“…Then, let’s part ways here.”
With a clap of his hands, Aslan spoke. There was no emotion whatsoever in his voice, and because of that, the members of Harold’s group revealed various expressions on their faces upon hearing those words.
“Now? Are you saying now?”
“That’s right, now.”
The first to speak was Carlson, who wore an expression of bewilderment. When Aslan responded without hesitation to Carlson’s question, Carlson scratched the back of his neck while glancing at the others.
“Can we at least ask for a reason…?”
“I only said I’d help until the escape; I never said anything about continuing with you after this.”
When Ecol questioned him sharply under Aslan’s gaze, Aslan gave a casual answer, hooking his fingers into his belt as he leaned against a tree.
“Thanks to you all, we managed to easily capture the trolls and escape, but wasn’t that not the original plan anyway? You’ve gained the freedom you wanted, and I’ve gotten what I wanted too. There’s nothing to regret, in my opinion.”
Aslan’s tone remained indifferent and condescending.
He gestured toward a part of the forest with a nod of his head.
“Go on, there should be a Settlement nearby if you follow this direction. Head further south, and you can reach Candlelibur.”
Upon hearing Aslan’s words, they paused briefly to think. The trajectory of their thoughts was obvious, so Aslan sighed and added:
“Do whatever you want—sell what you have now to secure lodging or become mercenaries, it’s none of my concern.”
They were, after all, still escaped prisoners. Though the restraints around their necks had disappeared, and their appearance had changed from that of convicts to ragged mercenaries, they were still fugitives.
Thus, they only left after Aslan confirmed it, since they didn’t wish to be recaptured.
After the two men disappeared into the forest in the direction Aslan had indicated, Harold Crow, who stood draped in a cloak over his large red scales, slightly adjusted his posture.
His stance seemed to indicate that he had no intention of leaving, and Aslan looked at him with two seemingly indifferent emerald eyes.
Though Aslan had intended for Harold not to leave, he raised an eyebrow as if surprised by the mercenary’s lingering presence and asked:
“Why aren’t you following them? Aren’t you their subordinate?”
“The story of them being my subordinates ended in Olpasbet. They’re not my kin, so I have no obligation to protect them.”
The mercenary then hooked his large two-handed sword onto a crude belt before speaking.
“Besides, warriors like me who stand out wouldn’t be ideal companions for them anyway—they’d risk exposing themselves as escaped prisoners.”
While the matter of duty was irrelevant, the fact that Harold stood out was undeniable.
Harold Crow was nearly 2 meters tall, a colossal dragon-man whose red scales made him clearly visible even amidst the dense forest. The lush greenery couldn’t conceal his massive frame.
“So, do you have a reason for staying here? If it’s just that you don’t need to stay with them… Candlelibur is that way.”
Aslan pointed behind the dragon-man with his finger toward a path through the woods.
However, the dragon-man neither turned his head nor shifted his gaze, instead staring steadily at Aslan.
“As you may have heard, my name is Harold Crow. Of Belus Alphen.”
The dragon-man muttered this before slightly turning his head to look at Angie, who stood with her arms crossed, clearly showing her dissatisfaction.
“It wasn’t from birth, but I grew up and lived as a warrior. I carry the duty to protect others of Belus Alphen and fight its enemies.”
Aslan understood what Harold was trying to say but did not interrupt.
“And as someone of the Crow lineage, I know where to find battle. You lied to us.”
Pointing at Aslan with his finger, the dragon-man reflected that the battle in the mine hadn’t been particularly difficult, but that was solely thanks to Aslan.
The veteran had proven to be incredibly strong, as rumored, protecting the group from the incoming trolls and eliminating the enemy.
Harold observed this.
“You didn’t need us—Carlson, Ecol, me, and even Tail.”
At the mention of the surname “Tail,” Angie glared at him, but Harold paid no attention as he continued.
“In fact, without us, you could have avoided drawing attention from the local monsters and moved much faster. That’s why I couldn’t understand your intentions. It didn’t seem like you were helping someone escape out of kindness.”
Was there another motive behind it? At this question, Aslan remained silent. Seeing this, Harold closed his mouth as if concluding his statement and gazed at the veteran.
Their mutual stare-down lacked much hostility. After exchanging glances akin to reconnaissance, Aslan finally spoke.
“You’re correct, Harold Crow.”
Only then did Harold exhale and lightly shake his head.
“Neither Ecol nor Carlson mattered. But they were necessary to scatter pursuit and prevent our purpose from being immediately discovered. That’s why I brought them along.”
“Indeed, that was the case.”
“I also aimed to disperse the pursuers’ attention, delay the chase, or make it harder to track us.”
At this addition, Harold Crow tilted his head slightly upward.
Raindrops trickled down, making his scales shine and soaking the coarse linen cloak draped over his shoulders.
As Aslan brushed his wet bangs aside, Harold spoke:
“Considering these mountains and the rain, I doubt anyone will be able to track us. I don’t think the guards from Olpasbet would have the ability to find traces in such rugged terrain.”
Aslan agreed with him.
“You’re right; the guards don’t have that capability.”
Harold perceived something else in that calm affirmation, though. What exactly? Narrowing his eyes, Harold thought as Aslan approached.
Stopping within arm’s reach, Aslan looked up to meet his eyes.
“What I’m wary of isn’t the priests, but more specifically, the martial monks.”
As Harold’s eyes widened, Aslan added:
“I mentioned it before. Let’s handle just one task.”
“…Yes, you did.”
“In exchange for giving you freedom, I have one request.”
Aslan extended his hand.
“Help me kill the martial monk.”
While Harold gasped in surprise, Aslan noticed something floating in the corner.
[LEVEL UP]
[Ongoing Main Quest]
[! Defeat the Priest and Survive (12 hours remaining)]
[Completed Main Quest]
[Escape with Angela Tail]
This was the second main quest.
*
A priest was a human who surpassed humanity.
The inhabitants of Geladridion, like humans once, were granted varying degrees of power depending on the deity they served.
This power wasn’t limited to brute strength.
Possessing superhuman strength, a formidable vitality matching it, and wielding divine powers according to their deity, they were truly worthy of being called apostles of the gods.
Familiar with power, a single priest could alter the course of a battlefield, and a high-ranking priest, standing alone beneath their deity, could change the world.
Thus, priests wielded forces far beyond the measure of humans, however minor they might be.
Such priests were not beings humans could easily overcome.
An unprepared individual could not fight a priest.
Even with preparation, victory was not guaranteed.
What was needed was a desperate resolve, some degree of caution, and extensive experience.
Fortunately, Aslan possessed all of these.
To enhance that precaution, Aslan summoned the system window.
As he touched the screen with his finger, the folded letters unfolded, revealing the ongoing main quest.
[Ongoing Main Quest]
[Defeat the Priest and Survive (5 hours remaining)]
The quest description was simple: “In five hours, a priest will arrive. Face them, win, and survive.”
Having spent seven hours of the original twelve resting, there were five hours left to prepare for the impending battle.
Understanding the enemy was included in that preparation.
The opponent would be a priest.
The type of priest was easy to guess. Even in a main quest, unexpected appearances were rare.
The land where Aslan stood was the southwestern Crystal Hill of Olpasbet, within the domain of the Supreme Divinity.
Thus, it naturally followed that the arriving priest would be a martial monk.
Looking at the remaining time, Aslan mentally listed information about martial monks.
Martial monks were among the top-tier priests in physical abilities.
Modeling their bodies after insects, they possessed high defense and immense strength, sometimes even sprouting additional limbs.
Equipped with the martial arts bestowed by the Supreme Divinity and wielding weapons handed down by the same, they were exceedingly difficult to deal with.
Compounding their powerful and efficient bodies with human intelligence made them not just challenging but downright fearsome opponents.
The only fortunate aspect was that they lacked any other notable abilities. Aslan reviewed this information and thought:
“Martial monks differ in style and approach, rendering general strategies useless.”
What was required was adaptability to handle any situation.
Fortunately, Aslan possessed this trait.
Additionally, certain materials were necessary.
“To flexibly handle whatever martial monk appears… more means are needed.”
The material that came to mind was stats.
Summoning the system window, Aslan allocated mana, willpower, and luck under his name.
As his mana increased, the sensation of mana flowing through his body intensified, and willpower reduced the fatigue coursing through his entire body.
Luck, though not immediately noticeable, would become evident and usable during combat.
After briefly clenching and unclenching his fists to check his body, Aslan pressed the name of the girl next to his.
He then allocated her stats, distributing one point each to strength, agility, and health. The seated girl shuddered.
The trembling girl stood up and walked briskly toward Aslan.
It had happened before. The girl had instinctively sensed the stat allocation.
Thus, Aslan understood her current approach.
“Hey.”
Approaching, the girl spoke. Closing the system window, Aslan looked at her.
The girl, brimming with discontent, revealed golden eyes through her long crimson bangs. In her pupils lingered faint suspicion and questioning.
Precisely the level of questioning Aslan desired.
The girl opened her mouth to voice her doubts as Aslan had hoped.
“Let’s talk.”
“About what?”
When Aslan feigned ignorance, the girl scowled deeply before speaking.
“What are you doing to me?”
What was needed to kill the martial monk was a flexible approach adaptable to any situation and the groundwork for it.
And Aslan felt the final ingredient for that groundwork had arrived, as he curved his lips upward.
