Reconstruction was not something that could be accomplished easily. Everyone was well aware of this without needing to be reminded.
The city, with a population of just over four thousand, was called Asan, the city of indulgence. Because there were as many travelers as there were permanent residents, more people died in this Thor Mull incident than there were actual city inhabitants.
Among the deceased were those who had melted into Thor Mull without dying outright, and countless others were injured or disabled. Although Aslan’s traveling party had no responsibility for the situation, they did not leave the city.
The reason was simple: Aslan wished it, and the group had no objections.
Of course, there was one additional reason, but no one pressed the issue.
Most of the guards survived, but they couldn’t rebuild the city on their own.
This was because among the dead were some of the emperor’s key advisors responsible for critical decision-making and several skilled technicians.
They didn’t know where to begin the reconstruction process or how to allocate resources effectively; all they could do was protect the city.
Thus, the best they could do was send urgent messengers to the emperor asking for help and continue guarding the city.
Aslan’s group stayed for similar reasons.
The messenger returned with the message, “His Majesty the Emperor is coming personally and wishes the veterans of battle and their reliable companions to remain in place and receive commendation.”
So Aslan stayed. That said, it wasn’t as if they had been idle.
Geladridion was, at its core, a continent overrun by monsters and evil deities, and consequently, there were plenty of monsters.
In such a land, how long a city could survive without proper walls or defensive structures was a question that didn’t need much deliberation.
Therefore, Aslan stayed behind.
Instead, he led his group to the outskirts of the city, set up camp, fought off the monsters, and protected the city.
Despite the relatively short time, everyone knew about it.
Aslan took the lead, facing the monsters head-on, taught the guards how to deal with them, and worked hard to keep the citizens’ morale high.
Because of this, when Anna Helmenius, the mayor of the city of wizards and grand wizard herself, left saying she found the incoming emperor troublesome, no one criticized her.
In fact, the citizens even showed gratitude by sharing their evening meals.
Aslan and his group filled their stomachs with the food shared by the citizens and spent a relatively peaceful time while protecting the city.
At least, until yesterday.
Essentially, they were refugees. No matter how grateful they felt, sharing evening meals daily would inevitably become burdensome, so today, no one came to share food with the group.
It was unavoidable. In fact, it was surprising they had managed to share for so long. Thus, Aslan pulled out preserved rations without complaint.
Dry, tough jerky that tasted like boiled leather, along with brittle bread—preserved food that was laborious to eat even without taste buds.
So Aslan dropped the dried flour-like bread into a pot with water and placed it over the campfire. If cooked long enough, it would at least become easier to eat.
Just as Aslan placed the pot with water and dry rations next to the fire and dripped a few drops of oil onto the logs, someone approached.
“…Lord Aslan?”
Lumel approached with a subtle expression, as if he had seen something unpleasant, and Aslan looked up at the approaching woman.
Perhaps because she had loosened her breastplate, the woman proudly displayed an aggressive amount of cleavage. She crossed her arms beneath her chest as if supporting it and stared silently at the pot Aslan had set down.
“What… are you doing?”
The question made Aslan blink in confusion.
“I’m preparing a meal. We can’t keep relying on the citizens, and no one is offering to share tonight, so I’m doing it myself.”
Aslan answered with a friendly smile, and Lumel’s expression hardened.
“Is that all? Are you adding anything to it…?”
The slight tremor in Lumel’s pupils caught Aslan’s attention, making him tilt his head in curiosity. Seeing his reaction, Lumel covered her mouth with her hand and wiped it.
“Yes, apparently…”
What was wrong? As Aslan blinked and responded, Lumel sighed deeply, rubbing her chin and glancing at the pot.
Inside the pot were only the dry rations and water Aslan had added.
“Are you really eating just this?”
“Yes.”
Lumel’s reaction suggested something was amiss. Aslan looked back into the pot at her prompting. There was nothing harmful inside, just the dry rations and water.
Since there was nothing inherently toxic, Aslan tilted his head in further confusion.
“Isn’t this enough?”
That natural response caused Lumel to look troubled as she glanced around at the rest of the group.
Everywhere she looked, the group members reacted similarly.
“…Ah.”
They genuinely believed there was nothing wrong with this diet.
Tiamat, being a former warrior, was accustomed to dry rations. Angie, having grown up in poverty, didn’t discriminate against food and ate whatever was available, often in large quantities.
On the other hand, Ereta and Phey were unique cases. Phey, being an elf, didn’t require food, and Ereta, having been a high-ranking priestess until recently, didn’t need to eat either.
Thus, while Tiamat and Angie showed reactions indicating indifference to the women’s responses, Ereta and Phey simply didn’t care much.
Seeing no complaints from anyone, Lumel slowly turned her gaze back to Aslan. Unbeknownst to her, Aslan lacked a sense of taste, so there was no reason for him to discern flavor in food.
Confused, Aslan tilted his head again.
“Surely you haven’t been eating like this all along?”
At Lumel’s question, Aslan nodded lightly, unable to comprehend what the problem was.
“…Let me have the ladle.”
Lumel thought. This was wrong. So she snatched the wooden ladle from Aslan’s hands and sighed heavily.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Could you please go fetch some other ingredients? Following Lumel’s request, Aslan gathered the dry rations the group possessed, and after inspecting them, she began cooking.
Once a noblewoman, Lumel hadn’t abandoned her original eating habits even after becoming a mercenary. Unable to satisfy herself with dry rations and basic meals, she eventually took up cooking.
‘Rather than eating like this… I might as well…’
Her skills had reached a point where she could prepare satisfactory meals, and now she saw no reason to abandon them. It was better to put in a little effort herself.
With the ladle in hand, Lumel sequentially added salted meat, tomatoes, onions, potatoes received sometime ago, mushrooms picked during a recent patrol, and purple root vegetables to the pot. After simmering for twenty minutes, the result was a stew.
A simple home-cooked meal, neither overly difficult nor requiring diverse ingredients. Though it didn’t involve much effort, the cooking process seemed magical to the rest of the group.
Especially since each step seemed to serve no apparent purpose.
The stew, prepared in a quantity suitable for six people, may have lacked sufficient meat and contained more broth than solids, but…
“It’s delicious.”
Even Phey, who rarely commented unless the food was exceptionally good, let those words slip naturally after taking a bite. The seasoning was perfect, and the strong-smelling salted meat was surprisingly edible.
Even Phey, who usually ate lightly and stopped once satisfied, finished the entire bowl, and Angie was eating the stew faster than usual.
“Hey, old man, you’re eating fine without any help… I mean, I helped, so you’re eating, but…”
“Stop your nonsense and eat. If you don’t, I’ll take it.”
Tiamat muttered excuses—either because he was embarrassed to openly compliment the dish or because he regretted a seasoned warrior like himself succumbing to such a stew—but fell silent after a rebuke from Angie and quietly continued eating.
“Is this… delicious?”
By the time it reached Ereta, her reaction had already transcended normal human levels, but considering she was once non-human, it was understandable.
“Eating isn’t difficult and it’s enjoyable… incredible.”
Ereta, tasting a proper meal for the first time since ceasing to be a high-ranking priestess, murmured in awe, and Lumel relaxed slightly seeing the group’s reactions.
Since no one criticized her culinary skills, Lumel confidently served herself a few spoonfuls and glanced at Aslan.
Aslan, unlike the others who expressed delight, ate the stew with a blank expression. His face betrayed no emotions—joy, sorrow, love, or hatred—all absent. It was as if emotion itself had been erased, leaving an empty void.
“Lord Aslan… does it not suit your taste?”
Perhaps it lacked flavor? Lumel regretfully reflected on the taste lingering in her mouth. Though the lack of ingredients was partly to blame, she thought it could have been made tastier with effort. Consequently, she anxiously observed Aslan’s silence and impassive face.
Aslan belatedly reacted to Lumel’s question. Emotion returned to his expression, and light rekindled in his previously distant eyes.
“…Ah. No, it’s delicious. It feels like I’m finally eating a proper meal after a long time.”
Realizing his mistake later, Aslan forced a smile. Leaning forward, his knees hid the squished form of Lumel, who looked at him with suspicion and unease upon hearing his response.
“Hmm, it… it reminds me of the taste my mother used to make.”
Only then did Lumel’s expression ease, and Aslan chuckled bitterly.
Fortunately, he reasoned with himself that it wasn’t a lie—if he had taste buds, he might very well have thought that.
“That’s good…”
Mentioning their mothers prompted the group to glance at Aslan instinctively, but he merely smiled softly and lowered his gaze.
An action implying he wouldn’t answer if asked. Considering Aslan’s habit of never speaking about his family, it was expected, so the group refocused on their meal.
Except for Lumel.
Lumel could recognize the bittersweet smile that appeared alongside the mention of a mother. Unlike the others who noticed yet ignored it, Lumel couldn’t help but recall that smile.
What event had caused him to wear such a sorrowful smile?
It was a melancholy expression, as if lamenting something he’d never see again.
Lost in thought, Lumel tried to trace the origin of that smile.
“Lumel, daydreaming again?”
Phey’s playful nudge brought her back to reality, and her face flushed red.
“No, I… I wasn’t thinking of anything.”
“Phey accuses Lumel of lying.”
Chuckling at her words, Lumel twisted her braided hair with her fingers, blushing furiously, while the group alternated between amused smiles and wary glances as they enjoyed their meal.
When the stew was nearly finished, Tiamat put down his bowl and looked around.
“Aslan.”
“…Alright.”
Tiamat stood up after putting away his bowl, and Phey was already gone. Reacting to the heightened senses of these two, the group moved briskly.
Aslan gripped the greatsword ‘Stormcaller’, leaning against a tree, near the edge of the campfire, while the group readied themselves, picking up weapons or assuming combat stances.
Though the campsite was filled with a readiness akin to battle preparation, there was no tension in their expressions. It seemed more like a routine precaution.
It wasn’t arrogance in believing they could defeat whoever approached but rather confidence that whoever came wouldn’t attack.
And indeed, it was true. Soon, beyond the reach of the campfire’s glow, shadows flickered under torchlight as a group of riders approached.
When the group halted, Aslan planted his double-handed sword into the ground, resting his hand on the hilt, and watched the approaching figure.
A tall warrior descended from his horse and walked towards Aslan without hesitation. Despite being just a shadow, it was clear he was a towering warrior. The dark steel armor and spear, catching the dim moonlight, were striking.
Stopping before Aslan, the giant remained cloaked in darkness. Aslan stared at him silently before speaking.
“It’s been a while. Reynold.”
The reply was a stubborn old man’s scoff.
Then came a formal, monotonous response, almost as if reciting to himself.
“Per the will of His Majesty, fifty royal guards, a hundred engineers, and two hundred auxiliary troops led by Lord Dvork have arrived to support the veteran of battle, Aslan, and his companions.”
As the wind blew, swaying the campfire, the silhouette of the old knight became clearer in the flickering flames.
A dark-armored knight wielding a spear, standing as tall as Aslan, with a single eye, stared resolutely at him.
Clearly showing disdain for Aslan, the group looked slightly puzzled, but Aslan didn’t bother explaining. After all, this old man’s dislike was relatively tame.
The old man’s name was Reynold van Darus.
Known also as the Master of the Dark Spear, he was a knight who had guarded the emperor through previous reigns and served as the captain of the royal guard.
Simultaneously, he was also a knight defeated by Aslan, losing his lord in the process.
To this old man, Aslan was practically an assassin of the emperor.
Undoubtedly wanting to impale him with his spear, the old knight merely glared without drawing his weapon. He refrained from scolding and extended his hand.
Regardless of Reynold’s hatred for Aslan, this was why Aslan couldn’t dislike him.
Instead, he viewed him favorably.
For Reynold was such a person.
Someone who could set aside personal feelings for duty and sacrifice self-interest for the common good.
Such a person, Aslan couldn’t dislike.
“Veteran of battle, Aslan. We deeply appreciate the emperor’s compassionate decision and generous support.”
Thus, Aslan shook hands respectfully, and though Reynold withdrew his hand with visible displeasure, he took no further action.
“Please take care of us.”
Of course, Reynold let out a derisive snort at Aslan’s words, but it was acceptable.
