Volume 3 Chapter 150 Umar’s Tale Of Love
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”Come here in the afternoon. That is an order.”
Umar’s voice echoed coldly as he looked up at Kian from his wheelchair.
Even in the dim shade cast by the temple entrance under the morning sun, his dark eyes seemed to gleam with a quiet menace. He had always been like this—unyielding, distant, and impossible to read. He neither understood others’ hearts nor tried to.
One thing was certain: Umar never once saw Kian as his own son.
He allowed no one to approach him. Perhaps it was the consequence of a life built on blood and betrayal, of surviving through schemes and silent blades. Somewhere along the way, he had lost whatever it was that made one human. Now, he trusted no one—not even family.
Not even his own son.
And so, in the end, he was betrayed by Jibril and left to rot in disgrace in the far northern lands.
A bitter wind surged up the mountainside, stirring the silence between them. It howled through the vast, unbridgeable space that separated father and son.
”…Lord Umar.”
Kian’s voice was steady as he looked down without emotion.
”If you have something to say, there is no need to call it an ‘order.’ Simply explain what must be done, and I will act accordingly.”
”I use that word because it is necessary,” Umar replied without flinching. “There are only two powers within this ancient temple—you and me. If I attempt to move forward, and you resist, all efforts will collapse. We must make it clear which side holds command.”
”Even after losing your influence, you still insist on drawing lines of superiority?”
Kian’s reply drew a slight narrowing of Umar’s eyes. His jaw tightened.
”This is not a question of pride. It is a matter of structure. If two people issue commands, the result is chaos. The group will fracture. Like the Beastmen tribes that wander leaderless in the forest.”
”I have no intention of following you.”
”Then you won’t attend this afternoon’s meeting?”
Kian shook his head calmly.
”I didn’t say that. You’re planning a strategic briefing ahead of the envoy’s arrival from the Beastmen Alliance, aren’t you? If so, I will be there.”
”Then stop testing my patience. You still lack the wisdom to navigate the world.”
”And you, Lord Umar, ought to choose your words more carefully. Do not forget—you’re speaking to a man who lost everything because of you. A man exiled from his homeland by your will.”
Kian’s tone remained cold, but his words cut deep.
Umar’s expression didn’t change. His fingers tapped irritably against the armrest of his wheelchair.
”You won’t kill me. You still need me alive—for what I know. I hold information critical to Izerland’s survival, to Jibril’s movements, and to strengthening the Knights of the Sun. You may be reckless, but not blind. As long as I hold value, the blade at your back will remain sheathed.”
How could he speak with such certainty?
If the one standing before him had been someone like Serena—impulsive and straightforward—Umar would already be bleeding out in the dirt. Though he considered himself a man of reason, he underestimated how emotions could shatter logic. Or perhaps he understood it, but still clung to cold calculation.
Yet Kian was not entirely ruled by logic either.
Even he couldn’t deny the occasional impulse: Maybe I should just end it here.
Did Umar even consider the possibility of Kian drawing his sword?
Kian couldn’t grasp what this man was thinking. If their roles were reversed, he wouldn’t take such a dangerous stance. He would lower his head, plaster on a hollow smile, and bide his time like a snake in the grass.
(…Though in the end, that’s only my opinion.)
Kian and Umar had lived vastly different lives. Umar had his own reasons, his own convictions. Maybe, from his perspective, this was the right move.
Kian kept his gaze steady and spoke again.
”I’ve already visited Ramsey and spoken with Lord Owl. I’ve acquired additional intel regarding potential reinforcements from Izerland.”
”In exchange for my information, I assume?”
”Of course. Our interests happen to align—for now. We’re in the same boat. But once Rean and the others are delivered, I intend to disembark.”
”I don’t understand.”
”What part?”
Kian raised an eyebrow. Umar slowly turned his chair to face the expansive marshland below the mountain.
”If it were me, I would never let such a perfect opportunity go. And yet here you are—ready to throw it away. That is the height of foolishness.”
”Is that so? Then perhaps you’d be willing to explain what exactly makes this opportunity so perfect, and how I’ve become the fool for ignoring it.”
”You already possess the strength to challenge the Knights of the Sun. You’ve earned Lady Sarah’s allegiance in Châtillon. You’ve forged ties with powerful figures across the land. If you wished, you could easily live out your days under their protection, secure and admired.”
”That much is true.”
”Then why not go further?”
Umar’s eyes narrowed with genuine confusion. For once, there was no malice in his expression. Only disbelief.
”Your next step? You mean becoming a noble? Receiving land from the High Chancellor?”
”No. Those are merely tools. Gaining wealth, wielding the right to take lives, polishing your swordsmanship—those are all expressions of power. What I’m talking about goes beyond that. The next stage… is fame.”
”…Fame.”
Kian echoed the word, his tone shifting slightly. For the first time, he looked at Umar not with disdain, but with a flicker of intrigue.
He couldn’t understand this man.
But that only meant there was something to learn from him.
He had no desire to follow in Umar’s footsteps. But the truth remained—Umar was a man who had lifted the Vahid name to the ranks of the Twelve Divine Generals in a single generation. His knowledge, his experience… they could become a stepping stone to something greater.
He could always end the man’s life after that.
”…I’m listening, Lord Umar. Please continue.”
”Fame,” Umar said, voice low and resolute, “is when the common folk sing your name in admiration. When you become a legend in their eyes. With it, there is no need to constantly swing your sword or force others into submission. Doors open by themselves. Allies gather without being asked. And wealth flows to you without effort. Not just twice or three times as much—but dozens of times.”
Umar sat silently, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon, as if chasing memories long past. After a moment, he continued speaking.
”Being respected and admired by others is good for the mind. If your heart is in a poor state, your sword dulls, and your thoughts stagnate. But if you’re in a good place mentally, you may stumble upon unexpected insights… maybe even breakthroughs.”
”Hmm…”
Kian gave a small nod. The words weren’t unreasonable.
For nearly a decade, he had endured the scorn of adventurers passing through Izerland—mocked, dismissed, branded a ‘trash-picker.’ If he wanted fair rewards on temporary quests, he had to prove himself useful every time. More than once, that meant putting his life on the line.
If someone had the kind of fame Rean possessed, none of that would even be on the table. No sudden reward cuts. No being left out of a party. No rejection from clients before even hearing him out.
Power—yes, Kian had that now. He’d gathered strong allies too. But fame? That was another story.
Even in Izerland, though the nobility occasionally called him “Master Knight,” those were just empty words. Titles with no substance. Behind his back, he could almost hear their sneers. In East End, most people still looked at him with disdain. A few exceptions existed, but they were few and far between.
Until Umar brought it up, Kian had never really considered how much of a disadvantage that truly was.
(If I accepted Maribel’s request and became Minister of Defense… the local nobles would ridicule me without hesitation. They’d see me as an outsider, an intruder. As long as I’m useful, they’ll smile and flatter me. But once I’m not—)
Their fangs would bare without a second thought.
”I have a question,” Kian said.
”I’m still speaking,” Umar replied dryly. “Must I answer you now?”
”As the one assigned to protect you during the upcoming meeting, I believe answering me is within reason.”
Umar let out a quiet breath and raised a hand, palm facing forward.
It meant: Ask.
”Did you, Lord Umar, possess ‘fame’?”
”Of course,” Umar said, without hesitation.
”You defined fame earlier as being seen by the common people as a great hero. If I were to refine that a bit… it would mean being respected and loved by all. Would you agree?”
”And what of it?”
Kian’s voice remained calm. “Were you truly respected and loved by everyone?”
”There are as many people as stars in the sky, and each one thinks differently. Some might have hated me, sure—but those are statistical outliers. Errors. I was a man needed by all. Respected by all.”
”I see. So you are a living example—that fame truly can lead to success. Your claim isn’t without weight.”
Kian nodded slowly, but something in Umar’s words had caught on his mind. A subtle discomfort.
When asked if he had been respected and loved by everyone, Umar’s reply was slightly different. “I was respected and needed by everyone.”
In Umar’s worldview, being loved and being needed were synonymous. People request what they need. Others respond because they, too, need something in return. It sounded logical at first.
But something about it felt wrong.
To Kian, love—at least as it appeared in stories—was supposed to be unconditional.
In folk tales, people betrayed their kingdoms for love. Others gave their lives for parents or siblings. Those acts weren’t born of need. They weren’t trades or equations. They were expressions of emotion that eclipsed reason itself.
Unlike Umar, who believed in giving only when needed, those characters simply acted.
So who was correct—the story, or the man beside him?
Kian didn’t know. But if those stories had been passed down for generations, cherished and retold, then maybe… just maybe, they captured something closer to the truth of what love was.
That answer—because most people think so, it must be true—wasn’t satisfying. It lacked logic. Still, Kian couldn’t come up with a better one.
Back in the arena at Châtillon, Katyusha, the warrior monk from the black panther tribe, had said something to him.
You’re a pitiful man. You’ve never known love.
At the time, he’d wanted to object, to shout that people shouldn’t judge based on their own standards. But in the end, he couldn’t deny the truth in her words.
Because, in his own life, love had always come when he was needed—and left when he wasn’t.
The same went for Sarah. For Maribel. For Priscilla.
If he lost his value, Sarah would turn her back on him. Maribel and Priscilla would do the same. That wasn’t a guess. It was certainty.
Not just them—everyone.
Men. Women. The young. The old.
All of them seemed to live that way.
(My “love” for Umar… it’ll end the moment he’s no longer necessary. And Jibril discarded Umar because he stopped being necessary.)
He felt the same about Owl.
So long as Owl had worth, that connection would continue. But if the disadvantages of keeping him alive ever outweighed the gains—
He would be killed.
Serena, too.
If she became irrelevant to his evolution, if she couldn’t keep up, he would leave her behind. As long as she retained value as a woman, he’d keep her close.
It was, perhaps, the most rational form of love.
By that logic, the rules of love were easy to grasp.
If love existed, he would act. He would wield power for that person’s sake. If it didn’t… then he wouldn’t. Or worse, he would turn that power against them.
(But maybe… maybe that’s not how humans are supposed to live.)
Kian shook his head slightly, as if brushing aside some whispering voice in the back of his mind.
On the other hand, Umar had already taken Kian’s silence as a sign that the conversation had run its course.
Returning to his earlier topic, he spoke without hesitation.
”Now then—what do you think of the current situation? From the south, one ambitious fool after another is crawling in, each trying to ‘save’ Ramsey and carve out a name for themselves as a hero. And yet you, who likely hold more power than any of them, are doing nothing but watching. Worse, you’re preparing to leave once your work here is done.”
Umar’s eyes narrowed.
”To me, you look like a man ready to throw away his one chance at fame.”
”One doesn’t necessarily have to intervene in the war. Simply working on this land can earn a great deal of fame. There’s truth in what you say.”
”I can’t help but feel sorry for Lady Sarah, who follows you. I was curious what kind of person she had become after being recognized by the princess of Izerland in the West—but you’re just a poor imitation compared to Jibril.”
”Sir Umar…”
Perhaps sensing that Kian was about to draw his sword, Demete stepped in with a pale face, unusually flustered.
But for Kian, being mocked as a failure or a knockoff by Umar had become such a norm that no real emotion stirred in him anymore.
With a tight expression, Kian locked eyes with the dark elf who stood between them.
”Demete.”
”Y-yes…”
”Lord Umar’s breathing is getting shallow. It seems the sunlight is starting to poison his body.”
Kian gestured with his chin toward the depths of the temple.
”Take him down to the floor level. If you need help, contact Sarah.”
”I can manage on my own.”
”Is that so?”
”Wait, Kian. Our conversation isn’t finished yet.”
”Sir Umar, it’s best you regain your strength first.”
With those words, Kian leapt down from the ancient temple’s platform onto the steep slope.
* * *
He returned to Linca’s cave several hours later.
Although she’d regained some composure, she had been abandoned by Jibril and could no longer return to her homeland. Kian had been worried—if left alone too long, she might start thinking dark thoughts and possibly even commit suicide.
But those fears seemed unfounded. As he descended from Wing Cain and entered the protective barrier, he saw her outside the cave, practicing handstands to build shoulder and arm strength.
”…Thirty-nine… forty…”
With her glossy black hair tied up in a bun, Linca bent and extended her arms again and again. Unlike Sarah, who swung around absurdly heavy weights, her training was within a reasonable range, though still quite intense.
Beneath her nose and bangs, sweat dripped into a small puddle forming on the ground.
”…Fifty. There! Good morning, Sir Kian!”
Wearing only a cloth top and shorts, Linca elegantly pushed herself back up to a standing position. She let her hair fall from the bun and approached him with a cheerful smile.
Kian smiled back and responded.
”Good morning. Did you sleep well last night?”
”Nope. But having a body that doesn’t tire even if I stay up is amazing. I spent the night on top of the cave, just looking up at the stars.”
”Sounds pretty elegant. I haven’t done that in a while. I’m a bit jealous.”
”Oh? I thought adventurers camped under the stars all the time.”
While talking, Linca—apparently bothered by the strong wind messing up her hair—gathered it back into a bundle and tied it with a white ribbon. Long hair really did seem like a hassle.
The wind from the marsh shifted, replaced by a chill that rolled down from the mountain slopes. Her bundled hair fluttered toward Kian, and the scent of rose soap mixed with sweat wafted toward him.
This version of Linca—healthy, free, post-training—felt far removed from her previously modest, refined image. The sight stirred something inside Kian. He kept his composure behind a smile and spoke.
”A low-rank adventurer like me doesn’t get that kind of luxury. Even if I stayed awake at night, I was always on alert as a lookout. And if I could sleep safely, I’d pass out like a rock. Besides, I wouldn’t camp out in the open—always under trees or behind rocks. So I didn’t get many chances to look up at the stars.”
”I see. Then the fact I can enjoy the outdoors must be thanks to the blessings of the god Azrael. Oh divine one, I’m grateful.”
”It’s probably more thanks to your own effort than any god. That barrier you made was solid. You trained just like I did, and I respect you deeply for that.”
”Hehe. Sir Kian, I like when you praise me like that.”
”Huh? You like it?”
”Yes. I mean… I like being around you. It feels good.”
Linca blushed, glanced at the ground, and muttered a clarification.
Kian blinked in mild confusion, unsure of her true intention.
As a warrior monk, she might be using feminine charm to lure him in, like she did with Gunter or Julius. But Kian’s heart-chinpo sensor—his gut instinct—didn’t feel like she was lying. He wanted to believe his intuition was accurate when it came to sensing a woman’s sincerity… but it was still just that—intuition. Not something to bet everything on.
”…If it’s alright with you, would you like to drink tea together?”
Pretending nothing had happened, Kian pulled a pouch of tea leaves from Madam Fhana out of his backpack.
”If possible, I’d like to talk about what comes next while we drink.”
Linca tilted her head.
”Our future? Do you already have a plan? I figured once your quest ended, we’d slip off somewhere near the royal capital and live quietly like hermits.”
”Hermits, huh… Well, no. I’m still a Master Knight, even if only in title.”
”But you’re not holding any official post, are you?”
”Not at the moment, no.”
”Then wouldn’t it be better to raise your Adventurer Rank to intermediate or so, and live peacefully near the capital? I’ll build us a house.”
”That won’t work. There are people like Sarah, the party members, Lady Maribel, and even the witch of Izerland who’ve supported me. If I just ran off with you, they’d all be left behind. Especially my party—they count on me. They’d be directly affected by any decision I make. I can’t just be selfish.”
When Kian said this, Linca blinked in surprise.
It was rude to be surprised at such words… but given how irresponsibly he’d treated her before, her reaction was understandable.
”────”
”Linca?”
”Ah, yes.”
She quickly collected herself and nodded with calm determination.
”Understood. Then today, I’ll cook breakfast. Sir Kian, would you please prepare the tea?”
* * *
While eating the breakfast Linca made, they talked about Natra and Rufna. Linca was shocked by Kian’s actions, but she managed to believe the story. However, when the topic shifted to Sarah and gathering the scattered followers of Nakash, she frowned.
”……”
”What’s wrong? Say what you’re thinking.”
”Um, well… but…”
”I won’t get mad. I don’t know much about Jibril, but I’m sure I’m way more chill than him.”
”No… Sir Kian, you’re scary.”
”Me? What’s scary about me? Without my magic sword, you could kill me easy.”
Linca shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.”
She lifted the teapot with both hands and spoke.
”When I fought you, Sir Kian, you were scarier than anyone I’ve ever faced. Especially when you cut me down… that fear I felt — it was primal. I didn’t even feel that when I stood against Oswald.”
”You fought Oswald?”
”Not directly. I only stalled him long enough to finish my mission. If I’d kept going, my shamshir would’ve snapped against his ‘Mirror Moon.’ Once the sword broke, I would’ve burned alive.”
”Even so, you held him off. Neither Sarah nor Duke Nizaam could do that.”
Kian raised his opinion of her again. That must’ve been why, despite politics and personality issues, Jibril had stayed by her side since childhood.
But Linca didn’t seem to think it was anything special. She just shook her head slightly.
”Sorry to jump topics, but… about Sarah. Gathering her retainers isn’t realistic. Most of them were wiped out. The few left scattered and mixed in with bandits. Her mother, Lady Talarene, was the only survivor and ran off east. If we tried pulling them together behind Jibril’s back, we’d be sneaking around Azrael’s land for decades. Maybe even until the next generation.”
”So you’re saying by that time, who knows if she’s even truly Nakash blood anymore?”
”Yes. And when they gather, the Lee family — who stole the Twelve Divine Generals’ seats — will come for her. She’ll be killed. And not just her. You too, Sir Kian.”
”Even so, I can’t abandon Sarah. She helped me when I was in Azrael. I want to support her, even if it’s just a little.”
”I see… so that’s why you’re following her orders.”
Linca smiled softly.
”You’re kind to people on your side, Sir Kian.”
”Isn’t that normal? …Well, not for Umar.”
Linca set down her empty cup and looked straight at him across the campfire.
”I get it now — about Natra, Rufna, and Sarah. I’m ready to join. I just need to show up acting like a puppet whose brain got eaten by a Wraith and brainwashed by you, right?”
”Yeah. But don’t overdo it. Natra and Rufna still talk normally. As long as I don’t mess with their minds too hard, they can move on their own. You’ll be the same. As for Umar—”
”I’ll handle him. Honestly, Sir Kian, you might be the one Umar tries to kill next. I’ll protect you best I can, but please be careful.”
”My body being a keepsake means I can’t go back to Azrael, right?”
Kian said it lightly, but Linca shot him a sharp glare.
(…Better not joke like that again.)
”I’ll go do my makeup.”
”No need. If you act too seductive, it might cause problems.”
”What kind of problems?”
”Uh… well… someone might notice your soul’s still intact.”
Truthfully, he worried Sarah might get suspicious. If Linca looked too pretty — like a wife standing beside him — Sarah might think he had certain interests. That would be bad.
She should at least look normal, not too flashy. Kian convinced himself of this, even as he tried not to think about how smooth her skin looked.
Linca, taking his empty plate, gave him a doubtful look.
”Makeup or not doesn’t prove anything about my mind. Do Natra and Rufna still like the same stuff they did in life? If so, wouldn’t it seem weirder if I show up barefaced?”
”Is that so?”
”I can’t face people like this. I’m not as pretty as Sarah.”
”Huh? I don’t think that’s true. You’re just as pretty. I think of you as graceful and lovely… like a white lily. Beautiful.”
”────────────”
”Linca?”
”Sir Kian, that’s not something you should say.”
Linca puffed her nose, turned away, and walked to the wash bucket. As she dipped the dishes in water, she muttered under her breath, “Cheater…”
Unfortunately, Kian’s sharp hearing caught it loud and clear.
But he knew it was better to pretend he didn’t.
Notes:
• Serena – Wolfmen Girl
• Katyusha – A female warrior monk of the black panther race and a follower of Abbas Hashmalik Shakerdoust.
• Demete – A male dark elf shaman and a servant in the Umar household.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Gunter – Male. One of Owl’s knights, fully armored in a turtle-like appearance. He is easily distracted by Linca’s charm and struggles to maintain professionalism. His relationship with Owl is one of a subordinate, and he is often scolded for his behavior.
• 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.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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