Volume 4 Chapter 62 Kian’s Right Arm Assassination Plan ♡
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”This here,” Mansoor Shakerdoust began, his gravelly voice filling the dim tent, “is what they call ‘Moon Stairs’ around these parts.” The faint glow of a Mana Lamp cast soft shadows across his weathered face as he gestured to a potted white flower cradled in his calloused right hand. “Back when I was fighting those Beastmen up north, Arminus ambushed us, and I ended up wandering the forest for five days. Stumbled into a woman’s cabin, and she served me the rhizomes of this beauty as a meal.”
Hanami, who’d come to treat Mansoor’s wounds, studied the flower with quiet curiosity. Its shape was reminiscent of a lily, its petals a pristine white, the stamen a vivid yellow. The veins running through its elongated leaves were perfectly straight, almost unnaturally so.
A wet, squelching sound interrupted the moment as the flesh on Mansoor’s right shoulder bulged grotesquely. The old general’s eyes, moments ago a sickly blue, now gleamed red as he leaned forward, drawn to the flower’s scent. He inhaled deeply, a beastly huff escaping his lips. “Tch… smells like the wild.”
”It was delicious, let me tell you,” he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “After the war, I went back to that spot, but the cabin was a ruin, and the woman was long gone. I paid my respects to her absence and uprooted every ‘Moon Stairs’ I could find growing behind her place.”
Hanami tilted her head, offering him a bowl of medicinal broth. “And since then?”
”Aye,” Mansoor nodded, popping a rice dumpling from a plate beside the broth into his mouth. “Couldn’t forget the taste. I eat it regularly now, even bring it to the battlefield like this.” He washed the dumpling down with a swig of red liquid—Burgkain’s bodily fluids—his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “My men whine, say it’s ‘foul’ or ‘makes their stomachs churn and fevers spike.’ Hmph. Kids these days have tongues too pampered. Back when I was young—”
”Pardon the interruption,” Hanami cut in softly, “but might I have a cutting of that flower?”
Mansoor’s bushy brows rose. “Oh? Another soul who appreciates it? Good, good. ‘Moon Stairs’ grows like a weed, plenty strong. I’ve got more than enough—take what you want, no need to hold back.”
With a grunt, he tossed another dumpling into his mouth and chased it with more of the red liquid. A sickening squelch sound came from his unhealing wound, the bandages soaking through with oozing discharge in seconds.
”Ahh, that’s the stuff,” Mansoor sighed, a grin splitting his face. “Hits the spot.”
”General, please finish the broth,” Hanami urged, rising swiftly in her kimono. “My husband will worry, so I must return soon.”
Mansoor’s bloodshot eyes followed her retreating figure. “Decided to drink the red water yet?”
Hanami hesitated, her back to him. “…I haven’t reached a conclusion.”
”If you want the power of a warrior monk, you’ll need a body like this,” Mansoor said, his voice low and goading. “Thirsting for blood, cutting down men, chasing strength—what’s there to hesitate over?”
”No one but you lives like such a demon, General,” Hanami replied coolly.
”Then dispose of it,” he snapped. “If it falls into enemy hands, it’s a threat. Or… planning to use it on old Umar, are you?”
Hanami said nothing, her silence heavy.
”Lady Hanami,” Mansoor pressed, his tone darkening. “That man never forgives those who betray him once. Bring Umar back, and you and yours will be the first to feed his vampirized hunger.”
”I would never do such a thing,” Hanami said firmly. “Besides, I don’t even know where General Umar is.”
”Chatillon or Izerland, most likely,” Mansoor muttered. “If we reach the West, he’ll come sniffing. But mark my words—if Umar rises, I’ll kill him first. That fox seduced my son, used Shakerdoust, and discarded us. Unforgivable.”
Hanami offered a silent bow and slipped out of the tent. Mansoor’s gaze lingered on her retreating silhouette, swallowed by the darkness, before he turned away and downed the rest of the broth in one go.
”Oji,” he called out, his voice sharp. “Eavesdropping’s a nasty habit.”
”Caught me, did you?” came a smooth reply. From the shadowed corner of the tent, a Wolfman emerged, his crown adorned with a gleaming bloodstone. Tiny indigo petals—Heliotrope Flowers—fluttered down around him like delicate confetti.
”Going to tattle to Jibril about the red water?” Mansoor asked, his eyes narrowing.
”He already knows,” Oji said with a sly grin. “And there’s a stronger potion for transformation, you know.” He produced a plump, wriggling leech from nowhere, holding it up. “We injected the virus—the source of mutation—into this leech, amplifying its effects. It grants even greater regenerative abilities, but the toxicity’s high. Some can’t handle it, and others… well, their cells multiply too fast, turning them into grotesque monsters.”
Mansoor’s red eyes widened, fixed on the pulsating black creature in Oji’s gloved hand. “Umar’s alchemy… it’s complete?”
Oji chuckled, a low, eerie sound. “Umar’s gone, and who took over his harem? None other than the genius Jibril. Of course it’s complete.”
Mansoor stared, uncertain if even the glove could protect against such a thing.
”Craving further evolution?” Oji asked, his tone teasing.
”I don’t trust potions with unknown effects,” Mansoor growled. “And I don’t know what Jibril’s scheming.”
”But you’ll need to heal that wound to face ‘Kian,’” Oji countered. “Crete hasn’t answered our surrender demand. If they don’t by the deadline, we strike again. You planning to fight him half-crippled?”
Mansoor’s lips curled. “A warrior monk’s true strength lies in Assassination. A single Leap decides it all. This wound won’t slow me down.”
Oji’s grin widened, his teeth glinting. “As expected of the General. But keep this as an option. Having a trump card in a pinch makes all the difference.”
Mansoor didn’t respond, his silence heavy.
”Oh, and take this,” Oji added, tossing him a curved sword. “A parting gift from Jibril.”
Mansoor drew the blade from its scabbard, muttering, “Black Onyx? Primitive.” The sword was over a meter long, its obsidian blade curving like a bow, jagged as if its edge had dulled from overuse. Yet it radiated a terrifying magical power, the kind that could bring a nation to its knees if mishandled.
”This is a magic sword imbued with Kharab’s Black Onyx ability,” Oji explained. “Its power is to ‘sever.’ Nothing can withstand its cut—not even souls.”
”A soul-slaying sword,” Mansoor mused. “Perfect for killing vampires. You’d need something like this or a divine sword that saps abilities. Jibril’s serious about us winning, eh?”
”I’ve said from the start,” Oji replied, clapping his hands twice. “We don’t want you to lose, General.”
Two female shadows emerged from outside the tent—a Wolfwoman and an Azraelian, both masked and hooded.
”Inspector?” Mansoor’s brow furrowed. “Thought you were blast dead.”
”Sorry to disappoint, but we’re very much alive,” the Wolfwoman said, drawing a Black Onyx magic sword of her own.
”We were caught off guard last time,” she continued, her voice cold. “But we’ve studied the enemy’s movements and tactics. We won’t lose again.”
The Azraelian woman drew her own soul-slaying magic sword, a white-silver greatsword strapped to her back catching the light. “What happened to your wind magic sword?” Mansoor asked.
”Shattered by the enemy,” she replied. “So I’ve been entrusted with this—Balmung.”
”Balmung? Arminus’s sword?” Mansoor’s eyes widened. “Picked it up at some auction?”
Oji laughed softly. “Something like that. Point is, we’re supporting you beyond our roles as Inspectors, General.”
”Can I kill ‘Kian’?” Mansoor asked, his voice low.
”Jibril and I want him alive,” Oji said. “But go ahead and fight like you mean to kill him.”
”Think I can’t?” Mansoor snorted. “Don’t underestimate me.”
”Just saying he’s a tough one,” Oji said, unfazed. “According to Gensou’s records of Kian Vahid’s fights, there’s something strange about his right arm.”
The silver Wolfwoman stepped forward, sheathing her sword. “Even in our battle, he used dual incantations. His right arm draws magic power from the Spiritual Vein, and it acts independently, firing magic while he swings his sword.”
”Sir Mansoor,” the Azraelian woman added, “your first strike—your surprise attack—should target Kian Vahid’s right arm. This sword extends its slash. Even a graze will sever whatever mystery resides in that arm.”
Oji nodded repeatedly, pleased. “The enemy doesn’t know about Kharab’s sword. A surprise attack will work. He might even offer his arm, thinking it’ll regenerate. That’s your chance to end it in one blow.”
”Worst case, taking the arm eliminates his magic support and infinite draw from the Spiritual Vein,” the Wolfwoman said. “Then he’s easy prey.”
”No need for your orders,” Mansoor said, his tone flat with irritation. “I’ll do it my way.”
Oji and the women exchanged glances, smirking. “Do as you like,” Oji said. “If you fail, we’re your backup. We’ll surround him, sever his arm, and capture Kian.”
”We’ve recorded his movements with a golem,” the Wolfwoman added. “It can’t match his speed, but you can study his swordplay in advance. Use it if you want.”
Mansoor grunted. “Appreciate it, Inspector. Looks like we’re set for a comeback.”
Oji’s smile turned sharp. “Crete’s envoy will reach Holy City Azrael soon. The Twelve Divine Generals will convene, declare you pirates, and issue a statement by the twentieth. By month’s end, Azrael’s navy will move to break you. Take Crete before that.”
”Understood,” Mansoor growled, his voice thick with irritation, cutting through the heavy scent of ‘Moon Stairs’ flowers that clung to the air inside the tent.
Oji and his entourage offered a curt bow before slipping out, their silhouettes vanishing into the night, leaving the old general alone with the faint glow of the Mana Lamp and the lingering perfume of the blooms.
* * *
After Aliona had worked her magic with the onahole, leaving Kian blissfully spent, they moved away from the hot spring to rest for a bit. Aliona insisted on thoroughly washing herself before diving into full-on intimacy, and Kian, though fine with the travel grime still clinging to them, had been firmly shot down when he suggested skipping the scrub.
She’d also declared her intent to trim her wild pubic hair and the faint fuzz sprouting under her arms, but Kian had practically begged her to keep it all au naturel. After some back-and-forth, they’d reached a compromise: no grooming, straight to the main event.
While waiting for Aliona to finish her meticulous cleansing, Kian pulled out a report Rufna had prepared, the pages crisp despite the steamy air. Talia, ever helpful, used her magic to keep the paper dry, floating it in front of him so he could read without smudging the ink.
His eyes skimmed over the section he’d requested after the January 1st clash with Mansoor and Gensou—a detailed dossier on Mansoor, Malc, and Gensou, compiled by Nakash’s Head Magician. The parts about Mansoor and Malc aligned with what Kian already knew, but Gensou’s entry was a goldmine of new intel.
”Born in the capital, Nile. Twenty-nine years old. Grandfather was a nomadic horseman from Shin’s western Liang region, defeated in tribal conflicts and forced to flee west. Settled in Azrael, worked as a merchant, and eventually reached Nile. Hired as a magician to manage Nile’s library under Shajar’s predecessor, diligently performed his duties, and built a formidable clan with his migrated comrades, siring many children…”
Gensou’s father, also a magician, held a position akin to a palace steward, but Shajar’s tendency to favor his inner circle strained their political ties. Both Gensou and his late brother were warrior monks, graduating with honors from Azrael’s monastery.
They’d steadily built reputations fighting southern tribes along Nile’s upper reaches, rising to high-ranking warrior monk status. Gensou’s brother was on the cusp of becoming a top-tier monk before his death.
But Gensou, it seemed, was consumed by jealousy toward his brother and saw his father as an unnecessary burden. A bit of a problem child in the Lee Family, he’d caused his share of trouble. Yet, his relentless ambition drove him to conquer perilous dungeons in a valley where ancient pagan gods slumbered, collecting warrior monk techniques with a greed fueled by sibling rivalry.
Over time, he gained followers who admired his tenacity. When Talarene Nakash, for reasons unknown, assassinated Gensou’s father and brother single-handedly, Gensou smoothly inherited the Lee Family’s leadership.
Unlike Jibril, Gensou hadn’t entered the ranks of ‘Azrael’s Death Sword User,’ but he’d created a new warrior monk style—’Dance Form.’ This technique was said to counter all seven forms of Azrael’s world-renowned Dance Swordsmanship, making it the ultimate style.
Details were scarce, but it involved a double-edged spear with blades at both ends. Gensou’s goal was to become the apex warrior monk, hunting others of his kind once Azrael unified the world, and ‘Dance Form’ was his key to that throne.
His conquests in the ancient gods’ tomb-dungeons had yielded national treasures, including the ‘Coffin of Asar'[T/N: Known as ‘Osiris’ in the West, a mythical coffin tied to the underworld spirit, enabling astral projection-like feats]. This artifact allowed him to create phantom shadows, capable of near-perfect mimicry of the user.
These phantoms moved like the real Gensou, attacking with physical weight while being immune to death since they weren’t his true body. Their range was unknown—potentially deployable from his homeland. Under sunlight, they could even unleash solar beams.
(An invincible entity unless the real body is killed. In combat, he uses ‘Dance Form’ to exploit weaknesses in Dance Swordsmanship, dominating fights. With stored sunlight, he can spam Scorching Rays. Incredibly powerful.)
Unlike Oswald, whose blade-defying strength was unbeatable by day, Gensou’s immortality stemmed from his untouchable true body. Without invading his homeland, defeating him was impossible. His phantoms’ ability to gather intelligence by charging into enemy lines made him a war machine.
Why, then, hadn’t Shajar used this artifact? Rufna’s notes clarified: Shajar revered ancient religions outside Azrael’s faith, locking away such dungeon-looted magic swords and artifacts as sacred relics.
A treasure hoarded to rot. Noble in preserving culture, but foolish if it led to the Lee Family’s swift conquest. Shajar’s decisions seemed to prioritize ideals over reality, leaving him blind to the bigger picture.
”Oh? Reading reports during our s**y time?” Aliona’s teasing voice cut through Kian’s focus. “Is it because I already got you off once?”
”S-Sorry, Ms. Aliona!” Kian stammered, hastily stuffing the papers into the floating Wraith’s storage.
Aliona approached from the washing area, her body and hair freshly cleaned as promised, her golden locks still damp. “Want to Stop the s**?”
”That’d be torture,” Kian said, shaking his head vigorously.
”Then forget work during s**!” she huffed, her tone mock-indignant. “Honestly, Kian, you’re so clueless about a woman’s heart at the worst moments.”
”Sorry,” he mumbled, sheepish.
”Fine, whatever,” Aliona said, waving it off. “Ready for round two?”
Kian nodded, rising from the bath stool. Gensou’s burning ambition had piqued his curiosity, but now was the time to focus on the goddess before him, not some warrior monk.
* * *
When it came to s**, Kian never skipped cunnilingus. Some guys shied away from it, but few women disliked it, and Aliona was no exception—she loved it. For Kian, watching a woman’s pleasure was half the thrill, so it was always his opening move.
Before him sat a high elf beauty, her wet golden hair clinging to her shoulders and chest, knees pressed together on the smooth black stone floor of the bath. The surface was polished but hard, and Aliona paused, saying, “Hold on.” She summoned a bath mat from her sandworm storage, spreading it out before settling back down, facing him.
”Ms. Aliona, your legs are so long,” Kian said, his eyes tracing her form.
”Really?” she replied, tilting her head. “Aren’t most Westerners built like this?”
”No, they’re long,” he insisted. “And slender, with perfect knees, and your thighs get all plush and curvy toward your hips. Just looking at you gets me going.”
Aliona’s lips curved into a pleased smile. “I’m flattered. You’re already rock-hard again after one round. Knowing my body does that to you… it makes me feel like a real woman.”
”As if someone like you could ever lack confidence,” Kian said with a wry grin, his hand gliding over her leg. The untrimmed golden fuzz was soft, Westerner-style, not prickly even when stroked against the grain. Each fine hair screamed delicate femininity, stoking his desire.
His palm traveled from her calf to her knee, then up her thigh, skirting the thick patch of pubic hair to caress her hips and stomach. Aliona’s soft skin and warmth seeped into his touch.
He cupped her ample breasts, stretching them upward, and leaned in for a kiss. She’d been leaning back, hands braced behind her, but arched forward for the kiss, puckering her lips. Even without lipstick, her pale skin and soft pink lips were tantalizingly lush. Aliona took the lead, her tongue darting out to tangle with his outside their mouths.
”You said you wanted some kinky play today, right?” Kian murmured.
”Mmm… yeah,” she breathed.
”How about trying the slime for an enema?”
Aliona chuckled, nestling into his arms. “I was thinking of giving you an enema.”
”You were fantasizing about that?” Kian asked, raising an eyebrow.
”Disappointed?” Her green eyes flickered with a fiery s** Drive, bold and unashamed.
”Not at all,” Kian said, grinning. “But maybe we hold off on the enema and start with cunnilingus?”
”Of course,” she purred. “I love it when you go down on me. Though, I haven’t trimmed, so…”
”That’s what makes it perfect,” Kian said earnestly.
”What’s so great about this wild mess?” she laughed, gesturing to her untamed pubic hair. “But if you’re fine with it, I’m fine.”
They kissed again, and Kian slid his lips downward. Aliona’s jaw, chest, and stomach were pale and soft, her body more cushioned by fat than muscle, every touch a sensory delight. As he reached her navel, the hair grew denser, tickling his chin. Aliona reclined, lying back on the mat. Kian gripped her raised knees, gently parting them, and she let out a soft “haa” of anticipation.
Her golden pubic hair, untrimmed, extended visibly from the panty line, growing thicker and longer—finger-length, even—toward the captivating triangle below. Her lush hair matched her wild mane, and without grooming, it was a veritable forest. Panties might conceal it, flattening the expanse, but the texture would still be a crinkly delight to the touch. Aliona’s there was gloriously untamed.
Mixed with the scent of herbal soap was a heady, sweet musk. Her pubic hair glistened, not just with water but with something slicker. As Kian’s lips grazed her, he could feel the shift from water to love juices, a distinct boundary of arousal.
”You’re staring too much, Kian,” Aliona said, her voice tinged with playful embarrassment as she propped herself up on her elbows, her green eyes meeting his with a mix of confusion and self-consciousness.
”I haven’t groomed since last year,” she added, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s not exactly pretty, so… maybe don’t look so hard?”
”It’s beautiful,” Kian replied, his voice earnest as he gently grasped the backs of her pale thighs. His fingers sank into the soft, plump flesh, the sensation grounding him in the moment.
Nestled slightly below the center of her lush, golden pubic hair was a prominent cl**oris, still hooded by its delicate skin, framed by rich pink folds glistening with arousal. The smaller lips, slightly parted, were bridged by a milky, viscous fluid, and a sweet-tart feminine musk pierced his senses, igniting his desire.
”Nnh!” Aliona let out a soft moan as Kian, unable to resist the feast before him, dove in, his lips pressing against her most intimate place. The soft tickle of her pubic hair brushed his cheeks, and the heady scent filled his nostrils, intoxicatingly rich.
He parted her slick, smooth labia with his tongue, not just licking but pressing the flat of it against her, dragging it slowly up and down in deliberate, heavy strokes. Though Aliona was no stranger to cunnilingus, the intensity made her knees twitch, instinctively clamping his cheeks between her inner thighs with each shudder.
”Wow,” Kian teased, pulling back slightly, “your p***y’s absolutely steaming. Drooling like crazy, isn’t it?”
”Nn!” Aliona’s breath hitched, her thighs trembling.
He spread her thicker outer lips wider, revealing the glistening mix of her fluids and his saliva as her s** opened fully to him with a wet sound. Aliona propped herself up further, her breaths coming in rough, ragged pants. In sync with her breathing, her round v***inal opening pulsed, clenching and relaxing rhythmically.
Kian coated his fingertips with her slick arousal, gently circling her exposed cl**oris. Compared to someone like Linca, Aliona’s was softer, swaying pliantly under his touch. “Ah, ah, ah!” she gasped in quick, staccato bursts. Her v***ina, still pulsing, released a thick, semi-penetration bead of fluid that swelled and dripped down her perineum, trailing toward her hair-fringed anus.
A pink crevasse bloomed within the dense golden jungle. Kian’s fingers teased her cl**oris relentlessly, tickling and tormenting it. Aliona arched her head back, her knees jerking as she surrendered to the maddening pleasure rippling through her core.
”How many times did you mas***bate?” Kian asked, his voice low and teasing.
”Nnh… I-I can’t say,” she stammered, her voice quivering.
”Tell me, or I’ll do this to your c**t,” he warned, pinching the hood and rubbing it squelch between his fingers, pressing harder to send a jolt of sensation through her.
”Ngh!?” Aliona yelped. “F-Five times! I mas***bated five times!”
”That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” Kian grinned. “You’re really naughty.”
”You’re one to talk!” she shot back, her voice breaking into a moan as he pinched and pressed her cl**oris harder, making her writhe. Her voluptuous hips and slender waist twisted, the pale flesh creasing enticingly.
”Wait, stop!” she gasped, her voice desperate but laced with a moan. “It’s too much! Ngh♡!”
She tried to roll onto her stomach to escape, but Kian clung to her hips, burying his face in the lush expanse of her ass. She’d washed thoroughly, leaving no trace of scent beyond the clean warmth of her skin.
Drowning in the soft, voluminous flesh, he lapped at the secret hollow beneath her pubic hair, dragging his tongue over her v***inal opening again and again before slipping the tip inside. Aliona let out a throaty, almost guttural moan, her hips swaying with a blast as she squirmed.
”Ohhh♡—No, stop, stop!♡” she cried, her voice thick with need. “I’m so pent up! If you keep your face there, I’m gonna make a huge mess!”
”Go for it,” Kian mumbled, his voice muffled against the valley of her ass. His breath bounced off her flesh, earning a dimpled clench and a short, barking “Ngh♡!” from Aliona.
”We’re in a bathhouse!” she protested.
”Ihh—♡!” she squealed as he resumed his cunnilingus, his hands sliding around to her front. He groped through the thick pubic hair, finding her cl**oris again and tickling it mercilessly. Slurping up every drop of her overflowing nectar, he savored her taste and scent with abandon.
”Ha—♡ Nhi!♡ Stop, I’m—♡ I’ll, so fast!♡ Ngh…♡ Ha, aaah!♡ Ohhh—♡!” Her voice spiraled into desperate, breathy moans.
Kian tilted her hardened cl**oris upward, the coarse pubic hair rustling with a rub-rub sound. Her anus twitched frantically against his nose, and the flesh of her hips quivered violently with spasms. “Ha, I’m!♡ I—♡ Haa!♡… Nnnhhh♡♡!”
Her ass clenched as she climaxed, a gush of odorless liquid spraying from her urethra. Kian’s tongue delved deeper, slurping noisily as he drank in the flood of her juices.
”Ah♡… Ah…♡” Aliona whimpered, her body trembling like a caterpillar, pinned in his embrace.
Kian reached for the enema syringe and a bottle of pink slime nearby, pulling his face from her hips. He began drawing the slime into the syringe, its tip—about the width of a pinky—smoothly rounded to avoid harming delicate tissues.
”Haa, haa…♡…?” Aliona, her wavy hair plastered to her flushed cheeks, turned to him, still glowing from her orgasm. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the syringe in his hand. “Kian!?”
Too late. Kian parted her round, generous ass, pressed the syringe’s tip against her still-twitching anus, and slid it in with a slow, deliberate plop.
Notes:
• Arminus – Male. Leader of the Black Panther Tribe. Possesses extraordinary physical abilities, enhanced by the tribe’s unique technique that repels energy and magic attacks. His speed and strength surpass those of High Warlord Isthbaran. Wields the magic sword Balmung, capable of cleaving through an ice dragon with a single strike. His black fur provides camouflage in low visibility, making him nearly undetectable. Relationship: Leader of the Beastmen Alliance’s delegation.
• Mansoor – Crimson-eyed elder monk and Azrael’s Divine General from the Shakerdoust domain near Dacia. Wielding mist form, blood-drinking, rapid healing. He ties to allies like Ryoma and Hanami Tsai. First appearing in Vol. 4 Ch. 25. Quick tag: vampiric red-eyed grandpa-general who mist-forms and drinks blood, obsessed with rescuing his captured son unlike other human monks.
• Kharab – The enemy who stole Talia’s soul and possessed her body; referred to by the Black Onyx Spirit; defeated by Kian.
• Gensou – Eccentric young Eastern monk-general in Azrael’s army, playful yet ambitious. Wields sun-like magic, swordsmanship, and assassination tactics. Linked to three masked wives—Seishi, Oushoukun, and Yougyokukan (Head Magician). Ally of Mansoor and Oji, serves under Jibril, proposes Operation Assassination. First appears Vol. 4 Ch. 45. Reminder: playful Eastern general with masked harem wives, always late but magically explosive, contrasting serious monks with his bathrobe vibe and schemes.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
• Talarene – Sarah’s mother and Lady of the Nakash family, remembered for fleeing east with her followers after the clan’s fall. Vanished without a trace, leaving Sarah burdened with restoring Nakash. First mentioned around Vol. 9 Ch. 30. Reminder: noble Nakash matriarch, vanished east, symbol of motherly strength and sacrifice.
• 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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