Foreknowledge is not omnipotent.
It’s the scenery created by Aslan’s sixth sense and intuition, which have reached a superhuman level. Ultimately, however, it is based on individual ability.
Above all, foreknowledge isn’t omnipotent.
Even with foreknowledge, the repeated calculations and deaths gradually wore away at Aslan’s accelerated cognitive abilities.
Excessive use of foreknowledge could kill Aslan.
His brain would melt, leading to death.
But Aslan couldn’t let go of the foreknowledge.
Because the moment he let go, Ereta would die. After that, no matter what foreknowledge he used, it would be meaningless.
Then, why does Aslan obsess over saving Ereta?
It was a question Aslan himself struggled to answer.
“Why?”
So Aslan questioned himself. In the meantime, he died once more. He grabbed Ereta’s arm to pull her back in order to protect her from an incoming claw but failed to protect himself.
Aslan’s head split in half, and time rewound.
Time rewound, and Aslan revived to face the attack again. Ereta rushed to help Aslan. While thinking of finding a way out in the chaos, Aslan looked at Ereta.
Ereta had died countless times.
Each time she died, she confessed to Aslan.
These confessions, along with the bodies of Aslan and Ereta, piled up.
Even in the illusion built by foreknowledge, the stench of death lingered unpleasantly.
Standing atop the pile of corpses, Aslan counted the number of deaths accumulated.
While doing so, Aslan swung his fist. The technique used in his arm was “Heart Piercing.” His intention was to gain superior penetration, but the Dragon King’s claw crushed Aslan’s arm.
Afterward, an unexpected burst of energy erupted, flattening Aslan’s chest entirely, causing instant death.
Aslan’s brain was overworking. It felt like his brain might actually melt. Beyond the foreknowledge, Aslan’s real body was bleeding from the nose.
The high priest was that powerful.
Even within the realm of foreknowledge, Aslan had died nearly hundreds of times.
Hundreds of confessions piled up, and hundreds of deaths piled up as well.
The high priest was practically a demigod.
Compared to him, priests were at best quasi-deities; they couldn’t match the strength of the high priest.
Such a high priest wasn’t someone an unprepared person could dare to confront.
Even if one were prepared, surviving against such an opponent was impossible.
Through dying repeatedly and rewinding the foreknowledge, Aslan thought.
That the high priest was not someone who could be defeated without wounds or sacrifices.
A formidable enemy who wouldn’t guarantee survival, let alone victory, without wounds or sacrifices.
And those wounds and sacrifices lay before Aslan.
“I like you.”
Ereta, whose neck was pierced by the Dragon King’s claw, silently gasped. Soon after, her head flew off. Then the claw rushed toward Aslan, and despite his efforts to block it, his entire upper body was torn apart.
If there was no way forward without wounds and sacrifices, stepping over Ereta’s sacrifice and moving past his own injuries would suffice.
But Aslan couldn’t do it.
Despite the migraine that felt like his brain was melting, the nosebleeds and tears of blood beyond the foreknowledge, Aslan continued the process hundreds of times.
He realized the reason while feeling the warmth of Ereta’s body temperature in the foreknowledge, and how it gradually cooled and turned cold.
Aslan was selfish.
Sacrificing himself for others was fine.
Dying, fighting, or getting hurt for others didn’t bother him.
Because the emotions they felt upon seeing his sacrifice weren’t his.
They could move forward with those feelings.
If sacrificing himself achieved his purpose and saved more people… Aslan could sacrifice himself countless times.
However, he wasn’t accustomed to others sacrificing themselves for him.
Seeing someone give their life for Aslan, actually losing their life, made him feel heavy-hearted and uncomfortable.
He experienced nausea and dizziness as if the world were spinning.
Clearly, Aslan disliked sacrifice.
Aslan didn’t want Ereta to die.
Though she was once an evil woman and still likely remained so, even if she might commit wicked acts somewhere without Aslan watching over her…
She had once been a priest and the embodiment of evil, having killed countless people.
Aslan wasn’t some flawless saint.
If anything, Aslan was excessively sentimental to be considered a saint.
When he cut Lewena’s throat, he instinctively knew it. When Phey left, he truly felt it. And now, looking at Ereta, he remembered it.
Aslan thought.
About Ereta who followed him around, initiated physical contact, and watched him perform good deeds with admiration.
He didn’t want to lose such an Ereta.
In this realization, Aslan took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Strike.”
Some kind of auditory hallucination sounded. It might have been a mistake or perhaps a misheard roar from the illusion.
But it didn’t matter. It was the path Aslan had been searching for.
Even if his brain burned.
Even if his heart exploded.
Even if his limbs were severed.
Aslan had to hammer this foreknowledge to create a better future.
If there had to be sacrifices…
“The first is me.”
Foreknowledge accumulated. Deaths piled up. Hundreds of times passed without Ereta dying. Aslan’s movements steadily carved a single answer.
Thousands of times.
A number so vast that counting became cumbersome.
Beyond the accumulation of those deaths, Aslan’s emerald eyes flickered.
And then,
Clang!
A sound like striking iron on an anvil rang as Aslan opened his eyes.
Blood flowed from his eyes. Burst capillaries stained the whites red, and blood dripped from his nose, but Aslan moved.
Clang!
The first strike was a dagger. Aslan pulled it out backward and thrust it, causing the Dragon King’s claw aimed at his heart to miss its mark.
BOOM!
The claw tore through the air with a thunderous roar. The dagger shattered into pieces. Amidst the scattered bronze fragments, Aslan blinked and extended his hand.
He caught Ereta’s wrist and sent her behind him.
“Aslan…!”
A desperate cry. Aslan smiled bitterly at the cry and blinked.
In that moment of closing his eyes, Aslan rewound again.
“Save.”
Opening his eyes again, he kicked a weapon beneath his feet upward. White flames spread across the bloodthirsty sword Rutile.
Clang!
Striking downward and immediately swerving sideways while rotating. Cutting. The slash grazed the Dragon King’s chest, deepening the wariness in its expression.
Aslan used foreknowledge every time he blinked.
He deflected a punch aimed at his head with his blade and rolled to the side.
A kick aimed at his waist was blocked with purity, allowing him to leap back.
Aslan, flung far away, quickly recovered and blocked the tail swipe descending vertically with his sword. Using a Thunder Call punch, he pushed the blade away.
Finally, the projectile claws that had shredded Ereta’s heart. Aslan thrust his sword directly toward the attack.
Clash!
The blade wildly shook, sparks flying. The claw narrowly passed through the gap. Twisting the blade, Aslan redirected its trajectory above his head.
Thus, all the attacks were nullified under the white flames of the bloodthirsty sword and amidst tens of thousands of deaths.
With each deflection, blood gushed from Aslan’s wrists and forearms, and his pupils reddened, but the Dragon King’s attacks no longer reached him.
Even as the attacks dissipated into the air, demolished the surroundings, and whipped up a fierce storm.
Aslan did not fall.
The Dragon King’s face twisted further. Sensing something was changing, it leapt up and opened its mouth.
The power it gathered within its mouth was extraordinary. A mighty energy capable of burning and tearing everything it touched—the breath only the Dragon King attained after becoming a high priest.
At the moment the energy condensed into a sphere and shot out, Aslan crouched down.
Blinking his eyes, using foreknowledge, spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth, he extended his sword.
“Mooncutting.”
The moment the blade was soaked in energy, the sphere-shaped breath collided with the counterattack.
—BOOOOM!
Plasma erupted, dyeing the surroundings red and white. Despite the scorching heat of the breath filling the area, Aslan did not fall.
The ground collapsed and crumbled beneath them. Though Aslan’s entire body was covered in blood, his breathing labored to the point of breaking,
His eyes
did not die.
They still burned brightly, glaring at the Dragon King.
Regulating his ragged breath like a wheezing asthma patient, Aslan kicked the weapon at his feet and grasped it in his left hand.
Hanging the swords in both hands loosely, Aslan murmured.
“She’s my ally.”
Words that didn’t reach the Dragon King.
“I won’t let you have your way.”
Without questioning the incomprehensible statement, the Dragon King simply analyzed the situation and assumed a stance.
Until now, the Dragon King had been superior in numbers. It had crushed resources and sealed support. By preventing variables from arising, it had secured victory. Slowly tightening the grip, without any haste, it exchanged blows with Aslan.
During these exchanges, Aslan gradually grew weary and made repeated mistakes. The Dragon King believed that pushing forward like this would lead to victory but remained cautious.
Neither complacent nor distracted.
From beginning to end, the Dragon King hadn’t changed.
What had changed was Aslan.
Aslan had changed. He completely dominated the Dragon King in numbers and used techniques efficiently where needed.
No, it went beyond that. The artistry Aslan displayed clearly surpassed the limits of skill.
While the Dragon King assumed a high stance and Aslan a low one, the thick dust settled, revealing their surroundings.
Boiling lava enveloped the area, and a long projectile-like object was deeply embedded in the ground. They were in the depths of Belus Alphen.
The sunken battlefield, caused by their fight, pushed them into a crater scarred by bombardments. The crater where the predator’s attack had struck, killing the deity of fire and metal.
Surveying this crater-like space, the Dragon King smirked as Aslan exhaled heavily and his eyes gleamed.
