Volume 2 Chapter 55: The Reason for Attacking the Seaborns
In the valley, Garde stood at the mouth of the gorge, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, cradling Ishar'mla in his arms, and looked down at Dario from above.
After countless bloody lessons, the very first thing Garde did upon leaving the Hotlands was to have a pair of elastic, highly protective underwear custom-made.
The Seaborns that attacked him hadn't been able to damage them, and despite the intense make out sessions with Ishar'mla, those trusty briefs had miraculously survived—saving him once again from running around naked.
So, when Dario arrived at the valley, what he saw was a tall Adakrys man, clad only in underwear, holding a girl in a red dress as he walked out of the gorge.
But Dario's focus wasn't on Garde—it was on the girl in his arms. The moment he laid eyes on Ishar'mla, he knew he had found his target.
Only then did he turn his attention to the man carrying her, his hand moving toward the longsword and hand cannon at his waist.
"Adakrys, what happened here?"
Dario fixed his gaze on Garde. Depending on his response, Dario didn't rule out the possibility of attacking first.
He could tell—Garde wasn't a Seaborn.
"Minosian? You must be from Iberia,"
Garde replied flatly, giving his thick tail a small swish as he looked at Dario with Ishar'mla still in his arms.
He didn't dare claim his current strength was top-tier across all of Terra, but at the very least, he wasn't someone a random Inquisitor could just mess with.
If someone wanted to take him down, one or two wouldn't be enough—they'd need a whole squad.
Still, it was clear the Iberian Inquisitor wasn't here for him, but rather for Ishar'mla.
Garde's eyes flickered as he actively read Dario's stats:
#======#
Name: Dario
Codename: None
Gender: Male
Combat Experience: 21 years
Birthday: April 11
Race: Liberi
Height: 179 cm
Oripathy Status: Uninfected
Physical Strength: Excellent
Battlefield Mobility: Excellent
Physiological Endurance: Excellent
Tactical Planning: Excellent
Combat Skills: Outstanding
Originium Arts Adaptation: Outstanding
Assessment: One of the few remaining High Inquisitors of Iberia—remarkably powerful.
#======#
Both his combat skills and Arts Adaptation were rated Outstanding. No matter the country, someone like this would be considered elite.
Of all the people Garde had encountered, those stronger than Dario were few and far between. There were only a handful who could even match him.
'If I killed him, even Iberia would feel the sting,' Garde thought with a troubled sigh.
He wasn't the kind of guy who killed without reason. He and Dario had no real conflict of interest. On the contrary, they might even become allies in the future, especially in the fight against the Seaborns.
After all, both Iberia and Aegir considered the Seaborns a dire threat. If Garde wanted to stand against them, he would definitely need the help of both sides.
He wasn't naïve enough to believe that just because he conquered Ishar'mla, she—or the Seaborns—would suddenly obey him. That was a fantasy for dreams, not reality.
"Iberian, I think I know why you're here,"
Garde said, looking at Dario and offering an explanation, however slim his hopes.
"You want to take the Seaborn in my arms, right?"
Communication might not always work, but it was always better than no communication at all.
"You… know what she is?"
Dario was stunned. He had assumed Garde didn't realize the girl in his arms was a Seaborn—hence why he was holding her so casually.
But Garde clearly knew.
Then why…?
He had already found his target. There was no need to rush the attack just yet.
Garde was still within the range of his hand cannon.
Facing Dario's questioning gaze, Garde smiled.
"Iberian, you need to understand—your country isn't the only one fighting the Seaborns."
"In the Hotlands there are calamities, in the Northern land, there are Collapsals, in the Underworld plagues, and in the skies are illusions."
"Terra is vast. We all face suffering. Don't think that your people are the only ones bearing this burden."
Garde's words struck a chord within Dario.
He was born after the Golden Age of Iberia had ended, and from birth, he had witnessed his homeland endure countless catastrophes, watching its people suffer under the unending assault from the ocean.
He had once asked his teacher why they didn't seek aid from other nations—but never received an answer.
It wasn't until he grew older that he understood.
His teacher didn't dare to gamble.
He didn't dare risk the safety of an entire nation on the character of others.
Victoria, the closest nation, had once been humiliated and ravaged by Iberia's fleets during the Golden Age.
Laterano once shared their faith, but the Sarkaz only ever looked after their own.
Sargon was fractured—its Padishahs and Lord Ameers too divided to count on.
So they had no one to rely on. They could only rely on themselves.
That had always been Dario's creed.
Yet Garde's words made him feel, perhaps for the first time, that Iberia wasn't alone in this fight.
Still, decades of experience had tempered him.
He would never forget his duty because of a few persuasive words.
"No matter what, Adakrys," Dario said firmly, "I must know why that Seaborn came ashore—and what turned it into this state."
"I ask that you hand it over to me."
"Even if it means becoming my enemy?"
"If that's your choice!"
Just as Dario began to raise his hand cannon, he saw a look of exasperation on the crocodile man's face.
"Are all Iberians this aggressive?"
Garde muttered. The last time he'd said something similar was during a brawl with Gladiia—and back then, if she'd been just a bit stronger, the fight's outcome might've gone either way.
But this Iberian Inquisitor?
Garde was honestly afraid he might accidentally kill him with a single hit.
"Let me put it another way, Iberian."
He tilted his chin, gesturing around them. The valley was littered with red Seaborn corpses—so dense they reached right to Dario's feet.
"I fought this Seaborn for seven days and nights before finally subduing her. And now you arrive and demand I hand her over—why should I?"
"This is unclaimed wilderness, with no city-state jurisdiction. Technically, this land falls under Minosian territory."
"The Iberian Inquisition has no authority to cross the border and act here."
"Unless, of course, you'd prefer to start a diplomatic conflict between Iberia and Minos?"
That last sentence was spoken in fluent Minosian—because Garde had noted that Dario had initiated their conversation in the same language, meaning he could understand it perfectly.
A long silence followed.
Dario stared at Garde, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon, then slowly relaxing.
He couldn't be sure if Garde held any official position in Minos—but the man clearly knew far too much. Even if he wasn't tied to any temple, he certainly wasn't ordinary.
And if the Adakrys was telling the truth—if he really had fought a long and brutal battle to subdue that Seaborn—then all the bodies scattered around were solid proof.
He had defeated the Seaborn. That made it his prize.
Both by logic and by custom, Dario had no rightful claim to interfere.
Yet the duty weighing on his shoulders screamed otherwise.
He had to take that Seaborn from Garde.
Iberia needed that intel on the enemy.
Seeing that Dario was still caught in hesitation and conflict, Garde, thinking they might one day become allies, offered a reminder:
"Iberian, rather than obsessing over the Seaborn in my arms, you'd be better off going back and warning your superiors — a new Silence is coming."
"The Abyssal Hunters are falling back, and if they fail, the Seaborns will have no more resistance holding them back."
Garde wasn't the kind to hide useful information, especially if it could benefit both sides.
Though the Aegirians often looked down on the Iberians, he knew — every extra fighter was a strength gained.
Rome wasn't built in a day, after all.
Even the tiniest strength could prove crucial at the right moment.
Besides, Iberia, once a dominant power on land, hadn't weakened to the point where it couldn't even muster an army.
After hearing Garde's words, Dario finally let go of his obsession with Ishar'mla — because compared to one Seaborn, the information Garde just revealed was far more significant.
Sixty years ago, the Profound Silence had consumed Iberia's invincible navy, extinguishing its great lighthouses forever. Countless ships were stranded in port, never able to sail again.
For every Iberian, The Profound Silence was a wound that would never heal.
And now this Adakrys man was saying… a new Silence was coming?
"Where did you get this information?"
Dario had to be certain. If the Silence came again, Iberia's already fragile coastline would face utter ruin.
"From an Aegir Abyssal Hunter."
Garde replied calmly. Truthfully, it was based on his own deductions — the Aegirian Abyssal Hunter god-slaying campaign was about to begin.
He glanced at Ishar'mla in his arms, racking his brain for every scrap of information he had.
"From an Aegirian?"
Dario frowned, suspicion thick in his voice.
"Iberian, I know you don't trust me — and you trust the Aegirians even less."
Garde's tone turned amused, still holding Ishar'mla.
"But I've said all I can. Now, the choice is yours."
"If you still want to take this Seaborn from me, I'll be more than happy to fight you for her."
He could see Dario frowning, fingers hovering indecisively between his sword and his hand cannon, his actions is understandable.
As a seasoned Inquisitor, Dario had to take full responsibility for every action he took.
If Garde was telling the truth and Dario chose to lower his weapon, he would gain a comrade capable of fighting the Seaborns alongside him.
But if Garde was lying and Dario backed off, he would become a traitor to Iberia — personally responsible for any disaster that followed.
Could he bear that weight?
Dario tightened his grip on his weapons. After a long, tense silence…
He raised his hand cannon and pulled the trigger.
BOOM————————!!!
An explosion powerful enough to level a city block erupted behind Dario.
A Seaborn that had been about to ambush him was utterly obliterated by the shot — along with a few Iberians who had been stealthily creeping around the valley.
"Take it and leave this place."
Dario turned his back, gazing into the smoke and shadows that lingered from the blast.
"These are Iberians corrupted by the deep sea," Dario said grimly. "As an Inquisitor of Iberia, when I see them, my first duty is to capture them."
He turned to Garde, his tone still heavy with responsibility:
"So, Adakrys…"
"Right now, I don't have the strength left to fight you."
Dario hadn't yet figured out what to do about the Adakrys standing behind him.
Even if he did choose to fight, short of a fight to the death, he wasn't confident he could win.
The man claimed to have battled the Seaborn for seven days and nights, but judging by his posture, breath, and alert gaze…
He didn't look like someone who hadn't slept in a week.
Did normal Adakrys even have that kind of stamina?
Dario couldn't help but recall a being he'd only ever seen mentioned in ancient texts — a deity or Feranmut revered by certain Minoan tribes.
Could the man behind him be one of them?
Suddenly, hoarse screeching cut through the air.
"This is it!"
"We've finally found Lady Ishar'mla!"
"Quick! Take her and go! There's only two of them!"
A mob appeared at the mouth of the valley — a dozen ragged, cloaked Iberians alongside dozens of grotesque, twisted Seaborns.
The moment they spotted Ishar'mla in Garde's arms, they erupted in fanatical frenzy.
"It's Lady Ishar'mla!"
"Damn Adakrys, let go of her!"
"Don't defile her sacred body with your filthy hands!"
Dario cast a glance at Garde — and then charged straight toward the intruders.
These weren't his people anymore.
They were Church of the Deep cultists — traitors to Iberia — and they deserved death.
Still, fast as Dario was, Garde was faster.
At full burst, they were nearly matched, but Garde's stamina far exceeded Dario's.
What Dario could only maintain for seconds, Garde sustained with ease.
"So it's a pack of land-traitors, huh."
Without the use of his hands, Garde casually flicked his tail — sending the loudest cultist flying a good thirty meters through the air.
By the time he landed, he was very dead.
"Damn Adakrys! Let go of Lady Ishar'mla!"
"And what if I don't?"
Garde slowly stuck out his tongue and gave Ishar'mla's cheek a deliberate, exaggerated lick.
Then, looking around at the shocked and furious cultists, he grinned provocatively.
"Come on, then, bite me."
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind spending $5 monthly to see till the latest chapter, please go to my Patreon[1]
Latest Chapter in Patreon: Volume 2 Chapter 70: Who Wakes First from the Great Dream![2]
Link to the Latest Chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/127564092?collection=193798[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/193798?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/collection/193798?view=condensed
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/127564092?collection=193798
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/127564092?collection=193798
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/193798?view=condensed