Volume 4 Chapter 53 The Ruin of Crete
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”What’s the damage report?”
When Kian asked, the dark elf magician Circe’s gray eyes flashed with a sharp gleam.
”The fact that you ask that, Master Kian—does it mean you intend to lend us your strength again, as an itinerant Knight?”
”Nope. Not planning on it. If Crete looks like it’s about to sink into a sea of fire, I’ll be out of the country before the smoke clears. This time I just happened to be at the scene, so—kind of got dragged into helping with the arrest, that’s all.”
”Master Kian,” Balinars rumbled. “If it’s money you’re after, the royal house can hire you as a Mercenary. If Azrael actually declares open war, I’m planning to call not just you, but every idle Mercenary band in the West.”
”Lord of Balinars, I’ve heard every country’s putting together standing armies these days. The northern Beastmen are already gone, and Izerland’s got nothing but bandits.”
”I’ve got a few connections. And quality trumps quantity. Especially in naval battles—who’s got the magic makes all the difference. That’s the basis for who I’ll invite.”
Circe said that, but honestly, where would you find such forces except in the scattered elf domains that dot the map? Instead of chasing mercenaries, maybe they should be apologizing profusely to the Western Church for dumping corpses in the river, then use the Church to rally a Western coalition against Azrael. That seemed smarter.
”We’ve got a trump card: General Asterios. If he comes, our entire army gets buffed. Yesterday’s assassins? He could’ve turned them all into ash in a single Leap.”
”Besides General Asterios, is there no one else you can rely on? No other weapons?”
Kian asked Balinars, but Balinars only looked at Circe. Not a “she knows better than me” look—it was the “is it safe to say this out loud?” kind.
So Circe answered instead.
”There are. For example: Damnamene. The staff said to be gifted to Hecate by the supreme god Kronos. There’s an unbreakable chain that pairs with it. With that, one could contract a magma wyrm—control the monster and all its spawn at will. Send it at Nile, or Phoenicia, or even Beirut, and the enemy won’t have time for expeditions. First target would be Nile. The Twelve Divine Generals’ Lee Gensou has the strongest magician force there, and it’s already swallowed the great Nakash domain.”
”And then there’s the Blade of Dust, right?”
”Yes, that sword as well. But we’ve yet to find a compatible wielder. We could test every soldier in the army—have them touch the painting, see who can draw the blade from it—but depending on who takes it up, it could unleash a new catastrophe. Lord Kian, having fought Lord Oswald, surely you understand?”
The Sun’s magic sword. Forged from the spirit core of a Spirit Phoenix. The strongest weapon imaginable.
From a power perspective, maybe it was good it ended up with Oswald. But in terms of “can the ruler side actually control him”—Oswald was the absolute worst possible wielder. If Eleonora had kept that sword, maybe Oswald’s rebellion never would’ve happened, and the Frontier would’ve been at peace.
As for the Blade of Dust—its wielder can dissolve into sand for defense and inflict petrification curses on enemies. Overpowered. Maybe Kian’s senses were too dulled by now, because he almost shrugged it off like “eh, not that big a deal.” But misused, it could turn everyone without resistance into statues. Pretty much an instant-nation-killer. Definitely dangerous.
”And, as a last resort, there’s the Sea-roaring Flute. Blow it, and the sea rages as though the legendary Great Sea Serpent were thrashing about, swallowing enemy fleets whole. The cost: the islands of Crete themselves are engulfed by tsunamis desuno. Not something to use lightly. A true last resort.”
”…And if you blew it and nothing happened, wouldn’t that be hilarious?”
”…What?”
”Ah, excuse me. Just—fufu. I couldn’t help but picture your faces: in the middle of desperation, life on the line, you blow the flute… and nothing happens. That split-second when the prank works and the adults gape in shock—that’s the kind of giddy thrill I imagined. Fufufu.”
”…??? …What the hell are you talking about, Lord Kian?”
The two of them stared at him like he’d grown horns. Strange air filled the stone corridor, sunlight streaming in, until the far door opened and broke the spell.
At the end of the mountain corridor overlooking the town lay the royal family’s living quarters—still scarred from Mansoor’s attack, hastily patched. Out came Guria, Scipio, and a white-haired old man in a wheelchair.
The old man looked about Mansoor’s or Umar’s age, but his vitality was drained, so he might only seem older than he was.
”Kian. Good morning.”
”Good morning, Lady Guria Selda.”
Circe and Balinars placed right hand to chest, left hand out, knees bent in salute. Kian, meanwhile, looked down at the frail man in fine clothes—balding, twig-thin. Scipio cut in, sharp-voiced:
”You stand before His Majesty King Minos of Crete.”
The old man—King Minos—opened his mouth. Words came, but the morning wind scattered them. The sounds were audible, but slurred, mispronounced, almost like Azrael tongue. After excusing himself to the others, Kian approached, bent close, ear by the king’s mouth.
”Master Kian… grateful… for your… aid…”
”No, I only acted to prevent a catastrophe. Saved lives, nothing more. I never set out to aid your kingdom.”
”But… you saved… my daughter too… I should have… long ago… given thanks…”
His words broke off in harsh coughs. Guria rubbed his back and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief.
”Grateful… I name you… Knight of our realm…”
”Eh—”
”You will not, Father.”
Scipio cut him off sharply, glaring down at the crouching Kian. His nervous eyes behind the glasses glittered with suspicion, same as always.
”Lord Kian, your efforts have been splendid again. Allow us, this time, to formally hire you as a Mercenary in Crete’s service. The contract would last only until the end of war with Azrael. Pay: fifty gold coins per month base, with bonuses for performance. After the war, we would honor your total contributions with a noble title.”
”Apologies. I am Princess Maribel’s Knight.”
”Do you owe loyalty to a master who does not even pay you?”
”Even without pay, it was Princess Maribel who took me in when I was buried in obscurity. She made me her first Knight, entrusted me with the land of Dacia. I owe her much.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kian caught Balinars giving him a “yeah right, you’re not that type” look. Which was true—he was only tossing out Maribel’s name because he didn’t want to drag his companions into more messes.
’Three days from now, you’ll be Asterios defending this kingdom anyway.’
(Or not. Choosing not to protect them is still an option. At least, if I move as Asterios, Isthbaran and Aliona won’t be burdened with obligations.)
”…Won’t you… fight alongside… General Asterios…?”
”Your Majesty, forgive me. Without Princess Maribel’s command, I cannot move. Even this time, I fought only under the banner of life-saving. If I became your warrior, I could not face her.”
”Then… if Izerland joins us—would you, too?”
Circe broke in. Kian nodded.
”Yes. In that case I would follow Princess Maribel’s command, and strike down her enemies.”
”How enviable, Princess Maribel.” Guria chuckled softly. “If only Kian were my Knight.”
”…Sorry.”
”Then our course is clear.” Circe swept her gaze across the four royals of Crete. “Reconcile with the Church. Beg aid from Izerland’s princess. With her, Lord Kian and even Chatillon will follow.”
”That’s because Lord Louis is Izerland’s Defense Minister, isn’t it?” Kian asked. Circe held his gaze.
”That, yes. But more: if you join, Count Chatillon and Cardinal Homolka will side with us. You could even bring Lord Oswald.”
”He’s bound by magic scrolls. Can’t fight at full strength.”
”Fufufu. In that case, we would not invite him here.” Circe’s crimson lips curved into a wide smile. “I’ve long wanted to meet and speak with Lord Oswald.”
”Father—we must reward him.”
”Y-yes… yes… see to it, Scipio…”
”Money is one option, but we already paid him once.”
”Sir Scipio, I did not take that gold as payment for a contract. It was merely a token of thanks.”
”I understand. …Then, this time, what about a ship? One of our finest Crete-built vessels. If you ever wish to start trade, it would be essential.”
Scipio’s tone carried that theatrical air, like he was simply reciting what had been decided beforehand.
It was probably already decided in some royal council meeting—giving Kian a ship. The half-elf man produced a scroll from nowhere, unrolled it, and shoved it toward Kian. A permit, apparently, for mooring large vessels.
In Crete, outsiders weren’t allowed to dock ships freely, nor to fish the surrounding waters. Now, one of those bans—the docking ban—was lifted for him.
For the merchant guild Kian ran, this was a crucial right. There was no way not to accept.
’So eager to tame you. They’re planning to wipe out Azrael with General Asterios on one wing and you on the other. Your little scheme is completely transparent.’
(Joke’s on you. Both wings are me.)
It felt almost like a double date. Kian decided firmly: he was not going to sleep with Crete.
”Most honored, Sir Scipio. Truly, thank you.”
”Good. Along with the deed to a villa in Phoenicia, we’ll deliver the ship documents to your merchant guild. Is it acceptable to drop anchor in front of the breakwater?”
”Yes.”
”Then we’ll have it delivered soon.”
”Understood. My thanks.”
”Kian, really, thank you!” Guria came forward, grasping his hand. She must’ve snuck in a bath during the chaos—her hair carried the scent of soap. Her brown eyes shimmered with tears.
”If you hadn’t come… I can’t imagine what would’ve happened! Please tell your Head Magician that we thank her too. Without her, Rita might have been killed before Circe even arrived.”
”Got it. I’ll tell Ms. Leanan Sidhe.”
”Thank you, Kian,” Guria said again, squeezing his hands before returning to her father’s side. Scipio’s stabbing glare felt like knives on Kian’s back.
Thus ended the “honors and rewards” for this incident.
At the end, Kian hugged the aged King of Crete and took his leave.
Descending to the castle’s foot, just before the barred main gate, he spotted Rou and Leanan Sidhe waiting with a wyvern golem. Facing them stood Michelangelo, the merchant guildmaster, and Eugenia with several elites of the Order of the Lightning Knights. They seemed deep in discussion.
”Guildmaster Kian. Well fought.”
”Rou, Ms. Leanan Sidhe. Thanks. Because of you two, we avoided the worst—Princess and Ms. Medea being kidnapped.”
”Lord Kian, you have my gratitude,” Eugenia said, once more elegant. “Your valor minimized the damage.”
Yesterday she’d called him the lowest of scum. Now she looked at him with respect. Honestly, her hand was flipping so fast it looked like it might snap off.
”Don’t worry about it. I already got paid.” He emphasized the word paid.
Eu twitched, blue eyes mixing respect with scorn. Whatever she thought he meant, she was wrong—but not that it mattered. Kian, in his head, was already plotting: for now he’d play at being “cuckold roleplay with Guria Selda.” Until he tired of Guria’s body, he wouldn’t be jerking off to Eugenia. After that? Maybe he’d use her hole to fill the gap between prey.
’You’re the worst pig-dick ever…’
”Master Kian.” Michelangelo staggered forward, pale as a sheet. He was still in yesterday’s wine-red suit, now covered in dust. His knees were scraped and bleeding, his face dirty.
”The leaders of the Alchemy Guild and the Magician Guild… they’ve all been wiped out.”
”…What?”
”The assassins who attacked the castle and prison last night—they had another target desuno.” Michelangelo’s lips trembled. Eu explained for him:
”There was a joint meeting of both guilds. The hall exploded. All the heavyweights crushed under the rubble desuno.”
”A catastrophe…”
”Mr. Yaya Banana also died. …I—I was shoved out of the way. Right before my eyes, he was buried under…”
”It’s our fault. We were too slow,” a short-haired girl Knight said, face clouded. “Always one step behind. They’re targeting the prominent city magicians, one by one. Unless we assign guards, there’ll be more victims.”
”We should’ve acted after Mr. Luchian’s case. I apologize deeply, Guildmaster.”
Michelangelo only shook his head weakly, covering his face with both hands.
”While you were being questioned, I renewed the barrier.” Leanan Sidhe spoke flatly. “Rou went shopping in your place, so you can thank him.”
”Much obliged.”
”The barrier Luchian cast had been unraveled. The enemy clearly knows Crete-style barriers well. Mine, they’ll have to study. Still, when Aliona returns, best to have her reinforce it. That is, if we even intend to keep babysitting these people.”
”Guildmaster, if you’d like them to renew their barrier, leave it to our Kian merchant guild. I’ll be based at Elder Gaius’s hut on Water Island for a while. …Guildmaster, three percent off, yes?”
”I don’t know what the base silver rate is, but if Ms. Leanan Sidhe is fine with it, so am I.”
”I don’t mind. Nothing else to do but errands. The General’s too obsessed with the Salamander.”
”Three percent off, then,” Rou said with a sunny smile.
”Thank you… for the thought,” Michelangelo croaked.
”Was their aim really to take the royals hostage?” Kian asked the short-haired Knight.
She frowned, shook her head. “Still under investigation. But since they killed Luchian beforehand, the real aim was probably to cull the city’s strong magicians. Ten years ago they weakened us the same way.”
”Knossos Prison was hit too,” Eu added. “If it was chaos they wanted, they’d have freed the prisoners. But they didn’t. My guess: Mansoor’s target was Abbas.”
”So Abbas hasn’t been retrieved?”
”No. He was under drugged interrogation, locked in the Grass Island basement under Vice-Captain Medea’s workshop.”
”In any case, Lord Jibril will have to answer now,” said the short-haired Knight. “With Mansoor and Gensou storming in, he can’t play ignorant. The next envoy from Crete will force him: all-out war, or call it rogue soldiers and side with us. He has to choose.”
”But they’ve got no just cause.”
”Yeah.” “Public opinion matters too. Maybe they won’t actually invade.” “And the Twelve Divine Generals Council votes by majority, right? The Eastern generals don’t care, they’ll oppose, right? Right?”
”Bwo bwo bwo, boboboryuryuryu!”
”Meimei’s not here today. Shark-Shark, what’d she say?”
”She says, ‘Everything depends on whether we can summon General Asterios’ desuwa. Without power, they’ll invent a reason to invade anyway.”
”I’ll be rooting for you, from the sidelines.”
”Master Kian, won’t you lend us your strength?”
”Depends on the pay. As of now, my motivation’s zero out of a hundred. Fighting monsters like Mansoor? That’s just suicide.”
The Lightning Knights looked at each other, faces saying everything unsaid.
”I’ll keep holding the training sessions. Though after yesterday’s fiasco, I might be fired.”
”Amo-Amo and Rita survived—that alone is a blessing.”
”If all the Order had known the Secret Technique, maybe we could’ve avoided this tragedy desuno. Should opportunity arise, please continue with us.”
”Please, Mister Kian,” the girls said together. Not one trembled, not one said “I quit.” They were ready to die for their country. Just like Guria offering herself to Asterios—they all had that same resolve.
If the enemy weren’t Azrael, these “death soldiers” would likely be the strongest unit on the battlefield.
”Guildmaster, should we raise the tuition fee while we’re at it?”
’Stop. That’d be beneath you.’
”Rou, a contract’s a contract. I’m not haggling.”
”As you wish. By your will.”
Rou stepped back. The others—all except Eu and Shark—looked at Kian with tear-bright eyes.
Young, cute girls looking up at you as “master!”… it felt amazing. Worth killing Mansoor and illusions for. But giving in to that desire, as Talia said, would tarnish his dignity.
So Kian put on his best gallant face, waved, and called out, “See you, ladies” before climbing onto the wyvern golem.
On its back: spices for Isthbaran, clothes, building materials. Perfect—since they were all heading to visit him anyway.
As the girls helped Michelangelo to his feet, Kian rose into the sky on his chin-chin powered steed.
* * *
’Fire Island’ was a massive landmass northwest of ‘Water Island.’
How massive? About twice the size of Cyclops Island—so, roughly ten thousand square kilometers. That big.
The island’s structure was bizarre: volcano zone up north, but descend below the tree line and suddenly there’s an ancient jungle stretching out.
The outer ring of the island was nothing but hardened black lava rock, shaped by Salamander shadows. But go a little further in and you hit swamps crawling with insect monsters. Deeper still, you reach the jungle at the volcano’s foot.
No one knew why it was built this way, but at least the outer ring was clearly Salamander handiwork.
Even Salamanders needed fresh water to live, so they rarely pushed beyond the swamps. The jungle inside was basically untouched since ancient times.
In theory, you could just teleport goods and people straight into the interior and start developing—but teleportation arrays couldn’t transport large quantities. Crossing through Salamander territory with supply lines was dangerous. (They could leap, glide for short distances, and even spit Scorching Rays skyward.) So, Isthbaran and Leanan Sidhe both agreed: the Salamanders had to be culled.
Kian, Rou, and Leanan Sidhe, riding Chinchin, approached Fire Island’s skies. From above, the black rock below was speckled with countless gray dots. Salamanders.
They lowered altitude slowly, careful not to provoke the swarm. Following Leanan Sidhe’s guidance, they touched down on the southeastern black-sand beach.
Inside a rose-vineyard barrier Leanan Sidhe had conjured, several fine black houses stood. In front of one, Isthbaran—shirtless—was barbecuing.
Beside him lay the hollow shell of a dead Salamander.
The general was positively gleeful, lining meat on a wide rock slab he’d conjured with Earth magic, washing it down with honey mead straight from the bottle. He looked like he was on vacation in the tropics.
”Isthbaran! Good to see you in one piece!”
They crunched across the black sandy beach, meat plate in hand, and hugged the general amidst the volcanic rocks.
Isthbaran smelled strongly of seawater—he’d clearly just come up from a dive. No need to ask; squid and octopus meat sizzled alongside Salamander cuts on the stone grill.
”My liege, you too look well! And this is Rou, eh?”
”Yes, Lord Isthbaran. An honor to meet you. I look forward to working together.”
”Mm! Likewise. I was just having lunch—join me?”
”General, more pepper.”
”Oh! Splendid! Much obliged!”
His eyes lit up at the mountain of supplies piled atop Chinchin.
”And here—new sunglasses.”
”…Ah. Mm. New sunglasses, is it…? …Much thanks.”
Apparently he’d really loved the pair that got eaten by a Salamander. Ears drooping, he stared down at the sturdy black lenses Leanan Sidhe handed him. Then he hooked them on his waistband, invited everyone back to the barbecue table.
No reason to refuse. They ate together. Kian explained what had happened so far; in return, he pressed Isthbaran for details beyond what the reports had said about Fire Island.
”The magma wyrm lives in lava caves near the summit. The tunnels run deep underground, some opening into spots where jungle water seeps in—that’s where it hydrates. Salamanders reproduce through male-female coupling, but the magma wyrm? It can spawn Salamanders from its own cells. A spirit-class being, likely. As reported, it’s fifty meters long, nearly twenty tall. Even Balmung’s Scorching Rays barely scratch its armor. With its lieutenants around, botch an assassination and you’ll be torn apart. That’s how I lost one scale and my sunglasses.”
”And the lost scale?”
”Already regenerated.”
”Good. Glad to hear it.”
Isthbaran leaned forward, tongs in both hands.
”My liege. Will I be ordered to retreat?”
”Why would you?”
”Well… I’d like to keep hunting Salamanders here. But things seem… complicated out there. I thought I shouldn’t be wasting time… playing around here.”
”With respect, Lord Isthbaran,” Rou said, carefully roasting a Salamander brain, “this too is guild work. Kian Association needs results to bolster its reputation. You’ve slain twenty-five so far. If you can add another twenty-five before the tenth, the clients will be overjoyed desuno.”
”As for the culling,” Kian said, stacking squid and octopus on his plate, “we have a plan: the Underworld Smoke Crystal.”
”The what?”
”They ate your sunglasses, didn’t they? Then maybe they’ll eat the toxic ore too. Test it. I’ll head to Island of the Minotaurs, mine some, and bring it here.”
”Poison!? Like cockroach bait!?”
”You’d rather fight them all one by one? Don’t worry. We’re counting on you for the magma wyrm itself. But for thinning the Salamander herd—we want poison.”
If Salamander numbers dropped, the wyrm would have more solo moments. In a one-on-one, Isthbaran with Balmung could take it down. Kian believed that.
”…Understood. But what of Ozeas, Tersea? And the woman with the Windsong Blade?”
”Not to mention Mansoor, Gensou, Ryoma, Hanami,” Kian said. “As for Azrael—Jibril himself hasn’t shown. Crete’s government plans to query the Twelve Divine Generals Council again about yesterday’s assassins. Depending on their reply, Crete may be abandoned. In that case, we’d defect to Cardinal Homolka, hand over Fire Island and Minotaur Island as gifts. End of war.”
”You sound complacent. But better safe than sorry, eh?”
You’re the one saying that? Kian glanced at the general in nothing but swim trunks, but bit back the words.
”Even if you came back now, your role would be patrolling the city, guarding the castle mages. After I’m summoned as Asterios, maybe you’ll get an important mission. Until then, your existence stays secret. Let the enemy think it’s only Asterios. Then—bam—you and Ms. Aliona appear, wipe them out.”
”Ahh. So this beach camp is part of the plan after all.”
”Exactly.” Kian nodded, setting his empty plate down into sand, where it dissolved back into earth. He rose.
”Sorry to keep you busy, but I’ll go fetch the Smoke Crystal now. You keep at it here till the tenth. After that, I’ll give fresh orders.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Rou, back to cashing operations?”
”Understood, Guildmaster.”
”Ms. Leanan Sidhe, continue supporting Isthbaran. If Crete’s guild requests barrier wards, Rou will notify you. Can you handle that, Rou?”
”Leave it to me. Guildmaster, focus on preparing to become Asterios.”
”Mm.”
Kian gave a nod, sweeping his gaze across the group.
”Alright then. Action begins. Isthbaran—thanks for lunch. It was great.”
Notes:
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Louis – Trusted subordinates from the Châtillon family, part of Guy’s elite force.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
• Michelangelo – Guildmaster of Crete’s Merchant Guild, flamboyant and charming in purple-red finery. Diplomatic yet shrewd, allied with magician Luchia and representing the Guild’s interests. Greets Kian warmly with gifts, opposes Scipio’s restrictions, and requests aid against the Fire Island lava mole-dragon. First appears v4c21. Reminder: Charismatic merchant chief, smooth talker with pragmatic courage.
• Luchian – Magician serving Guildmaster Michelangelo Rendano of Crete’s Merchant Guild. Calm, graceful, and reliable, he aids him with conjured items and discreet support. First appears v4c21. Reminder: Loyal guild mage, quiet strength behind his master.
• Abbas – The heir of the Shakerdoust family, a prominent clan within the Twelve Divine Generals.
• Tersea – A shaman who assisted Barghest and is connected to the summoning ritual.
• Ozeas – Son of Glen, involved in forbidden experiments.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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