A groan escaped his lips. Richard barely regained consciousness amidst the excruciating pain that felt like his entire body was breaking, albeit for a very short time, and he felt ashamed for having lost consciousness at all.
“What…? What kind of punch…”
The agony was so intense that an involuntary groan escaped his mouth. His back was also numb, but the most painful part was his forearm where the punch had landed.
Yet, despite the pain, it hadn’t broken. His body still moved. After all, in the moment of impact, Richard had tried to minimize the force with a technique and attempted to execute a fall.
Of those present, only Aslan noticed this.
Aslan carefully observed Richard, who was panting, and thought to himself.
“He’s not just any disciple. If I’taar hadn’t been around, this kid would have been the veteran.”
Though he had misjudged Angie’s strength, reacting quickly enough to use a technique and prepare for the fall upon being struck by Angie’s punch indicated that Richard had quite good instincts.
Whether or not there was some naivety in him, or if he trusted his eyes more than his senses, aside from occasional mistakes, his combat sense wasn’t bad.
“But… why did he only realize at the last moment?”
While Aslan watched Richard curiously, Angie approached close to Richard. Richard, with his face pressed against the ground, groaned.
“Ughh…!”
With that grunt, he stood firmly on both legs. Angie, who had genuinely swung hard, was surprised to see Richard relatively unharmed and widened her eyes.
Seeing the astonished expression on the girl’s face, Richard, with a tense expression, said:
“You’re a priest, aren’t you?”
Richard, who had barely stood up, massaged his tingling arm as he spoke.
It seemed she had no intention of retreating, already aware of everything. The girl looked puzzled, but Richard didn’t seem to notice her expression.
The young man shook off the tingling in his arms and took a stance.
“If you’re a priest, that changes things. I won’t let you—”
“Me, a priest? You fool.”
Interrupted by a sudden torrent of insults, Richard flinched, and Angie crouched slightly, baring her teeth.
“So you still have the spirit to talk back?”
Her fierce smile carried a sharp animosity. Though it wasn’t outright malice, it was enough to instill a clear sense of danger.
It was natural for Richard to tense up and stiffen his jaw.
“Aslan Duke, we should probably—”
Just as Angie was about to charge forward and Lumel hesitantly spoke up, before Aslan could intervene, someone appeared between Angie and Richard.
It was Geladridion, a middle-aged man with rare dark skin for the northern continent, leaning on a staff.
This man stepped between Angie and Richard and extended his arm toward Angie’s advancing fist.
At the moment Angie’s powerful punch, which reverberated through the air, collided with his seemingly frail yet trained arm…
The expected sound of bones cracking and blood splattering never occurred.
Instead, Angie’s punch slid smoothly along his arm, its force flipping over the dirt floor scattered with fallen leaves.
As the leaves and soil flew around, Angie’s expression twisted into one of bewilderment while Richard’s face lit up with an emotion close to joy.
“Master!”
Richard’s master.
The grandmaster of combat, I’taar.
A character created by one of the game’s high-level sponsors and recognized as the best tank within the game.
Not only did he appear suddenly, but Aslan could recognize the technique he had demonstrated.
A skill in the game known for nullifying damage.
Even Angie’s full-force punch was deflected by the grandmaster’s technique, causing her to step back cautiously.
Angie’s expression was fierce yet filled with heightened caution, while the dark-skinned man seemed to soften his demeanor, attempting to reassure her.
His sincere compliment was an added touch.
“Remarkable. Truly remarkable. I didn’t think a human body could reach such power…”
Trembling slightly, the man glanced down at his arm that had intercepted Angie’s punch, his eyes carrying a strange energy.
Fixing his sunken black gaze on Angie’s poised form, the old man turned his attention to his disciple.
Was he perhaps apologizing? The young man bowed deeply, his face crumpled. The old man smiled warmly at him as if to say it was alright, then directed his gaze toward Aslan.
In the instant their eyes met, Aslan understood.
The old man had recognized him.
“An impressive challenge. Grandmaster of combat.”
The old man who instantly identified his identity made Aslan react belatedly, inwardly surprised.
“How did you know?”
The grandmaster of combat, I’taar, smiled kindly and continued speaking with apparent respect.
“How many beings in this world could have amassed such nothingness? To my knowledge, there is only one such being, so I merely guessed based on what I saw. Judging by your reaction… I seem to have guessed correctly.”
Although he hadn’t intended to hide it entirely, Aslan felt awkward as the old man had so easily uncovered his true identity, rubbing the back of his neck.
The old man sent a gentle smile to such an Aslan and added,
“Even though it’s a remote area, your reputation can be heard everywhere.”
Indeed, Aslan’s exploits were far from ordinary. Extraordinary deeds inevitably became rumors, so Aslan didn’t find the old man’s words strange.
What surprised Aslan was the next murmured words of the old man.
“But… why has this old man come?”
A statement that precisely pinpointed Aslan’s purpose. Surprised that he’d already been figured out, Aslan frowned.
According to what Helsing Duke had told him, many people had come looking for Richard.
And those who came looking for Richard ended up defeated after a fierce battle with him and returned to their masters.
So, naturally, Aslan thought the real reason for his visit wouldn’t be discovered.
He assumed they might guess he came to send Richard home, but…
I’taar astonishingly realized right away that Aslan wasn’t here for Richard but for I’taar himself.
‘How?’
The problem was that there was no way to deduce how.
As Aslan remained silent while pondering how I’taar had figured it out, I’taar chuckled sheepishly.
“You seem suspicious. But… isn’t it obvious when you think about it?”
“Obvious how?”
“I’ve heard your reputation. About how you lead veterans and stand against priests and monsters. Seeing the formidable aura of your companions here, I judged them as veterans.”
“Is that correct?”
With a subtle inquiry, Aslan nodded, and I’taar continued, glancing at Angie who was stepping back cautiously.
“If you’re gathering veterans, it seemed clear to me that you intend to bring this old body along on your journey. Am I right?”
Regardless of whether the information inferred from the rumors was plausible, Aslan didn’t bother asking meaningless questions about whether the old man truly heard those rumors.
If he deliberately lied, there would be no way to distinguish truth from falsehood anyway.
Instead, Aslan acknowledged it.
He thought discussing details further through conversation wouldn’t hurt.
So Aslan opened his mouth.
“You’re right. I’m here because of you. Grandmaster of Combat, I’taar. I am…”
But as the old man leaning on his staff waved his hand, Aslan closed his mouth.
“Though I’m indeed curious about what you intend to do with this old body, it’s not something to discuss here, is it? If it’s not too rude, would you accompany me to my residence?”
Aslan couldn’t refuse the offer.
*
The log cabin hidden among the lush vegetation of Seini Forest was excessively shabby and minimalistic for someone of the caliber of a grandmaster of combat.
Naturally, the shabby log cabin couldn’t accommodate all eight of them, so Aslan left his traveling party resting outside while he entered alone.
Watching his companions chatting casually through the half-closed wooden window, Aslan snapped back to reality upon hearing a voice addressing him late.
“Lofty ambitions, indeed.”
I’taar, fiddling with a lukewarm teacup, Aslan nodded after taking a sip of the bland tea offered by I’taar.
“But it’s a goal worth pursuing.”
I’taar, neither confirming nor denying, quietly polished his teacup, while only Richard, sitting beside him, wore an uncomfortable expression.
What Aslan had told them was simple:
Aslan intended to change the world and kill all evil deities.
To achieve this, he needed all the veterans and all the humans.
And the old man, I’taar, was necessary talent for achieving this goal.
Upon hearing this, I’taar chuckled and, while polishing his teacup, said,
“A splendid proposal… and a noble endeavor. There aren’t many like you in this land. However… I wonder if this old body’s meager strength will be of any help.”
With a humble smile, I’taar spoke, as if dismissing Aslan’s words as mere flattery.
Of course, at first glance, it seemed like he wouldn’t be much help.
I’taar’s stats were abnormally low across almost all categories, making him appear like a trap companion.
Just a trap companion with a unique skill. That was the consensus among users unfamiliar with his concept who encountered I’taar.
However, among users who had played the game more extensively, I’taar was considered an essential companion due to his unique skill: I’taar’s Compliance.
I’taar’s Compliance was a skill that reduced incoming damage proportionally to his levels in martial arts, combat skills, and evasion—a unique skill possessed by no other NPC ally besides I’taar.
With high levels in avoidance and combat skills, I’taar’s Compliance was potent enough to withstand even the attacks of high-ranking priests, making him, when properly nurtured, one of the strongest tanks in the game capable of handling multiple threats.
Moreover, he could even tank area-of-effect attacks, leading Aslan to firmly believe that I’taar was a necessary companion for this group.
Given his ability to handle the group’s lack of tanking and area attacks, Aslan believed it was crucial to recruit I’taar, even if it required persuasion.
Thinking this, Aslan gazed intently at I’taar, prepared to continue persuading him despite any stubbornness.
“I apologize, but this old body cannot join your mission.”
Just as Aslan was about to respond, I’taar gave a bitter smile.
“No matter what you say, this old body cannot join. More accurately… I’m unable to.”
“…Pardon?”
Unable to?
Aslan looked at him curiously, and I’taar suddenly clenched his chest with wide eyes.
Distorted by pain, the old man clutched his chest with the hand that had been gripping it and stifled a cough. Blood seeped through his tightly clenched fists of a fighter.
Hemoptysis. Not normal hemoptysis but black-tinged blood. Aslan’s eyes widened, and after coughing up a fair amount of blood, I’taar weakly smiled with a pale face.
“…Poison.”
“Yes. As you see… it’s lethal poison.”
Indeed, the blackened blood belonged to someone already dying.
Sympathy crept into Aslan’s gaze as he looked at I’taar, who smiled gently.
“My days are numbered.”
Anyone could see the unmistakable signs of impending death. When Aslan looked at I’taar again, despite appearing youthful even at seventy, the shadow of death loomed heavily on his face.
But how? Who?
As Aslan thought and stared intently at I’taar, I’taar slightly loosened his collar to reveal his shoulder.
There was a deep mark on the exposed shoulder.
It was the mark of a sting.
“…Wasp.”
A mark resembling a sting from a giant wasp.
Aslan then recalled the bandits he had seen on the way.
The bandits muttering “wasp,” their minds seemingly gone.
That meant only one thing.
“The Executioner.”
The named Executioner who took the title of Executioner from a martial artist wielding a decapitating sword, and the martial artist in the form of a wasp.
When I’taar smiled as if confirming the statement, Aslan covered his forehead with a distressed expression.
[!– Slider main container –]
