Tens, hundreds of thousands of deaths. The evaded deathlines are countless, and the way out is exceedingly scarce. Even a single mistake could lead to death amidst this, yet Aslan charged forward.
Kagagak!
The blood-streaked sword that sparks flames. The white-hot blade embracing pure energy fails to peel off the scales and instead ricochets off.
Before the blood gushing from the wrist and arm holding the hilt can soak the ground, Aslan blinks.
‘Save.’
Once again, Aslan advances after accumulating hundreds of deaths.
Every time the milky white trajectory was drawn, attacks were repelled, and blood was spilled. Aslan faced them head-on, endlessly bleeding from the mouth, nose, and eyes.
He might die. No, he will definitely die. Normally, Aslan would have fled to survive and plan for the next move, but now, Aslan fights on the brink of death.
Because without wounds and without sacrifices, it’s impossible to defeat the high priest.
Only by surpassing death can one grasp what lies beyond it.
Aslan’s determination and spirit not to lose anything more propelled his blade and body forward.
Kagagak, Kang!
Invisible-speed combos pour forth. Every attack is blocked after dying thousands of times in an instant. Blood spurts from the wrists with each block, and blood flows from the mouth, yet he does not stop. With every blink, foresight flashes.
Kaang!
A single slash. Aslan’s purity grazes the Dragon King’s chest and bounces off, leaving a dark gouge.
The Dragon King frowns at the wound and launches a front kick. Aslan blocks it with a stone-infused blood blade before flying back. As Aslan rolls across the ground and stops, the Dragon King clicks his tongue.
That sword wasn’t an ordinary sword.
It was a soul-severing blade, akin to poison for priests.
To an average priest, it would have exerted greater offensive power; any other priest of a deity less resilient than the Dragon King would have died many times over.
The reason the Dragon King survived Aslan’s relentless assault so far was because he kept his soul within the core of his chest as a priest.
But the more the attacks overlapped, the weaker the defenses became. The Dragon King clicked his tongue lowly and charged again.
Swinging fists repeatedly, slashing legs, and swinging tails, Aslan endured all these relentless assaults.
‘Burn everything now. Exceed your limits. If you must sacrifice, dying here and now is fine.’
Aslan must win. Even as the heat of the lava slows his body and his dying brain gradually loses its function, Aslan continues to move and think without pause.
Dancing atop the piled corpses of tens of thousands, the floor turned crimson with flowing blood.
‘Save.’
When Aslan’s eyes flashed again, the Dragon King was finally put on the defensive. He swatted the blade away with the back of his hand, blocked attacks with his leg, and stomped the ground to break his balance and barely dodged.
‘He’s gaining the upper hand. Growing stronger in this situation.’
The Dragon King was astonished. There are many warriors who grow stronger as they approach death. Some even grow stronger when prepared to die.
But there was no one like Aslan—someone who grasps what lies beyond death itself.
The Dragon King gritted his teeth and shouted,
“Looks like you’re going to die here, Aslan!”
Sensing the crisis, the Dragon King stood firm. The chaotic interplay of white and black light filled the air, scattering fiery sparks with every clash.
If things continued like this, if Aslan kept pressing, victory would be possible.
If only Aslan weren’t human, it might have been feasible.
Cheeeng!
Eventually, limits are reached. Aslan’s exhausted mind momentarily breaks, and the purity fades. The stone sword slips from his hand and embeds into the ground.
His brain, too drained to produce even the word ‘save,’ cannot foresee anymore.
And at the moment the purity fades, the blood sword shatters into pieces upon colliding with the Dragon King’s fist.
Kaahaaaaaang!
The blood sword’s final howl. Scattered fragments of red blade. Amidst them, Aslan realizes his consciousness briefly snapped.
Foresight isn’t omnipotent. No matter how much one foresees, it’s impossible to completely evade everything. There was such a gap in power between Aslan and the Dragon King, and Aslan’s weapon wasn’t even intact.
The shattered blood sword. The broken spirit. Like a signal, Aslan kneels.
Blood pours from his mouth, nose, and eyes like waterfalls.
His vision blurs through the endless flow of blood. He can distinctly feel the rush of blood toward his head. Death beckons nearby.
The overheated brain flickers as it accepts the impending death.
The broken blood sword, reduced to just the hilt, was once Dimitri’s longsword. It slips from Aslan’s hand and immerses itself in the lava.
“…Finally, it’s over.”
The voice of the Dragon King.
Aslan lifts his almost motionless head to look at the Dragon King.
None of Aslan’s struggles, none of the countless slashes, had reached him.
Despite all those attempts and battles, Aslan couldn’t reach the Dragon King. No matter how many futures he struck or how finely he honed his foresight, Aslan was still human.
Humanity-bound Aslan couldn’t defeat the high priest, couldn’t defeat the Dragon King.
A high priest.
One who gave their all and remained vigilant.
Such a high priest could not be defeated unless a miracle occurred.
Even if a miracle did happen, an ordinary person wouldn’t taste even a small fragment of victory. Not even Aslan, who had cut down countless priests and defied countless deaths, could achieve it.
Preparation was lacking.
Strength was lacking.
Resolve was lacking.
While struggling to move his trembling, paralyzed arms and his motionless legs, Aslan weakly directed his blurred gaze toward the Dragon King.
His head quivered, spilling blood from his eyes, nose, and mouth. The floor around him turned crimson with the flowing blood.
The Dragon King didn’t approach, even at this last moment. Maintaining his distance, he stayed alert until the very end.
The open mouth emitted crackling energy, coalescing into a breath attack designed to scorch wide areas.
This was the Dragon King’s thoroughness, ensuring not to give Aslan even the smallest opening.
Aslan stared helplessly while the Dragon King prepared to finish him off.
There was resolve.
There was fighting spirit.
There was skill and equipment.
What Aslan lacked was only one thing: a miracle.
If there had been even a small miracle.
Even if it were a weak miracle incapable of reversing the situation.
With a miracle, Aslan could have won.
The breath attack is unleashed—a powerful blast so intense it melts and dissolves even the lava, clearing a path for itself.
Aslan had neither the means to evade nor the ability to counter this attack.
But miracles don’t come easily.
Miracles are granted only to those who never give up and fight fate tirelessly.
Like now.
KwaAAAAAAAA!
As the breath attack radiates outward, melting everything in its path and rushing toward Aslan, something emerges from the deeply melted lava to block its path.
It was a sword.
A strange sword, as if forged from molten lava, continuously melting but maintaining its shape and size.
The dripping blade took the form of a peculiar hazardous material, unsuitable for gripping.
Yet this sword split the breath attack, protecting Aslan. The swirling energy around it made the lava bubble and melt walls in all directions, but the sword stood firm.
Unyielding against a breath attack powerful enough to collapse the earth, the sword remained unscathed.
Aslan stared blankly at the sword.
Unable to comprehend the situation, his exhausted brain was incapable of producing any reasoning or thoughts.
Only the Dragon King recognized the sword.
“Surely… surely you’ve decided to reveal yourself now?!”
Though no one responded to his shout, the Dragon King cried out, looking upward as if someone above had wielded the sword.
“Lord of Ten Thousand Forges!”
He was enraged. The Dragon King, who hadn’t shown a single trace of emotion throughout the entire battle with Aslan, was now enraged.
Hearing the name “Lord of Ten Thousand Forges,” Aslan recalled something.
A dragon large enough to cover an entire city, the parent of dragons.
The master craftsman who sharpened the weapons of all gods was his son, and his sons offered their first and last creations to their father.
Thus, the being who possessed ten thousand weapons crafted by his sons, the god of fire and metallurgy.
As Aslan subconsciously murmured the name, a vision appeared beyond the melting sword.
It was a dragon.
A colossal red dragon, larger than a city.
A dragon bigger than a city and greater than a mountain chain was taking flight.
The dragon soared, brushing past Aslan’s head, violently shaking his hair and restoring a faint vitality to his body.
Melted muscles and broken bones began to heal, and the heart and brain, which had nearly lost their functions, regained their abilities.
Though it was only enough to move a few more times, Aslan extended his hand.
Beyond the fading vision lay the sword.
Mesmerized, Aslan instinctively reached out, gripping the hilt without realizing it.
The sword that could melt his hand and harden it into a useless mass of metal if held by an ordinary person.
Before the flesh burned and the bones melted, Aslan’s lips moved.
Aslan whispered.
Words flowed out, transcending logic.
“Purity.”
Whoosh!
Following the hilt, a stream of white flames emerged. This flame coursed along the blade and reached the tip.
The flowing flame, refined within the noble spirit of a hero who had endlessly honed his life into a single blade.
“Aaaaaslaaaan!”
At the moment the Dragon King roared and charged, the sword revealed itself in the white flames.
A sword fit for a hero who had endlessly honed his life into a single blade.
The shockwave sent the Dragon King flying backward, crashing into a wall.
Along with the shockwave, a message slowly appeared before Aslan’s eyes.
[Effect of Purity]
[Can sever the connection between a deity and their priest.]
[Will not fade as long as the user’s spirit persists.]
[Sorrow’s Heart – Can sever divine power and spiritual entities.]
[Legacy Blade – Cuts through anything and cannot be broken under any circumstances.]
[Strengthens in resonance with the divinity of ancient gods.]
The fragmented text reassembled slowly, like steel being hammered on an anvil.
Thus, the clear message appeared.
[Effect of Purity]
[Can sever the connection between a deity and their priest.]
[Will not fade as long as the user’s spirit persists.]
[Sorrow’s Heart – Can sever divine power and spiritual entities.]
[Blade of Fire – Cuts through anything and cannot be broken under any circumstances.]
[Strengthens in resonance with the divinity of ancient gods.]
Beyond the message, the sword was beautiful.
Its blade gleamed with a pristine white light, resembling platinum. The shimmer emanating from it was the flame of purity.
Though the blade’s width matched an adult’s palm and its length seemed unwieldy, it looked like a sword beyond comprehension.
But beyond the system message, Aslan standing up looked different.
Aslan lifted the sword.
His arms still wouldn’t move properly. His legs wobbled. His head throbbed dully, and blood continued to flow from his eyes and mouth.
“Would you dare… Would you dare interfere cowardly after your defeat, Lord of Ten Thousand Forges!”
On the contrary, the Dragon King remained unscathed. His limbs were intact, not a single strike had pierced him. His body bore only superficial scratches, no wounds at all.
The situation was still dire. The oppressive heat of the surrounding lava was relentlessly killing Aslan moment by moment.
But he wouldn’t retreat anymore.
Because victory comes only through wounds and sacrifices.
Aslan saw the Dragon King charging toward him. The lava beneath the Dragon King cracked, and the supersonic shockwave swept through the surroundings.
Rushing in with a punch. A fatal blow if hit. Nothing had changed from before. But the outcome was different.
Aslan raised the Purity.
Forged by one of the ancient gods, the god of metallurgy who sharpened the weapons of all deities, the father of all dragons and Lord of Ten Thousand Forges.
The divine legacy crafted for the hero who would save the world.
The sole sword meant to slay the evil deity.
Despite its bizarre structure and the immense expectations placed upon it, it was astonishingly easy to wield—the true sword of a god.
Gripping the sword, Aslan opened his mouth wide, exhaling the pent-up heat in his lungs with a desperate roar.
“AAAAAAHHHHHH!”
His limbs still wouldn’t move properly. Letting go for even a moment could mean death or collapse. This scream was a desperate cry to extract his last remaining strength.
Amidst all the surrounding heat, the untainted white light carved through the dark scales.
Crack, creak!
Cutting through densely packed scales and abnormally tough mechanical muscles, it sliced through the opposite side and withdrew.
Squeak!
Until now, the Dragon King’s arm had never been marked.
The body that had never knelt for a thousand years.
Finally, with the first pang of pain, his left arm fell off. Beyond the severed arm flying through the air, the Dragon King’s eyes widened.
An opportunity so slim others wouldn’t have seized, a genuine small miracle.
At the moment this miracle shone, Aslan didn’t miss the chance.
Here, now, there was a miracle.
The hero and the dragon clashed for the final time.
