Aslan recognized the high priest standing before him.
Upon recognizing him, Aslan was greatly bewildered. His bewilderment and hesitation, though not outwardly shown, gripped him so strongly that his hand whitened as he tightly clutched the hilt of his sword.
Because the high priest standing before him should not have been there.
Aslan had anticipated that the priests of Veil of Mercy would arrive.
This quest always involved the arrival of the priests of Veil of Mercy, and Anna’s necklace contained her daughter’s soul, who had become one of these priests.
However, there were two major things Aslan hadn’t anticipated.
One was the fact that the Veil of Mercy had descended near the city even before the quest began, and this high priest was present here.
Aslan’s body moved. The rotation seemed to leave many openings, but when combined with the flapping wings of Steamfalos wrapped around his body, it left almost no gaps.
He swung with the momentum of the rotation. As a streak of white light flashed through the cold, dying space resembling cosmic death, it split the frozen spacetime apart.
Clang!
What he swung at was not to attack but to defend. Aslan deflected the spear thrust by the high priest with all his might.
At the moment of deflecting it, a chilling cold swept through the space. Though barely reined in by purity, Aslan could see spaces on either side of him turning black and white, slowly dying.
Even without touching, it kills. And if touched, there is no salvation. Aslan had only three equalizations left, all stored in tattoos.
But could he use them in time? Even if the blow only grazed him instead of hitting directly, Aslan couldn’t guarantee his survival.
Clenching his jaw, Aslan moved again.
He grabbed the tip of his sword and swung upward, knocking the spear away, then spun once more, cutting through the darkening space like an aftershock. Rotating counterclockwise, he slashed diagonally toward the high priest.
Kraaak!
The blade ignited flames amidst the white coldness, pushing back the spear. The wielder of the spear looked at Aslan with an unperturbed expression.
A faint change crossed that calm face, and Aslan let out a deep breath between gritted teeth.
“Save.”
Closing his eyes, Aslan repeated the word in his mind. In the slowed-down world, flashes of death appeared multiple times. Aslan died and died again, finding a way out, then opened his eyes.
Crack! Clang!
“Ugh…!”
Deflecting the pressing blade of the sword, Aslan flipped the spear shaft and thrust it forward. To block this attack he had seen multiple times while dying repeatedly, Aslan extended purity.
Ka-a-aang!
When purity clashed with the spear tip, white flames flickered amidst the darkening space.
Interlocking sword and spear blades. Wrists straining to the point of breaking. Before his wrist actually broke, Aslan released his sword and caught purity with his other hand.
Reversing the grip on the sword in his left hand, he swung it forcefully as he turned his body. The high priest swung his spear in response.
“Save.”
Kraaaang!
The speed of the reversed-grip swing was almost indistinguishable from a regular grip. The sword blade clashed with the spear blade, the spear shaft, and even the feet and legs. Each clash caused thunderous sounds as the freezing space shook violently.
“Save!”
Blood trickled from Aslan’s nose, and his overworked brain groaned. But Aslan did not stop. Switching the reversed grip to a proper one, he placed both hands on the sword and swung purity fiercely.
Where the white light met, Aslan’s blood dripped.
An overwhelming power and speed, a halo eroding everything around it, killing Aslan’s options one by one. Despite the unexpected formidable opponent, Aslan kept moving relentlessly.
Zing! Kraang!
They clashed hard. Blocking the descending spear tip with purity, Aslan deflected the extending leg with the flat of his blade. Shockwaves froze the entire plaza, yet Aslan continued to move.
Clack!
Using the force from deflecting the leg, Aslan swung his sword upward. The spear shaft tangled with the rising blade. Aslan pressed the blade against the spear shaft, pushed it aside, and spun.
Following was a horizontal slash.
Though inferior in strength and speed, Aslan’s technique surpassed that of the high priest.
The moment his accumulated skills flashed, the high priest’s arm was severed.
Thud!
The sword cut diagonally from the upper arm to the elbow before pulling out. The spear flew into the air, and Aslan forcibly pulled his sword back to block the impending counterattack, using his waist to absorb the recoil and placing the sword in front of him.
Zzzziiing!
As expected, a kick immediately rushed toward Aslan. Blocking it with purity, Aslan shot backward at an alarming speed.
Boom! Boom! Crackle!
Breaking the frozen plaza floor with the wings of Steamfalos, Aslan rolled backward and stopped himself by planting purity into the ground.
Breathing heavily, Aslan saw the woman staring blankly at her severed arm and twisted his lips.
In that twisted smile lay the self-deprecating regret of a survivor whose expectations had been wrong.
Aslan had believed that this high priest would never reveal their true form.
The reason was simple: the high priest of the Veil of Mercy, ‘Herald of the Veil, Ash,’ was a hidden boss.
A type of boss found in any game, where you don’t necessarily need to defeat them to progress the story.
In fact, they are often encountered only if you deliberately choose that direction—a hidden boss.
And that woman stood before him.
And like most hidden bosses, she possessed transcendent difficulty and immense power.
Recommended to challenge after a bad ending suggests how formidable she truly was.
The ultimate showdown could barely be achieved with max stats—this was the strength of the Herald of the Veil.
Rising shakily, Aslan saw the frost and ice forming the basis of the woman’s detached arm and the remnants of her cuts.
Unlike ordinary humans, the woman’s arm was made solely of cold and ice.
Only cold flowed from the severed limb and stump.
It was evident from this appearance that the Herald of the Veil was not human.
She was a hybrid, a being born from the mixture of priest and human blood—a vessel more easily accepting divine power, already nearly a demi-god with great power, and hybrids possessing transcendent physical abilities and powers close to those of priests.
These hybrids, however, paid a price for wielding such great power—they were constantly tempted by evil deities, the masters of their bloodline.
The Herald of the Veil, Ash, was special even among hybrids.
She was the first hybrid, the first hybrid priest, and simultaneously the first hybrid high priest.
An ancient existence who became a high priest just as the Supreme Divinity’s Sword began to appear.
A high priest serving the Veil of Mercy, which far surpasses normal standards, and herself a hybrid infused with the blood of the Veil of Mercy.
In short, a being of an entirely different class.
Aslan could sense that difference in strength from her calm demeanor, merely observing him without making a move.
As if fighting an insect, showing no regard or caution for Aslan whatsoever.
If ranked purely by power, she was above even the Supreme Divinity’s Sword or the Dragon King Aslan had previously fought.
Too powerful, always excluded when comparing the strengths of high priests.
Knowing there was no way to win head-on, Aslan took a deep breath despite his ragged breathing.
Tricks or alternative methods wouldn’t work either.
There was only one weakness.
Not a weakness that could bring her down, but the only viable gamble worth trying was that single weakness.
As Aslan gripped the sword with both hands, reaffirming his resolve, the woman silently watched him before picking up her fallen arm and reattaching it.
With a crackling sound of splitting ice, the arm reattached itself. As she tested the movement of the newly attached arm, something suddenly flew toward her aura.
Kwa-a-aang! Crack!
Something struck the woman’s aura.
That something was an arrow, which penetrated about half a foot into the aura before stopping.
Then, suspended in mid-air, it trembled slightly before freezing and shattering.
Shards of the broken arrow scattered, and the woman turned her gaze toward the source.
Standing in the direction the arrow came from was a giant man, 2.5 meters tall.
“What the hell…?”
The red-scaled dragon-man, having discarded his shirt to reveal his muscular upper body, scowled deeply, muttering curses as if witnessing an unbelievable sight.
“What is that thing?”
The answer didn’t come from Aslan but from a woman stepping out from Tiamat’s right side. Her flowing white hair partially covered her face.
Her pink eyes widened in shock as the sweat-drenched crimson-haired girl frowned and looked at Aslan.
“Aslan, what is she? What kind of being is she…?”
Though the party had arrived, Aslan’s furrowed brow and heightened alertness were unmistakable.
Realizing it wasn’t trivial, the girl closed her mouth.
“A high priest of the Veil of Mercy. She’s a real monster.”
Aslan’s reply prompted Tiamat to click her tongue.
“Another high priest? Again?”
Clicking her tongue again, Tiamat drew another arrow, frowning deeply as she stared at the woman.
Even with just one shot fired, Tiamat could sense the woman’s extraordinary strength beyond comprehension.
Chances were, the next arrow would simply vanish upon contact with the aura.
Counting the few remaining arrows in her quiver, Tiamat sighed.
Angie tensed at the unusual atmosphere among the party members, while Tiamat steadied her stance, drawing another arrow. Meanwhile, Ereta gripped her double-handed axe.
Aslan spoke, unclear whether addressing the party or reassuring himself.
“Everyone, give it your all. Even if we gathered everyone capable of fighting in this city, we couldn’t win.”
As the party’s gazes briefly shifted to Aslan, he added, rubbing his fractured wrist.
“We need to buy time. I have a plan.”
Aslan knew the Herald’s sole weakness.
The complete loss of humanity due to her long connection with the deity.
That was the only one.
Aslan glanced in the direction Pay and Anna had run off to and sighed deeply.
Everything now depended on Anna and Pay.
*
Anna and Pay ran. They entered the largest building in the city and immediately headed underground.
After sprinting through a long underground passage, they arrived at a small room with an ancient-looking door.
Anna frantically searched her robes and pulled out a key, fumbling to unlock the door.
“From here on… we can’t use magic. If we expose ourselves to strong mana or divine power, the baby’s soul will be damaged…”
Her rambling was unclear, directed either at herself or as an excuse to Pay.
Pay blinked at Anna’s words, clouded by confusion and fear.
The baby’s soul—surely not referring to Pay’s own soul, but rather the soul of the daughter hanging around her neck.
“If it gets damaged, it can only be repaired in the lab. So…”
Pay tilted her head at the statement.
If repair was possible, why avoid using magic?
Pay soon realized Anna was likely assuming the lab had been destroyed and let out a low sigh.
Anna wasn’t in her right mind.
Just as Pay instinctively reached for her sword hilt, Anna burst through the unlocked door and rushed inside the lab.
Pay quietly followed, only to hear a piercing scream as soon as she stepped in.
It was Anna Helmenius’ wail.
Seeing the lab in ruins, Pay nodded understandingly.
The magical equipment was smashed, clearly destroyed by brute force.
Recognizing the handiwork of her companion ‘Angie’, Pay stuck out her lip.
“I could’ve handled it better if you’d entrusted it to me.”
Aslan had given the task to Angie despite Pay’s capability, leaving her dissatisfied.
But since it was done, there was nothing to be done. The girl quickly pulled her lip back in and glanced at Anna, who was screaming.
Subtly adjusting her grip on the sword hilt, Pay narrowed her eyes.
Aslan had privately warned Pay before Anna arrived.
If Anna tried to harm her, it was okay to kill her.
To Aslan, Pay was more important than Anna.
And currently, Pay judged Anna’s state as dangerously erratic, possibly harmful.
Instinctively ready to draw her sword at any moment, Pay observed Anna’s back thoughtfully.
A strange idea was gradually forming in her mind.
It was unlike her usual self.
Typically, Pay would find such uncharacteristic thoughts unpleasant and dismiss them, but emotions were rare for her.
Curiosity outweighed discomfort, and Pay eventually released her sword hilt and approached Anna.
The clicking sound of her heels ceased, and as the girl looked down at the crouching woman, the woman lifted her head.
There, the elf girl’s turquoise eyes met hers—eyes that seemed sunken in darkness yet carried a faint glimmer of sunlight.
Pay gazed steadily at the woman and asked.
“Why are you sad?”
The question held no malice, only pure curiosity.
—
[End]
