Volume 4 Chapter 20 Rare Encounters
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
A stranger who called himself Azraelian.
The Wolfman before him spoke those words, his tone piercing yet strangely familiar. Behind smoky quartz sunglasses, light blue eyes gleamed with an emotion far too joyful to be meant for a mere stranger.
It felt like the reunion of friends long parted.
And yet, of course, Kian had never seen this man before. Not once in the streets, not even in Ramsey’s refugee camp.
Silver hair, pale blue eyes, a towering frame brimming with magic power. Wolfmen were memorable by nature, but this man’s presence was unforgettable. Kian was certain he would remember if they had crossed paths.
”Excuse me, have we met somewhere before?” asked Kian, brushing sand from his sandals.
”No, first time. Heh. Didn’t I just say? A nameless Azraelian,” said the man.
He spread his arms wide. A colossus no lesser than Isthbaran himself. The stretch of his chest revealed the muscular valley beneath his white shirt.
His smile, like his voice, was beautiful, almost androgynous. But the glint of his canine teeth betrayed a savage streak that belied the gentleness. Typical of Wolfmen.
Kian had slain more Wolfmen than any hero of the modern age, and none of them—not even the silver wolves—had been weak. This dazzling giant before him would be no exception. To lower his guard, even in the absence of hostility, would be foolish.
”Since it’s our first meeting, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m called ‘Ōji’ (T/N: pun on Ōji meaning ‘Prince’). And you are? I’d love to hear your name from those tempting lips.”
”Kian.”
”Ah, Kian. Ki-an. I’ll remember it. A pleasure.”
(What is with this guy…?)
A shiver ran down his spine. Distaste pressed in, yet Kian chose to probe before dismissing the man.
High Warlord Isthbaran. Juji of the Burning Spear. Dozens more.
Kian had killed them all. Every Wolfman had reason to hate him. If this “Ōji” hid his intent behind friendly words, best to gather information while he could.
”Are you of this country?”
”No. I’m a merchant. See? My companions and ship are over there.”
He gestured with a pale thumb. Down by the boats, half-naked Azraelians strained to load empty crates.
They were no sailors’ rabble. Each body was carved like a swordsman’s, and their glances carried something more unsettling than simple curiosity.
”They look dangerous, don’t they?”
”Not at all. Strong men make good crew.”
”Are they yours, Ōji?”
”Not exactly. Borrowed hands.”
”You’ve traded often at Grass Island, then?”
”Heh. You sound like an inquisitor. No, not often. Today’s special. Maybe my last time. Which makes meeting you today… a miracle.”
”They say every encounter is once in a lifetime.”
”Indeed. Here, perhaps I should give you my card. We may meet in trade one day.”
”I thought you said you wouldn’t return to this island?”
”True, but who knows where fate might cross us again?”
As he answered, a sharp voice rang out from behind: “Ōji!”
Not a man’s bellow, but a woman’s call.
A slender shadow cut across the sand.
She was clad in loose white robes of Azrael, her collar fastened neatly with a gold pin—so unlike the Ōji, whose shirt lay provocatively open.
Short hair swept across one eye. Beneath the other, a glossy beauty mark glistened. A red scarf veiled her mouth.
Kian was certain he had seen her before, though the memory slipped beyond reach.
”Ōji, what are you doing? We’re leaving.”
”Ah, forgive me, Meisa.”
”Come.”
The black-haired woman—Meisa—cast Kian a single, piercing glance before turning on her heel.
”Do you want my card after all?” the Ōji asked.
”No. My guardian once told me never to take things from strangers.”
”What?—Hah! Ah, I see. You’re unusual, Kian.”
”I’ve been told that.”
”Then let us be grateful for this meeting. Farewell, Kian.”
With a final radiant smile, the Ōji followed after Meisa. Their figures dwindled toward the boats. Out at sea, a great ship rocked—likely their merchant vessel. An odd pairing, indeed: a Wolfman among Azraelian sailors, and a veiled beauty on his arm. Even unseen beneath the scarf, she seemed as striking as Sarah—gentle, tragic, and impossibly well-endowed.
’Men are always like this,’ Talia’s voice teased inside him.
(I like small breasts too, Talia.)
’Then you’re just a gluttonous pig.’
(Harsh. But pigs are omnivores. Not wrong.)
Oink, oink. Cute girls forever.
’I still can’t figure out your character…’
(Forget me. Can you craft some kind of cart for these crates? Something that’ll move over sand?)
’It’d be faster if you made two trips yourself.’
”You’re right. From pig to pack mule, then.”
Muttering, Kian invoked Earth Magic. A massive crate rose overhead, then tilted as a slope of sand shifted it onto his back.
From the docks, villagers cried out in awe.
”Monster control by Kian of the merchant guild! If you’re troubled by beasts, don’t hesitate to call on me!” he shouted.
His voice carried across the shore as he sprinted like the wind, burden and all. Grass Island had no troublesome monsters to speak of, but reminding people of the guild’s usefulness was never wasted effort.
It had been a week since he first settled here. By now, rumors of the strange Azraelian at the far end of the beach had reached every corner of Grass Island.
* * *
Mrs. Camilla’s cargo had been unloaded onto the private beach. The villa’s front doors were large enough for a carriage, but dragging everything inside risked scratches and cluttering the entrance.
Kian shaped four stone basins with magic, filled them with wood, and lit them. As the sun sank, bright torchlight blazed across the sand. A lonely campfire flickered, and he sat with it.
Her reply letter was thick. The gist: she would not lower her demands for a slave.
The requirements stood firm:
* A handsome Azraelian male.
* Magic power weaker than Aliona was acceptable, but at least mid to low-class High Elf level.
* A body rugged enough to crush stone with fists, resistant to poison and disease.
* Educated, fluent in Western Common, Azraelian, and ideally Eastern Common as well.
Even without the “handsome Azraelian” restriction, the bar was absurd. In truth, she was asking for the likes of Sarah, Linca, or Natra.
”How do you even make someone like Jibril a slave?” Kian asked.
”Capture him in a war,” came the dry reply.
”Hardly worth it.”
The Leanan Sidhe might vanish from Crete for decades, and if she did, she’d probably be delighted. That, more than anything, drained his motivation. She had told him herself—better to treat it as a long war of attrition.
”The lady knows her trade. She doesn’t just bark orders; she sweetens the deal for me,” Kian muttered.
”So that’s what all this cargo is,” Talia said, flexing an arm with mock pride.
Kian glanced at the massive crate, the size of a skiff.
”Inside is a flying golem. Based on Sarah’s insect model but sturdier—broad-backed like a stag beetle, with several times the carrying capacity. With enough magic, it can fly double the distance.”
The letter had been thick because she had enclosed blueprints. The finished design resembled a winged dragon of old—Quetzalcoatl. The crate contained the disassembled parts.
”It’s still a prototype. The fuel drain is brutal, useless for an average mage. In versatility and ease of use, it’s inferior to Azrael’s flying dragonflies,” Kian said.
”But with your Spiritual Vein, you can draw magic endlessly. Perfect match,” Talia replied.
”True. Out here, you only see Wing-Cain over the sea now and then. The real question is speed and comfort. Still—she sent me something worthwhile.”
”Then let’s build it,” Talia said.
”Agreed. Though the beach I flattened earlier is already ruined again.”
”By the time you finish, it’ll be a cratered mess. At least tomorrow you’ll have plenty of cleaning to do,” she teased.
”….”
Her sarcasm had grown sharper lately, her voice carrying a bratty edge. If she had her old body again… would he punish her with discipline sex, or indulge in brat-breaking humiliation? Hard to say. Ideally, both.
”Neither, idiot. Pervert,” Talia snapped.
”Ahem. Anyway, time for dinner. Minotaur meat again—but this stew’s been simmering all day. Even the tendons should be jelly by now.”
The taste was pure beef, but the toughness was maddening. His plan: drown it in fire and broth until tender.
He left the crate where it was, fetched the pot from the kitchen, and carried it back to the fire. Under the twilight sky, stars overhead, he enjoyed what should have been an elegant dinner.
The mood was perfect—the stew was not. Everything but the meat was delicious. The Minotaur’s tail had dissolved into a slimy mush, revolting on the tongue, and the half-melted sinew clung in his mouth like strands of hair. He nearly gagged.
Disgusting. Yet still preferable to raw insects. So, forcing himself, he swallowed the stew without chewing much.
Now only the torso and head remained. The limbs had already been eaten as grilled cuts. The torso would be difficult, and the head… he had no idea (curry, perhaps?). But the end was in sight.
”Well then, time for the usual transformation,” he said.
”Clothes off,” Talia ordered.
”I know, I know.”
He stripped shirt and trousers, leaving himself bare. Drawing Minotaur cells stored in his right arm, he sent them coursing through his body. His frame swelled, skin darkened to brown, then shifted to a hide of thick white fur.
A moment later, the white bull monster was born—an explosive blast of life.
Taking a mirror from his Wraith’s load, he studied himself.
”Moo. I’m a cow, moo,” he said.
”Can’t you stop with that stupid ending?” Talia asked.
”Can’t moo. Moooo! My violent impact impulses awaken, mooo!.”
”Calm down.”
”Impossible moo!”
His head had turned fully bovine, but his cock remained stubbornly human. Even in beast form, pride endured where it mattered.
”Moo! I want women! Sunburned Cretan girls—the best!” he bellowed.
”You’re back to pig-dick mode,” Talia said flatly.
”Still moo. Still in control, moo,” he insisted.
But one more step and he would have lost himself completely. He released the transformation, shrinking back into his human body.
”Vampire transformations are brutal… powerful, yes, but the drawbacks are dangerous. One more second and my head would’ve become a cock,” he muttered.
”Exactly,” Talia said.
”Isn’t this back-and-forth getting exhausting? Anyway, I need to keep practicing these shifts, little by little. The ultimate goal is being able to stay myself—and still generate lightning.” He whispered the words as if convincing himself.
Just then, from the villa’s rear—the mountainside—he caught the faint ripple of magic. Kian reflexively activated his vampire senses and gazed toward the summit visible beyond the coastline.
It was no illusion. Someone had stepped into Priscilla’s estate. More than a kilometer away, yet he felt them clearly.
”An intruder? Not a beast,” Talia said.
”A human,” he answered.
”…That half-breed pig, Scipio—he was raving about some fugitive earlier. Could it be?”
”No. If they’d actually spotted a wanted criminal inside, they’d never have dropped the search. They gave up because they were sniffing at something they didn’t want others to know… or maybe just at me.”
”So? Mountain climbing now?” she asked.
”No.” He shook his head while pulling on his underwear. “Most likely just a villager straying inland—collecting mushrooms, wild greens, nuts. Got carried away and wandered too far.”
”Mm.”
”If they realize it’s private land, they’ll turn back. No need to harass them unless they stay or start chopping trees. Crack down too hard, and we risk friction with the locals. That’s never good.”
”True. Hard to run a merchant guild without the people’s goodwill,” she agreed.
So Kian set the intruder aside for now and turned back to assembling Mrs. Camilla’s golem. The circuits were already inscribed; all that remained was the physical construction. But each piece was enormous, and the work took longer than expected.
By the time he had finished both, training still undone, the sky above glittered with stars around a pale crescent moon.
”Done,” he said, hands on hips before a towering wyvern golem. The creature stood twice his height, head massive, bulk rivaling even Linca’s Nue shikigami.
Size was good. The question was speed—and how much magic it would guzzle when moving.
”This hollow here in the torso… oh, so it’s the nameplate slot,” Talia observed.
”For guild property, names are necessary. Helps when employees need to coordinate. The lady really does think of everything.”
”Kian Merchant Guild… fine. What shall we call them? Wyvern One? Wyvern Two?”
”That’s bland. Their names need ‘man’ and ‘chin’ in them.”
”You’ll regret this.”
”Too late. Their names are Chin-Chin and Man-Man.”
T/N: crude puns on penis/vagina slang.
With red paint left by Mrs. Camilla, Kian scrawled the names boldly across their torsos. Written in Eastern Common, the characters looked stylish enough to the illiterate. All that remained was coloring the rest without blotting out the letters.
”Only kids laugh at dirty jokes past the age of ten,” Talia said.
”Don’t worry. I’m smiling wide right now.”
”Poor thing. Left behind, so now you’re pent up.”
He tilted his head toward the mountains. “That intruder’s still there. Still not moving.”
”Lost?”
”In a mountain groomed by Priscilla’s familiar? Not likely. Five hundred meters east and you’d hit open grassland. Possible, but strange…”
If they truly were lost, preparing to camp out, that was dangerous. One careless fire could set the woods ablaze. He’d have to check.
”Unexpectedly, Chin-Chin’s first job.” He grinned. “Talia?”
”…Star’s Song,” she groaned.
”Good! Magic power loaded! Rise, my Chin-Chiiin!”
He shouted to vent his pent-up irritation from Aliona’s slight and the day’s frustrations.
Chin-chin.
Chin-chin!
Ochinchin!
In a town on the Franz Kingdom’s eastern edge, he’d be branded a lunatic. But here, with no one listening, it felt liberating—therapeutic even. Chin-chin health method.
With a grinding shriek, the golem’s joints locked into motion, the wyvern lowering its bulk before him.
”Departure, Chinko!” he cried.
T/N: pun on “shuppatsu” (departure) and “chinko” (dick).
”Die, pig-dick,” Talia snapped.
He almost protested—you said dick too!—but Chin-Chin leapt skyward.
* * *
The magic wave grew stronger as they closed in. Vast, forceful—and familiar.
Too large to land among trees, the wyvern circled while Kian jumped off, catching a trunk mid-fall. He ricocheted from tree to tree, softening his descent—a pointless flourish doubling as training.
At last, he landed soundlessly on damp loam, shadow gliding forward toward the source.
The intruder lay unconscious atop a moss-covered log, with only a thin layer beneath her head. No fire, no shelter, nothing resembling preparation for sleep. Yet she did not stir.
On the soil lay the uneven tracks of someone limping.
Kian circled around, knelt, and whispered, “This woman…”
It was the golden-brown-haired lady he had met once at old Gaius’s seafood barbecue.
Now she wore a white blouse tucked into a peach-colored skirt, boots on her feet.
Clearly, this was not the attire of someone prepared for exploring forests and mountains. It was the kind of dress a well-born young lady wore at home.
He felt the whiff of trouble rising, yet leaving a woman like this here in the wild was hardly what a gentleman should do. After a few seconds of hesitation, Kian dropped to one knee beside her and shook her roughly.
”Hey, you! Wake up!” he said.
”Mm…”
”Come on!” he urged.
”…Tonight’s…”
”—What?”
”How fares your evening?”
”…?”
Her sudden nonsense startled him speechless.
When Kian released her shoulder, she let out a high-pitched hum like a snore, rolled from her back to her stomach, and twisted cleverly so as not to fall from the log she lay upon. The shift of her skirt lifted, and her shapely rear was outlined in the dim light.
’Rape is forbidden.’
(What do you take me for…?)
”Miss, please—wake up! Wake up!” he said.
”Mmm… no, thank you,” she murmured, brushing his hand away. Her pale hand then stretched toward him. The words had been in the common western tongue.
But she quickly shifted into the Azrael language again, sighing, “An honor… desuwa.”
”—”
”…”
The forest sank into silence, night having fully fallen. Only the distant cry of insects broke the quiet.
Kian stared down at her offered hand, his frustration draining away.
”Have a seat,” she mumbled.
”This is the middle of the woods,” he said.
”Guuh…”
Talia’s voice flickered inside him. ‘Kian, that lady—she’s wearing a strange brooch.’
As she turned slightly from her prone posture, Kian saw it: pinned to her blouse was a piece of ornament set with a large blue gemstone.
He recognized it immediately—an Azure Thunderstone, common on the island of the White Minotaur. Its polished surface gleamed, carved with the figure of a bull wreathed in lightning. Gold had been poured into the grooves, highlighting the design.
”She’s almost certainly from some noble household,” Kian muttered. “Last time I saw her she was crying on the coast. Maybe she quarreled with her father and ran away.”
’We should move her somewhere safer,’ Talia urged.
”I suppose we must.”
He nodded sharply, then slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and the crook of her knees, lifting her in a bridal carry. As he did, a faint perfume of rose oil drifted up—different from the blends Christy or Maribel favored, likely due to other herbs in the mixture.
”An honor, Father, such an honor…” the woman mumbled in her sleep.
Adjusting her position so her cheek rested lightly against his chest, Kian pushed off the ground in a swift leap, bounding up into the trees. After kicking off a trunk or two, he landed atop the back of his winged golem.
There he noticed something odd—a scab on her shoulder shaped like a jagged bolt, red and raw, as though lightning itself had branded her.
(It reminds me of the curse mark Owl carved into Maribel…)
”Chin-Chin, take us up,” he commanded.
The golem obeyed, wings straining into flight. Kian felt his magic draining fast, only for Talia to replenish it from the Spiritual Vein.
He settled the woman carefully upon Chin-Chin’s flat platform, then knelt beside her, hair whipped by the night wind.
Notes:
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Juji – Male. Leader of the Wolfmen’s ‘Jinsou’. A skilled warrior with sharp senses and combat abilities. Relationship: Part of the Beastmen Alliance’s delegation.
• 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.
• 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.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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