Chapter Twenty-Nine—The Isekai’s Encounter

Akarilion, the massive spine-covered serpent guardian of the dungeon so named after, thrashed, destroying the dungeon statues and arching stones.

His death throes forced waves high enough to wash away anyone standing atop the platforms into the dark abyss of the massive cavern as he howled a cry so high and sonorous the air shook—before he finally fell, dead atop the platform, the light in his eyes gone.

All was quiet, save for water running back to where it to belonged. Time passed without sound or stirring, until a subtle knifing of flesh echoes into the cavern space.

A katana burst its way through the scaly flesh of the dead Akarilion, so named after the dungeon, and the dungeon after he, as a foreigner not of these lands burst through cut flesh.

Shiro rolled out onto the platform completely covered in blood as if he had jumped into a vat of red die. As he landed, he rolled, his sword clattering loudly among the stones as he coughed, paused, coughed again, blood coming up from out of his throat.

“Ah,” a sweet and feminine voice said from nowhere in particular, “so you’ve defeated the dungeon guardian.”

That voice, so amused, chuckled melodically and then ended in a loud, self-possessed sigh of relief, or amusement, whatever which, Shiro couldn’t say, and at this time, didn’t care.

He sucked in air deeply, breathing the fresh stale air of the dungeon. It seemed fresh after his time inside the beast’s fetid throat.

She chuckled again.

Shiro finally stirred, leaning his head and glancing about for the source of the voice—and there was indeed a source now, coming from everywhere, and yet at the same time behind the dead form of Akarilion. How he could hear it from over there, he couldn’t say.

Shiro got to his feet, picked up his katana and trudged around the toothy maw of the dungeon boss, its dead glossy eyes staring at nothing. It was the statue, the one of the woman, still intact, the lamp sitting in the figure’s open hand, but the silken drapery had washed away, exposing the statue’s sexual form fully.

And then Shiro’s heart jumped as a woman walked out from behind the statue, her hips swaying as her feet crisscrossed in mid stride and clothed in the drapery of the statue he had thought washed away.

Shiro gaped.

This woman… she is the same as the statue but… flesh and blood!

“Y—you…” he stammered, trailing off.

The woman smiled, leaned on one leg as she put her hand on her hip. “I bet you never coughed up so much blood that wasn’t your own before.”

Shiro glanced at the statue, to the gleaming lamp that seemed to take on a new sparkle and then back to the woman.

“What’s the matter, Adventurer?” she asked with a chuckle. “Have you never seen a jinni before?”

Shiro shook his head.

“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Well now you have.” She spread out her arms. “What do you think?”

“I”—he coughed—“Are you real?”

She scoffed. “Of course I’m real, you fool!”

And then she put a palm forward, some unseen force shunted Shiro away from her. He landed on his back with a grunt and slid half a pace across the smooth stones.

So tired, and yet he forced himself up onto his elbows and shook his head. “Agh!”

“That real enough for you?”

“That was rude.”

She smirked. “Hmph!”

Then she made a beckoning motion and Shiro started sliding across the stones toward her, his heels catching which caused him to flip onto his stomach with another loud grunt.

He breathed for a moment, then looked up at her.

“Is that better?”

Growling in his throat, he backed two paces away on his hands and knees and grabbed his sword, stood.

“There’s no need for that.”

The samurai rolled his shoulders, but said nothing. And he did not sheath his katana.

“If I’d wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

Is she telling the truth?

“I’m telling the truth.”

“What?”

“I said I’m telling the truth. Can you still hear, or did Akarilion deafen you?”

“Forgive me… if I’m having trouble now,” he said. He glanced at the monster, it’s girth three times that as he was tall and then he rolled his eyes back to her.

“Hmm.” She walked toward him slowly, her gait seductive and beguiling.

Shiro tensed, but he didn’t take a step back, didn’t raise his sword against her.

When she lifted her hands toward him he tensed more, but didn’t move as she cupped his ears. There was sudden warmth and a mild pain.

What is she doing?

She lowered her arms. “Is that better?”

It was. She had healed him!

Shiro nodded. “Arigatou.”

“Now,” she said, matter of factly, “listening to the conversation between you and that scoundrel, I understand that your name is Shiro?”

“Hai!”

He meant to correct himself for speaking the confirmation in his own language, but she nodded. “Very well.” She started circling him. “You’re a very curious looking man.”

“I am…” he started, turning to keep eye contact with her. “I’m not from these lands.”

“To be sure. You’re an مسافر, yes?”

“What?”

“Oh, apologies. An old word from another culture. You’re a magical traveler.”

“Hai—yes! I am an isekai.”

“An isekai…?” She said the word thoughtfully. “Yes, you are, aren’t you?”

Shiro’s eyes widened. “You know what that is?”

She smiled.

By the kami—she’s beautiful.

“Thank you.”

Shiro cocked his head. “You—?“

“I know what you speak of,” she interrupted. “I can sense it in your aura.”

“I have an aura?”

“All living things, and some not so living have auras, you barbarian.”

Shiro growled deep in his throat, barely audible to even himself. Normally he would not let insults stand, but he was so bewildered right now he didn’t have the stamina or the courage to say anything.

“What is your name?” he asked.

She looked at him, continued to circle him as her bare feet pattered softly on the wet stones. Her ivory skin made her dark wavy hair and eyebrows stand out as rather striking to Shiro and her very near nakedness except for the almost-sheer-shawl wrapped about her shoulders and covering her front and backside—which left little to the imagination—made him feel very uncomfortable.

He tried not to look at her in that way, but…

My heart is beating almost as fast as when the dungeon boss attacked me.

She smirked at him then, her full pink limps having a playfully insolent air, her large brown eyes studying as she looked him up and down. She blinked softly with long lashes as she tilted her head slightly, her smirk receding and a friendly demeanor coming over her. “You may call me by my name. It’s Jessamine.”

Shiro nodded. “Hai.”

Jessamine smiled. “Now go swim in the water, please. You’re a mess.”

“Na—nani?”