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ArabicArknights: The Holy Son's Leisurely Life — Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Angelic Son and the Morning Explosion
Lucian was a diligent transmigrator. A Sankta from the holy city of Laterano. His life goals were simple: open a cozy restaurant in the bustling heart of Lungmen, find a good wife, and live out his days in peace.
That was the plan, anyway. Then a Fallen Angel named Mostima showed up at his door. She offered a flawless, elegant smile, dropped to one knee, and delivered a line straight out of a cheap drama.
“The three-year period is up. Please return to your position, Holy Son.”
As everyone knows, there was a certain company in Lungmen called Penguin Logistics. Their unofficial secret handshake was “Long Live the Penguin Empire,” and the very first rule of their employee handbook was “Do not fuss over details.” Other rules included “Entertainment to death” and “Seize the day”—basically whatever phrase sounded reasonable at the time, as long as you liked it.
Even in a bustling metropolis like Lungmen, there was not another organization that let loose quite as much as Penguin Logistics. Yet, precisely because they operated with absolute freedom while understanding the unspoken rules of the underworld better than anyone, they were an irreplaceable asset to the city.
At four in the morning, right when the daily check-ins for mobile games were resetting, a thunderous shockwave ripped through Lungmen City’s Third Port.
Boom. A massive explosion painted the night sky orange.
Half the district woke up in a panic, citizens poking their heads out of windows to watch the show—or rather, to watch the danger unfold.
The diligent Lungmen Guard Department was thrown into absolute frenzy. Sirens wailed as the night-shift officers scrambled to organize a tactical response. Three minutes later, a stunningly fierce police officer stormed into the command center. She had not even found the time to brush her hair, hurriedly shrugging on her uniform jacket as she barked orders.
“Sitrep! Pull up the surveillance feeds! Who caused that blast?”
The duty officer at the main console immediately snapped to attention, throwing a crisp salute. “Good morning, Madam Ch’en! You arrived so quickly! As expected of Madam Ch’en! Madam Ch’en is amazing!”
“Madam Ch’en is amazing! Madam Ch’en is amazing! Madam Ch’en is amazing!”
The other L.G.D. staff rushing in and out of the room heard the chant and, knowing their superior had arrived, immediately joined the chorus. Their voices echoed through the precinct.
The handsome senior superintendent, currently tying her dark blue hair into twin tails, flashed a look of pure murder.
“Bloody hell!” she snapped, dropping a harsh Lungmen profanity. “If you have the breath to cheer, use it to do your jobs! I am not an idol, and I do not need a fan club!”
Madam Ch’en tapped her earpiece, coordinating with the police teams en route while keeping her eyes glued to the monitors.
“The explosion hit a docked cargo ship? No, freshly unloaded freight. Who the hell signed off on that inspection… Hey! Pull up the traffic cams from the Ring Road heading south. Track that black luxury sedan that just blew past!”
She slammed her hand down on the monitor operator’s shoulder, nearly shattering the poor man’s collarbone.
The screen displayed a sleek black sedan tearing down the highway, pursued by a swarm of off-road motorcycles. Crossbow bolts and stray bullets sparked haphazardly against the asphalt. Daring to stage a full-blown car chase and gunfight on the streets of Lungmen meant these terrorists were clearly arrogant outsiders.
How these thugs and their contraband had slipped into the city was a massive problem. Ch’en was already mentally drafting the port manager’s obituary. But her immediate focus remained on the lead car.
The driver was executing flawless serpentine maneuvers through a hail of gunfire, occasionally ripping the emergency brake for a stylish drift that forced the pursuing bikes to crash into one another. The person behind the wheel was definitely no ordinary civilian.
Then, through the pixelated glare of the streetlights, Ch’en caught the faint, unmistakable glow of a Sankta halo through the shattered car window. She slammed her fist on the desk, letting out a concise, powerful Yan curse.
“Those Penguin Logistics lunatics again!”
Meanwhile, inside the sedan, the tension was entirely different.
“Help me!” Miss Croissant shrieked, her face entirely devoid of color. The Forte girl was being tossed around the passenger seat like a ragdoll, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My stomach is going to turn inside out! Please slow down, Lucian!”
Lucian gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he glared at the road ahead. “Who do you think got us into this mess?! I sneaked in perfectly and secured the goods! And then you got lost, wandered out the main entrance, crashed through three shipping containers, and interrupted a black-market arms deal! I told you to catch them red-handed, not to throw yourself into the crossfire!”
“It is not my fault!” Croissant wailed indignantly. “All those metal boxes look exactly the same! How was I supposed to know where… Waaah! My horn! My horn is stuck! Lucian, save me!”
The Forte girl had somehow managed to plunge her head straight into the reinforced car door during a sharp turn. Her entire body was now sprawled across the center console, flailing wildly and crushing Lucian against the driver’s seat.
Being pinned by a panicked, heavy-set Forte was not a pleasant experience.
“Get off! You weigh a ton!” Lucian grunted, grabbing a fistful of her jacket to haul her backward.
Croissant shrieked even louder. “Eek! No, Lucian! You grabbed my strap!”
The straightforward Sankta blinked, keeping one eye on the road. “What strap? What are you talking about?”
“A strap is a strap, you idiot! You pervert! Let go!”
Completely baffled by the accusation, Lucian gave one final, desperate heave. With a loud crunch, Croissant yanked her head free, leaving two massive, horn-shaped punctures in the interior door panel.
Unfortunately, as she tumbled backward, the tip of her curved horn snagged directly onto Lucian’s waistband.
Riiip.
“My pants!” Lucian screamed, his voice cracking with pure grief. “My brand-new military cargo pants! The latest model from Raythean Industries! Take the wheel, steer us toward an actual road!”
Croissant rubbed her dizzy head, her eyes swirling. “Huh? I do not have a driver’s license, you know? Are you sure you want to violate traffic laws?”
Lucian shot her a look of utter disbelief. “Do you think I have a license?!”
He slammed his left foot onto the accelerator and wedged his right foot against the steering wheel, freeing both of his hands in a display of sheer acrobatic absurdity. The glowing Sankta halo above his head flared to life. In a flash of golden light, an automatic rifle materialized in his grasp.
As Lucian leaned out the shattered window, the pursuing thugs caught sight of the glowing ring and the heavy firearm. Panic rippled through the biker gang.
“Laterano! It is a Sankta!”
Lucian pulled the trigger without a shred of mercy.
The rifle barked in a crisp, rhythmic staccato. Instead of lethal lead, he unleashed a torrent of custom-made special ammunition. The non-lethal rounds, packed with highly compressed chili powder, ignited mid-air through Lucian’s Originium Arts. They struck the bikers and detonated into thick clouds of blinding red mist.
The thugs instantly choked, coughing up their lungs as tears and snot poured down their faces, sending their motorcycles skidding into a massive pileup.
Croissant pumped her fist in the air. “Yahoo! As expected of you, Lucian! Your bullets are incredible! Honestly, if we just sold your custom ammo, we could cover the company’s entire deficit!”
“We are a legitimate logistics company, not arms dealers,” Lucian scoffed, sliding back into the driver’s seat. “Besides, no one else could even use them. These rounds are incredibly difficult to prime. Only someone at my level, or Exusiai’s, could… Croissant! Hard right!”
Before she could react, a monstrous roar drowned out the street noise. A heavily modified military armored vehicle smashed through the pile of crashed motorcycles, its original chassis completely unrecognizable beneath slabs of welded steel. It crushed everything in its path. Mounted in the back was a glowing Originium mortar, and it was pointed right at them.
“Eek!” Croissant screamed.
Lucian stomped on the brake, throwing the sedan into a violent spin. The mortar shell missed a direct hit, but the explosive shockwave caught the rear bumper. The luxury car was launched into the air, spinning wildly before slamming into the concrete wall of an overpass. It came to a grinding halt, pinned at a sharp ninety-degree angle, completely dead.
The armored behemoth did not slow down. It revved its massive engine, preparing to ram the crippled sedan and flatten them into paste.
Tangled up with Croissant in the wrecked cabin, Lucian let out a heavy sigh. Were street gangs always this rude nowadays?
Fortunately, the employees of Penguin Logistics were not so easily crushed.
A high-pitched whine pierced the night sky, entirely different from the rumbling tank. The sound grew deafeningly close, shooting straight over the wreckage of their sedan.
Croissant scrambled over Lucian’s shoulders, her eyes sparkling with hope. “It is Texas! Yahoo!”
The most reliable courier in the company, and the only one who actually possessed a valid driver’s license, made her grand entrance.
Miss Texas soared through the air. Her long, soft dark hair whipped wildly in the wind, illuminated by the pale moonlight. Even from a distance, Lucian could see the cold, focused gleam in her amber eyes. She had driven her motorcycle straight off the roof of an adjacent building. In mid-air, she kicked off the footpegs, abandoning the bike and sending the heavy machine plummeting like a meteor directly into the armored vehicle.
The catastrophic impact shattered the tank’s reinforced glass and buckled its front axle. The behemoth flipped violently, crashing into the asphalt just yards away from Lucian and Croissant, completely immobilized.
But the danger was not over.
“Ah!” Croissant shrieked again. “Texas, you are going to hit the wall!”
In her rush to intercept the mortar, Texas had abandoned her ride without a safe landing trajectory. She was plummeting straight toward the side of a concrete building.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. The unique halo of a Sankta floating above his head flared with blinding intensity. Ethereal, radiant wings of light erupted from his back. They did not flap, nor did they generate any wind. Instead, an invisible, overwhelming force pulled his body from the wreckage.
He shot through the air in absolute silence, a streak of golden light intercepting the falling Lupo.
Just as Texas braced her body for the bone-shattering impact, Lucian wrapped his arms around her waist, smoothly scooping her out of the air. His momentum carried them upward, and they landed gracefully on the edge of a nearby rooftop.
Lucian looked down at the Lupo girl resting securely in his arms, flashing a confident, teasing smirk. “Does this count as me saving your life?”
Texas, still held horizontally against his chest, did not break eye contact. Her expression remained perfectly stoic. “I saved you first just now.”
“Ah, but you saved two people,” Lucian countered smoothly. “Me and Croissant. And honestly, mostly her. So this debt is fifty-fifty at best. I only owe you half a life.”
“…I hate talkative men.”
Texas muttered, though she made no immediate effort to pull away. Her fluffy wolf tail twitched in annoyance, brushing softly against Lucian’s bare leg.
“By your logic, I did not need you to save me either,” she continued. “Crashing into that wall would not have killed me. So, I also only owe you half a life.”
It was flawless Penguin Logistics logic. Lucian nodded in agreement. “Well, I suppose we have no choice. We will just keep owing each other?”
“Mm. Keep owing each other,” Texas agreed, a faint hint of satisfaction in her quiet voice.
In any normal relationship, they would have just called it even. But the couriers of Penguin Logistics were notoriously petty. Rather than canceling out a debt, they preferred to let it grow, stockpiling favors so they would have more ammunition for arguments later.
Lucian had no intention of putting her down just yet. Holding Texas’s surprisingly soft and weighty frame, he turned his gaze toward the horizon. “Ah. It is dawn.”
The first brilliant rays of morning sunlight pierced through the dense, towering skyline of Lungmen, washing over the rooftop. Texas raised a slender hand to shield her eyes, the sudden brightness a bit too harsh.
She glanced back up at Lucian. A faint, complicated emotion flickered in her amber eyes, and her lips parted slightly. “Lucian… you really are a pervert.”
“Huh?” Lucian blinked. “Ah. Croissant!”
Only after Texas unceremoniously kicked him away did Lucian finally register the crisp morning breeze hitting his thighs. His brand-new cargo pants had been completely torn away during the crash, leaving him standing on the rooftop in nothing but his boxers.
No wonder Texas’s tail fur had felt so ticklish against his skin. His latest Raythean Industries model was ruined.
Lucian gritted his teeth, swearing a silent oath to the morning sky. Croissant was going to learn the true meaning of cruelty.