The woman rested her chin on her knees and began to speak. Her voice was moist and saturated with anxiety, yet it flowed without hesitation, as if she had long desired to articulate her thoughts.
Though trembling and unsteady, her words did not falter. Aslan removed his hand from Rumel’s shoulder while listening, but when Rumel’s wet gaze turned to him, he placed it back.
The story she recounted was brief.
After parting ways with Aslan, Rumel sought vengeance and aimed to clearly identify his enemies. Vengeance without direction would only cause inconvenience, so the woman carefully aimed her spear.
Upon reflection, Rumel concluded that there were few targets for his vengeance.
The House of Baron Ayla.
Ultimately, those immediately available for revenge and bearing the heaviest responsibility were within the House of Baron Ayla.
Thus, Rumel wandered the city in search of Baron Ayla’s whereabouts.
During this time, she crossed what was now almost entirely absorbed into the Emperor’s direct territory—Baron Ashuld’s land—and passed through the Eternal Desert under the Emperor’s jurisdiction, the Tower of Magic in the desert, and cities like Glanusta.
Through this journey, she learned that the House of Ayla was currently in Ashan rather than Gerné, and promptly redirected her steps toward Ashan.
The journey to Ashan was straightforward. Along the way, she stopped at a few villages, paid for provisions, and continued walking.
The problem arose after arriving in Ashan.
Rumel van Holn: She was a veteran spear wielder and an exceptional mercenary.
For such an accomplished mercenary, finding a noble accompanied by mere guards was no difficult task, and thus she quickly secured a private meeting with Baron Ayla as she hoped.
Initially, she intended to question and confront Baron Ayla.
Why had Gerné been burned, and why had all of Rumel’s family been killed?
Rumel had no intention of killing.
Aslan didn’t understand, but Rumel claimed that after witnessing Aslan’s steadfastness, she had abandoned the thought of murder.
Regardless of the reason, Aslan knew that Baron Ayla had died despite Rumel’s decision. There must have been a valid cause.
Aslan anticipated that Baron Ayla might have provoked the situation, but contrary to his expectations, events unfolded rapidly and unexpectedly.
While feeling uneasy about Baron Ayla pleading for his life, Rumel was interrupted before she could judge his sins—Thor Mull appeared.
Thor Mull thrust his spear, killing Baron Ayla, then proceeded to stab the entire family who had witnessed the scene.
Amidst the chaos of chests bursting, heads exploding, and scattered remains, Rumel’s response was delayed.
Rumel’s spear flashed, locking with Thor Mull’s. Despite Thor Mull’s enhanced strength after becoming a master warrior, his sole expertise in spiral spear techniques could not match Rumel, who had absorbed various forms of spear combat, including the spiral technique.
Naturally, Rumel defeated Thor Mull.
With a simple, unadorned thrust, she tore open Thor Mull’s neck and shattered his head.
The issue arose afterward.
Aslan’s expression hardened, and upon seeing it, Rumel nodded slightly as if understanding.
“Did he… resurrect?”
“Yes, precisely… It seemed as though he revived in the body of another master warrior who inherited his spear.”
Aslan inevitably recalled a certain scene—the master warrior wielding Thor Mull’s spear using the spiral technique.
Since the skills granted by the Supreme Divinity vanish from their memory, Aslan considered this a clear anomaly.
Because even after Thor Mull, who had relinquished the spiral technique, had died, another master warrior who inherited it still existed.
Aslan couldn’t classify this as magic either. Even if the Supreme Divinity absorbed great wizards, it was unlikely they would possess such magic.
So, what exactly happened? Though Aslan tilted his head in confusion, he still asked.
“Then… did you flee?”
The woman shook her head firmly.
“No, I fought back.”
“If you fought back…”
“I kept killing Thor Mull. Over and over again. And every time, he resurrected. After killing him about twenty times, I realized something was off.”
Strange?
Though Aslan seemed puzzled whether anything stranger could exist, the woman, seemingly engrossed in her own narrative, continued speaking without pause.
“There were too many master warriors.”
At this statement, Aslan widened his eyes, and Rumel looked at Aslan as if asking if he understood.
“The more than twenty Thor Mulls I killed were all master warriors. Some had no weapons, others picked up whatever was around them.”
Even Aslan couldn’t help but feel something was amiss.
Although there are quite a number of master warriors among priests, there shouldn’t be this many.
Even if that were explained, a lingering question remained.
How did so many master warriors infiltrate this city?
Seeing Aslan seemed to grasp the thought, Rumel swallowed and continued.
“So I moved forward, killing the master warriors supporting Thor Mull. Do you know what I found along the way?”
“…What did you find?”
“Civilians transforming into master warriors and Thor Mull’s bodies right there.”
Aslan stiffened at this statement, and Rumel also paused with a hardened expression. Silence flowed as Aslan’s thoughts expanded.
The reluctant reactions Rumel had shown, her guarded demeanor, and her tendency to ambush even when seeing Aslan’s back—all these actions now made sense.
She treated everyone as potential enemies.
Her judgment clouded under the pressure of anyone being a potential enemy.
It seemed Rumel reached the same conclusion, as she soon buried her face in her knees, looking dejected. Aslan understood her melancholy and refrained from offering comfort.
Mixed with the silence was the faint sound of waves, and Rumel spoke despondently.
“I don’t know how to win.”
“…Did you try breaking Thor Mull’s spear?”
“Yes, I tried. But even when broken, it would repair itself in another Thor Mull’s hands.”
Aslan let out a low hum at this.
It likely wasn’t destruction causing damage but rather a weapon treated as “temporary damage,” or one repaired instantly by some form of magic.
If the latter, there was a clue.
Just as in the relics created by Boren, fearless in fear, if the soul itself is embedded into the spear, it could explain this phenomenon. The spear restoring along the soul’s structure would make sense. If so, the nature of the soul inside that spear needed no further investigation.
The issue wasn’t its possibility.
Embedding a soul into an object and drawing power from the afterlife—a unique necromantic magic belonging to Boren.
Who possessed this magic?
Though the Supreme Divinity had absorbed great wizards, they couldn’t absorb Boren. His soul had completely burned away in the Dark Ram Herd’s grasp.
‘Could it be the Dark Ram Herd?’
But why?
Aslan couldn’t fathom the reason.
‘Targeting me? Are they aware that I gather veterans? If so…’
While pondering the basis of this rationale, the prison corridor door suddenly burst open, and a familiar face entered alongside the guard.
“I see you’ve come. I expected you.”
A woman with red hair flowing down, green mana swirling in her eyes, appearing to be in her late twenties to early thirties, stood before them—the Grand Wizard Anna Helmenius.
Aslan smiled faintly, as if expecting her appearance, while Rumel tensed upon catching sight of Aslan’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.
Anna sighed and approached, unperturbed by Rumel and Aslan’s reactions.
“I was about to return, but this is fortunate. I’ll release you now.”
Anna gestured to the guard, who reluctantly glanced at Aslan before unlocking the cell door. The metallic screech rang out as Aslan rose to step outside.
Before he could, Rumel pulled Aslan’s arm and embraced him tightly.
Startled by the heavy grip, Aslan turned his head. Their eyes met, and Rumel stared intently, asking,
“Aslan sir, who exactly is this person?”
Her voice brimmed with caution, occasionally glancing warily at Anna.
Anna, seemingly bemused by Rumel’s guarded look, showed little reaction, but Rumel continued to stare at the grand wizard with narrowed eyes.
Her gaze carried both caution and a sense of impending danger, which Aslan interpreted differently.
‘Ah, she’s worried about when Thor Mull might appear.’
That was incorrect. The subsequent explanation did nothing to improve the situation.
“She’s an ally. A mage who has agreed to support me and also serves as the mayor of the City of Mages.”
Despite Aslan’s slight smile, Rumel did not lower her guard.
Instead, her caution deepened, crossing into a sense of imminent danger, as she refused to release Aslan’s arm.
While Aslan and Anna struggled to comprehend the situation, a narrative was forming in Rumel’s mind.
As always, it was quite different from reality.
*
The coastal city of Ashan was renowned for its advanced sewer system.
Though it frequently became a hotspot for monsters and criminals, Ashan maintained relatively superior hygiene compared to other cities thanks to this system.
Of course, this was relative. Compared to Belus, established during the ancient empire era, Ashan fell short in many aspects.
Part of that deficiency was evident here.
Plop! Sewage split apart as someone treaded through floating filth.
Their entire body covered in countless scars and blood, giving the impression of peculiar skin, with parts not covered by carapace appearing grotesquely swollen.
Blood mixed into the sewage, and despite severe contamination of the wounds, this being made no effort to shake off the clinging filth.
“Aaah…aaah…”
This existence, emitting a raspy voice far from human, was named Thor Mull—or rather, what remained of Thor Mull’s consciousness.
He knelt amidst the filth, clutching his already scarred head, where finger marks from repeated gouging were evident.
Thor Mull inserted his fingers into these marks.
Carapace-covered fingers tore through his scalp, digging into his fractured skull, as blood and brain matter dripped onto the floor.
“Kuuuuh… uuhh…”
Behind him followed a group of master warriors, weaponless, staring expressionlessly as they mimicked Thor Mull’s sounds.
The sudden moans filled the sewer, prompting rats feeding on the dripping brain matter to scatter hastily. With their fading footsteps, Thor Mull regained some awareness.
He was Thor Mull.
A spearmaster, the owner of a mercenary band, and destined to become a master warrior.
Or had he already?
His blurred memories led him to roll his eyes back and wipe oozing pus with the back of his hand.
Everything was exceedingly unclear.
Now, he retained only a handful of memories and emotions.
The very trace of his existence was hazy, so he clung to it desperately.
“Lu-mee-el…”
This trace was Rumel van Holn.
The woman who had taken everything from him.
Thor Mull both obsessed over and despised her. These conflicting emotions churned turbulently beneath his unstable mind.
He earnestly believed that Rumel had stolen his existence and that killing her would restore him to his original state.
In this blind belief, Thor Mull’s consciousness blurred once more, and he gazed at his hands to confirm his existence.
There lay fingers transformed into something resembling dark crystals or twisted bones.
For some reason, upon seeing these fingers, Thor Mull realized he didn’t have much time left.
But there was nothing he could do. Thor Mull knew he had no choice.
To survive, having been decapitated, awkwardly becoming a priest neither alive nor dead, abandoned even by the Supreme Divinity, he had to make a deal.
Gradually fragmenting, Thor Mull drove his nails into his scalp once more.
Scratching his brain, he sobbed mournfully.
“Re-member… re-member…”
I am Thor Mull, I am Thor Mull, the murmuring voice echoed sadly, yet no one came to console him.
However, there was at least one thing vividly imprinted in Thor Mull’s mind.
It was a certain entity, and the pact he had made with it.
A horned woman, barefoot yet pristine in white, with crimson eyes and long white hair coiled around her neck.
Thor Mull teared up recalling her words.
“One more chance. I need to increase the difficulty, but it’s not very realistic now, is it?”
A soft-spoken voice. Contrary to her natural tone, her face bore a deep and cruel smile.
Recalling this, Thor Mull ceased his tears.
The fingers raking through his brain were no longer human.
Darkened skin and muscles, fused bones—Thor Mull gripped his spear with these skeletal fingers.
