Volume 4 Chapter 7 The Legend Of The Kingdom Of Crete ②
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
In the Kingdom of Crete, Kian had two main jobs to carry out.
First was Priscilla’s top-secret request: to acquire three items — the Death Fruit, the Underworld Smoke Crystal, and the Heart of the Immortal Minotaur — and deliver them to a designated uninhabited island, where the skeletal captain of the ghost ship awaited.
Second was to find untouched land suitable for sugarcane cultivation and negotiate with the Kingdom of Crete’s government to be entrusted with its operation. If that failed, he would attempt to purchase land for sugarcane cultivation from a private owner.
Mrs. Camilla, in passing, had mentioned selling sugar to finance the purchase of a handsome Azraelian slave, but that fell under the duties of the Leanan sídhe, not Kian. Except for Aliona stepping in to hand the sugar over to the merchant, everything else would be handled by the Leanan sídhe.
Both of Kian’s jobs were formidable tasks. Priscilla’s delivery request was difficult because the items first had to be located. As for securing land for sugarcane cultivation, negotiating with the government would be no easy feat — and finding a willing seller who actually owned usable land was equally challenging.
As a true adventurer, he began with Priscilla’s request. Yet, considering the scope of all his assignments, it would be fortunate if the entire stay could be wrapped up within one month.
Priscilla had told him that even after completing the delivery, he could remain as long as he wished, with her covering expenses in the meantime. That was a relief.
Natra had claimed that the stay’s expenses wouldn’t amount to much, but to Kian, they were significant. Prices here were roughly one and a half to two times higher than in A-Town, on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom. Even with funds equivalent to forty Franz Kingdom gold coins — just over thirty Azrael gold coins — housing and feeding four people over an extended stay could quickly deplete his reserves.
If he completed Priscilla’s request at explosive speed, the reward would be a check for 2,000 Franz Kingdom gold coins. That sum could cover Mrs. Camilla’s slave purchase, land acquisition, and even bribes during negotiations with the Kingdom of Crete’s government.
He pondered these matters as he made his way back to the white coast.
The coastline basked beneath the same intense sunlight as always. Few people wandered the shore, their shadows short and crisp in the midday glare.
They came from many races — Azraelians with turbans (ban) on their heads and robes of white or black; natives of the Kingdom of Crete with ochre grass-woven hats and pure white togas, loose and cool in the heat; and the occasional Westerner clad in the colorful tunics popular in Châtillon. The Westerners were few, however; most were either dusky-skinned Azraelians or Crete natives with wheat-colored, sun-bronzed skin.
”Right, they’re setting up a merchant guild here, aren’t they? The initiators are Kian, Ame, and General Isthbaran for now,” Aliona remarked.
”Yeah,” Kian replied, his tone wry. “And the business scope includes monster extermination, land management, and sugarcane cultivation. Quite the stew of operations.”
”That’s how merchant guilds always are,” she said lightly. “I’d like to include Priscilla’s two thousand gold coins as startup capital. It might give us leverage when negotiating with the Kingdom of Crete’s government.”
”No doubt,” he agreed.
If they could show both military strength and financial resources, they might be entrusted with developing dangerous islands teeming with native creatures. That would make promoting the “Kian Merchant Guild” — tentative name — far easier.
”It’s been a while since I’ve been outside the Adventurer Guild’s sphere of influence,” Kian said. “Until now, every place I visited had a branch nearby.”
He stretched, letting the warm sunlight soak into his shoulders.
Moving against the small current of pedestrians heading toward the wharf and the bustling market street to the west, he walked down to the surf’s edge. There, Aliona and the Leanan sídhe were barefoot, splashing and chasing each other across the wet sand. A little closer to him, Isthbaran sat with his boots removed and his shirt sleeves rolled up. One knee was drawn up, his elbow resting casually atop it as he squinted toward the meeting line of sea and sky.
The tableau could have been lifted straight from a stage play.
”Isthbaran,” Kian called.
”Sir Kian,” the old warrior replied with a nod.
The sound of waves mingled with the distant clang of a ship’s bell. From the wharf came the sharp voices of sailors, shouting “Ooooh!” as they hefted crates onto a waiting vessel. Kian came to stand beside the general.
”I’ve exchanged the money,” he said quietly. “The difference between my head and body’s race draws attention, doesn’t it? Sorry.”
”If you carry yourself with confidence, people don’t care as much as you’d think. In this chaotic age, most are more concerned about the contents of their own wallets than about others.”
”Still,” he added thoughtfully, “if someone were to speak with you one-on-one, the question would inevitably arise: ‘What is that body of yours?’ I was thinking — perhaps try one of the loose togas the locals wear. It would conceal your form and add to the ambiance of a southern island stay.”
”More than clothing,” Isthbaran continued, “you might prefer glasses — smoky quartz lenses to shield your eyes from the sun.”
He glanced toward the promenade marking the boundary between sand and stone. There, black-eyed Azraelians, Westerners, and some Cretan locals wore dark-lensed glasses, not necessarily for poor eyesight, but for protection against the harsh sunlight.
”Understood,” Kian said. “I’ll ask Aliona and Leanan sídhe whether they want sunglasses.”
”Does Sir Kian not need any?” Isthbaran asked.
Kian pointed toward his pitch-black eyes. “I’m from Azrael. This level of sunlight doesn’t bother me. In fact, it feels good.”
’Unusual for the vampire constitution,’ Talia mused. ‘No — this is the vampire of the new age. The new king of our kind.’
Kian’s thoughts flickered inward.
(Does Talia want clouded glasses?)
’Clearly unnecessary. And where would I even wear them?’
At that moment, Aliona and the Leanan sídhe ended their water play and came running back toward them.
”Haah, I’m drenched in the scent of the sea!” Aliona laughed, twirling as she lifted the hem of her white floral dress. “It was my favorite, but the fabric may have absorbed it.”
Her platinum hair was tied in a bun to keep it from the breeze. The parasitic scar from the Thorn Demon on her neck was visibly smaller.
”Lady Aliona, the scar on your neck…” Isthbaran said, his brows knitting.
Aliona tilted her head for a heartbeat, then quickly touched her neck. “The lumpy sensation has gotten smaller…!”
”Looks like the prediction about sunlight sensitivity was right,” the Leanan sídhe observed. “Maybe if I soak it in seawater, the parasitic cells will die completely. My pet catfish healed that way.”
Isthbaran lowered his brows, clearly unconvinced.
”It’s hardly the same as treating freshwater fish with saltwater,” Kian said.
”But it might be worth trying,” Talia replied, flexing her muscular arms as if the thought itself required strength. “Kian, I’m going to play in the sea for two hours every day starting today.”
”Everyone hasn’t forgotten the purpose of our journey, right?” Kian asked, his tone firm. “Aliona’s treatment is important, but we have tasks we must complete.”
”Though nothing outweighs Ms. Aliona’s life,” Isthbaran added quietly.
In response to Kian’s sharp remark, Talia’s lips curved into a half-smile.
”That’s true, but…” Kian turned toward Leanan sídhe.
”Were you able to exchange the money?”
”Yes, Ms. Leanan sídhe,” he said, retrieving two pouches—one filled with gold coins, the other with silver—from among the luggage carried by the Wraiths.
”Shall I give you a bit extra?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of caution. “It’s unsettling to negotiate with a slave trader while short on funds, isn’t it? Besides, we need to buy souvenirs for Esther and Mr. Robert.”
”That’s something to consider after fulfilling Lady Priscilla’s request,” Leanan replied. “We decided to complete the delivery order first.”
”Right, of course,” Kian said. “Then, once the first job is done, we’ll revisit it.”
According to the former head witch of Châtillon, a plant called Death Fruit grew wild in the public cemetery of the Kingdom of Crete.
Aliona waved her finger, producing a copy of Priscilla’s letter. The request form contained black-and-white illustrations of the Death Fruit and the Underworld Smoke Crystal.
Including those, Rufna had used a golem to create three replicas.
”It says something unclear about not being able to pinpoint the location of the public cemetery in the Kingdom of Crete,” Aliona read aloud, “but if we ask the locals, we’ll surely find it quickly. If we’re starting, it should be with the Death Fruit.”
”About that,” Kian said, folding his arms, “according to the money changer, there are no cemeteries in the Kingdom of Crete.”
”Oh my, really?” Aliona asked, tilting her head. “Then how do they dispose of the bodies? Do they throw them into the sea?”
”Not exactly throw—they perform some kind of ritual to return them to the sea,” Kian explained.
He glanced around at the group before continuing. “Gaius, a body handler, processes corpses and sends them into the sea. According to the money changer, he believes in the existence of the Underworld and claims the corpses reach a place called Underworld Island. Whether it really exists is questionable, but it might be related to the Underworld Smoke Crystal.”
”Now,” Aliona said, “shall we start by finding this body handler Gaius and asking him some questions?”
Kian nodded, turning toward the western side of the pier where the shop street—the bazaar—was visible. Shops selling food lined both sides, the smell of grilled seafood mingling with the stench of fresh fish in the sea breeze.
The shop street’s path was wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side, yet it bustled with locals seeking fresh fish. The shouts and laughter of the crowd mixed with the louder calls of sailors from the pier, creating a layered din.
”It should be almost closing time for the morning market,” Kian said. “Before it ends, let’s buy some ingredients and also inquire about Gaius. And we’ll buy sunglasses to protect our eyes.”
”That would be helpful,” Aliona replied. “I feel a bit dazzled by the sunlight… I was thinking of creating an ice umbrella to scatter it when noon arrives.”
”That sounds nice,” Kian said with a smile, “but I’ll buy the cloudy glasses. I’ll cover the cost.”
He handed Azrael five gold coins and thirty silver coins. “Well then, everyone put on your shoes, and let’s move.”
At his words, Isthbaran stood, and Aliona snapped her fingers, pulling three white towels from thin air.
* * *
To Kian’s surprise, there were fewer fish on display than he expected—maguro, horse mackerel, snapper, skipjack tuna, small sardines, squid, shrimp, and shellfish. The squid were mainly cuttlefish and spear squid. The shrimp ranged from small tiger prawns to impressive lobsters with thick shells.
On the other hand, most stalls did not sell octopus. Kian remembered lying on the sandy beach as a child when Sarah had dropped an octopus on his face. Since then, he had developed a great fondness for octopus. Isn’t it the opposite? Talia had once teased him.
For now, he purchased fresh seafood, along with lemons, vinegar, olive oil, herbs, and salt. At a stall selling goods from Châtillon, he bought three kilograms of dried pasta.
He also stopped by a general goods store, purchasing three large togas for Isthbaran and two pairs of foggy glasses. He decided against buying them for Leanan sídhe, as she was said to be resistant to sunlight. If she later wanted a pair, he would buy them then.
”If it’s Gaius the corpse handler you’re looking for,” the shopkeeper said, adjusting the hem of Isthbaran’s toga, “he lives beyond the square up there, near the cliff at the western edge.”
The shopkeeper pointed toward the far end of the street. The market, once an open-air affair, became shaded by a large rock dome as one headed west. By the time they reached the general store, the sunlight was fully blocked.
The path sloped upward toward the western edge, ending in a steep incline beyond the dome. The slope was broken by several steps, making it easier to climb.
The color was white—a dazzling pure white of lime. The road seemed to lead straight into the blue sky. A herdsman guided several cows down the steps, a reminder that dairy farming existed on this Water Island.
”There are a lot of cows here, huh?” Kian remarked.
”Not as many as on Grass Island,” the shopkeeper replied. “The fish is delicious, but the milk, cheese, and yogurt are also tasty. Want to buy some cheese, brother?”
From behind a mannequin dressed in a toga, the shopkeeper produced a square block of cheese.
Without questioning why a general store sold cheese—or where it came from—Kian smiled warmly. “I’ll take it,” he said, handing over a silver coin.
”Upaa! Generous, aren’t you!” the shopkeeper said with a grin.
”Come to think of it, the emblem of this country is a cow too, isn’t it?”
”That’s right,” the shopkeeper replied. “I don’t know if it’s true, but they say the royal family designed it based on a legend from Crete.”
”A legend from Crete?” Kian asked.
The shopkeeper pocketed the coin and handed over the cheese. “The first king wished for the power to govern the world justly from Zeus, the god who dwells on Mount Olympus. Zeus granted that power—but in exchange, he told the king to bring the island’s most beautiful, pure white cow as an offering to Mount Olympus.”
Leaning on the counter, which was lined with art supplies—the store’s actual merchandise—the shopkeeper continued.
”The king hesitated to offer the beautifully prepared white cow as a sacrifice. Instead, he presented a suitable black cow. Zeus, angered, cursed the king’s wife. The curse decreed that the queen would feel an uncontrollable desire for the white cow.”
Kian leaned forward. “Hmm. And then?” he asked.
”The queen went mad,” the shopkeeper replied. “She became desperate to mate with the cow. With no other choice, the king consulted a magician. They decided to let the queen mate with the white cow. She entered a wooden model shaped like a female cow, naked, and positioned herself where the cow’s genitals would be. The white cow, aroused, mated with her.”
Kian grimaced. “That’s a disgusting story…”
”Yeah,” the shopkeeper said, nodding slowly. “But that’s the nature of legends and myths. The anger of the god Zeus brings about such terrible situations, teaching us to be devout.”
”Is that what you mean by turning that lesson into a symbol?” Kian asked.
He tucked the cheese into his pocket.
”That’s what they say. I don’t know, though.” The shopkeeper shrugged.
”Ah.”
”I heard that the queen who mated with the cow became pregnant,” the shopkeeper continued. “Since then, the royal family has had the blood of cows flowing in them—not just any cow, but a sacred cow. The officials of Crete preach that it is the cow of Zeus.”
Kian saw Isthbaran in a toga and Aliona with cloudy glasses emerging from the back of the shop. He gave the shopkeeper a nod.
”Thank you for the interesting story,” Kian said. “And for telling me about Gaius’s house.”
”Hey! If you’re a traveler, I recommend you go to the Temple or the hot springs on Mount Olympus instead of visiting the corpse handler. Well then, see you! Always a pleasure!” the shopkeeper called after him.
Kian left the shop, noting how friendly the people here seemed compared to those in Izerland. The climate and environment, he thought, were likely the reason.
Izerland was cold and vast, the distance between people both literal and figurative. Threats like monsters and recurring food shortages made its people naturally guarded. Of course, judging individuals solely by such general impressions would be folly.
”I hear Gaius’s house is up this slope, at the western edge of the plateau,” Kian said.
Isthbaran and Aliona walked beside him up the sunlit slope from the shopping street. Aliona lifted her bare arms and shaded her eyes as she peered toward the top of the plateau.
”I wonder if cows are grazing up there?” she asked.
”Seems so,” Kian replied.
”I wonder where the government of the Kingdom of Crete is located.”
Leanan sídhe rested her left hand on the cliff’s railing and murmured as she gazed down. Below, the curved coastline stretched wide, dotted with countless white buildings. Between them, tall structures rose amid deep green foliage.
Compared to Izerland’s fortress cities, the coastal view was breathtaking. For now, at least, no dilapidated houses marred the scene.
”The people of the Kingdom of Crete seem wealthy,” Leanan sídhe observed.
Isthbaran, adjusting his cloudy glasses, murmured, “The shopkeepers were well-groomed too. Their skin tone and the way they carried their weight looked healthy. At the very least, they didn’t seem to be struggling for food.”
”So they’re different from the people of the North?” Kian asked.
”Yeah.”
”It feels like time flows more slowly here,” Leanan sídhe said, her chestnut hair tousled by the sea breeze. “Not frozen still like mine, not stopped cold, but rather… everyone’s just relaxed, unhurried.”
”Yes,” Isthbaran replied. “I understand what you’re trying to say, Ms. Leanan sídhe.”
The group continued climbing, their eyes drifting to the arched coastline beyond the cliff. The path doubled back several times, and twice they passed herds of cattle.
At the summit, a vast green plain stretched before them, starkly different from the tightly clustered white houses clinging to the mountain slope. The plain seemed endless, its green merging into a distant blue that might be sea or sky.
It was like a vineyard in the heavens, a pasture on a mountain adrift in the sky.
A single white road ran straight across the plain toward the western horizon.
They walked it at a leisurely pace until another plateau came into view, densely packed with white houses. Beyond this residential district lay another cliffside path. In the far distance, a towering mountain rose above all others, crowned with a gleaming white temple-like structure.
Could that be the administrative building? If it was Mount Olympus, as the shopkeeper had mentioned, perhaps it truly was a temple.
Entering the residential area, they encountered a man wearing a turban (ban) and with deep brown skin—clearly of Azraelian descent. Asked about Gaius, he pointed toward the cliffside beyond the town and said, “That poor old man lives in that shabby house over there.”
Following his directions, they crossed the town square to a patch of bare black bedrock. A solitary square house stood there, its once-white walls now tinged with gray. Chickens wandered about, and in the shade of the wall, an old man sat puffing on a pipe.
”Are you Mr. Gaius, the corpse handler?” Kian asked, leading the group forward.
The old man’s sun-browned skin contrasted with his black hair. He wore a white toga and sandals. Though described as poor, his clothes were clean, and he showed no signs of malnutrition. Perhaps, Kian thought, handling corpses made him keep himself meticulously clean to ward off illness.
”That’s right,” the old man said, exhaling a plume of white smoke. “And who might you all be?” His small eyes blinked rapidly.
”I am a traveler,” Kian replied. “To be precise, a scholar studying the customs and culture of Crete.”
”Hah. Peculiar work for no profit,” Gaius said with a faint grin. “Well, you don’t look like you’re in need of money.”
The conversation, in Azrael language, was lost on Isthbaran and Leanan sídhe. Aliona stood behind Kian, interpreting smoothly into Western Common.
Kian reflected again on her background. A former high elf sister who once served in the Royal Capital’s court, fluent in Azrael tongue. Her speech bore an old-fashioned cadence, but her words were precise.
”I came here to search for the ‘Death Fruit,’ ‘Underworld Smoke Crystal,’ and ‘Heart of the Immortal Minotaur,’” Kian said. “I’ve heard of a place called ‘Underworld Island.’”
At that, the old man raised both hands and shouted, “Oh, curse of the gods! Accursed child of the bull! Sealed in the secret great labyrinth, the child of sin!”
Kian blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
”It is the story of the immortal Minotaur!” Gaius declared. “The ancient beast sealed in the underworld! A monstrous creature that tears the heavens and splits the earth!”
”Do you have any knowledge of the immortal Minotaur?” Kian asked.
Gaius nodded solemnly. “In the deepest part of the dark labyrinth, chained by golden chains, it lives on—trapped in the madness of eternal time.”
”Have you ever seen the monster?” Kian asked.
Aliona translated, and Gaius shook his head.
”No,” he said firmly. “One cannot enter the underworld alive. The great ocean currents will claim you—you’ll become nothing but seaweed. All I can do is place the dead in a small boat and send it near the Sea of Death. But the stories have been told since ancient times. I was appointed as a ritualist by a priest of Crete fifty years ago—a priest of the royal family. But I have no children. My line will end with me.”
As his words faded, a sudden gust swept up from the cliff, rattling the air with briny salt. The rain gutter on the square house groaned, then wrenched free with a metallic screech before slamming against the wall.
As everyone’s gaze fixed on the broken gutter, the old man repeated, almost to himself,
”I am a government-recognized ritualist. It is a prestigious job… The rain gutter has broken again. I must fix it tonight. I need money, huh…”
”Hey, sir,” Aliona said warmly, stepping closer with a smile. “We were thinking of having breakfast now. Would you like to join us? It’s fine, right, Kian? Everyone else too.”
Kian shrugged. “I don’t mind, but it doesn’t matter to me. I’m not eating.”
”It’s settled then!” Aliona declared brightly, clapping her hands over the loaf of bread.
Gaius, however, did not nod, and nothing had been decided. But Aliona’s expression made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
”Uncle’s story is very interesting,” she said. “I would like to hear more.”
”It’s a bit old-fashioned in intonation,” Kian remarked, “yet strangely peppy, this Azrael language.”
”So what, Kian?” Aliona asked, raising an eyebrow.
”It’s nothing,” he replied, looking away.
Aliona wanted to remark that, as a goddess, she had no need to appear younger, but she let it pass. Kian liked her calm, mature, womanly aura.
To change the subject, the group ended up having a seafood barbecue with the old man in a rather haphazard fashion.
Since there was the issue of where to eat the purchased seafood, borrowing Gaius’s property proved convenient. The breakfast, rich with olive oil, salt, and lemon, seemed to please the old man’s palate, smoothing the creases in his weathered expression.
While processing the seafood, Kian coaxed more of Gaius’s story from him. The old man explained he earned his keep by applying oil to the bodies of the deceased, taking payment from the townsfolk—though it was unclear whether the government officially recognized it—and transporting the bodies to sea.
The tale of Underworld Island, he admitted, came from his father, and its truth was uncertain.
Still, Gaius told them something remarkable: in the Kingdom of Crete there were no cemeteries. Bodies returned to the sea never washed ashore, even when set adrift just offshore in small boats. A “great ocean current” carried them somewhere unknown.
Every year, a dozen or so victims were lost to that current—many of them smugglers attempting to cross the sea territory illegally. Their wreckage also vanished without washing ashore, leaving only port purchase records as proof they had existed.
Gaius owned cabins on various islands and had many friends among sailors, from whom he had heard such tales.
”Mr. Gaius, is it possible that the job of a body handler is profitable?” Kian asked, watching the old man savor a Maglo steak.
Gaius tilted his wine glass and shook his head. “About ten silver coins a month.”
”Excluding expenses!?” Kian pressed.
”Ah. Without boat repairs, cabin upkeep, and travel costs, it’s about sixty silver coins a month.”
Kian blinked. “…!”
”Funeral homes never run out of work in any world, do they?” Aliona mused, dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief.
”It’s in Azrael silver coins, right? What a thing,” she added. “That’s more than a typical intermediate-rank adventurer in a town on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom.”
”But that means there are many dangers,” Isthbaran noted after Aliona interpreted. “If caught in that great ocean current, this old man wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Kian felt a mild culture shock.
”On this island, I’m considered poor,” Gaius said evenly. “But I’ve never lacked food, clothing, or shelter. I own plenty of real estate. Since I have no children, everything will belong to the state once I die.”
”Elder, I’d like to hear about the Minotaur of Underworld Island,” Isthbaran said. “Lady Aliona?”
”Uncle, could you tell me more about the ‘child of the curse’ said to be sealed deep within the labyrinth of Underworld Island?” Aliona asked.
”Sorry, everyone. I’ll step away for a moment,” Kian announced, setting aside his knife.
He glanced at the battered bucket beside him, overflowing with shells. “I want to go dump the accumulated scraps.”
”Shall I burn them for you?” Aliona offered.
”The shell mound is down those stairs over there,” Gaius said, pointing toward the descending path behind the house. Thin stone pillars and chains, crafted with magic to prevent falls, marked the steep way down—like the chain routes of a dangerous mountain.
”No, I also need to use the toilet,” Kian said.
”Oh?” Aliona tilted her head.
”Please continue gathering information from Mr. Gaius,” he told her, picking up the bucket.
The excuse was genuine. Since parting ways with the skeletal captain before dawn, he hadn’t gone once. And this wasn’t a small matter—he intended to release the bigger one.
Talia, attuned to such things, seemed to be drifting off to sleep. During both intimacy and elimination, she respected his privacy entirely. As a housemate, he found that deeply appreciated.
Kian descended the cliffside path alone. The slope was steep—steep enough to explain why Gaius’s back remained straight despite his years. At the bottom lay a black rocky shore where the Azrael Sea hurled white waves against the stone.
He quickly found the shell mound and dumped the bucket’s contents, then scanned the shore for a discreet spot to relieve himself.
Then he froze.
On the edge where the high waves crashed stood a white, slender figure. Despite his vampire-level hyper senses, he had not noticed her until now.
A woman. Alone. At this hour. And dressed lightly.
Wind whipped her long golden-brown hair. Her pure white one-piece dress fluttered, revealing sun-kissed shoulders and calves.
Could she be about to take her own life?
She stood with her back to him, facing the sea, motionless. Something in her posture stirred alarm in him, and he began leaping from rock to rock toward her.
”Excuse me!” he called.
The woman flinched, turning toward him.
She was beautiful. And young.
Amid the spray of white waves, Kian avoided the seawater pools, circling to approach her.
”What are you doing here?” he asked.
Notes:
• Camilla – A woman; the subject of the chapter; her body was used to seal Erynys’ soul.
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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