Volume 10 Chapter 28 The Karma That Chases ⁕
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Meina’s lips pressed against his, hot and urgent, each kiss a spark that burned through the morning haze. Her breath came in sharp gasps, ragged and sweet, as she leaned into him, her body swaying with a needy rhythm. She straddled Klock on the bed, her hips grinding with a boldness that bordered on reckless. Her tail curled tightly around his waist, pulling him closer, as if she could fuse them together through sheer will. The Cat Girl’s desire spilled over, uncontainable, her movements a wild dance of want. Klock’s mouth tingled from her eager tongue, and for a fleeting moment, he considered a playful chop to her head to rein in her enthusiasm.
Her body shuddered, a tremor rippling through her, and he pulled her close, her warmth seeping into his skin. He stroked her back gently, his touch an apology for the times he’d neglected her. Her body radiated heat, even her bare skin, exposed to the cool air, felt like a furnace. Meina’s breath hitched as she clung to him, her body tightening around him in a fierce release. His fingers dug into the soft curves of her hips, savoring her, relishing the way her body pulsed with life. As her trembling eased, he pushed her down onto the bed, her golden curls splaying across the sheets.
He combed his fingers through her wavy hair, teasing the sensitive edges of her cat ears. The light touch made her squirm, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he pressed himself against her petite frame, moving with a purpose that left her gasping. Meina mewled, her sharp teeth grazing his shoulder in a desperate, sweet bite. She huffed, enduring the intensity, her nails digging into his back. When he mentioned the sting of her fangs, she parted her lips, and he seized the moment, kissing her deeply, his tongue entwining with hers. Their rhythm grew frantic, a clash of need and release, until Meina’s body tensed, her tail and legs stiffening as she let out a soft cry.
Klock leaned back, catching his breath. “Too many women around me know exactly what they’re doing,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He guided her to clean him with her rough cat tongue, his hands kneading her soft buttocks as he let slip a lewd remark. Her golden fur draped over his thighs, her once-neat hair now a tangled mess, radiating the raw aftermath of their morning. Meina’s attention didn’t waver—she licked, nuzzled, and even rubbed her cheek against him, playful and unrelenting in her affection.
She was clingier today, more than usual. But duty called, as it always did. Klock started to rise, only for Meina to lunge, wrapping her arms around him to stop him. “Already done…?” she asked, her golden eyes wide with a sadness that tugged at his heart. Her grip on his sleeve was firm, her gaze pleading. He couldn’t shake her off, not with that look. The creak of the bed in his chapel-side room echoed long into the morning as he gave in, determined to make her regret asking for more. Their encounter stretched toward noon, leaving Meina trembling and unsteady.
When it was over, Meina wobbled, barely able to stand. Even Beast Country’s finest ninja couldn’t withstand hours of relentless passion without faltering. Yet, true to form, she bounced back in minutes. “Gonna wash up!” she chirped, darting off with a leap over the fortress wall, bounding toward the river with boundless energy. Klock watched her go, a mix of admiration and defeat settling in his chest. He’d meant to wear her out, make her beg for mercy, but Meina had grinned through it all. A human like him, no matter how stubborn, couldn’t outlast a spirited young Cat Beastkin. His thoughts darkened as he remembered the other women he’d been neglecting lately.
* * *
”Klock,” a voice called from the fortress gate, “another messenger’s here.”
Klock straightened, brushing off the morning’s haze. “Yeah? What’s today’s deal?”
The soldier hesitated, his face grim. “Doesn’t sound like good news.”
It was just past noon when Klock reached the gate. A dozen men, dressed like bureaucrats, stood waiting. One dismounted as he approached, recognition flickering in his eyes. Klock’s gut twisted—had this man been at that council meeting?
”To Klock Livorno, commander of the Borges family troops,” the messenger said, his tone clipped. “A summons. Report to Orrid at once.”
Klock’s brow furrowed. “Summons? What’s this about? Am I under suspicion or something?”
”Questions will be answered in Orrid,” the man replied, his voice cold, as if addressing an enemy rather than an ally.
Klock took the letter, his jaw tightening. A summons wasn’t just a call to appear—it was a court-issued order, the kind reserved for defendants. He was being accused of something. His mind raced. *Are you kidding me?* He’d sent reports of their victories, expecting praise, and got this instead? The paper in his hand confirmed it: a vague accusation, no specific crime listed, just a demand to face judgment.
Anger simmered in his chest, hot and sharp. He’d known the higher-ups were rotten, but this? Concocting charges to arrest him? If they succeeded, everything he’d built here would collapse. He forced a calm nod. “Got it. Must be some misunderstanding. I’ll follow orders.”
The messenger’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll need to inspect the monsters’ heads.”
”West side of the fortress,” Klock said, gesturing. “Help yourself.”
Keeping his face neutral took every ounce of restraint. His mood soured, thoughts of slipping away flickering through his mind.
* * *
Back in the chapel, Klock waved off Primlena and the others, craving solitude. His irritation was a storm, barely contained. He didn’t want to snap at anyone undeserving. But Kispe, the Succubus princess, appeared as if from thin air, her presence soft yet unmistakable.
”What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice a gentle probe.
”Government’s calling me in,” Klock said, slumping onto a pew with a heavy thud. “Sounds like they’ve pinned some bogus crime on me.”
”A crime?” Kispe tilted her head, her crimson eyes curious. “Why would they do that?”
”Probably because I’ve racked up too many wins,” he said, bitterness lacing his words.
Kispe chuckled, a light, mocking sound. “Humans never change, do they?”
Her amusement eased the edge of his anger, though not for the reasons most would assume. He imagined dropping her into Orrid’s court, letting her charm unravel their schemes. The thought brought a grim smile. “Bet Succubi don’t deal with this crap, huh? At least not when you stick to your own kind.”
”Indeed,” Kispe said, gliding closer. “We don’t age, so there’s no old guard hoarding power, no young ones forced to toil. Just me at the top, my Six Noble Ladies below. That’s our way in the Crimson Spire. Male Succubi… well, they’re a bit different.”
Klock grunted, envious of their simplicity. “Sounds nice.”
Kispe’s smile turned sly. “On another note, I have a suggestion. About Rachel, your disciple.”
”Disciple’s a strong word,” Klock said, scratching his neck. “Took her under my wing on a whim. Not like I’m teaching her to be a bandit.”
”Could she attempt a bestowal?” Kispe asked, her tone cautious.
”Her? Why?”
”Just a hunch,” Kispe said, her eyes glinting with something unspoken.
Klock sighed and left the chapel, scanning the fortress for Rachel. He found her by the cookfires, stirring a pot with a scowl. “Rachel,” he called, “got a minute?”
”What?” she snapped, but jogged over when he beckoned. Her usual complaints were absent, her steps quick. When he reached to pat her head, she swatted his hand away with a sharp slap.
”Hold both hands out in front of you,” he said, ignoring her glare.
”Huh?” Rachel’s eyes narrowed, but she complied, her hands trembling slightly as she waited for an explanation that didn’t come.
Rachel tilted her head, her brows knitting as she stared up at Klock. Her fists clenched tight, she thrust both hands forward, suspicion etched across her face. Klock reached out, his fingers brushing over hers, a faint warmth passing between them as he focused. *Here goes. Bestowal, activate.*
”What’s that?” Rachel muttered, opening her right hand. A dull blade glinted in the sunlight, the cheap throwing knife she kept tucked at her waist. Her eyes widened, flicking from the knife to Klock.
”Pretty slick, huh?” Klock grinned, leaning back with a smug tilt. “Bet you didn’t even catch how I pulled that off. My new parlor trick’s got some flair, doesn’t it?”
Rachel blinked, her mouth parting in disbelief. “…Yeah, it’s cool, I guess. But a *trick*? You dragged me over here just to show off this lame stunt?”
”What’s that?” Klock shot back, feigning offense. “You saying a troop leader can’t have a bit of fun? Gotta keep the morale up, or folks’ll ditch me for being a bore. Figured I’d give you first dibs on my new act—”
”No one needs you to be a damn magician!” Rachel snapped, her foot lashing out in a swift kick. “Stop messing around and let me work!” She stormed off, the knife still clutched in her hand, leaving Klock to retreat with a sheepish grin.
* * *
Back in the chapel, sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting a holy glow over Kispe’s delicate frame. She stood like an angel descended, her demon’s smile soft yet sharp. Klock didn’t waste time. “It worked,” he said, slumping against a pew. “Rachel’s got the bestowal.”
Kispe’s lips curved wider, her crimson eyes glinting. “And why did I think Rachel would succeed?” she prompted, echoing his earlier question.
Klock leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Yeah, why her? What’s the deal with bestowal? You said it’s about giving something from higher to lower, but how’s that judged?”
Kispe drifted closer, her voice smooth as silk. “Exactly. Status, relationships—none of that can be measured by magic power alone. So, I thought of the simplest metric: strength.”
”Strength?” Klock’s brow arched. He glanced at Kispe, her fragile frame belying the immense magic power she wielded. “You’re saying you’re weaker than me? What, ’cause you’re all spirit and claim you can’t lift anything heavier than a—” He caught himself, smirking. “You know.”
Kispe’s laugh was a soft chime, teasing. “No, not quite. We were trapped by our own assumptions, Master. You thought bestowal hinged on a single condition, didn’t you?”
Klock’s eyes narrowed, catching her drift. “So, you and Rachel qualify for different reasons.”
”Precisely,” Kispe said, her fingers brushing the air as if tracing an invisible thread. “A Unique Skill is fluid, like unshaped magic. Its effects aren’t bound to one rule. Take my Cursed Eye—it charms the opposite sex, but only if they’re human and their magic power can’t resist it. Multiple conditions, not just one.”
Klock’s jaw tightened, the pieces clicking. If Kispe’s charm wasn’t singular, then bestowal might work the same way. “So, you’re saying my bestowal’s got different triggers for you and Rachel. And that talk about the Trailblazer not being able to do what I do… it applies to bestowal too?”
Kispe nodded, her gaze steady. “Your magic power’s too low to use it broadly. That’s likely why it’s limited.”
”Magic power, huh?” Klock muttered, his face souring. He thought of Flavia, Primlena, Meina—each a master of their craft, their magic power dwarfing his own. “They’re all stronger than me. No wonder they’re out of reach.”
Kispe’s voice softened, but her words cut deep. “Your ability targets those with less magic power than you. Which means… your pool is small. Civilians, non-combatants—those are your recipients.”
Klock’s stomach sank. “That’s a useless ability,” he growled, his fist clenching. “If I could’ve passed it to Meina or the others, we’d have some real options on the battlefield. But random folks who don’t even fight? What’s the point?”
Kispe tilted her head, her smile unwavering. “And me? Why do I fit your bestowal?”
”You’re my familiar,” Klock said, leaning back. “The contract tweaked something, right? Or is it just an exception?”
”The latter,” Kispe replied. “Our familiar contract—proposed by me, mind you—doesn’t include skill lending. I crafted it to protect you, Master, especially if Hero comes sniffing around later. No clauses that could disadvantage you, so skills were left out entirely.”
Klock snorted, rubbing his neck. “Proposed, huh? You mean when you ditched Cianie’s slave contract without asking? Sounds like you were covering your ass, too.”
Kispe’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “A precaution, yes. But it benefits you. If Cianie questions us, we’re clean. Still, I believe the contract itself allows your bestowal to work on me, an exception to the rule.”
”How so?” Klock pressed, his curiosity piqued.
”I know of a precedent,” Kispe said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lilies. A century ago, she bound herself to one of the Chosen Ones, the Revealer, through a familiar contract. I mediated it myself.”
Klock’s mind flashed to Lilies’ words, spoken long ago: *’I was tied to a human once, a man called the Revealer, one of the Chosen Ones.’* The sage who’d penned that journal. “Yeah, she mentioned him,” Klock said, leaning forward. “What’s the connection?”
Kispe’s smile turned wistful. “Lilies wanted to explore the wasteland but loathed the effort. So, she contracted with the Revealer, hitching a ride through his travels. She’d appear when he reached somewhere interesting, too lazy to walk herself. Through their bond, she lent him her ability—salvage, the power to unearth information from anything she touched. But it went further. Whatever he learned through her skill, she saw too, as if they were reading the same story.”
Klock’s eyes widened. “So, the contract didn’t just let him borrow her skill—it shared the results. That’s not just lending; that’s something else.”
”Exactly,” Kispe said. “Familiar contracts can spark unique reactions with certain skills. Lilies’ salvage meshed with their bond, letting her share his findings. Your bestowal might work similarly with me because of our contract.”
Klock let out a low whistle, his mind racing. “So, my ability’s a dud for most, but you’re a loophole. Still, my magic power’s so pathetic, I can barely use it. Guess it’s better than nothing.”
He stood, brushing off the weight of the revelation. The chapel’s air felt heavy, the stained glass casting fractured light across his boots. Rachel’s knife, Kispe’s contract, the summons from Orrid—it all swirled in his head, a storm of trouble and potential. He stepped toward the door, the creak of his boots echoing in the quiet, his mind already turning to the next move.
Klock leaned against the chapel’s stone wall, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on Kispe. “If my ability can affect you as my familiar, what about the other way around? Could you, say, use my bestowal?”
Kispe’s lips curled into a teasing smile, and she drifted closer, her voice dripping with mischief. “No, Master. A familiar contract is a one-way signal, from you to me. If we could meddle with each other’s powers, it’d be less a contract and more… a marriage.” She leaned in, her crimson eyes glinting. “What’s this? Does Master wish to wed me?”
Her giggles filled the air as she tilted her face toward his, baiting him. Klock turned away, staring at the chapel’s far wall, refusing to bite. Kispe puffed out her cheeks in an exaggerated pout, clearly enjoying herself. He ignored her theatrics, his mind already turning.
”Still,” he said, rubbing his chin, “didn’t expect a familiar contract to be this useful. Being able to talk to you across realms? That’s huge.”
Kispe’s pout vanished, replaced by a nod. “Indeed, but that’s because we’re in the Crimson Spire’s domain. It’s close, in a sense—no real distance to cross. Speaking to me from, say, the Demon Continent? That’d be far harder. This connection is unique to the Spire’s nature.”
Klock nodded, piecing it together. The Crimson Spire’s dreamlike realm blurred the lines of distance, letting their mental link—almost like telepathy—work smoothly. It wasn’t just his Unique Skill’s new trick; this bond could be more valuable than the bestowal itself. He glanced at Kispe, her serene beauty glowing under the chapel’s stained glass. “Something wrong?” she asked, catching his stare. “You’re looking at me awfully hard.”
”Nah, nothing,” Klock muttered, waving it off. The familiar contract let him reach her anytime, anywhere in this realm. That was something to celebrate, but he couldn’t shake a nagging caution. Kispe had said it herself—she loved watching others strive. Treat her like a tool, and this bond might snap. Most women would slap you and bolt if you leaned on them without pulling your weight. Only someone like Suzette might stick around. Kispe, though? She was the one calling the shots, a princess of Asura. Relying on her demanded care. For now, he’d keep her off the battlefield—she’d made it clear she hated fighting before they’d even sealed the contract. Better to savor their uneasy truce than push his luck.
”We’ve got a handle on who I can bestow to,” Klock said, straightening. “Now it’s about making it useful. No point if it’s just a party trick.”
Kispe tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “True, but the limits—uses per day, narrow targets—make it tricky. It’s less practical than we’d hoped.”
Klock snorted. “Yeah, unless I go back to being a bandit and pickpocket extraordinaire. Maybe leading a band of thieves is my true calling.”
Kispe’s eyes sparkled, but before she could reply, Klock’s face lit up with a sudden idea. “Wait. I’ve got something. Since I’m headed to Orrid anyway, it’s the perfect chance to test it.”
Kispe blinked, her curiosity piqued. “?”
He didn’t elaborate, keeping the spark of inspiration close. The sage’s story—Revealer’s tale—had stirred something. The Trailblazer, Revealer… their legacies loomed large, and Klock felt a flicker of their weight. “Speaking of,” he said, circling back, “I thought Revealer got his name from his own ability. Turns out it was Lilies’ power? Wild.”
Kispe’s smile softened. “Chosen Ones’ titles come from Lady Teekua herself. They reflect their lives, their paths. Revealer earned his through how he wielded Lilies’ ability, I suspect.”
Klock smirked. “Sounds like he lived a hell of a life. Don’t know much about the sage, but with a name like Revealer, was he playing detective or something?”
”Perhaps,” Kispe said, her tone light. “Lady Teekua sees your paths, just as the Saint holds foresight. Their vision is the same.”
Klock’s brow furrowed. Her words carried a strange familiarity, like she was speaking of an old friend. “You talk like you *know* her.”
Kispe’s eyes gleamed, and she paused before answering. “I do. I’ve met her.”
Klock froze, his jaw slackening. He turned to face her fully, disbelief etched across his face. “No way. You’re telling me you’ve met a *god*? Come on, Kispe, even for someone as old as you, that’s insane. She’s a heavenly being, not some noble you bump into at a tavern.”
Kispe’s smile didn’t waver. “And you, Master, know nothing of Lady Teekua’s nature, do you? You’ve heard of her, sure, but doubted her existence until Cianie proved otherwise. If not for her, you’d still be skeptical.”
Klock couldn’t argue. Goddess Teekua, said to dwell in the underworld beyond the Grand Cathedral, was a myth he’d half-dismissed until Cianie’s power made the divine undeniable. “So, what, you waltzed into the underworld? Or did Teekua just… show up?”
”Master,” Kispe began, her voice low, “Lady Teekua is—”
Her words cut off as Klock’s mind blanked, her revelation too vast to process. His face went slack, staring at her as if he’d forgotten how to blink.
* * *
Two days later, the weight of that moment still lingered. The threat of arrest hung over Klock, shared only with a trusted few. Primlena and the others offered quiet comfort, keeping him from bolting. When the replacement army arrived at Star Fortress, sent by Orrid’s governor Saverio, Klock’s heart sank. The castle they’d poured time, coin, and sweat into was seized with a single letter. His troop was ordered back to Orrid.
The journey was a bitter one. Escorts—more like jailers—shadowed Klock’s every move, treating him like a criminal. Meina stayed close, her presence a small balm. Elna’s old saying, that cats heal just by being near, felt true as Meina curled up on his lap in the carriage, her soft fur warm under his hands as he petted her absentmindedly.
In Orrid, Klock reunited with Suzette almost by chance. She’d sensed Primlena’s magic power from the north, planning to head to the fortress. Their paths crossed just in time, but the joy of seeing her was dampened by the looming summons. The next day, Klock was marched alone to the governor’s mansion—no escorts from his side allowed, though Kispe’s presence lingered in the dreamlike edges of his mind. Stepping into the office, he faced Saverio and Grasso, the count, for the first time in two months. The air was thick with the stench of corrupt politics.
”Sorry to drag you back,” Saverio said, his voice smooth but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. He leaned back, elbows off the desk, his eyes narrowing. “Heard about your exploits. Quite the whirlwind out there.”
Klock dipped his head, wary. “Just doing my job.”
Grasso, seated with the smug ease of a born bureaucrat, chimed in. “Klock Livorno, was it? Word is you took down a staggering number of monsters. Seems your elite troop lives up to the hype. Well done.”
”Thanks,” Klock muttered, his voice tight, sensing the trap beneath their praise.
Saverio’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We’d love to reward your deeds, but there’s a pressing matter. We need to ask you something.”
Klock’s stomach twisted as Saverio spread a parchment on the desk. A glimpse of the crest caught his eye—not the Federation’s. “This came from the Empire about six months ago,” Saverio said, his tone cold. “A wanted notice.”
Klock’s breath hitched, his pulse spiking as he stared at the parchment, its words a noose tightening around his neck.
The parchment lay stark on the desk, its words a cold accusation: *International Wanted Notice. Suspected of kidnapping the Saint.* Klock’s heart thudded, the air in the governor’s office turning thick and heavy.
It was Hermine’s doing, a relic from the days when Cianie still hunted him. Hermine hadn’t just relied on force—she’d wielded the full weight of her authority, branding Klock a fugitive across allied nations. He remembered her voice, sharp and certain, warning him there’d be no escape if he didn’t comply. Now, with Hermine gone, her trap remained, a lingering snare tightened by bureaucracy.
Saverio’s eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction as he leaned back. Grasso, the count, adjusted his posture, his lips curling into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Klock stood rigid, his hands clenching at his sides, the urge to bolt warring with the need to stay composed.
”No mistake, then,” Saverio said, his voice smooth but edged with menace. “This notice bears the Empire’s seal. You’ve got some explaining to do, Livorno.”
Klock’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Words wouldn’t untangle this mess—not here, not now. The parchment’s ink seemed to pulse, each letter a link in the chain pulling him down. He thought of Cianie, of the chaos that had followed their paths crossing, and how Hermine’s schemes had outlived her.
Law officers stepped forward, their boots heavy on the polished floor. “Come with us,” one said, his tone flat but firm, gripping Klock’s arm. Saverio waved a hand, dismissing him like a troublesome insect. Grasso didn’t bother to look up, already turning to the next document on the desk.
Klock’s feet moved, guided by the officers’ unyielding grip, as they led him out of the governor’s mansion. The weight of their hands felt like shackles, though none bound him yet. Outside, the Orrid sun burned high, its light harsh and unforgiving, glinting off the cobblestones as they marched him toward the holding cells.
By the end of the day, the cell door clanged shut behind him. Klock stood alone in the dim, stone-walled room, the sound of the lock echoing in his ears. His fingers brushed the rough wall, grounding himself against the surge of frustration and dread. Somewhere, in the dreamlike haze of the Crimson Spire, Kispe’s presence lingered, a faint comfort he couldn’t quite grasp. He sank onto the cold bench, his mind racing, the memory of Hermine’s threat a bitter taste that wouldn’t fade.
Notes:
• Meina – She is a golden-haired catgirl employee of the beastman (Larana the cat woman) Inn, appeared performing fellatio, desperate and tear-streaked, with an inexperienced yet earnest approach to her work.
• Orrid – Southern pleasure town near Conro, known for its chaos and vice. Serves as Brigante’s next destination and Count Grasso’s sphere of influence. Rumored den of spies and mercenaries.
• Primlena – Orange-haired merfolk priestess, fierce yet elegant | First v8c3 | Sister of Sea General Primjune, subordinate to Primrity | Once captured and violated by Klock, now obsessed with reclaiming honor | Commands Obsidian Riders on giant fish, fights with trident | Seeks to drag Klock to Seabed Temple for marriage trial or execution | Unique note: revenge-driven siren bride who masks fury under ritual grace
• Flavia – Younger Forestkin princess (132). Gentle yet resolute. Sent by Queen Isabella as marriage pledge to Klock, the Chain Binder, symbolizing the Void’s loyalty to the Goddess Teekua.
• Cianie – A noble girl with a fluffy white and light blue dress, indicating her high status. She has a hesitant and flustered personality but is kind and courteous. Her relationship with Klock begins as an accidental encounter and develops into a romantic interest. She has a fiancé but expresses feelings for Klock, complicating their relationship.
• Suzette – The older maid from Viscount Fennec. The head maid at the Viscount Fennec’s villa. She is confident, clear-spoken, and professional.
• Goddess Teekua – The deity who saved Sylvia after her death and granted her rebirth as a hero.
• Elna – Female. A young apprentice mage. Her appearance is that of a child with white hair reaching her shoulders. She wears a black hooded mantle with strange patterns. Her relationship is as an apprentice to Hermine, the Great Mage. Her power involves advanced magic, including spatial teleportation. Her combat style is magical, and she is described as childish and easily provoked.
• Hermine – Daughter of the Emperor of the Second Empire of Dusselhelm. A companion and friend of Anna. The mage. She is pragmatic and encourages Anna to focus on her duties as a hero rather than her personal revenge.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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