Volume 4 Chapter 8 The Legend Of The Kingdom Of Crete ③
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
With golden-brown hair and sun-kissed skin that still held a touch of paleness compared to the Azraelian people, the young woman in a white dress—perhaps a kind of toga—and sandals turned toward Kian, her wide black eyes fixed on him.
She was very young.
And—judging by the redness around her eyes—she had been crying not long before Kian spoke.
Her large, luminous eyes were swollen, the traces of tears still visible on her cheeks. Kian stepped closer, his tone urgent, as if afraid the lightly dressed woman might lose her footing on the rocky ground.
”I’m sorry for calling out to you so suddenly,” he said quickly. “But it’s dangerous to stand so close to those waves. Your clothes will get wet—you should head back.”
”Ah, um, uh…” she murmured, her voice trembling.
Her gaze darted around with suspicion. Then, as if suddenly realizing her appearance, she touched her eyes with her fingertips and began hastily wiping away the dirt, her movements clumsy. After a moment, she scrubbed away the tear stains and patted her cheeks with both hands.
”Who are you!?” she demanded in a high, clear voice that reminded him of sirens from seafaring legends.
”I’m just a traveler,” Kian replied, straightening his posture.
”You’re not from this country, are you?” she pressed.
”No,” he admitted.
”Good, that’s a relief!” she declared, before skillfully hopping back toward where Kian stood on the uneven stone.
Pointing an index finger at his chin, she proclaimed, “Forget magic!”
Kian blinked, startled. “…What?”
”Well, not like it would work anyway! Ahahaha!” she laughed, the sound sharp and sudden.
”Um, I’m not sure what you mean,” he said cautiously.
”You didn’t see anything here! I wasn’t crying! Got it!?” she shot back, her hands on her hips.
”Ah… yes?” he replied, still uncertain.
”Yeah, good! Well then, have a nice trip, traveler!” she declared theatrically.
Without another word, she dashed across the rocky ground.
”It’s dangerous to be so lightly dressed,” Kian began to call after her.
But before he could finish, her body was suddenly enveloped in a blue light. She dipped slightly, and in the next instant a fierce flash erupted before him. The blast cracked like a thunderclap, filling the air with the acrid scent of burnt ozone.
”—!” Kian flinched, shielding his eyes.
When his vision cleared, she was gone. Yet with his heightened vampiric senses, he could still feel her magic power racing out over the sea, curving away from the rocks.
”She wasn’t an amateur after all,” he murmured.
On the stone platform where faint white steam now drifted upward, intricate burn marks spread like the veins of a leaf. There were no adventurers on this island, so perhaps she was a magician under the government’s employ—or a knight’s mage.
In any case, he had a far more urgent problem: the shock from the lightning strike had set off an ominous churning in his gut. If he didn’t act fast, he’d soil himself at the age of thirty.
(If I could use penetration like Linca, I might never have to worry about such things.)
Kian set down the bucket and slipped into the shade of a nearby boulder, tugging his trousers down to his ankles.
* * *
After returning from his morning relief, Kian decided to draw a simple map of the Kingdom of Crete. He had seen it once before through the eyes of Priscilla’s familiar—the skeleton captain—and now wanted to compare it with information from the elderly Gaius about where the “great current” began and ended.
Listening patiently, Kian marked the places where corpses were set adrift and the directions the currents carried them.
Gaius, with years of experience releasing bodies from various islands, recalled the details well. His memories allowed Kian to sketch out the release points and the flow of the currents, giving form to the elusive outline of the “great current.”
If Gaius’s recollections were accurate, the current ran between “Water Island” and “Grass Island” in the Crete Kingdom before heading west. That course led toward a large island south of the Western Church’s headquarters—an island where, according to Gaius, no corpses or shipwrecks ever arrived, and from which no departing ships were lost to the current.
Considering the political weight of the Western Church, it made sense that no such mishap would be allowed to occur.
From there, Kian’s own speculation took over: the “great current” clearly existed, and somewhere along its route ships and bodies simply vanished—well before reaching the Church’s waters. Not everything was claimed by the sea or devoured by sharks and seabirds.
Perhaps the Underworld Island truly existed, just as Gaius had claimed.
”I thought, how about trying to be swallowed by the great current just once?” Aliona suggested, the moment Gaius left to relieve himself.
”It won’t get us anywhere to keep debating this,” she continued, her tone decisive. “If in doubt, we should charge ahead. That’s the only way.”
”Hmm. Judging from this map Kian made, there could be an invisible island hidden in the great current—right around here,” Isthbaran said, tracing a finger over an unmarked stretch of sea between the Church’s territory and the Crete Kingdom.
”The waters here are rough,” he added, “and sailors avoid them. Those who stray too close are dragged under and never return. If Underworld Island exists, this would be the most likely place.”
Leanan sídhe, sipping warmed wine, murmured, “Just as Aliona says, I think we should let ourselves be swallowed by the great current. The treasure we seek might lie beyond it. My intuition says so.”
”My lord, I agree,” another companion spoke firmly. “If danger arises, I can transform into a dragon and fly us to safety.”
”Everyone’s in agreement?” Kian asked, glancing around. “We’ve no other leads, so testing the current isn’t a bad idea. Let’s buy a boat we don’t mind losing.”
”Agreed.”
”Agreed, indeed.”
”Ufufu! This time it’s a cruise into the sea no one returns from! I’m getting excited!” Aliona laughed, eyes glinting.
”As long as Ms. Aliona’s happy,” Kian muttered good-naturedly.
And so, it was unanimously decided: they would board a small vessel and let the “great current” take them. Calm reflection suggested the plan was madness, but Aliona, Isthbaran, and Leanan sídhe all looked perfectly composed, and Talia made no move to stop them.
After their meal, Kian and the others thanked Gaius and departed. By then, the sun was already high, and in two or three hours, it would be noon.
The group descended the winding slope from the western edge of the plateau and emerged into the residential area spreading across the western part of Water Island. They cut straight through the narrow roads.
Their destination was the western pier, at the island’s far tip. Unlike the eastern pier, which welcomed ships from beyond the island, the western pier was frequented mainly by ferries and small boats from Grass Island, Fire Island, and other nearby islets.
In contrast to the internationally diverse eastern harbor, the western beach bustled with locals of the Kingdom of Crete—people with dark hair, sun-browned skin, and simple togas draped over their shoulders.
Without revealing that they intended to be swallowed by the Great Current, Kian searched for someone willing to sell them a boat. By noon, after some bargaining, he found a merchant offering a ten-person craft at a slightly inflated price. The man warned sternly that they were not to dock without permission or harvest seafood near the island.
”After your trip, burn the boat on the beach,” the merchant insisted. “Absolutely do not dock anywhere else.”
Kian agreed without hesitation. Since they planned to vanish into the current and be scattered like sea foam, disposal was irrelevant.
”Well then, are you ready?” Kian asked, glancing at the others.
”I’m ready,” Aliona replied softly.
At a rocky stretch about three kilometers north of the western pier, they prepared to launch the boat. Aliona and Leanan sídhe stepped aboard first, while Kian and Isthbaran heaved the craft up from below. With a surge of effort, they hurled it into the sea.
”Ready—go!” Kian called.
”Kyaa!” squealed Aliona, curling up and laughing, while Leanan sídhe, expressionless, calmly chewed on grilled squid tentacles. Despite her earlier claim that she did not eat human food, she seemed to have developed a fondness for the chewy texture, gnawing even in transit.
”Alright, let’s row,” Isthbaran said, leaping from the rocks and landing lightly on the boat. He tossed an oar toward Kian. It might have been easier if Isthbaran had taken half-dragonewt form, as Renaud once had, and flown them across—especially since Leanan sídhe could fly on her own—but they had already committed to the current. No point in arguing now.
Kian caught the steel oar, took the bow, and began rowing with explosive force.
* * *
Two hours passed in rhythm with Isthbaran’s strokes. The rocky shores of Water Island had long since faded from view. In the distance, a lone sailing ship drifted south, tiny against the vast expanse of deep blue sea beneath a pale sky.
Near the center of their ten-meter boat, Aliona sat cross-legged, one elbow resting on the gunwale, her gaze following the waves. Behind her, Leanan sídhe, having finished her squid, was dozing, her hands still loosely moving in a mock rowing motion.
”It’s such a strange feeling,” Aliona murmured.
Kian, mid-stroke, stole a glance at her legs, the shadows beneath her skirt catching his eye. Flustered, he looked away quickly. “What do you mean?” he asked.
”Oh, well…” She smiled, serene as ever. “Around this time last year, I was at the monastery, leaning on my window sill and staring down at the vineyard. I thought I’d be trapped in that frontier forever, withering away like the vines in winter.”
”You spent every day in that kind of mood?” Kian asked, smirking faintly. “I get it. Winters in the eastern fringe of the Franz Kingdom are enough to make anyone gloomy.”
In truth, his own melancholy had less to do with boredom and more with survival—winter meant fewer gathering quests, scarce wild food, and a higher risk of dying in the cold. The dread of late autumn with no copper coins left was unforgettable.
”I only went outside to gather firewood,” Aliona continued. “Inside, it was just knitting and other work. The windows were poorly placed, so the light was never quite right. It made the days heavier.”
Hearing her speak so frankly was rare. For Kian, she was always a saint—bright, unshaken. This glimpse of vulnerability was strangely comforting.
”To think that I, of all people, am now bound for the western seas of Crete, free from the Church… it’s quite the twist of fate,” she said.
”You won’t become debris,” Kian said firmly. “If you tried, Isthbaran and I wouldn’t let you.”
”That’s reassuring,” she replied with a teasing glint. “As expected of my knight.”
”Speaking of knights, you know how to handle a sword, right?”
”Yes. I received some playful lessons from the leader of the knight order when I served as an advisor.”
”Advisor to whom?”
”Pepin II.”
Kian blinked. “Wait… Pepin II? The Franz King from over a century ago?”
Before he could ask more, Isthbaran’s voice cut in—sharp, urgent. “My lord.”
The tone was one Kian knew well from battle: danger.
”What’s wrong? Enemy?” Kian asked, pausing his strokes.
”The boat is caught in the current,” Isthbaran said.
Kian rested the oars on his knees and peered into the water. The surface flowed westward as if they were in a great river. Using his vampire eyesight, he peered into the depths—far below, something vast pulsed with life. It was massive, thick, and moving steadily across the seabed.
Then it stopped.
It had noticed him.
With sudden force, it lifted a triangular head toward the surface.
”Aliona, Balmung!” he barked.
”Understood.”
Leanan sídhe snapped awake, and Aliona conjured a moss-covered wooden staff before passing Kian the unsheathed greatsword—Balmung, the dragon-slayer.
”Kian, ahead!”
Kian stepped to the bow. The current rushed faster, swirling into a vast whirl ahead. Then, from the sea’s concave surface, an enormous jaw surged upward, wide enough to swallow their boat whole.
A deep, resonant rumble rolled over the water. The boat tilted wildly under the waves’ force.
The enormous jaw that had surfaced from the sea snapped shut, spilling a deluge of seawater. In the next instant, it shifted into the face of a gigantic sea serpent, its yellow eyes glowing with predatory intensity.
The beast’s gaze lingered briefly on Kian before its colossal body shot upward at a startling speed, like a massive tree trunk sprouting toward the heavens.
A deafening roar of water followed, the force of the waves tilting the boat wildly. It was almost uncanny that the vessel managed to stay afloat. Above, the sun vanished, replaced by the looming shadow of the serpent.
The air carried the thick, briny scent of the sea, pressing down as though it had weight. From high above, the serpent opened its gargantuan mouth once more—its gaping maw spanning hundreds of meters.
”Isthbaran!” Kian shouted.
”Understood!” the old warrior bellowed in reply.
Isthbaran’s body swelled, surging with power, and as he vaulted skyward, a dragon shadow more than twenty meters long formed behind him. The air around them chilled instantly.
Aliona’s magic flared, and she vanished from the boat in a shimmer of teleportation and flight.
A heartbeat later, Leanan sídhe disappeared as well.
Kian crouched low, then leapt with such force that the wooden deck beneath him groaned. He landed squarely on the back of the ice dragon that Isthbaran had become.
Below, the serpent’s mouth descended like a falling cavern, easily large enough to swallow the entire vessel. Ignoring it, Kian steadied himself against the dragon’s spines as they climbed higher into the sky.
”Indeed,” he murmured, “so this is the true nature of the ‘Great Ocean Current.’”
Aliona reappeared beside him in a burst of light, her presence scattering glittering motes into the air. Isthbaran halted his ascent, turning his gaze downward.
From their vantage point, Kian saw the serpent’s thick neck blot out the sunlight over the harbor town, plunging deep into the sea where his boat bobbed helplessly. Tremendous waves rolled outward.
”I’ll blow it away with great magic,” Aliona declared.
She raised her staff and aimed with precision at the serpent’s body.
”Kian, General Isthbaran—buy us two minutes,” she commanded.
”Understood,” Kian answered.
”Column of light that parts the sea—”
Magic poured from Aliona in a surge unlike anything Kian had seen before. She had once evaporated all the water in Châtillon’s port, but the energy she now wielded far surpassed that feat.
There was no question of stopping her.
”Isthbaran,” Kian said, his voice firm, “I’m going to charge in and beat that big thing to a pulp. You take care of Ms. Aliona.”
”Yes!” the dragon rumbled.
”Wait, charging in blindly?” Leanan sídhe called, her bat wings beating as she kept pace. “The enemy moves freely in the sea, you know?”
No time for debate.
Kian held his greatsword Balmung horizontally, the steel catching the dim light. “Talia, provide support casually.”
”Understood—’Star’s Song,’” Talia replied.
”Ms. Aliona, signal me before you release,” Kian said.
Aliona, deep in her incantation, gave no reply.
Kian activated the advanced warrior monk technique known as Domain (域), distorting physical laws within a defined range to favor his movements. He could move freely at superhuman speeds without fear of tearing muscle from the strain.
But if he came too close to the serpent’s magic waves, the interference would dissolve the Domain. Within striking distance, he would revert to Leap (瞬), a more basic technique that manipulated only his own body’s physical constants. Leap carried the risk of tearing muscle from high-speed reactions, but his vampiric resilience would hold.
”Well then,” he said, “I’m off.”
He kicked off the blue ice dragon’s back—and vanished.
To an ordinary eye, it was as if he had never moved.
The serpent, realizing it had lost its prey, erupted from the sea with a thunderous crash. The impact of the water hitting the surface was deafening.
”Dragon Slaying Moment—Balmung,” Kian murmured.
He swung the blade up beside his ear, then plunged toward the serpent’s open maw like a meteor falling to earth.
A pitch-black aura streamed from his body, condensing into the dragon-slaying sword. Four months of deadly battles alongside Isthbaran had forged this strike into perfection.
Though he had promised to buy time, it wouldn’t be a problem to end this here.
With a twisted grin, Kian unleashed a beam of white light toward the sky-devouring jaws.
A high, piercing sound split the air as Balmung’s blade, magnified dozens of times by magic, cleaved the serpent’s jaw clean in two. The strike scorched the sea’s surface, sending up a boiling explosion of vapor.
The serpent’s scream tore through the sky.
Kian had wondered whether the creature was merely a snake or a sea serpent, but when its sundered mouth regenerated in moments—muscle fibers weaving together with unnatural speed—he knew it was something else entirely.
A dragon species.
Not just any dragon, but one equal in rank to Renaud and Isthbaran. Unless every scale—the source of its life—was destroyed, it would endlessly siphon magic from the Spiritual Vein, regenerating no matter how grievous the wound.
If only Talia’s first magic sword, Funeral Dance (Soukoku Kagura), were here; it could erase even such regeneration in one stroke. But that blade had been returned to its spirit, lost to this world. Even if it weren’t, it would be useless while things stood strained with “glasses.”
Kian roared, “Ooooooooh!”
He landed on the serpent’s thrashing snout, driving Balmung deep into the ridge of its nose before sprinting up toward its crown.
”Ooooooryaaaaaaaah!”
The serpent’s reply was a horrific screech, like a thousand files grinding together—HISSSS!
With both hands on the hilt, Kian carved upward as though filleting a monstrous fish. Blood burst in a hot rain, splattering across the sea.
He wrenched the blade free in one brutal motion, the serpent convulsing beneath his feet.
A sharp shraaang rang out as scales and flesh were severed with brutal force—Kian had carved a vertical gash from the serpent’s snout to its crown.
The sound of dragon scales splintering followed, crisp and sharp.
Kian laughed savagely, his voice echoing over the waves. “Hahahahaha!” He gathered his energy, his grin wide and feral.
”Hahaha, hahahahahahah!” he roared again, spiraling around the serpent’s massive neck. Even in motion, his magic sword struck in a relentless flurry, slicing and carving through scale and sinew, each slash deflecting or tearing through the beast’s defense.
Midway through his assault, the massive body swung without care. Whump! The blow slammed Kian against the serpent’s flesh, sending him tumbling into the sea.
(This is good! This is how it should be! Now it’s getting fun!)
To anyone cursed with oceanophobia, the plunge into the pitch-black depths would have been maddening. The currents churned violently, ripping through the blood-clouded water. Out of the darkness, the massive snake’s face loomed before Kian.
(Balmung!)
’Star’s Song.’
The dragon-slaying light tore through the seawater. Kian’s arms swelled with power, muscles taut, and with sheer force he swung the magic sword in a devastating arc. The blast split the serpent’s face once more.
Riding Talia’s Water Manipulation Magic, Kian surged upward.
He dove straight into the monster’s freshly cleaved form, scattering bright red blood. Balmung cut deep, exposing its throat. Impact! The collision drove him inside, and with a violent surge, Kian leapt from the water alongside the serpent, delivering a crushing uppercut with his fist.
”Sir Kian!” Isthbaran’s voice cut through the chaos.
A torrent of blue, frigid air swept diagonally across the serpent’s neck. The sea’s surface froze in an instant.
Kian spun midair, slicing through the serpent’s snout in a clean, merciless arc before continuing his attack.
”The incantation is ending, Sir Kian!” Isthbaran called.
”I break the thunder of destruction, splitting the sea and cleaving the world,” Kian muttered under his breath, steadying himself.
Aliona’s magic swelled, power surging in waves. It felt as if it surpassed even the Thorn Demon’s ferocity—or perhaps it was more than just a feeling.
(It’s not just a feeling. If it hits, it will kill. Teleport to General Isthbaran’s back!)
Talia’s magic activated instantly. With Balmung held in reverse, Kian struck the serpent’s head, then leapt in a short teleport, landing on Isthbaran’s back.
Aliona’s voice rang out, completing the spell.
”World, be twilight. ────Megid’s thunder!”
The sound vanished. The colors drained away. It was the same sensation as when Kian had once reflected Oswald’s magic sword strike.
Though standing on Isthbaran’s back, the sheer magnitude of the magic seemed to unmoor him from reality, crushing the senses from Isthbaran’s very core.
Crackling, rumbling—words like that were far too tame. This was thunder that shattered eardrums, a storm of light striking the sea’s surface without mercy.
The serpent’s head, colossal even at hundreds of meters, looked pitiful before Aliona’s lightning—a searing, blinding heat that engulfed everything.
The silhouette of the sea serpent, bathed in thick lightning, turned pitch-black, its form frozen in the sea before it became nothing but a charred, alien remnant.
Blue lightning raced across the surface in a single bound, scattering outward in all directions.
When the light faded, the serpent’s body—burned beyond recognition—crumbled under the clear sky, the sea breeze carrying its ashes away.
The acrid scent of charred flesh lingered.
Above, seabirds screamed harshly.
Kian looked up, astonished. Aliona, staff twirling, flashed him a wink.
”Well,” she said with a smirk, “if I really put my mind to it, this is about what you can expect.”
Notes:
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• 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.
Thanks for reading.
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