Volume 4 Chapter 24 Escape from Cyclops Island ①
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
On Cyclops Island, the villages clustered along the coast. The deeper they moved inland, the fewer settlements there were, replaced instead by wide stretches of olive groves and grape vineyards. Beyond them sprawled wheatfields already harvested, and patches of potato and onion farms—the gifts of the Kingdom of Castile.
The further inland they pressed, the more the soil turned harsh and rocky, a crumble of gravel that drank water too greedily. Grain would never thrive here. Goats, though, did. Tracks of herders’ sandals and hooves pressed faint trails across the slopes.
Kian and Guria stopped for their first and last rest an hour’s run from the coast, at the foot of Gorgon Mountain. Before them loomed pale-white and yellow-ochre cliffs, stark in the thin crescent moonlight. They dared not light a fire; the coastal watch beacons had vanished behind them, and the mountain base lay swallowed in dark.
Perched on a flat rock, they chewed through hard bread, biscuits, and dried dates. Kian tore into his own fare: bread packed with powdered minotaur jerky. His jaw worked savagely, like a predator’s. The craving in his body was sharp, devouring the creature’s power to refill what exhaustion had burned away.
”The coast is one thing,” Guria said, watching him eventually abandon bread entirely and sink his teeth into a slab of shoulder meat, “but inland feels completely at peace.”
Kian wiped his mouth and glanced down at the valley below. “Yeah. Ten years after the war, and you’d never know it. No broken stone walls left to rot, no sun-dried brickwork collapsing. The olive groves and vineyards are well-kept—probably with a few magicians helping.”
From their perch, they could spot pinpricks of firelight from scattered hamlets. No monsters roamed here. No soldiers guarded village gates. The Malc Family, like Nakash, had vanished from the interior—perhaps even from the coasts. If the war chariots they’d seen upon arrival hadn’t been Malc’s, then their influence had already bled dry from this island.
”When we’re done here, no more breaks,” Guria warned, brushing crumbs from her hands. “Straight to Gorgon Temple. You ready?”
”No problem,” Kian said, and crunched through bone as though it were a biscuit. He swallowed. The sound echoed like an animal feeding in the dark. His nose sharpened, teeth gleaming feral in the faint light—signs of the minotaur’s blood twisting deeper into his body.
His heart hammered once, blood surging electric. Something new pulsed within his organs—an engine of lightning itself. He didn’t need full transformation anymore; even like this, thunder lurked at his fingertips.
’So this is what Erynys wanted—half-vampire, half-human, potential without end.‘
(Still, not as strong as a true high elf who generates limitless magic. Just look at Aliona, or Jibril.)
”Sorry to keep you,” Kian said, rising at last. “If your stomach’s settled, let’s move.”
”Mm.” Guria hopped up the slope ahead, nimble even on the rough cut of earth. Her skirt swished dangerously with each step.
Kian pretended to follow but angled himself just enough to catch the view beneath. Sandal straps coiled around her calves, thighs firm and sun-browned, muscles taut with every push forward. When she leaned into the incline, the skirt tipped and revealed—shorts. Soft, breathable fabric clung close, but when she lifted her leg the crease between thigh and hip showed all the same.
The glimpse left him oddly refreshed.
”How old are you, Kian?” Guria asked suddenly.
”Thirty,” he said.
”What!? No way. You barely look older than me!”
”Not lying. Want me to show you my Adventurer Guild card?”
”No, no… I’ll believe you.”
”And you?”
”Seventeen. No—eighteen. Yesterday.”
”Nice. You look… delicious.”
”Huh?” she blinked.
”Nothing. Forget it.”
Younger than Christy, then—Christy had turned twenty last September. Guria’s restless energy could only belong to a teenager. Extraordinary. If only there were a peaceful way to… take her innocence.
’—Hey, trash. No, wait—pig?‘
(My name is Kian of Dacia.)
’Pig-dick. Keep your cheating in check. Aliona, Esther, Christina, Linca, Natra, Sarah—they’re crying already.‘
(When did my harem get this big?)
While he mused bitterly, Guria bounded higher. Sparks flared around her legs and she vaulted up the slope in a single leap, light crackling against the night.
Kian vaulted after her, landing on the barren, flat ground with a thud. They had come out into a narrow corridor between rugged mountains.
On either side, slopes loomed. Ahead stretched a valley path, winding far into the distance.
It looked like breasts.
”? ? ? ? ? ?”
”Go straight down this path and turn right,” Guria said, pointing forward with a grave face. “Once we cross two small hills, we should see the statue of the three Gorgon sisters.”
”Let’s go,” Kian said.
”Wait.” She raised a hand. “Inside, there might be trials of the Gorgon. Maybe even combat. Before that, we should confirm our strength. My power is this.”
Blue lightning engulfed her body. In a violent flash, she shifted two meters to the right.
”…Fast,” Kian muttered.
”It feels like pushing Physical Ability Enhancement to the limit. Strictly speaking, it isn’t that, but the result is this—I can temporarily become lightning. Physical attacks won’t work on me, and anyone who touches me is shocked.”
”Sounds formidable.”
”I told you I’m strong,” she said, planting one hand on her hip. From her pocket, she drew out a brooch of blue thunder stone. Golden, adorned with a bull wrapped in lightning, it gleamed magnificently.
A spark ran down her arm. The ground rose into floating sand, hardening into a rod. The brooch reshaped itself into a spearhead, and in an instant she held a lightning-charged spear.
”Are you truly a recruit for the order of knights?” Kian asked. “I’ve seen Balinar’s guards—they only used lightning to boost their bodies, just slightly stronger than ordinary western warriors. Your ability… is something else entirely.”
She could turn into lightning itself, immune to blades, dangerous to touch. Her speed meant attacks could hardly defend against her. She was like Linca—an ability too powerful to be ordinary. Soldiers could not compare. A chess piece only revealed its full strength when wielded with purpose.
”No more questions,” she said firmly. “Just remember I can do this.”
”Understood. As for me,” Kian said, “I can wield a sword. My strength is decent, enough to take the vanguard.”
”A magician who fights in front?” Guria asked, eyeing his right arm.
He nodded. “Yes. My profession is magician, but I’m skilled in close combat.”
”I… I see. Got it.”
She wanted to ask more about magician, but let it go. In truth, Kian’s actual profession was Sekkou (T/N: military scout). Talia’s had been princess.
’Quite the ability,’ Talia’s voice murmured in his head as they ran after Guria along the narrow beast-path. ‘It’s magic—hosting for a time one of the spirits ruling the Spiritual Veins of this land. The medium is her own blood. Her ancestors mixed spirit blood into the line.’
(Like Linca then)
Linca was descended from a spirit itself, her blood strong enough to wield true Penetration.
’Kian, if you faced her, could you break this ability?’
(Of course. By habit, when I hear of a warrior’s skill, I consider whether I can kill them. My judgment says she can be defeated.)
He had several ways. Unlike Linca, who became utterly untouchable, Guria’s lightning had weaknesses. Her skill and battle technique lagged far behind. Against him, she would fall before she could even trigger it. Shadow Pursuit would be too swift. He could sever her head in one strike.
(That must be it.)
Just as Guria said, two hills later a towering figure appeared under the starlit sky. Over ten meters tall, it cast a shadow across the valley—a woman’s form, her hair a mass of writhing snakes. Six columns carved from the mountain rose before her, the statue looming behind like a monster locked inside a cage (Ori, T/N: cage).
(A miracle Shajar left this. A complete idol of the gods—yet not Azrael’s, but a Temple to a demon.)
The pillars were pale ocher, thickening at their bases, each a cylinder rather than square.
At the front, Guria slowed, pointing to the center beneath the statue’s legs.
There was only a wall. No entrance in sight.
Yet she strode directly toward it.
”…,” she breathed, twirling her spear once. Then she slit her palm without hesitation, pressing her bloody hand against the stone. Lightning crackled, her arm blazing blue.
A heartbeat later, a heavy rumble shook the ground as if tons of sand cascaded behind the wall.
”The door is opening,” she said, stepping back. She stabbed the spear into the ground, uncorked a small flask of alcohol, and poured it over her wounded palm. Then she murmured a healing prayer of Azrael’s warrior monks, sealing the cut.
By the time she stowed the empty bottle away, the ocher wall now bore a black rectangular void. Stairs stretched downward into the dark.
She fetched a lantern-shaped magestone from nowhere, hooked it to her belt, and marched inside.
”Cough… cough…” Dust choked her as soon as she stepped down. The stairs had been buried in sand until now, sealed until her blood released them. Kian wrapped cloth around his face, but still grit crunched against his teeth.
After a long descent, they reached a flat corridor.
At its end—another door awaited.
Kian walked along the corridor, eyes drawn to the countless holes peppering the ground—likely where sand had drained away. Beside him, Guria muttered, troubled, “It’s a puzzle…”
He followed her gaze upward. On the door ahead was etched a magic square—every row, column, and diagonal balanced to the same sum. Several blanks gaped within it, and below the carving rested blocks etched with numbers, clearly meant to be fitted into place.
”Uh, wait. Aren’t there way too many blanks? This looks impossible…” she said.
”Done,” Kian replied.
”What?”
”The puzzle’s solved. All that remains is placing the blocks.”
”Well, yes, but be careful. If we get it wrong, a trap might spring.”
”I won’t be wrong. Every space can be filled.”
For him, it was simpler than playing a round of chess. He slotted the number blocks into their proper places, and at once a low hiss echoed—sand pouring within the walls—before the heavy stone doors ground apart.
”Woooah! Amazing!” Guria shouted.
”Let’s move on,” Kian said. “Adventuring is fun, but this air is unkind to lungs.”
”Right!” she chirped.
The corridor stretched forward, leading only to more puzzles: two logic tests and a chess match. The final was played upon a life-sized board, the pieces shifted with magic. Yet within half an hour, Kian and Guria cleared them all, and they stepped into the last chamber.
It dwarfed even the chess hall—wide enough for Natra and Linca to clash at full strength. High above, Talia guided a flock of tiny stone-bird golems, each carrying a floating mage-light to illuminate the space.
At its center loomed a colossus: ten meters long, lower half a serpent, upper half the figure of a woman, arms crossed as if frozen in time. To either side stood ranks of warrior statues in antique battle-skirts, ten in all, weapons ready.
The conclusion was obvious.
Guria leveled her short spear of stormstone, crackling arcs of blue lightning dancing across her frame. Behind her, Kian readied a barrage of warrior monk techniques, while Talia began weaving a grand spell.
The golem’s lone eye ignited with crimson flame. Its face bore no nose or mouth—its creator had deemed an eye enough. The pupil was stone itself, and through its serpent’s coil Kian felt energy surging, siphoned from the Spiritual Vein below, just like that white Minotaur.
’Kian.’
(I know.)
The warrior statues’ chests glowed, and they lurched to life. The one-eyed giant lifted a stone greatsword with grinding weight.
”Haah!” Guria cried.
Like lightning loosed from a storm, she vanished in a flash of blue, reappearing atop the serpent-woman’s shoulder in a single bound. The spearhead sparked with thunder as she spun, striking down with a searing blow that shattered the golem’s head and carved a jagged crack down its stone torso.
She did not stop. Springing away from the collapsing titan, she reappeared behind the rightmost warriors. Her spear danced arcs of lightning, cleaving through five statues in a storm of stone fragments.
By then, Talia had already skewered the left five with a volley of rock spears. Silence swallowed the hall.
”…I wasn’t needed at all,” Kian murmured.
He clapped lightly as he walked to Guria, who planted her spear’s butt on the stone floor with a proud thud, chest puffed out in triumph.
”You did handle the others for me. Saved me time!” she said, patting his shoulder before flashing a grin. “Thanks♡”
”So, where’s this ‘Blade of Dust’?” Kian asked.
”There,” she said, pointing.
Behind the serpent’s ruin lay a recess in the far wall. Its base formed a dais, though no weapon rested upon it. Instead, upon the stone was painted a blade—its red scabbard, its binding cords, its cloth wrap—all depicted so realistically it seemed ready to tumble out.
Kian reached out, but his fingers met only unyielding stone. No hint of magic pulsed from it. Could this lifeless mural really be the sword said to turn foes to sand or stone?
”Help me cut it out!” Guria said, hopping beside him. She drew a square with chalk around the painted sword. The crooked line twitched and bent—details that gnawed at Kian’s nerves.
’Kian, catch.’
(Got it.)
As soon as Guria hopped down, Talia cast her earth magic. With a rumble, the square of stone wall pushed forward, the sword’s painted form jutting outward in a neat block.
The pack weighed at least twenty kilos, but Kian caught it in both arms and stopped it cleanly before pulling his body off the platform.
”It’s not that heavy, but the bulk is a nuisance. My upper body movement is cramped.”
”Oh! Oh oh oh! Let me carry it! I can’t burden you with everything!” Guria said.
”A woman shouldn’t carry something like this. As planned, I’ll take it. …If we pack what’s in the rucksack into the porter, it should fit.”
”Porter?” Guria tilted her head, puzzled.
Kian unshouldered his bag, pulling out blast charges, poisoned arrows, and knives—one tool after another—and stuffed them into the Wraith, his hidden “porter.” Unfortunately, the only place he could conceal it under his loose white shirt was near his groin.
”Uwah!” Guria squeaked, spinning around, cheeks blazing. She felt the wrong sort of awakening coming on. Maybe men really did find flashing themselves fun.
’Hurry up and put it away.‘
(Got it.)
Kian refastened his trousers, securing the belt. Guria, still pink-faced, cautiously looked back at him.
”Ahem. So… you’ll carry it in the now-empty rucksack?” she asked.
”Yes.”
”Then sorry, but I’ll rely on you. Don’t push yourself too far.”
”I won’t.”
No lingering in the afterglow of battle—they moved to withdraw at once.
They retraced their path swiftly through the secret underground temple. Every door they had broken down yawned open, every corridor and stairway lay bare. Dust had settled, making the return run smoother than the descent.
At the last stairway, Kian’s thoughts betrayed him. Running behind Guria, he couldn’t stop glancing up her skirt. Pathetic, head pierced through with nothing but his groin. Still—if there was a skirt above, a man’s eyes were bound to lift.
Once they emerged into the dawn, the temple groaned. Mechanisms deep inside rumbled to life. Sand poured upward in a reversed cascade.
Behind them, the stone wall of the entrance began to close. Yellow sand fell in sheets down the stairs, coating Kian’s fine white shirt in grime.
”Sunrise already,” Guria murmured, gazing up at a sky red as blood.
Unlike Kian—whose body was mutating into a vampire—she remained human, in need of rest. Likely she hadn’t slept since yesterday’s dawn. And after running twenty kilometers? Exhaustion was only natural.
(So the fun’s over. Just the trip home left.)
Kian looked back at the sealed wall of the temple. The quake drowned all sound; the air reeked of musty sand.
He’d have liked to glimpse the island’s armed faction—but what then? He had no desire to negotiate with Scipio or the Balinars. Trade required mutual benefit; as things stood, it would only be traps and counter-traps.
He turned his heel to leave—when he caught the whisper of something slicing the wind.
”――!”
’Kian!‘
”Guria, down!”
”Eh?”
He grabbed her head and dove forward.
An instant later, the ground where he’d stood exploded. The force slammed into his back, flaring with a detonation of energy.
”Kh…!”
The impact gouged a crater meters wide. Rolling with Guria, Kian saw the insane power of the shot. Any normal human would have been reduced to meat.
”Kian! Are you all right?”
”I’m fine. Can you stand?”
He pulled away and tracked the shot’s origin. Somewhere in these rocky hills, a sniper lay hidden. Their skill was undeniable.
(If this were half a year ago… I’d have nullified every long-range attack with the Windsong Blade.)
”Guria, hide there,” he ordered, jerking his chin toward the shelter Talia had conjured earlier.
”And you?”
”I’ll kill the sniper.”
Northwest, maybe five kilometers. Three more shots at most before he closed the distance.
A second arrow screamed through the air, aimed at Guria’s torso. Kian slashed it from the sky with the black scimitar he’d inherited in Count Cain’s territory.
”…!”
(The sniper stopped firing? The aura shifted…)
And memory surged—Almeisa, Natra’s sister, the apostle he had once slain with the Windsong Blade.
”I’ll go! Physical attacks don’t work on me! Where is the sniper!?” Guria shouted.
”Wait—no! We’re surrounded.”
”…!”
Shadows broke apart. From behind the ridges, shapes emerged—leaping the rocks, descending the slopes.
Kian and Guria fell back-to-back.
They came dressed in ochre cloth that blended with the land, faces dark-skinned beneath their veils.
Azraelians. Warrior monks.
”Well now. To think we’d catch such a big fish.”
A languid female voice drifted across the battlefield. Kian scanned the circle of monks, then fixed on the figure sliding down the slope: silver-haired, black leather mini, tights, bare-shouldered jacket, beret.
Wolfwoman. The same he’d fought at the ancient temple of Erynys.
Back then, he and Sarah had broken Linca and Shura, only for Ozeas’s mage Barghest to be stolen away by Jibril. Wolfwoman had been one of Jibril’s reinforcements.
She strode up, heels clicking, silver tail swaying in the sandy wind.
”Submit quietly. You’ve no magic left. Otherwise, my sniper will put a hole clean through that girl’s stomach.”
Notes:
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Count Cain – Talia’s father.
• Ozeas – Son of Glen, involved in forbidden experiments.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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