Volume 4 Chapter 22 Light
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”It depends on the list and the reward,” Kian said, taking a sip of water from his glass.
”And also the time commitment. Right now, the Kian Merchant Guild is still in the middle of being established. If it means I can’t return here for a whole week, that’s impossible.”
”Haha! Even I couldn’t manage that. Here’s the list!” she said brightly.
She rummaged in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of paper. It was fine-quality parchment, the kind that wouldn’t blot under a quill or snag with its fibers. Smooth to the touch, its surface almost invited ink.
When she opened it, a list titled Things I Want to Do spilled across the page in tidy handwriting. Eighteen items filled the parchment, including things as silly as wander through town eating ice treats, talk to a stray cat and get a meow back, and summon a school of fish and dive into it. Three of these had already been crossed out, marked complete.
”The ones left are… play tag in the snowy mountains and pull the Sword of Dust from a painting inside the Gorgon Temple.”
”Technically, there are twenty items. The nineteenth and twentieth are hidden,” Guria said in a mock-horrific, low voice. “But even if I can’t do those two, it’s fine. I’d like to, of course. What I really want is to finish snowy mountain tag and the Gorgon Temple one.”
”We could play tag on one of the mountains here on Grass Island,” Kian said.
”Exactly. Since you’re willing to help, I wasn’t worried about that part! I wanted at least three people, but it can’t be helped.”
”Tell me more about this Gorgon Temple and the Sword of Dust,” Kian asked.
”If you head south-southwest from Grass Island, there’s a place called Cyclops Island.”
At her snap, the pitcher on the table where Kian rested his elbow floated upward. From its mouth, water slithered like a snake, painting a shimmering map in midair—first Crete, then southward to Cyclops Island.
”Ten years ago, this island was ceded to Azrael. About nine thousand square kilometers—massive. A hundred kilometers in each direction. Once inland, you can’t even see the ocean. Mountains, rivers… it doesn’t feel like an island at all.”
She spoke like someone who had been there herself. Before the war, Cyclops Island belonged to Crete, so her claim wasn’t impossible. Still, for her memory to be so vivid was impressive.
”Now it’s under the Malc Family of Azrael. The Nakash Family once shared control, but a few months ago Lord Shajar died. His daughters were all killed, and his widow left for Shin, the eastern empire.”
The glowing map shifted, erasing Crete’s lands and leaving Cyclops Island enlarged. Water shaded the northern coast and several spots in the south.
”Those were Malc and Nakash military bases. But Nakash is gone, and Malc is weakening. Most bases are abandoned. Rumor says armed fleets—pirates, really—have filled the void. Though I doubt they call themselves pirates, and locals likely see them as trade partners.”
”The Gorgon Temple is on that island?” Kian asked.
”Yes. Here.”
The watery map formed a glowing sphere inland.
”There’s Gorgon Mountain, sacred to the god of sand and serpents. The temple lies inside. The entrance is huge, with a statue of the serpent god carved into the rock. At least, that’s how I remember it.”
”And the Sword of Dust?”
”It’s said to be a magic blade that grants its wielder the power of a spirit. Inside the temple, deep in the sanctum, the sword rests enshrined. The user becomes like a sand-being—immune to physical attacks, able to petrify enemies with a glance, armored like stone, with regeneration like a dragon. Terrifyingly strong.”
”A remarkable weapon,” Kian said.
”Right? But the catch is—the sword only exists in a mural. You can’t touch it. Legends say if someone compatible with Gorgon appears, the Sword of Dust will step out of the painting and become theirs alone.”
Kian recalled the Holy Sword of the Sun. That weapon carried the living will of the Phoenix, choosing a host it favored and granting overwhelming power. Unlike mere enchanted blades such as the Windsong, it fused with the body, twisting the wielder into something beyond human.
Oswald, possessed by the Phoenix’s spirit-core, burned enemies by proximity alone, gained near-absolute resistance to curses, and an unnatural defense.
Kian studied Guria.
”Are you aiming to be the world’s strongest swordswoman? You mentioned wanting to join the Order of the Lightning Knights.”
”Haha! No. Of course, I’d be happy if chosen, but that’s not why. I just think I need to secure the Sword of Dust while I still can. Not about marriage or anything—just while I’m able to move freely.”
”True. If someone from Azrael claimed it, that would be dangerous.”
”No worries. The temple can only be opened by certain bloodlines. Azraelians have no chance.”
”You’re of that lineage, then?”
”That’s right. And—no digging further, okay?”
Kian nodded in silence.
”An adventurer doesn’t pry into the client’s circumstances. He simply fulfills the commission—calmly, as agreed,” Kian said. “But… out of pure curiosity, is it worth risking your life before marriage? Couldn’t you wait until Cyclops Island settles, then gain Azrael’s approval before retrieving it?”
”That might be too late,” Guria replied, guiding water smoothly back into its jug.
”Too late?” he asked.
”Once I’m married, I won’t be able to leave freely. In fact… depending on circumstances, I might even die.”
”You’ll die if you marry?”
She nodded. “Eventually, yes.”
”Huh. I… see.”
”That’s why I need to retrieve it now. The Lee Family that swallowed the Nakash might soon come to Cyclops Island.”
Guria folded her hands on her knees, her expression sober.
”The god of Azrael is only Azrael. Idol worship is forbidden. So, to them, a foreign deity like the Gorgon could be seen as a demon or monster. If they blame the temple’s Gorgon statue, they might bury the entire cavern!”
”But the Nakash and Malc didn’t bury it.”
”Because Lord Shajar and the Nakash understood our culture. But the Lees expelled them from Nile. To erase the lingering influence of the Twelve Divine Generals, they may do the opposite of what Nakash once protected.”
”Like that dam project upriver on the Nile?”
”Exactly! And if they bury the Gorgon Temple, then the Sword of Dust will spend eternity beneath sand. Before that happens, I must cut the mural free and bring it to Crete!”
”So it’s cultural preservation, then.”
”In a single phrase, yes.”
”But the island is lawless now that Nakash and Malc are gone. To open the temple, you’d have to accompany me. Isn’t that dangerous?”
”I’m strong, don’t worry. Sneaking is my specialty! Besides, I don’t intend for this to turn violent. The plan”—she grinned—”is that I’ll pose as a pitiful slave bought by an Azraelian merchant, sneaking inland with you.”
Kian gave a single nod. “That makes sense. I am Azraelian.”
”See? Perfect! Alone, I’d stand out, but with you, I can blend into the islanders. Genius, right?”
”I’ve understood the list.”
In short, the commission was to infiltrate pirate-ridden Cyclops Island, break into the depths of the Gorgon Temple, cut free the mural of the Sword of Dust, and smuggle it to Crete.
Sacrilegious perhaps—no less than smashing the statue or burying the temple. But Kian had no faith to wound. To him, only powerful spirits existed. If gods truly walked the earth, why hadn’t Azrael saved him as a child? Now, he only praised when it suited him. Gorgon or Azrael—it was all the same.
”How large is this mural of the Sword of Dust?” he asked.
”About a meter. The size of a scimitar. With magic, cutting it free will be easy. I can even carry it myself—I’m good with physical enhancement spells.”
”I won’t let a woman carry heavy loads. I’ll take it.”
Her eyes lit instantly. She sprang up from the bed, staggered, then seized both his hands with sparkling intensity. At such close distance, any unseasoned man might have mistaken her enthusiasm for love.
”Then—you’ll accept my request?!”
”Not yet. What about time and reward?”
”Two days if we return together. If we part there, just over one. Don’t worry about payment! How much do you want?”
”A thousand Azrael gold coins.”
”Whaaat?! That’s robbery! But seriously—money? Aren’t there things in this world that can’t be bought?”
”Such as?”
”My autograph! Display it at your guild’s entrance, prosperity guaranteed!”
”Money will do. Five gold coins. Half price, since it’s the first request. In return, spread word of the Kian merchant guild. Farming, land management, monster troubles—send them my way.”
”Deal!”
They rose, recited their obligations, and shook hands. The familiar pattern of a consensual contract.
”Oh no! We don’t have time to lounge! What hour is it?”
”About ten in the morning.”
”Have the bells rung?”
”I don’t think so.”
So there was a bell, Kian thought absently, as Guria pulled away and snatched up a brooch of blue thunderstone from the table.
”Sorry, I have to go! Thank you for the meal! And the bed!”
She darted for the door, then turned suddenly, catching his gaze head-on.
”I’ll be back tonight! Have everything ready—a boat, supplies! See you!”
She winked, blew a kiss, waved, and dashed out of Aliona’s room. A staccato clack-clack-clack echoed as her heels flew down the stairs.
She truly was a storm of a young lady.
”She still looks a little unsteady, but the sedative seems to be working,” Talia murmured as Kian tracked the rhythm of her red heart with his vampire senses.
”I took on this task in a rush. My secretary, do you have any objections?” he asked.
”Not really. It isn’t good to keep swallowing frustration. You said it’s a two-day journey starting at night. That leaves almost a full day free. No reason to neglect answering letters,” she replied.
The only letter likely to arrive tomorrow was from Aliona, confirming Priscilla had paid. Expeditionary forces would be setting up a base before pushing to Fire Island, so reports from Isthbaran were still a long way off.
The merchant guild’s correspondence was more troubling, but with Scipio Crete sabotaging its founding, communication had halted anyway.
”But if you go on this quest, the guildhall will be empty. You might want to visit the settlement, find someone idle, and see if they’ll take day labor,” Talia suggested.
”A stand-in gatekeeper. If anyone comes like this morning, they just repeat: ‘Chairman Kian will return in two days,’” he said.
The risk of stolen furnishings loomed, but with one magic scroll he could bind a thief. The problem was their dwindling number—he would need to replenish soon.
Scrolls were consumables, after all. To hoard them was to waste them. He regretted not adding a request for blank scrolls in his last letter to Linca.
* * *
Guria had used teleportation. By the time Kian stepped outside the guild compound, her presence had already vanished.
He sprinted along the white beach and entered the small portside settlement.
He wandered the streets and market stalls, but only children or old men seemed idle. The elderly lacked stamina for guard work, while children’s parents would never agree. He could search the alleys for Cretean vagrants, but hiring beggars risked tarnishing the guild’s image.
In the end, he left with nothing but some cheese and ham, departing the beautiful fishing village unsatisfied.
As he considered searching inland, his eyes caught a figure sprawled on yesterday’s wolfmen beach.
The man lay face-up under a palm’s thin shade, sun beating hard on torn trousers. Kian almost dismissed him as a vagrant—until he saw the left arm.
The sea breeze carried a sharp tang of blood. Recognition struck: the young Easterner ruined by pirates.
A rag covered his face, but his breathing was slow and peaceful.
”Isn’t he the perfect candidate?” Talia whispered.
”So it seems,” Kian said.
He drew near. At three meters away, a voice rasped from under the cloth. “What business do you have with me?”
”Kian, of the merchant guild,” he said. “I’m searching for a temporary gatekeeper. For three days, all you’d do is tell visitors: ‘Chairman Kian is away, returning the evening after tomorrow.’ Write down any messages, and give them to me later.”
”…”
The cloth was pulled back, revealing the youth from before—the one who had lost his map at the guild gates. His features were sharp, his eyes narrow, his black hair long to one side and cropped on the other. In fine clothes, he could pass as a prince.
Now, with stubble on his jaw and a ragged shirt, he looked like nothing but a Cretean vagrant.
”Forgive me. Have we met?” the young man asked.
”At the guild gate. I caught your flying map,” Kian said.
”Ah! That was you. Thank you for that,” he said, smiling faintly.
Kian waited for his nod, then sat beside him.
”You meant to hire me, didn’t you?”
”Yes. Will you accept?”
”You won’t profit by tricking me. I have nothing. No insurance payout yet. Even if it comes, I must share with my guild’s creditors. In short—bankrupt.”
”I’m not here to trick you.”
The youth seemed cautious. Kian realized he’d need to prove himself, and learn the man’s nature before hiring.
”You were attacked by pirates, weren’t you? Your ship, your crew—lost to the returnless current?”
”Yes, something like that.”
”When the insurance pays, will you return home?”
”That depends. But in most cases, no.”
”Then you’ll need coin. Why not take the job?”
The youth turned his face at last, eyes narrowing into a sharp gaze that scanned Kian’s features.
”My guild hasn’t failed yet. If my comrades return, I’ll leave immediately.”
”As I’ve said, it’s only short-term,” Kian replied evenly.
”Where is your guild?”
”On Grass Island, fifteen minutes’ run from here. Is that why you came—to wait for survivors?”
”No. On Water Island I was hunted by a man named Balinars. This country doesn’t permit foreign vagrants. Cruel, isn’t it?” Rou said.
He paused, inclining his head.
”Forgive me. I never introduced myself. My real name was stolen by my father. I call myself Rou now. I’ve forgotten the rest, so Rou will do.”
”It may not be polite to ask,” Kian said carefully, “but… did you quarrel with your father? I couldn’t help wondering.”
”I quarreled with my entire family. My parents and I never saw eye to eye. But I didn’t leave home just because of that. I abandoned a sinking ship to set out on my own voyage of discovery.”
He let the words hang. “And at once, my ship went down. That sort of thing kills one’s spirit, doesn’t it?”
Kian studied the young man’s listless demeanor. Then he offered his name in return. “I’m Kian.”
”After leaving your merchant guild, where will you go?” Rou asked.
”Business is finished in Crete. I’ll head west, with nothing but myself.”
”Castile? Or Franz?”
”Ramsey, the merchant city.”
The reply came without hesitation.
”My sister’s remains may be there.”
”She was a victim of the Thorn Demon? Or the war before it?”
”I don’t know.” Rou straightened, resting his elbow on his raised knee. “I know nothing. Only that a report of her death reached the merchant guild.”
”It was a dreadful battlefield. Seven of ten in Ramsey died. If a grave exists, perhaps you’ll find it… though more likely it will be empty.”
”You’ve been to Ramsey, Mr. Kian?”
”Yes. For business. I was lucky enough to survive.”
”I see…”
A more sentimental man might have railed against fate—how his sister lay dead while another lived. Yet Rou’s heartbeat never faltered. He seemed to feel nothing at all. Just as when he once begged Balinars to help find his companions, his tone stayed flat, unshaken.
”Do you speak the western common tongue?” Kian asked.
”Yes,” Rou answered at once. His accent was slight, his speech clear. “My sister paid for my schooling. She made sure I could study.”
”She must have been remarkable,” Kian said.
Rou nodded. “I’m grateful to her. If she truly sacrificed for me, then I must return to inherit the family estate. She worked herself to the bone for the family’s sake. If the house collapses the moment she dies, she cannot rest easy in Azrael’s realm.”
”Perhaps she simply wanted you cared for. Earning your tuition might have been her way to love you.”
Rou tilted his head, expression unreadable. He gave no answer.
”Was that the end of the interview, Mr. Kian?” he asked at last.
”You noticed? May I ask two or three more?”
”Go ahead.”
”Can you read and write in the eastern common tongue?”
”As you can see, my roots are eastern. Of course.”
He switched languages without pause. His voice even changed timbre—higher in eastern, deeper in western. It reminded Kian of Jibril.
”And Azrael’s tongue?”
”I’m native.”
”And Crete’s laws?”
”I served as head of the Kowloon merchant guild. I’ve memorized maritime law.”
Kian nodded once. That was enough. At least linguistically, Rou was sound. He would be more than capable of minding the store while Kian was away.
”If you’re willing, Mr. Rou, you could manage affairs here until your companions arrive.”
”If no bodies wash ashore within five days, I’ll move on. Either way, I won’t stay long. If that suits, I accept.”
”Hah, very well. Then we have an agreement. Welcome aboard.”
They rose together and shook hands.
”Oh—I nearly forgot,” Kian said, pointing to Rou’s left arm. He signaled Talia, who cast her healing spell.
Rou’s narrow eyes widened. He touched the blood-soaked cloth with his right hand.
”The pain… it’s gone…”
”You’d best throw away that filthy rag,” Kian said. He gestured toward Priscilla’s villa. “Come. A bath and fresh clothes await.”
Rou faltered. “I… no, it’s nothing…”
He peeled away the cloth, staring at the wound. The pus and swelling were gone as if divine hands had erased them. Talia’s skill rivaled Linca’s. Rou stood dazed, wordless before the miracle.
”Follow me,” Kian said again. “I’ll take you to the guild.”
Rou’s gaze lifted, returning to its usual slitted calm. The sun bore down, harsh and bright. From where he stood, Kian’s face was rimmed in blinding backlight, and Rou raised a hand against the glare.
”Mr. Rou?” Kian asked.
”No. It’s fine. …I’ll be in your care, Guildmaster Kian.”
With that, he stepped forward, barefoot across the hot sand. Watching him, Kian thought he should first buy the young man a pair of shoes.
Notes:
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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