Unique Magic.
This was a special ability obtained upon reaching 10 mana points.
This ability allowed the user to acquire a list of magic skills and spells based on their magical composition.
And that unique magic was, literally, a unique kind of magic.
Never before had such a unique magic been discovered in any era across Geladridion.
It was a magic that only the ‘protagonist’ could use—this was what was known as unique magic.
Among these, Domination was a simple yet powerful magic.
Aslan slightly widened his stride and took a stance. Then, words flowed out.
“I hereby begin the duel trial of the sinner Aslan.”
The words came from higher up than the audience seats, behind Aslan.
Seated there were twenty dragonkin, each occupying their own seat.
Every one of them bore deep signs of aging; they were all seasoned veterans with the surname Head.
Once famous masters, Belus Alphen’s premier swordsman, a former grand commander, and among the sorcerers who were magicians of the dragonkin, the most highly ranked and skilled Grand Sorcerer.
Such figures received the title of Head in their old age.
Thus, they were the wisest and most respected individuals in Belus Alphen.
These were the ones who held power second only to the Heart in Belus Alphen. The Senate.
One of them stood up.
A female dragonkin with crimson scales and a veil covering her face. She pointed at Aslan and spoke.
“The duel trial to prove the innocence of the sinner Aslan is guaranteed by me, Nermyl Head. May the Great Flame watch over us.”
Then a grinding sound echoed. As Aslan turned his head, there was a dragonkin who had finished preparing.
Standing at 2.5 meters tall, clad entirely in plate armor without a single gap, and wielding an axe of the finest quality.
An opponent impossible to defeat if Aslan were only armed with a dull iron sword. Of course, there were other ways to kill if he so desired, but Aslan well knew that killing solved nothing.
What was needed was proof.
What Aslan had to prove in this ridiculous theater was the divine power in his hands.
No one was telling him to prove it, but Aslan could sense it.
He had laid the groundwork for it. Feeling the massive flow of mana coursing through his body, Aslan spun his sword once.
The opponent was a dragonkin clad in heavy armor. In terms of physical abilities, they easily crushed humans. With the addition of the plate armor, their defense was impeccable.
Normally, Aslan would use Knight Slayer against such opponents, but the current goal wasn’t to kill.
So Aslan approached leisurely.
Without any armor, clad in simple cloth and holding only a dull longsword.
Clang!
And they clashed. Aslan deflected the descending axe blade with his sword, using the diagonal impact to redirect its force and slam it into the ground with just the strength of his wrist.
His eyes gleamed amidst the flying sand and dust.
They clashed three times. Blocking the downward strike and reversing it with the hilt, deflecting the sweeping slash while crouching, and then bouncing it off to the side.
The returning attack followed by the dragonkin’s kick. The trajectory of this traditional martial art used even by Dragon Kings was something Aslan could avoid with his eyes closed after countless predictions.
But he didn’t avoid it.
Aslan had to act now.
So he raised his sword to block. With a metallic clang, Aslan was pushed back.
Already, the sword blade was starting to groan. Despite noticing this fact, Aslan charged forward and met the opponent head-on.
Honest in his approach, he blocked the sword thrust without dissipating the shock, taking the blow directly with his sword.
Additionally, he fiercely pounded the plate armor with his sword, deliberately causing damage.
The entire process was executed so meticulously that almost no one among the senators noticed.
“Grk…!”
The dragonkin playing Aslan’s opponent stumbled. To that stumbling dragonkin, Aslan swung his sword.
Clang!
A thrust. Accurately aimed at the visor of the helmet, pushing it aside. An attack that would have been fatal had the helmet not been worn. The dragonkin warrior questioned whether this was really part of the act, reconsidering the instructions while swinging the axe.
Kagakagakagajik!
The axe swung wildly. Aslan blocked the horizontal strike. At that moment, only the dragonkin warrior noticed the anomaly.
The sword blade being blocked broke. More accurately, it was deliberately broken. With a “kajik,” the flaw in the axe blade meshed with the sword blade, causing it to break.
The shining sword blade soared high, and Aslan released his grip on the hilt without resistance as the axe blade attempted to snatch it away.
Thus, the hilt soared high. The sword with only the hilt remaining clearly indicated defeat.
Just as the dragonkin shouted for death, unaware of the situation, Aslan closed his eyes.
“Domination.”
The effect of Domination was simple.
It dominated space, allowing the wielder to exercise physical and telekinetic forces within that space.
The level of physical force exercised depended on the skill of the user.
Someone with Aslan’s combat skill could make it feel as though they had several extra arms.
And there was no being in this space who could detect this magic.
Unique magic was, literally, unique magic.
It was the magic uniquely granted to Aslan in Geladridion.
Aslan’s tattoos glowed blue, and a thick mana filled the space.
The overwhelming mana, which even the dragonkin warrior attempting to swing the axe could feel, made even them uneasy. As they stopped mid-swing, Aslan slightly curled his lips.
The sensation of extending into space. As tendrils spread around like roots, Aslan opened his eyes and extended an invisible, intangible hand.
Then the sword hilt stopped mid-air.
“Purity.”
At those words, the hilt glowed.
The suspended hilt began to glow, drawing everyone’s attention.
A blade emerged from the hilt.
The hilt itself transformed too. Within the white flames, the forged blade quickly took shape.
A peculiar sword with the length and width of a greatsword but a short handle meant for one-handed use.
Yet, the platinum metal composing the sword and the divine aura surrounding it made it clear that this was not a strange failure but a sacred artifact.
This purity, which could only be seen as a holy relic, hovered momentarily before plunging down.
Clang!
The plunge of purity was blocked by the dragonkin’s axe.
Since it wasn’t pushed back despite being blocked, the dragonkin swiftly retracted the axe and drew a breath. Meanwhile, Aslan calmly reached out and grabbed purity.
The feel of the hilt in his hand was comfortable, as if it had been made specifically for Aslan from the start.
Despite the heavy blade, the excellent balance allowed Aslan to handle purity with one hand.
The sword moved freely, as if handling a dagger, stopping only at Aslan’s side.
“Relax and step back.”
As soon as Aslan muttered those words, a bright light erupted, filling the air.
It cut. The plate armor, crafted by Belus Alphen’s excellent metallurgy, was cleanly sliced in one stroke. It harmed the wearer not at all, cutting only the armor and weapons.
Faced with a situation beyond the capability of ordinary blades, the ‘actor’ hesitated, and the cursing dragonkin fell silent.
Given the extraordinary circumstances, their shock was understandable.
Even the miraculous sight of a broken sword transforming into a complete one before Aslan was auspicious enough, but the power of the sword was transcendent.
The people, who deeply revered the gods of fire and metallurgy, began whispering upon seeing this spectacle. The words exchanged among them carried no sharp emotions, only mutual knowledge seeking to understand the situation.
One senator observing Aslan’s duel trial realized this was the perfect moment.
“Behold that!”
So he shouted. Though unexpected, the dragonkin’s attention immediately turned to the senator.
A senator with white scales and flaking hands.
Seeing the people’s gaze on him, he spoke.
“The great god of fire and metallurgy, our Father, has descended here today!”
The senator extended his hand, pointing it towards the purity Aslan held.
“Behold that sword! Its otherworldly beauty and the power to cut through steel!”
Aslan, hearing those words, exhaled and slightly raised the sword. The dragonkin’s gazes focused on the purity.
Though it had the blade of a greatsword, the hilt was that of a one-handed sword. It should have been nearly impossible to handle, yet Aslan wielded it as if it were a dagger.
The senator even highlighted this fact to persuade the people.
“Behold the balance unattainable by mortals and the perfection that leaves not a single scratch on steel! This is surely proof that this is the sword of a god!”
The senator feigned excitement and shouted, and most of the dragonkin, who had experience with metallurgy, murmured in agreement.
“This must be the sign from the Great Flame to spare this foreigner!”
With that statement from the senator, another senator rose from their seat.
The sorcerer who had spoken in support of Aslan before the duel trial began.
As she stood, the white-scaled senator with flaking hands extended his arm towards her and spoke.
“When Nermyl Head declared she saw the will of the gods and that this foreigner must be saved by feeding him dragon blood, I did not understand at first… But now I see! My beloved compatriots! The gods of fire and metallurgy have shown us their will twice to strengthen our resolve!”
Having finished speaking, the senator lightly leaped from his seat.
Landing gracefully in a smooth curve, the senator, clearly an experienced warrior at a glance, stepped down onto the arena and approached Aslan.
Aslan gave a look to the approaching white-scaled senator as if asking if all this was really necessary, and the senator smiled faintly upon seeing it.
The senator approached until he was close to Aslan and grabbed his wrist. Unfazed by Aslan’s sigh, he lifted his hand high with the sword.
“As one of the twenty senators, I declare Aslan innocent on behalf of the heads of Belus Alphen!”
The dragonkin still watching from the arena were confused, but the evidence was clear.
Aslan had been chosen by the ancient gods.
No evil deity could have forged such a sword.
Still, some questions lingered. As some dragonkin rose to voice these doubts, the senator glanced at them and placed a hand on Aslan’s shoulder.
“But we must ask: Noble sir, why was it necessary to slay the Dragon King?”
To this question from the senator, Aslan wiped the reluctant expression from his face and replied.
“Dragon King Bahamul Hart had lived for a thousand years. Not only that, he was also a High Priest of the Devourer. The gods of fire and metallurgy commanded me to punish him, and I merely followed their will.”
Speaking politely, the senator looked surprised.
A knowing smirk, easily discernible to Aslan standing nearby.
Aslan, seeing this, subtly glanced at the seated senators.
They appeared to be discussing the news Aslan had revealed as if shocked, though it was likely an act. Aslan instinctively furrowed his brow slightly.
‘They knew.’
The Senate was aware that Bahamul Hart was a High Priest. Realizing this, Aslan wore an uncomfortable expression, and the senator smiled bitterly upon reading it.
That bitter smile conveyed the situation more clearly than any words.
High Priests are not ordinary beings.
Even Ereta from the past could incinerate an entire city.
And that’s considering weaker High Priests from the Three Evil Gods. The Dragon King was a proper High Priest of the true god Devourer.
A High Priest of the Devourer who grows stronger over time, having lived for a thousand years.
Even Aslan, who had achieved considerable growth, could only barely defeat him through repeated strokes of luck, miracles, and brushes with death.
Bahamul Hart was such a formidable adversary that there was no guarantee of victory if the fight were to happen again.
Given that, the Senate’s decision was wise.
The Dragon King seemed to have no intention of harming the city or its people before being exposed by Aslan.
From the perspective of protecting the city and its people, it was a rational choice.
After all, where does one stand when not aligned with the priests?
Lack of power leading to inaction is never a sin.
In Aslan’s half-condescending gaze, the senator smiled faintly.
It was an unsettling smile.
Indeed, the senator grabbed Aslan’s wrist again and lifted it high.
“The blood of dragons flows in this man’s heart! The gods of fire and metallurgy have chosen him, and since the same blood runs in his heart as in ours! The twenty of us in the Senate have decided to accept him as one of our own!”
The declaration. Half of it was positive, the other half negative.
Aslan’s wide-eyed surprise caused a stir among the spectators in the arena, with loud whispers and shouts.
The reaction was enjoyed by the senator, who looked kindly at Aslan before lowering his arm.
Then he placed a hand on Aslan’s shoulder. The mana flowing from the scaled fingers coursed through Aslan’s shoulder toward purity.
“Henceforth, your surname shall be Flammentongue. The flame sent down by the gods of fire and metallurgy to burn the impious.”
As Aslan wore a bewildered expression, the senator’s mana flowing through purity ignited into flames.
Flare!
The blazing purity revealed its existence vividly with white flames. The white light spreading in all directions prompted the senator to turn to the crowd and shout.
“Behold! The gods of fire and metallurgy have accepted him as one of their children!”
Geladridion is a world where gods truly exist. Their traces and signs are clear, and the influence of the evil deities relentlessly squeezes the world.
In such a world, divine miracles are inevitably accepted as undeniable truths.
Amidst the murmurs and exclamations of the crowd, Aslan sighed as he recognized the situation.
Glaring at the senator with annoyance, the senator chuckled and nodded.
A nod indicating there were no further choices. Reluctantly agreeing, Aslan lifted his sword.
The white-blazing sword hung high, shining brilliantly between the rays of sunlight.
[!– Slider main container –]
