Volume 4 Chapter 54 Kian, Cuckolded ①
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Back on Water Island, Kian dropped Rou off, bought supplies for Leprobus at the market, and without delay flew straight to the Island of the Minotaurs.
Isthbaran’s base was nothing more than a cluster of random huts within a barrier. By contrast, Leprobus had leveled the ground, laid down a stone floor, and raised a proper stronghold. Roughly fifty meters on each side, with stairways climbing the slope to smithing spaces and a rocky dome for war councils. Jagged walls ringed the place to keep minotaurs out. A miniature fortress.
He would thank Leprobus later. For now, straight into the underground labyrinth, mining Underworld Smoke Crystal, hauling it out, loading it onto the wyvern golem. Over and over. By the time the crystals piled high over Chin-Chin’s back, January 2nd was gone and dawn of the 3rd was near.
Even at reduced speed, he managed to deliver them to Fire Island. Tested the traps he’d prepared for Salamanders with Isthbaran: confirmed they’d eat, vomit, and die. Salamanders cannibalized their own dead, so the poison might snowball. Kian ordered Isthbaran to observe the chain reaction.
On the way back he stopped at Grass Island, checked the post, cranked through paperwork. By midnight of the 4th, he left the trading post again for Minotaur Island.
He ate breakfast with Leprobus, then bathed and shaved him.
”Man, I feel amazing. Smooth all over.”
”If you let your hair and beard grow wild, lice and fleas’ll get you.”
”Not on this island. At least not the kind that infect humans. The ones clinging to minotaur fur die off whenever those beasts take a thunder bath or discharge lightning. They can’t survive it.”
”…So coming out of their lairs for thunder baths—it’s a grooming behavior? To kill parasites?”
”Probably. Also, maybe to turn dirt into Blue Thunder Stones, like cats licking themselves. They’re not risking themselves for nothing.”
”Mm. Makes sense.”
Leprobus smacked his knee with a “well then.” The casual motion from a half-giant sent barrels rattling nearby.
”Your turn, Kian. It’s the 4th. The sun’s up. Time to don Asterios’s armor, wrap the chains. Rehearsal starts now.”
”The summoning’s tomorrow at nineteen hundred hours. Thirty-five hours to go.”
”Then let’s begin with the transformation.”
”Sorry to intrude on your work.”
”I was at a stopping point anyway.”
He fetched the black armor of Asterios from storage. By then Kian had already transformed into a white bull.
Thoughts warped with the body—aggressive, overbearing, like when he’d drunk too much wine as a human.
”No matter how many times I do it, I can’t get used to this-moo.”
”That idiotic speech pattern… could you not?” Leprobus handed him the strange helmet, its back opening like a mask. His carefully groomed brows drew down. “It’s drawn-out, sloppy. Forgive the bluntness, but it oozes vulgarity.”
”You really don’t hold back-moo. But I can’t stop it-moo.”
”…Do you r**e princesses in that tone too?”
”Wouldn’t it be more natural? Reading his cells in meditation, Asterios’s mind was nothing but royal hatred, Crete women to defile, and joy in smashing the weak. Even when regaining reason by staff’s effect, never once acted with logic or ethics. …Oh hey, I just spoke without the ‘moo.’”
”You still had it.”
”Oops, sorry-moo~.”
Asterios: no different from low-rank adventurers and bandit captains infesting Izerland. All appetite, no foresight. Chasing the nearest pleasure till even the bones were chewed. A beast that could speak and wield weapons—nothing more. By social standards, worse than dogs.
”I see. So Kian-style behavior is out. What’s in is: ‘food, violence, s*x, hell yeah!’”
”That’d be brainless, General. Asterios is without reason, but still cunning. Especially toward Crete’s royals—always scheming, looking for ways to spite them.”
So: arrogant, disrespectful to the king. Drooling at women, spewing perverted lines. Delay any request, smirk, drag it out with “Hmm, what to do-moo~.” Demand feasts and women’s service. If granted, sneer: “Fine-moo. Guess I’ll do it.” Then, bored or losing? Retreat immediately. That was his style.
In short, his dialogue is short, dumb, child-simple. No long speeches. No sophistication. That was how to sound like him.
”And now—the chains.”
Armor donned, Leprobus brought out two golden chains.
”One real. One I forged. I copied the spirit script carvings, plated it with your gold wages. Hope you don’t mind.”
”They’re your coins. If it helps my plan, I’ll reimburse.”
”No need. I thought you’d scold me.”
The fake was perfect to the eye, but weaker in magic density. Any sharp-eyed Crete mage might notice.
Kian lifted it to the sunrise, checking the glint. Spirit script reproduced flawlessly.
Leprobus laughed his throaty “Ge-ge-ge.”
”Even if they find out later, no problem. Once the princess uses the staff, once she’s forced into a cow-fetish transformation, too late.”
”I’ll just grunt, ‘No chain can bind me-moo. Annoying, off it goes-moo,’ and that’ll be in character. Though soldiers might surround me.”
”Then stay aloof. Crete can’t touch you. You’re their national defense—your thunder boosts their entire force.”
’Fake chain’s safer,’ Talia’s voice in his mind. ‘If it’s exposed, so be it. Confidence blinds people more than forgery does.’
(…True.)
Asterios’s aura alone could mask it. As long as Kian acted right, suspicion would fall on appeasing him, not checking the chain. The king and Medea (if she was back) would be too broken up over Guria’s fate to think clearly anyway.
”Thanks, Leprobus. I’ll use yours. If it blows up, I’ll switch to the real chain later. Keep it here in storage.”
”Got it.”
”Still… this armor. It’s supposed to be packed with enchantments, but on me? Nothing.” He looked down at the black metal plates, covered in runes as complex as Rean’s armor. He pushed magic through—but no glow.
”It knows you’re not Asterios. Without him, it’ll never awaken again. Just sturdy junk.”
”…A shame. But sturdiness alone passes for armor.”
”With your regeneration, wearing armor weaker than fire or shock is pointless.”
”Then I’ll repurpose it later. For now, I wear it to fool them. It’ll serve.”
Thanking Leprobus, Kian carried food and the real chain into the Minotaur lair.
* * *
It took him about thirty minutes to reach the chamber where Asterios had once dwelled. No other minotaurs appeared—whether avoiding him or simply absent, Kian couldn’t tell. He only confirmed the state of the teleportation magic circle, then began to loosen up his body.
He ran, he leapt, he mimicked thrusting his hips with only his c**k shifted into Asterios-form, he lolled out his tongue with grotesque licking motions, he snapped his right middle finger up and down at blinding speed to practice fingerwork. When that grew dull, he sat in meditation, searching Asterios’s cellular memory, adjusting his imitation of the bull-general’s voice.
Caution upon caution, rehearsal upon rehearsal—Kian settled in to wait for the appointed time: January 5th, 19:00.
* * *
From Asterios’s cellular memories: during the last summoning, it was when the queen wielded the Staff of All-Dominion, Damnamene, that he regained reason. He hadn’t rampaged immediately because the armor and chains had been fastened onto him prior to the summoning, forcing him into paralysis.
Therefore—the most important thing now was first impressions. His opening pose would be arms crossed, cool and commanding. Guria would then brandish the staff, and that would cue him to speak in human tongue.
If Crete’s side delayed with the staff, he would have to act the “raging bull” until then. In rehearsal, even violent thrashing hadn’t broken his transformation, so he felt safe enough to commit.
’If things turn dire, step into the circle. I’ll trigger the teleportation. Whatever happens, do not break the Asterios-form. Asterios can pass through the wedge-road carved into the Spiritual Vein. You, however, will be repelled and scattered apart.’
”In other words, I’d slam into the anti-teleportation barrier’s shadow effect.”
Not technically a barrier, but because his body wasn’t registered into the Vein’s wedge, it would be the same as when he’d failed to warp into Beastmen territory. People called it a “teleportation-stop barrier” all the same.
Anyway—enough digression.
Kian stood in the circle’s center, black armor groaning as he crossed his arms.
”Alright!”
’Wait. A paralyzed man can’t hold a pose like that. Fill in the gaps rationally. Lie down. Twitch like a scalded grub.’
”That’s way too lame.”
’Do it.’
”…Fine.”
He dropped flat onto the circle, back arching, armored torso smacking the stone as he jolted and twitched.
”Unh—hhghhh—straining—can’t—move—!”
’Ugh. Creepy.’
”You told me to—oh, the hourglass sand is almost—here it comes!”
’Keep twitching!’
”Uhhhnnn—grrhhhhh—body locking—shaking—!”
’Don’t yell nonsense, just look paralyzed—’
Before Talia’s dry tsukkomi finished, the circle erupted with searing light. The crushing, vertiginous pull of teleportation—the sensation of body shredded into glittering particles and lofted upward—hit Kian in the gut.
He focused all will on holding the bull-form intact.
One leap’s stretch, then the pull reversed; fragments of him funneled together. Human presences surrounded him.
”Mmhh—ghhh—”
(Twitch. Twitch. Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.)
’You look disgusting.’
(I’m taking this seriously, thank you.)
”Was it successful? Circe?”
”Success, Scipio. It’s Asterios.”
”The shock of the chains is binding him. Princess, quickly—the staff.”
”Princess! Princess!”
”Guria…!”
The smoke cleared. Kian twitched violently, scanning the white chamber lined with stone columns. Circe, Balinars, Scipio, armored Lightning Knights and guards ringed the room.
Outside the circle, Guria appeared in a white corset-dress, hugging her kin one by one—Scipio, Balinars (“forgive me, Princess”), Circe, then even Eugenia, whispering that though Asterios’s shadow hung over them, she would never forget to defend her homeland.
”Princess, the staff!”
”U-um…”
”Guria Selda!”
The voice, raw with pain. King Minos—eyes wet, arms outstretched from his wheelchair. Once lifeless, now burning with anguish. His wife stolen years ago; now his daughter offered. His last farewell to a child doomed to corruption.
”—Guria!”
”Medea? You shouldn’t be up!”
”It’s fine. Eu—help me walk.”
Wrapped in bloodstained bandages, clad in only her undergarments, the half-dark elf staggered in, clung to Guria.
”I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Guria.”
”Don’t be. …I leave the rest to you, Medea.”
”…Yes…!”
”Guria Selda!”
”Father—I will protect Crete!”
”Guria Selda!”
(Touching scene. …And now my cue.)
’Paralysis is over. Thrash.’
”BUHHHHRHHHHH!”
”Wha—what!? The armored beast—he’s up! Charging!”
”GUHHHHHHH! HHHRRRNN!”
He barreled toward the knights, narrowly missing, crashing into a column. Bellowing, he swung his bull arms in wide arcs, smashing pillars and walls.
”Princess—the staff!”
”Yes! Damno—Damnamene—Damasandra—Damnodamia!”
Raising the slender staff skyward, Guria chanted. At the same instant, Talia flared the counterfeit runes on his chains.
Kian, mid-tumble, suddenly went still. He folded his legs under him, sitting upright amid torn carpet.
”…Kh.”
Guria dropped to her knees, shaking her head, whispering refusals—”No, I won’t—don’t come inside me”—fighting the mental invasion of the staff. Her kin rushed, but Circe and Balinars restrained them.
Her breaths grew ragged. She clutched herself, trembling, then collapsed forward, shoulders shuddering with futile resistance.
And then—
Her voice faltered.
Her body stilled.
Something inside her broke.
* * *
When her head rose again, her eyes were glazed, her expression slackened into heat. From beneath her white skirt, a suffocating scent of possession spread through the chamber.
”The ritual is complete. Leave the attendants and withdraw.”
Circe’s command cut the silence. One by one, nobles and knights exited in grief. Medea lingered, glaring at Kian with murderous hatred, before she too was forced out.
Only attendants and Circe remained.
”Have you kept well?” she asked softly.
”Buhh.”
’You can speak now.’
”…Well enough.”
”I see. Forgive me for the darkness. At least, now—you may enjoy your bride.”
”Guria Selda.”
* * *
Kian looked down at the girl kneeling at his waist and called her name.
The sharp, suffocating scent of possession thickened in the air.
”The bride is under the Staff’s effect—her reason is gone for the moment.”
”I can see that-moo.”
Her breath hitched, uneven and shallow. At the sound of her name, Guria’s usually noble, decisive features collapsed into a slackened mask; she pressed her face to the armor guarding his c**k, tongue dragging across the cold metal again and again. The delicate makeup she had worn—soft pink lip gloss, a gentle touch of blush—smeared into ruin under the fever coursing through her.
”As always, you’ll seal her into the cow, yes?”
”Mm. Do it-moo.”
(The cow… right. They used to place the sacrificial maiden into a wooden cow, and offer her to Asterios.)
Because Asterios himself was a bull, perhaps this ritualistic imagery heightened the resonance. Kian wanted to take Guria then and there, but kept to the role, following Circe’s words and lifting the dazed girl to her feet.
”…? My attendants and I will handle preparations. You should remain here.”
”That would bore me-moo. I will come. I want to watch Guria bound into the construct,-moo.”
”But that spoils the mood—centuries ago it was decreed—”
”Show me-moo. This time, I change the mood.”
Circe seemed unbothered; she only inclined her head and guided him deeper, toward a door at the far wall opposite the main exit.
”Oi, hag.”
”What is it?”
Kian snapped at her: “Don’t stop. Walk.”
”My dwelling reeks. Call cleaners immediately.”
”Eh? That’s… impossible. The Great Current complicates the Vein. Sending anyone alive down there—”
”Recently, no corpses have been delivered.”
”…”
”The current has shifted-moo. Hire workers. Let them bring food as well.”
”But… boy—”
”Shut it, hag! Recruit, them—or Crete will, have no aid!”
”…Very well.”
”That’s better-moo.”
”Sir Asterios…”
Guria leaned against him, trembling. Kian, bull-faced, curved his lips in a crude smile, squeezing her through the folds of her white skirt. Still that perfect shape, still too tempting. He thought of the construct awaiting—her body confined, only p* and curves exposed—and his heart pounded with Asterios’s borrowed lust.
’Pig?’
(I’m a bull.)
’I’m going to sleep now. Even in the act, preserve the dignity of a King of Vampires. Do you hear?’
(I’m not bald, damn it.)
Talia’s presence faded. A joke too far—cold silence remained. He told himself the crude thoughts came from Asterios’s form tugging at his mind.
”Careful with the horns,” Circe advised, leading them onward with the blank-eyed maids trailing.
They entered another sealed white chamber, filled with magic stone light.
At the center stood a finely carved wooden calf, its back split open to admit a body. A window gaped at the rear, holes cut below for the breasts to protrude.
Beyond the strange statue lay white cloths, vessels of scented oil, and a small pool of pure water. A place to wash, to cleanse.
Circe stroked Guria’s cheek with a long-nailed hand, then looked up at Kian.
”Enjoy yourself.”
Notes:
• Leprobus – Rou’s comrade who sacrificed his chance to escape during a pirate raid by pushing Rou off in a small boat. He returned to the deck, sword in hand, to protect the others. Distinguished by his giant blood and burning red hair, marking him as more than human. He is released by Kian on Cyclops Island jail.【v4c23】.
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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