Aslan knew his physical condition well.
There was no underlying illness, and his condition was good. Even if there had been any issues, due to his high morale, he would have still been able to function normally.
Being ready to fight at any moment was one of Aslan’s proudest traits, and because of this, Aslan could quickly recognize any changes happening to himself.
His breathing grew rough, and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded violently, rushing blood throughout his body, and with it came a strange sensation—a mix of strength and relaxation.
From all these symptoms, Aslan could discern his own unease. He realized that he was in shock and on the verge of a panic attack.
The cause: fear.
Upon hearing something impossible, and forcibly accepting it, a reaction followed. Overcome with creeping anxiety and terror, Aslan tried to calm his breathing.
But it wasn’t easy.
Every time he attempted to inhale deeply to calm down, more oxygen escaped through his mouth, and each time, his pulse quickened.
Noticing the situation unfolding, the traveling party began to sense something was off.
This reaction from Aslan was not normal.
It wasn’t the kind of reaction someone would have upon learning that their supposedly deceased wife was alive.
Of the group, Tiamat was the first to reach the correct conclusion. Given his experiences that others lacked, it was only natural that he figured it out first.
Tiamat reflected on the brief time he had spent with Aslan.
Aslan hated evil deities. He wanted to kill every single one. Though his reasons might differ, Tiamat often wondered if this hatred hadn’t become his sole purpose.
Unreasonable hatred doesn’t exist. Even the most absurd hatred has its reasons.
Tiamat guessed that this hatred was connected to the name Aslan had shouted—Lewena.
He presumed it was the reaction of having to kill a lover who shouldn’t have lived, done with a heavy heart.
And Tiamat’s guess was right.
Aslan recalled the past, as if sinking into a bottomless swamp.
Clutching his chest and gasping for breath while trying to calm himself, Aslan was quickly drawn back into those memories.
In those memories, Aslan saw a city.
A city that no longer exists—Beryl.
Aslan had once lived there.
He lived there with his wife, Lewena.
Together they hunted and occasionally took on jobs from the lord to clear monsters from the area.
Aslan was a seasoned mercenary, and the woman was an exceptional magician, comparable to a veteran.
Moreover, she was also a priestess of the Dark Ram Herd, the widespread faith of Careni Nobility. However, she never displayed any superhuman abilities or strange appearances.
Because of this, Aslan accepted her without reservation.
The Dark Ram Herd, which preached mercy, the afterlife, and salvation, wasn’t an uncomfortable belief system.
Still, the woman was sometimes unstable, and when she was, Aslan barely managed to hold her or calm her down.
But eventually, the time came. The preordained destruction arrived in the form of fire and monsters that engulfed the city.
Burning Beryl—Aslan woke up late and witnessed the scene.
Monsters lurking in the darkness, barely visible, were ravaging the city.
Ultimately, Aslan had to brand himself with a tattoo.
Using the stored strength and acceleration of a giant, he enchanted his old two-handed falchion with metal-hardening magic and charged into the city.
With the nearly white steel-strength falchion, Aslan cut down the monsters.
He headed toward the center of the city.
All the while, Aslan was plagued by the same unease he felt now. He had a premonition that everything was about to fall apart.
Amidst that unease, Aslan recalled the gentle scenes of the past, just like now.
When Aslan and the woman lived in the same house, she loved the fireplace.
More specifically, she enjoyed conversing with Aslan in front of it.
Their conversations were casual, without winners or losers. They simply exchanged fleeting thoughts. It was a mundane daily task, but Aslan cherished it. So much so that he would have given up everything for it.
After enjoying the warmth of the fire until it went out, they would lie in the same bed and fall asleep. Of course, there were times when they did more than sleep, pushing each other to exhaustion.
The scent tickling his nose, the faintly fishy and sour liquid of the woman, the damp sheets, the creaking of the bed—Aslan endured the pale cold of winter mornings with her.
One winter, they even dressed warmly and watched the snowfall together in front of their house.
Their one year together wasn’t long, but it was dense with meaning.
Immersed in such memories, Aslan swung his sword.
He pierced the heads of monsters with his falchion, gutted them, severed waists, chopped legs, and crushed heads.
Slaying the monsters that stood in his way, Aslan reached the center of the city, where his ominous premonition proved true.
And that moment wasn’t as clean as the dream he had told Angie about.
The teeth were black, worn down, and soaked in blood, turning a dark red.
Aslan’s side was scratched, and his face bore claw marks that tore from his left jaw to his ear.
Breathing heavily, Aslan’s gaze fell upon Lewena.
Among the piles of bodies stacked by the monsters stood the woman, dressed as if she were going on a picnic.
She wore a simple yet cute white dress, her usual long boots, and a deep purple shawl that matched her long black hair and violet eyes.
The woman was pristine.
Unlike Aslan, who was soaked in blood and dirt, or the burning city around him, she was immaculately at the center of the slaughter.
An undeniable proof of massacre. Aslan stared at the woman, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly.
Why? How? Please…
Erasing every word that followed, Aslan was certain.
It wasn’t strange that a high-ranking priestess of the Abyss would end up serving another deity as a mere priestess.
In the rising despair, Aslan saw the fallen people with a grieving expression.
It was a moment of choice, and Aslan hesitated, a rare occurrence.
As his gaze dropped and rose again, Lewena approached him.
With her usual enigmatic smile, she moved slowly.
The approaching woman gently caressed Aslan’s cheek. Tenderly examining the wound, she leaned in for a kiss.
Her pale lips drew near, and finally, Aslan made his choice.
Placing the blade between their faces, he blocked her.
Retreating from the blade, Lewena stepped back, and Aslan lunged forward with his sword.
Seeing the pointed blade, the woman looked sorrowful, and Aslan mirrored her expression, drowning in despair.
“Hyunwoo.”
The woman called out to Aslan, and as he opened his mouth to respond, he closed it tightly and said,
“Stop. Please.”
At those words, Lewena raised her eyebrows in regret and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Almost simultaneously, Aslan gripped his sword with both hands, and the woman began casting her spell.
What followed was routine.
Aslan fought the priestess and, despite nearly dying, emerged victorious.
In the end, when everything was over, Aslan lost his left arm, and the woman lost a leg.
The woman, collapsed and staining her pristine white dress with blood, coughed it out from her mouth. Aslan, exhausted from the surge of the giant’s power and acceleration, panted heavily.
Amid the harsh breathing of the man and woman, Aslan firmly gripped his falchion.
The blade, soaked in blood and nearly broken.
The emerald eyes of Aslan locked onto the violet eyes of Lewena, as always.
Looking into his eyes, Lewena grabbed Aslan’s leg. Clinging to him, she gazed up at him with fading, blood-spattered eyes.
Watching all of this, Aslan finally understood.
That all of this pain was self-inflicted.
That he would ultimately lose and break everything.
That loving someone deeply led to such outcomes.
What path he must take.
And that choosing your chapter boss as a spouse isn’t a good idea.
Though it wasn’t a long time, Aslan could foresee what would happen.
Even as they traveled, conversed, and settled together, the woman remained consistently evil.
Unstable and twisted evil.
Loving and exchanging affection with such a woman was nothing short of a preordained destruction.
But the heart doesn’t always follow logic. With his final resolve, Aslan lifted his sword.
Lewena saw it, and Aslan witnessed his lover’s final moments.
Her sharp feline-like eyes, soft and languid when she woke up in the morning, glowing faintly purple at night and causing dizziness when looked into directly.
Her pale skin, delicate enough to leave fingerprints with the slightest touch, her frail body that seemed as though it would crumble when embraced.
Seeing all of this, the woman spoke through her blood-soaked lips.
Aslan knew what she would say next.
An eternal curse that would never fade.
“I love you.”
Smiling faintly and lowering her head to expose her neck, her lover. Aslan distorted his face, screamed desperately, and swung his sword.
Despite the forced downward swing, Aslan’s technique cleanly severed the neck without resistance.
Long hair fluttered, the headless body fell, and the sound of monsters spreading across the city ceased.
As Lewena’s head rolled away, amidst the thick darkness and rain, only the chaotic cries and lamentations of bereaved people lingered.
Holding the broken falchion, Aslan stood there under the rain, blankly.
The sight of Lewena’s head rolling away unrealistically haunted him.
Just yesterday, that head had laughed, chatted, whispered “I love you,” and kissed.
Witnessing the unforgettable scene, Aslan naturally noticed the woman standing right in front of Lewena’s head.
Through half-opened eyes, a woman with horns—not human—revealed herself.
Her pristine white feet and clothes, untouched by the rain, cradled Lewena’s severed head.
Holding the head with both hands and looking down at it, the woman’s seemingly pure face revealed a swirling malevolence that finally turned into a smile directed at Aslan.
“—Songyi, little Songyi! Aslan!”
Shaken violently, Aslan managed to break free from the past.
Regaining consciousness, Aslan dimly noticed his body covered in cold sweat and Tiamat gripping his shoulder.
Carefully observing Aslan’s labored breathing and sweat-drenched hair stuck to his forehead, Tiamat wore an empathetic expression.
There was nothing comforting, encouraging, or reproaching to say.
Though not very familiar with Aslan, Tiamat clearly understood that his reaction was far from ordinary.
So Tiamat hesitated briefly before sighing.
“Whatever the circumstances may be, let’s discuss this matter after we leave here. Understand?”
A worried hand tapped Aslan’s shoulder. Feeling its warmth, Aslan finally snapped back to reality, and Tiamat sighed again, glancing over his shoulder.
There were two girls and a woman at the spot.
All of them seemed more focused on calming themselves rather than soothing Aslan.
Phey appeared startled by the revelation that Aslan had a wife, and that she was alive.
Angie seemed surprised by the intensity of his reaction to his wife’s survival, while Ereta looked jealous.
Clearly, she envied how much emotion he poured into his wife. Tiamat sighed again, knowing this fact without needing to see it, and patted Aslan’s shoulder once more.
Realizing that he alone could offer comfort, Tiamat nodded reluctantly.
Aslan, wiping his sweat-soaked forehead, mumbled.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The muttering sounded more reflexive than sincere.
Struggling to gather his scattered thoughts, Aslan finally looked at the manager.
The manager was a sort of ancient deity.
A god of sorrow and death, the child and essence of the underworld deity beneath.
The manager collected souls and oversaw the dead.
Thus, the manager’s indirect statement that Lewena was alive was likely neither false nor mistaken.
Aslan didn’t know how or why she was alive, but it was undoubtedly true that Lewena lived.
“But it’s not something to dwell on now, as Tiamat said.”
However, it wasn’t urgent. If the reason for her survival aligned with Aslan’s suspicions, he’d act eventually, so pondering it later would suffice.
Regulating his breathing and gradually calming down, Aslan was observed silently by the manager, who then spoke after a prolonged pause.
The voice still resonated in his mind.
“There is a guide who has answered your call.”
Will you summon them? Following the question, Aslan furrowed his brow mid-breath.
Before Aslan could grasp the situation and respond, the space in front of the manager distorted.
The distortion gradually formed a shape, and soon, that shape took on a human form.
And just as the figure became distinct, Aslan unconsciously uttered the name.
“Kobil…?”
