Lunaros Vanderbilt (1)
“Pfft-choo!! Aigoo….”
I wrinkled my nose at the bit of snot dribbling out.
“Is this the North…? This ain’t no place for a desert-born guy like me. Phew, pfft-choo!”
We were still just at the edge of the North. And yet my body was shivering like crazy, coughs hacking out nonstop. This wouldn’t do. It’d trash Geumtaeyang’s street cred.
“Kyu-ing, come on out.”
-Kyuwoong.
“Oh… not cold anymore.”
The bone-chilling freeze vanished the moment I released Kyu-ing from my body. I immediately flung open the front of my fur coat, leaving it draped loose over my shoulders.
“Now this is Geumtaeyang.”
Huddling up like a coward? Yeah, that ain’t us. Of course, without Kyu-ing, Geumtaeyang or not, my balls would’ve shriveled up first and turned me into a damn eunuch.
“All thanks to you.”
I patted the still-pouty Kyu-ing and perched it on my shoulder.
-Kyuiiing….
It let out a needy little whine and plastered itself to my neck. Cute little pet orb all around.
“Alright… We’re finally in the North. Let’s knock out our business quick and head back to the territory, yeah, Kyu-ing?”
-Kyuwoong!
You have no idea the hell I went through from the earldom to this northern fringe.
First off, I packed raw topaz stones to the brim and trekked across the desert for days. Kyu-ing made it bearable, sure, but days of nothing but endless dunes nearly bored me insane.
Once out of the desert, I had to offload the topaz for cash. Wandered till I spotted a peddler and shoved my bundle right in his face.
“You buying this?”
“Who the hell talks to me like— …Huh?”
Even a shopless peddler lives by the jingle of coin. No way he couldn’t spot the quality of that topaz.
“Ahem…”
Then he eyed me up and down. Trying to play it cool, but I clocked it all. Baggy-ass pants like empty tubes. Top half barely more than a rag. And that cloak clutched in his fist. His eyes screamed, ‘Oh yeah, beggar jackpot. Heh, time to fleece this mark.’
“Decent ore, sure… but raw, plus hauling costs—how’s this price?”
Decent? This shit was continent-rare, and he’s lowballing lies from jump. Half my expected price. Scam intent oozing.
But who am I? Geumtaeyang. Ripped muscles, tanned (kinda) skin. Sharp mug half-hidden under bangs. Could’ve swept the hair back for max intimidation, but nah—better play.
“Check this out.”
“Wha— that’s… an imperial certified… badge.”
What’d the empire ever hook me up with? Two things: earl title for House Toypus, and this badge. No family crest, just screams “earl,” but that’s plenty.
“Yeah, hard to buy maybe, but I’m a legit earl. No scamming vibes—ideally full price… but I’m rushed, so your offer plus half more?”
“You’re… really an earl?”
“Faking this? Death row minimum. Who’d flash it bold like this? Deal or no? Clock’s ticking.”
I swept back my bangs like I’d planned, cranking the impatience and pissiness. Narrowed my eyes at him—he gulped hard and forked over the coin.
“Pleasure doing business.”
“Yessir… topaz this prime? Rare sight. Uh… house name…?”
“Ah.”
I knotted the money pouch tight and stashed it. Stepping back casual-like, I dropped it.
“Toypus.”
“Toypus…? Toypus… Oh, oh…!”
No one haunts desert fringes without knowing Toypus. Not fame—infamy for being airtight nobles. He’d plotted half-price fleecing, now kicking himself for not squeezing Toypus harder. Regret city, but deal’s sealed—no loss.
“Tsk…”
He knew it too—just grumbled and bounced.
Phew… close one, didn’t blow my cover.
Think I’d roll over like a mark? Rookie error. Flashed the topaz pouch first, badge before full inspect. Eyes flicked pouch-to-badge, noble panic skipped the rest.
“Heh. Pouch bottom? Couple rocks.”
-Kyuwoong….
“What’s with the side-eye, Kyu-ing? Price math hits exact retail. Rocks were the bonus.”
Rocks got uses. Peddler’s headache—I traded square, win.
“Now, snag a carriage and roll North!”
Ten days flat. Driver whined “no way in a week,” slipped extra gold.
‘Leave it to me, sir.’
Horsewhip cracked harder. Money talks, always.
“Alright… time to track that mage.”
Hero’s rural normie childhood pal? Now disciple to some mage. Sparked Arthur’s capital itch for her sake. Tearjerker reunion flips pure love to harem waffling—angst fest kicks off. And ground zero? The mage I’m hunting.
Harem 101: mentor’s a lifelong lab rat, beauty untouched by dick. Self-reflection hits bittersweet, she’s ripe and starving…
“Nah… what the actual fuck.”
Author’s taste died screaming. Seriously. Mentor mage as a bearded old noble? Lame. Tch tch. Imagine: lonely kid disciple, homesick, gets smothered in maternal mega-tits comfort. Then Geumtaeyang slides in. Ditch that?
“OG author’s gotta be pussy-blind.”
-Kyuwoong!
Kyu-ing vibes agreement, bouncing on my shoulder.
“Right? No man-meat cravings, so hustle the deal, snag Dragon Heart, dip.”
Kept trekking. Deeper north, snow piled thicker. Colder, flurries nonstop—duh.
My route? No duke turf or foreign nobles—just snow, woods. Gentle hill rise. Zero monsters. All that mage’s turf, barrier-locked.
“Grab chow then push… wait, meat’s iced solid.”
Stashed rations bosom-deep under fur—figured safe. Nope, smoked crapmeat frozen brick-hard. No scorpion stew on trek, so pre-North impulse buy.
“Kyu-ing, mana to melt this?”
-Kyuwwoong…!
Plopped it before the meat—strains, huffing. Kyu-ing’s fire matches its vibe: targets heat-fine, but temp caps low. Melt? Yeah, glacial.
“Eh, scorpion stew rerun?”
Pulled frozen scorpions from another pouch. Faster than meat-thaw.
-Kieeek…!
Tongue wails anew.
Yeah, even that garbage meat’s luxury for my luck.
Fate says no steaks. Stew quick, chow, mage-hunt, ghost.
“Kyu-ing, spark these logs. Hold up.”
Bonfire for stew—maybe speed-thaw meat? Nah. Yeeted it far.
“Luxury’s a sin, sin.”
-Kieeek…!
Fanned Kyu-ing’s starter into a windbreak bonfire behind fat logs. Snow-filled pot atop.
“Army days and past-life survival vids paying off now.”
Watched for lols, never dreamed practical. Future’s a crapshoot. Like this mess.
Mid-scorpion smash in meltwater stew, pot launches distant—contents dump, snowmelt party.
“Knew I smelled rot…”
Meal-ruiner steps up. No clue when/where. Blink—he’s there.
“I greet the great Lunaros-nim.”
No flinch. Stew sting aside—irrelevant now. One soul pops here: target mage, Lunaros Vanderbilt.
Imperial earl like me? He’s the real deal. Even palace tiptoes—grand mage next door, gotta stay cozy.
“No ‘great mage’ here—cut the hype.”
“……”
Hmm, boomer vibes. Rare screentime, but disciple tales paint him strict-as-hell teacher.
Boomer confirm? Eh, but hold up.
“……”
“……”
The fuck. Why eyeballing my bod?
Old dude’s stare lingers through the coat gap on me.
Uweeek…
Barf in brain. Then—off-note hits. Arthur glance? Tecus worry? Peddler scan? Dick reacts first. Hyper-sensor junior.
-Kkomuruk….
Energy drain, ick-crawl. But my boy now?
-…Bbeol…tteok?
Stand or nah debate.
That’s my boy… good job…
Sensor fooled by shell, but case closed.
Woman. Locked.
Palace-paranoid grand mage faking geezer? Female.
Left? Mega-rack prayers.
Mole under lip, one on tit—chef’s kiss.
Uwah, drooling. Dick feeds on fantasy, perks up.
“…Why the stare-down?”
Catches my gaze, she—no, he—flinches query. Pure gramps shell.
Inside? Starving to know.
Hoping overripe goods.
Can’t spit it—might end me. But true-form thirst-match rewrites doom? Pay up proper.
Toypus heir. Minimum trio.
Ah, sex.