Turning Chapter 1311

No. Maybe he was actually holding back because he wanted to do exactly that.

Come to think of it, Kishiar had always behaved like someone intent on savoring every last inch of Yuder’s body—and yet, he almost never used his teeth. Even during rut. Which stood in stark contrast to Yuder, who had bitten and clawed all over Kishiar’s body during his rut, sparing only his face.

If you considered that "biting" was an inseparable part of "eating," it was rather unusual.

'That was probably... to eliminate even the slightest chance of hurting me.'

But tonight... what about now?

If he were to bite Yuder's neck with the same mouth that had earlier turned rough from being, as Kishiar put it, “unable to bear excessive loveliness”—

What would it feel like?

Suddenly, a scene from his previous life surfaced in Yuder’s mind.

That body, pressed from behind in the dark, barely undressed, a large hand pushing down on his back to prevent even an accidental glance at the other’s form.

But every so often, when his mind was muddled, teeth would sink into his back or shoulder. And whenever that happened, Kishiar would immediately pull away and disappear quickly, as if deeply disturbed.

Looking back now, that must have been a bitter mistake—a moment when Kishiar lost control and acted on impulse.

'Well. The very act of joining bodies was probably a series of mistakes anyway... but even so, he never drew blood.'

Biting, however, was different. Even over clothing, it left clear marks, and those could be a nuisance for days.

Back then, all he felt was confusion and anger, so he couldn’t remember what it had actually felt like. But maybe now, he could know again.

As he thought about it, the lips on his skin began to feel even hotter.

The tongue that licked and sucked at his neck while gently stroking it with a strange yearning—beneath it, his pulse thumped intensely. Kishiar’s tongue lapped at it like catching every single drop of water. Yuder shuddered, shoulders stiffening as he held his breath.

“Hh...t...”

The feeling of having one’s weak point gripped helplessly by another—it was always unfamiliar. That dizzying sensation, uncertain if it was pleasure or danger, Yuder chose not to resist it.

His heartbeat grew steadily faster. He looked down at the one kissing his neck. Heat flickered again in the gaze that met his.

Yes. If it’s now...

Without breaking eye contact, Yuder slowly tilted his head.

“You keep licking like you’re unsatisfied. It tickles. So just... go ahead and bite me.”

The prominent line of his neck stood out vividly.

It was both permission and a request.

Kishiar fixed his red gaze on that spot and murmured in a low voice.

“...Will it be all right?”

He didn’t say the rest—It might actually hurt you—but those words meant nothing to Yuder. Instead of answering, Yuder twisted his head a little more.

Kishiar kissed the soft skin just below his exposed ear.

“...Then. Just a little.”

He opened his mouth. White teeth glinted between red lips. Yuder focused, determined not to miss the moment. The image of those teeth sinking into the base of his neck like biting into ripe fruit seemed to move in slow motion.

'This is what it felt like...?'

A small, unfamiliar pain.

And the moment he realized it wasn’t as scary or painful as he’d imagined, a wave of deep satisfaction and tenderness surged through him.

“Ah...”

Yuder closed his eyes. A dizzying pleasure surged all at once, making his hips tremble.

“Hhnngh...!”

A watery fluid burst from the tip before him. What had still been inside his belly swelled rapidly in response to the tight heat and pressed against the inner walls, sparking another ripple of pleasure and a stifled moan.

Yuder smiled at the man who had just released his bite.

“...Seems like, if it’s something from you, even pain is... good. I finally understand that now.”

And with that, they never returned to discussing the letter from the Cat’s Whiskers caravan. Yuder pulled the man who’d bitten his neck back into an embrace and lifted his hips once more. Soon, the crashing wave of pleasure surged again.

***

“Gohum. It’s almost time. What are you—... Were you reading the letter from the Duke of Peleta?”

In the land north of the desert—what they called the “Southern Nation.”

Gohum, leader of the Donavi Manaik caravan, turned his head at the voice of Aym, a fellow tribesman and friend. Aym approached and glanced at the letter in Gohum’s hand.

“I thought you had it memorized by now, after reading it so many times. Why again?”

“Just in case. I wanted to remind myself one last time what we need to do today, so we don’t make a mistake.”

Ever since returning home from the distant north, from Peleta, Gohum had been busier than ever. He was carefully developing trade routes for the “goods” the Duke of Peleta had entrusted to them and searching for other tribes that shared their vision.

It wasn’t easy—but it never felt impossible, thanks to the letters the Duke sent from time to time. That stunning and brilliant noble of the Empire possessed such remarkable insight, it was hard to believe he’d never once set foot in the Southern Nation. The advice and subtle strategies he sent based on the scant information Gohum had provided had allowed the tiny Donavi Manaik tribe to achieve its aims quickly and safely, without attracting attention from dangerous parties.

They had crossed many perilous bridges to get this far.

Now, they were in the village of the Anman Noon tribe—a place that could become the focal point for the tribes that wished to preserve peace.

On the surface, Gohum was here to introduce “imported goods from the north of the desert” to the Anman Noon.

But that wasn’t their only real mission.

'Depending on the outcome of today’s conversation, our future—and the contents of the letter I’ll send to the Duke—will change, too.'

“Let’s go.”

Gohum left the guesthouse with Aym. Five members of the Anman Noon tribe, wearing owl masks, escorted and guided them.

The meeting place was a building in the center of the village. As they stepped into the structure shaped like great wings embracing a tree, a beautifully decorated interior came into view.

There sat the tribal chief of the Anman Noon, the one Gohum was to meet today. Their eyes met, and the chief greeted them first.

“Welcome. I am Lauma Asan Roel, the wing of the owl atop the highest tree.”

A middle-aged face as beautiful as a sculpture carved from polished stone. Eyes with the dignity of an owl, and an aura that made casual conversation difficult. Truly, he lived up to his reputation as the most beautiful of all “Great Owls,” Gohum thought as he bowed respectfully.

“I am Gohum Wanman, the first white whisker of the Yellow Cat.”

“I’ve heard of the legendary deeds of the old marshas born from the Yellow Cat. I was surprised when I heard the Donavi Manaik had started a trade caravan, but to think it’s led by the first white whisker himself.”

If expressed in the language of the nations north of the desert, this was a compliment: an acknowledgment of the greatness of Gohum’s tribe and lineage. At the same time, it elevated Gohum’s own standing.

Lauma, though difficult to read, greeted him with friendly hospitality, offering drinks and food.

'So far... not bad. Maybe this means the Anman Noon still share our ideals.'

After about an hour of gentle conversation, they finally reached the heart of the matter.

“How many of the ‘chosen’ are there in Donavi Manaik?”

Lauma asked casually.

The “chosen” was their term for Awakeners. Gohum answered without hesitation.

“Currently, about five.”

“A small number.”

“We only have about three hundred people total. So five is not that few.”

“We currently have thirteen. It used to be twelve, but we gained one recently.”

Lauma smiled softly for the first time. Gohum swallowed nervously. The rumor that the Anman Noon chief had found his long-lost nephew had spread across the entire Southern Nation.

'Could the thirteenth chosen one... be that nephew? Is that why he’s smiling?'

When the Anman Noon first reached out saying they were “interested in the goods” and wanted to meet, Gohum had immediately relayed the news to the Duke of Peleta. The Duke had sent back some advice—and one curious request: If you learn anything about the chief’s recovered nephew, tell me everything.

Gohum still didn’t know why the Duke had asked that. But if past experience was any indication, it certainly wasn’t for any frivolous reason.

He smiled without giving away his thoughts.

“Ah... So that’s why you reached out when you heard about our goods.”

“Indeed. When I first heard about it, I could hardly believe it. I thought it might be a scam.”

“You won’t think that once you see it for yourself. We’ve already confirmed its effects within our tribe.”

“I see. I look forward to it. Will you show me?”

“Of course. That’s why I came.”

Gohum took out a small box he had carefully carried. When he opened it, three small vials appeared.

Lauma’s gaze fixed on the vials filled with clear liquid.

“That is...”

“Yes. A medicine to ease the suffering of the chosen who have manifested a second gender during their rut.”

Of the Donavi Manaik’s Awakeners, two had manifested a second sex. One of them had always been weak—and had suffered terribly during their first rut.

But after taking this medicine, that next rut was different. They passed several days sleeping peacefully, then woke with a healthy face. The family that had watched over them with worry had finally breathed a sigh of relief.

The medicine’s effects were real. Just as the Duke had said, Awakeners with a second sex would absolutely and continually need this drug in the future.

“If I may ask, how many of your tribe might need this medicine?”

“Three. We nearly had a dangerous accident once. And one of them will enter rut again soon, which has everyone worried.”

“In that case, please allow me to give you these vials, free of charge.”

“...Hmm?”

“There are three doses, and you have three who need it. I think this is a good chance to test it. It wouldn’t be right to sell it before you’ve confirmed its effect. Please accept it and try it when needed. Then let us know.”

“It must be expensive. Is that really all right?”

“Trade is important, but healing the sick is even more so. The one who made this medicine told us the same.”

When selling something entirely new, the most important thing was gaining trust. The Duke had sent plenty of extra medicine for that very purpose—and told them clearly: if someone needs it, don’t hesitate to give it for free.

Lauma’s eyes shifted slightly.

“...I see. He sounds like a kind-hearted person. Where did you say this was made?”

“The Empire of Orr. We’ve gained access to what’s also supplied to the Cavalry.”

“Orr... If the ‘Wolf’ finds out how useful this medicine is, they won’t leave you alone.”

The “Wolf” referred to the Tribe of the Wolf’s Eye—Ansuma Mehret.

Gohum knew: This was where the real conversation began.

Ansuma Mehret and Anman Noon were two of the great tribes descended from the sacred animals in the oldest legends of the Southern Nation.

The wolf that returns from death, carrying death with it—and the owl that sees through the dark.

But those two tribes had almost never shared the same values. Ansuma Mehret was aggressive and wanted to lead the others, while Anman Noon cherished fairness and often sided with minority voices.

But now that Ansuma Mehret was actively reaching beyond the desert and shaking the old ambitions of other tribes...

Did Anman Noon still hold their former ideals?

'...At least they haven’t completely turned away, if they invited us. But I can’t be sure.'

Gohum opened his mouth more cautiously than ever.

“...It is unfortunate. They likely have many chosen among them—surely some in need of this medicine. But if its effects are proven, I’m sure even they will seek it out eventually. Until then, we’ll keep doing our best to sell it elsewhere.”

“Huhu. So confident. May I ask—where does that confidence come from?”

“It comes from a merchant’s desire to sell this medicine for a long time, and safely.”

“For that to happen, this continent must remain at peace. Does the one who made it feel the same?”

Does the Empire of Orr think so, too?

Gohum nodded slowly, but with firm conviction.

“Yes. That’s exactly why we’ve chosen to import it ourselves.”

“I see.”

With that, Lauma’s expression shifted into something unreadable. Then he said something Gohum had not expected at all.

“In truth... someone told me to meet with you. Do you know who?”

“No. Who was it?”

“My nephew. ‘Asajan.’”

TL Note:

Hey guys! 👋 I see y’all missing the good old days when we dropped like 5 chapters a day 😢 But sadly, that ain’t up to me anymore. Right now, we’re caught up with the author, so as soon as they drop something new, I’ll be on it and get the translation out for you ASAP! 🙌

You’re seriously awesome — your comments under the chapters hype me up every time 💬❤️ Thanks for being here, you’re the best! 💥