of emotion.
”She’s nearly gone.”
”It’s been almost eight months since she lost her soul,” Priscilla whispered, letting out a thin breath. “We’ve kept her alive this long somehow, but… honestly, she’s at the limit. Modern magic and medicine can’t extend it much further.”
”So the plan is to use Lady Priscilla’s spirit form to revive her,” Homolka murmured. “What do you think, Mist Eater?”
”It’s extremely dangerous, Eminence,” the tall blond man said at once, turning from the bed to the cardinal. “The body could be taken over. Or damaged in irreversible ways.”
”I intend to be careful,” Priscilla said quietly. “But she’s Cardinal August’s precious daughter. He’ll hate the thought of putting some unknown soul into her body.”
”Still better than letting her die,” Homolka said, rubbing his chin. “Anyway, we’ll ask him. Honestly… I’d believe it if you said she has only a month left. Inquisitor, can you find Kharab and recover her soul by then?”
”I don’t want to say impossible,” Kian admitted, “but half a year would be tight. One month… First we’d have to track down the missing Rean, the Rank 1 Adventurer. Even catching him at all is questionable.”
”Yeah. Party or not, he’s still Rean of the Lion’s Companion. He won’t go quietly. And he’s got plenty of money to run.”
Homolka nodded once, then turned back to Priscilla, his expression a mix of resolve and urgency. “Alright, I’ll try to convince Lord Augustus myself. If I succeed, you need to perform the life-extension ritual immediately. Have you seen her hands and neck? They’re like withered branches. This can’t go on.”
Afterward, Kian escorted Homolka and the others back to their lodging, lingering outside the house as a sentinel. Homolka returned in less than fifteen minutes, his face grim but satisfied. Lord Augustus’s decision was, predictably, “Do whatever it takes to save my daughter’s body.”
”When a cardinal nears death, the vultures—kin and all—swoop in to pick at the carrion,” Homolka muttered, perched atop Chin-Chin, his voice low and bitter.
”I’m luckier than Augustus,” he continued, a faint pride softening his tone. “My son grew up strong and capable, now serving as Izerland’s Archbishop. A father couldn’t ask for more.”
”And Augustus’s other children?” Kian asked cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper.
”All legitimate heirs are gone,” Homolka replied, his gaze distant. “Wiped out in an assassination spree worse than anything Izerland’s seen. A self-made cardinal without fighting strength is a tragic figure. His last son… drowned in a bath of blood, they say. Killed by a woman assassin while he soaked, likely on orders from someone eyeing the Church’s inheritance of Augusto’s estate.”
”The Western Church territories sound like a den of vipers,” Kian observed, his tone heavy with unease.
”That’s why I left the Church lands early,” Homolka said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I plan to retire to the Royal Capital and live out my days in peace. I climbed to cardinal, tasted the pinnacle of power, but I’ve no desire to cling to it forever. What about you, Kian? Ever think about retreating to some quiet countryside, living the easy life?” He paused, then chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Though I suppose it’s odd to ask someone like you, still on the rise.”
Kian tilted his head, considering. “No, it’s not strange. Power comes with chains—bindings that tighten the more you gain. And the threats to your life? They multiply. I’ve said it before, but all I want is to live as an adventurer, free and happy. Earn enough coin, turn the Dacia you granted me into a thriving town, and when it’s all done, maybe hand off the politics to someone else and vanish into the wilds. No clue how many years that’ll take, though.”
”Dacia, huh?” Homolka’s murmur carried a weight, an unspoken question hanging in the air.
Kian fell silent, lips pressed tight. Homolka seemed to assume Kian’s ties with Maribel were all but severed. The cardinal’s surprise was palpable—Kian, working for free, burdened with heavy “taxes” and even losing talented witches to Maribel’s whims, yet still diligently taming the untamed wilderness she’d foisted upon him. It was almost absurd.
When Kian didn’t respond, Homolka spoke again, his voice deliberate. “Have you visited Princess Maribel lately?”
”No,” Kian replied curtly.
”You should,” Homolka pressed gently. “As a noble, you ought to report on Dacia’s progress. Show her you’re still invested.”
Kian nodded. “Sarah’s been keeping her updated, I’m sure, but you’re right. I’ll need to meet her face-to-face eventually.”
Homolka’s eyes softened, his tone taking on an elder’s concern. “I know it’s meddling, but when you do, have an honest talk with her. Maribel’s treatment of you… it’s hard to parse, frankly. But this distance between you isn’t good—for you, for her, or for the Frontier’s peace. I’d like to see you and the princess maintain a strong bond. If possible.”
”I understand,” Kian said, his voice steady but guarded. “I’ll speak with her when I can.”
The words felt hollow. With money tangled in their history, rebuilding any bond with Maribel seemed near impossible. She’d used him for her own ends, nothing more. Friendship with someone like that only promised misery. Kian could’ve stomached it alone, but now, with companions relying on him, he couldn’t afford to grin and bear losses. Coming to Crete for work, even facing war, had forced him to confront his own naivety. Maribel would need to settle her debts before any real conversation could begin.
Back aboard Priscilla’s ghost ship, Kian retreated to the cabin where Priscilla and Lyritisse waited. Lord Blumer took on the task of entertaining Homolka, the two old acquaintances slipping easily into relaxed conversation about the war. Blumer, who’d handled Chatillon’s affairs during Homolka’s time as Izerland’s Archbishop, shared a comfortable rapport with the cardinal.
”Clear the bedding. Remove all her garments,” Talia instructed, her voice clinical yet urgent.
Kian pulled back the heavy quilt, revealing Lyritisse’s frail form. Priscilla, forgoing magic, carefully removed the tubes embedded in Lyritisse’s body. When she tugged the catheter free, a faint trickle of pale liquid splashed onto the sheets, its faint scent a grim reminder of Lyritisse’s fading vitality.
She was so vibrant in June, Kian thought, his heart sinking as he followed Talia’s orders, sketching a magical sigil across Lyritisse’s lower abdomen. The task was delicate, made trickier by the untouched hair there, but he completed the pattern in minutes.
Next, he gently pried open her mouth, holding it steady as Talia etched a heart-shaped sigil—a symbol of life—onto the underside of her tongue with a flicker of magic.
”Draw the magic circle with chalk,” Talia directed. “An inverted pentagram, with candles at each point.”
Kian arranged the ritual, placing Lyritisse’s emaciated form at the circle’s center, her sparse frame stirring an odd mix of pity and reverence. At Talia’s command, he pressed Lyritisse’s right hand to her tongue, reopening her mouth. Talia began chanting, her voice low and ancient, weaving words that seemed to hum with vampiric power.
Priscilla, stone-faced, scribbled notes on a pad, her quill scratching furiously.
Lyritisse’s blue eyes snapped open, wide and startling in her gaunt face. “Water… flesh… spirit…” she rasped, her voice a faint echo of Talia’s will.
”It worked!” Talia exclaimed. “Ms. Priscilla, bring water and mashed fish!”
Priscilla nodded, tucking away her notes and darting from the room. Kian pressed a hand to Lyritisse’s chest, channeling intermittent bursts of energy. Suddenly, Talia’s teeth grazed his arm, her bite weak and ineffective against his toughened skin.
”Provide the essence,” Talia urged, her voice hoarse as she sipped water. “The vampire factor—it’s not enough.”
Kian nodded, rising to his feet. He prepared himself, focusing on the ritual’s need. A soft hiss escaped him as he channeled the necessary energy, a subtle warmth spreading through the air. The moment was fleeting, a quiet pulse of life rather than an overt act.
”Careful!” Talia snapped, her voice sharp but playful, catching the faint spill of energy. “You call that subtle? Even a refined beast would show more restraint!”
”Sorry,” Kian muttered, a flush creeping up his neck. “It… got away from me.”
Talia huffed, kneeling before him, her hands steadying the flow of energy with practiced care. Her touch was deliberate, guiding rather than indulgent, as she ensured every drop was used for the ritual. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Quiet down. You’re too loud.”
Her fingers brushed lightly, drawing the essence forward with a soft hum, her movements precise and unhurried. She worked with care, ensuring the ritual’s balance, her focus unwavering.
”—I brought the water and fish…” Priscilla’s voice cut through as she returned, pausing at the sight. “Lord Kian?”
”It’s not what it looks like!” Kian stammered, waving a hand. “It’s for the vampire factor, I swear!”
Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “Looks more like you and the princess are… reconnecting.”
”Close the door!” Talia barked, her voice muffled as she continued her work. “We can’t have his… enthusiasm echoing outside.”
Kian groaned, heat flooding his face as the ritual’s intensity lingered in the air, a quiet hum of connection binding them all to Lyritisse’s faltering life.
Talia’s lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes glinting with mischief. “How pathetic, my little beast,” she teased, her voice a velvet purr. “Now, where’s that sweet spot that’ll make you squirm even more? Shall I… coax it out?” Her fingers brushed lightly, a deliberate tease, her touch igniting a flush of heat. “Hurry up and give me what I need, you eager thing.”
Priscilla, having just shut the cabin door, stepped closer, her face a mix of jealousy and bewilderment. “What kind of show am I walking into?” she huffed, crossing her arms.
”Ms. Talia,” she added, her tone sharpening, “mind stepping away from my Lord Kian?”
Talia didn’t flinch, her gaze cool and unyielding. “Oh, Lady Priscilla, this is purely for the ritual’s sake—nothing more.” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness. “Kian may be my king, but let’s be honest, he’s just a… passionate beast at heart. This is no different from milking a cow, really.”
Priscilla blinked, incredulous. “What are you even talking about?”
Kian let out a stifled sound, a faint “ngh” slipping past his lips as Talia’s hands moved with purpose, her touch firm yet teasing, drawing him into a rhythm that sent shivers down his spine. Her fingers danced, grazing sensitive spots with a precision that left him trembling, his body reacting despite his best efforts to stay composed.
Spurttty!
Talia chuckled, her voice low and sultry. “Feeling good, my beast?”
”Y-Yes,” Kian stammered, his breath hitching. “I mean… oh, gods…”
”Let it flow,” she urged, her tone coaxing yet commanding. “Be the messy, shameless creature you are. Come on, give it to me—not Kian, my beast.”
Her grip tightened briefly, sending a surge through him, the ritual’s energy spilling forth in a rush. Talia absorbed it with a practiced ease, her movements fluid and unhurried.
”Mm… that’s enough for now,” she said, licking her lips as she leaned back. “A fine offering of essence. The Blood Servant transformation should take hold.”
The energy that had spilled onto Lyritisse’s body seemed to seep into her skin, like tides retreating into the shore. Talia grabbed the tray Priscilla had brought, scooping up the mashed fish and water pitcher. With a bold flourish, she poured the mixture into her mouth, though Lyritisse’s small frame seemed to frustrate her. Halfway through, she pressed the fish directly against Lyritisse’s abdomen, letting the body absorb it.
Moments later, Lyritisse’s emaciated form began to shift, a low thrum echoing as her skin regained a dewy vitality. Her curves softened, her chest and hips regaining a gentle fullness. The lines of her thighs, honed from her adventurer days, took on an almost sculptural grace.
Talia, unashamed, ran a finger through Lyritisse’s untouched hair below, murmuring, “This needs a bit of tidying.” Her vampire senses, sharp as ever, confirmed the transformation: Lyritisse’s muscles, bones, and organs had shifted into something beyond human. Like Maribel, her body had been amplified by Kian’s essence, her strength and resilience likely surpassing mortal limits. Kian couldn’t help but wonder if this aligned with the Western Church’s doctrines.
Talia tilted her head, assessing. “Her mind’s a bit slow, but use will sharpen it. The body… it’s not quite her original, nor the doll her father prepared, but for a beast like you, it’s passable. There’s something… inhuman in your blood, isn’t there? It’s boosting her potential beyond the usual.” She hummed thoughtfully.
Priscilla sidled closer, her voice low. “Lord Kian, are you sure about trusting her?”
Kian, still catching his breath, managed a weak smile. “Talia’s… eccentric, but not evil. Aside from her questionable ethics, she’s noble and sharp—flawless, really.”
Priscilla’s eyes narrowed. “Questionable ethics is a dealbreaker, don’t you think? And did you hear what she’s been calling you? Beast? Pig?”
Kian shrugged. “It’s just her way.”
”Her way?!” Priscilla’s voice spiked.
Talia tossed her flaxen hair, stepping boldly toward Priscilla, her figure swaying with confidence. “It’s my brand of affection, Lady Priscilla,” she said, her voice teasing. Priscilla faltered, ducking behind Kian as Talia’s presence loomed.
”Her organs are still adjusting,” Talia continued, glancing at Lyritisse. “Keep her moving, and she’ll regain her rhythm. Kian, dress her. No objections.”
Kian hesitated, his gaze lingering. “Alright, I’ll—”
”Wait,” Talia cut in, smirking. “Your eyes are too eager. I’ll handle it. Can’t have a riled-up beast causing trouble.”
Kian bit back a retort, handing over a toga and undergarments—items Aliona had once passed to him for… personal use. Talia, manipulating his arm with a flicker of magic, cleansed the fabric with a Penetration spell before dressing Lyritisse’s transformed body.
”Now, shall we meet the cardinal?” Talia said, turning to Kian.
”I’ll show Augustus—her father—her face, then we’ll head out,” she added.
Priscilla stepped in, her smile sharp. “Hold on. Stay on the ship tonight. If you two leave now, who knows what might happen to his precious daughter?”
Talia’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, she’s already been… opened, used as Rean’s pawn. Isn’t that right, my beast?” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, her gaze locking onto Kian.
Kian, flustered, could only nod, a sheepish grunt escaping him.
Priscilla’s expression hardened. “Lady Priscilla, if you want Kian, become his Head Magician. Give up everything else. I’m prepared to devote myself entirely to taming this beast.”
”Taming me?” Kian muttered, half-amused.
”Managing your… output,” Talia clarified with a smirk. “Left unchecked, you’d scatter your essence everywhere, sowing chaos like a Thorn Demon.”
Priscilla’s shoulders slumped. “Ms. Talia, Kian and I have other business tonight. Staying on the ship isn’t an option.” Kian’s tone was firm—his schedule was packed with negotiations with Gensou and routine training, likely keeping him up all night.
Priscilla sighed, shaking her head. “Devoting everything, huh? I suppose I can’t stand beside him, dragged down by the dead as I am. I don’t have the… qualification. I won’t hold you back, Kian—that’s not my idea of a partner. But if I see you tomorrow, and you’ve… indulged, I’ll be heartbroken. If you must connect with someone, don’t forget me.”
Kian chuckled. “You’re laying on the guilt like an evil spirit, Priscilla.”
She grinned. “Consider it payback. The familiars will handle cleanup. Now, let’s get Lyritisse’s body to Augusto.”
Priscilla strode out, Kian and Talia following, brushing past the skeletal captain who’d entered to tidy the cabin.
* * *
In the end, Talia’s possession of Lyritisse’s body caused no major stir. Augustus wept at the sight of his daughter, restored to health, while the Inquisitor—known as the Burier of the Cursed—cast a lingering glance at Talia but said nothing. Her true eyes, hidden on her tongue, remained concealed before the cardinal.
Priscilla promised to return Lyritisse to the Western Church once her condition stabilized, but Augustus shook his head. Keeping her with him posed too many risks. Until the demon Kharab was captured, he insisted Priscilla’s group continue managing her.
Priscilla, unable to refuse, agreed. A portion of Augustus’s vast, hidden wealth—enough to dwarf a minor lord’s fortune—began flowing into her accounts regularly. With Fhana, Guy’s wife, also tied to a cardinal’s lineage, Chatillon’s ties to the Church deepened further. Renaud, wherever he was in the afterlife, was probably chuckling.
Later, a banquet was held with the Western Church’s entourage, Priscilla, and Blumer. The estate’s host, a trade merchant dealing in garments, offered clothing for Lyritisse, which Kian purchased during the meal.
Because while Talia was inside Lyritisse’s body, she’d have to stick close to Kian and move wherever he went.
Once they reached Asterios, she could draw endless magic power from Zeus’s Spiritual Vein, so running out of magic power wasn’t the issue. The problem was distance—if she drifted too far from Kian, his right arm would go limp. Talia being able to act independently was a massive advantage, but it also meant his own combat ability would drop compared to before.
Still, he wanted to reach the peak on his own strength someday, so he decided to take this as a good opportunity. They could still talk through telepathy, so for anything he needed to discuss, she’d still be there.
After the dinner, they hurried back to the Kianmerchant Guild’s little cabin beside Elder Gaius’s house. There, Kian waited as Talia changed—pulling on a crisp tailored blouse, an indigo miniskirt, and black tights that hugged her legs.
New boots of kelpie leather [T/N: ケルピー, a water-horse monster prized for its supple hide] clicked softly on the floorboards when she stepped. Unlike Lyritisse’s usual loose waves, her flaxen hair had been tied up halfway in a neat, elegant half-up style, finished with a white ribbon. Over her shoulders he draped the dark magician’s robe Priscilla had given her.
And just like that, Lyritisse’s body had turned into a picture-perfect noble’s daughter—and a Head Magician.
Slender eyes under gentle brows, a tall nose, soft full lips.
Her hips had more curve than her chest, which, honestly, hit Kian’s tastes dead center.
Before, he’d always thought, yeah, but it’s Lyritisse, and felt weird about it. But now… knowing Talia was inside, he couldn’t stop the flicker of heat in his chest. Maybe this was her charm—even able to beguile spirits themselves.
”It’s not that,” Talia said flatly. “My charm only works with my soul in my own body. Right now, I don’t have that kind of pull.”
In the dim cabin light, she turned her head to check her legs and back, testing each motion. Finally she gave a light hop, spun with her skirt fluttering, and landed with a soft thump.
”This body’s inconvenient,” she said quietly. “…But free. Free from everything that binds. I thought I didn’t need flesh. But having a body of your own… it really is a lovely thing.”
”Thinking of keeping it?” Kian teased.
”Of course not. I’m not some pig who wants everything. Once this body’s functional again, I’ll return it.”
She caught his hand and started for the door.
”Come on. Stop standing there grinning. We’re about to meet one of the enemy generals, so try to look sharp.”
* * *
The Chin-Chin lifted off with a soft click of gears, and they set out.
Kian and Talia rode a wyvern golem toward a deserted island east of Water Island, where they’d agreed to meet Gensou.
They flew at high altitude, and once again avoided the patrol ships of Crete. A relief, but it made Kian think—sooner or later, they’d need defenses against aerial attacks from things like Linca’s Nue, flying golems, or dragonflies. The cheapest and simplest way might be to station flying soldiers to patrol the skies… though creating flying soldiers would mean training, education, and raising suitable monsters, all expensive. He’d have to tell Rufna to invent something brilliant for air defense once they got back from Crete.
”I see it,” Talia said suddenly, lifting her face from the thick Umar volume on golemcraft Aliona had left behind. She pointed forward.
The moon, which had gone dark once this year, had returned as a slim crescent, casting pale light over the dark sea. Using her vampire eyesight, Kian could make out what she meant—a lump of deeper black rising from the water.
He banked the Chin-Chin.
On the small sandy beach of the island, no more than a few hundred meters wide, three human-shaped shadows already stood waiting.
Gensou, and two female warrior monks.
The snake-woman was gone—apparently she really had died.
As they touched down, Gensou spread his arms wide in welcome.
”Good evening, Lord Kian. Is that your magician?”
”That’s right. You’ve brought companions too, so this should be fine.”
”I left a message asking to speak one-on-one.”
His eyes flicked toward Talia, wary. Judging by her magic power and balanced stance, he must’ve decided she wasn’t someone to take lightly.
Kian pointed to the rocky ledge a short way down the beach.
”Shall we talk over there? It’ll be just us.”
”…Fine.”
Kian, be careful, Talia’s voice slid through his head.
(I know.)
‘If something happens, I’ll smash these two and come get you.’
(I’ll probably cut Gensou down before that.)
That wasn’t arrogance. It was certainty.
Whatever sword techniques the warrior monks used, he could crush them with Beastmen Martial Arts. He knew their tricks. If it came to a straight fight, he’d win.
”So, what did you want to talk about?” Kian asked lightly as they walked the sandy beach. “—And no, I’m not going to start with something boring like that.”
”This morning, a warning came from your younger brother,” Gensou said. “Withdraw your troops at once, or be treated as rebels and crushed.”
”If that’s true, you’re in a tight spot. What do you plan to do, Lord Gensou?”
”What do you think? Should I pull back?”
He didn’t sound serious.
Hands clasped behind his back, he gave a quiet chuckle.
”If I attack Crete, my troops will bleed, and I’ll hand your brother an excuse to march on Nile. Honestly, this whole expedition idea was Lord Jibril’s, and now he’s backing off. Typical.”
”Jibril probably just meant to go through the proper steps if he attacked,” Kian said. “Not to slide from piracy straight into an invasion. The world—and Azrael—won’t forgive that.”
”Right? So maybe I should just quit. I’m bored. Truth is, I never wanted to babysit doddering old men and cowards too scared to dirty their own hands. But walking away empty-handed means losing everything I invested.”
He stopped, turned to face Kian, and smiled faintly.
”I’ll retreat. On one condition.”
”…What is it?”
”Kill Shidarkan for me.”
The eastern youth grinned, eyes gleaming.
”He’s in my way. And lure his magician off somewhere too. While you do that, I’ll smash the pirate Shidarkan’s base at Phoenicia. Not a bad deal, right?”
Notes:
• Count Cain – Talia’s father.
• Camilla – A woman; the subject of the chapter; her body was used to seal Erynys’ soul.
• Kharab – The enemy who stole Talia’s soul and possessed her body; referred to by the Black Onyx Spirit; defeated by Kian.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
• 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.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Nue – A Shikigami summoned by Linca. It has the appearance of a monster with a tiger’s limbs and a monkey’s head. Nue is a powerful but dangerous creature that requires a skilled magician to control.
• 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.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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