The martial monks.
They are priests who worship the Supreme Divinity and receive nothingness and weapons from that divinity, resembling insects in appearance.
The Executioner was one of these martial monks whose name was widely known.
And usually, a priest whose name is known tends to be exceptionally powerful or exceptionally peculiar. In the Executioner’s case, it was the former.
“The strength of the martial monks varies quite a bit… but this is particularly severe.”
The disparity in strength among martial monks depended on the compatibility between their bodies and their nothingness, as well as how well they understood that nothingness. This led to the perception that martial monks weren’t very strong.
However, the Executioner was especially powerful due to an excellent balance between his body and his nothingness. After all, he continued using the same nothingness he originally wielded, now with a more potent form.
Famous for confusing enemies with the residual force generated by swinging his two finely honed execution swords and eventually severing their heads, the Executioner was renowned.
The tools and techniques used by this priest were obtained during her time as a master of the sword.
Five generations ago, she defeated the original Executioner and willingly submitted to the Supreme Divinity, earning her the title. The previous Executioner, having lost, was disgraced with the new title “Collector” and spent his days obsessively collecting heads, hoping to regain the Supreme Divinity’s favor.
Even in human form, she had the skill to defeat a named martial monk; thus, with her powerful insect form blessed by the Supreme Divinity, she must have been incomparably stronger now.
Therefore, Aslan wasn’t greatly disturbed when he saw I’taar’s impending death before him.
I’taar’s defeat, his slow demise from poison—these seemed unavoidable.
Even Aslan would’ve avoided fighting the Executioner before leveling up.
Still, understanding something intellectually doesn’t always align with emotions.
Aslan closed his mouth uncomfortably, and I’taar, seeing Aslan’s expression, pulled his clothes back up.
When the wound pierced by a hornet’s sting was concealed, Aslan recalled a few facts about the Executioner.
The Executioner possessed the body of a giant insect called a cicada wasp, spraying venom on those worthy of execution and piercing them with its stinger.
It seemed I’taar’s shoulder had suffered a similar fate.
Deception was still a valid move even among experts.
“I’ve fallen to the Executioner, as you see. How long I have left to live… only Sorrow knows.”
I’taar mentioned the ancient dead deity, reminding Aslan of the setup revealed on the high-paying sponsor’s user site: gratitude for loving I’taar.
A black man with a sage-like disposition, a follower of sorrow and death, was what they said, wasn’t it?
Aslan reflected on this anew while smoothing his teacup.
“Therefore, unfortunately, I cannot follow your noble cause. We may spend a short time together, but soon my frail body will become a burden.”
“Master…”
“It’s alright, Richard.”
Richard, showing both worry and suspicion as he alternated glances between his teacher and Aslan, received a gentle smile from I’taar.
“If Lord Aslan had wanted to harm us, we’d already be dead. There’s no need to be wary.”
“But…”
“You shouldn’t distort the truth just because your defeat troubles you. Richard, don’t you know? If Lord Aslan intended to kill you, your head would’ve been gone in one strike.”
Though Richard frowned in humiliation at this fact, staring down at the table, I’taar bowed his head respectfully toward Aslan instead of scolding his disciple further.
“My apologies, my disciple Richard is talented and kind but has a hasty and naive side.”
“Absolutely not. Lord Aslan holds no ill feelings towards you. Adding to that, Aslan smiled faintly, sympathy flickering beneath his composed demeanor.
“It’s fine. Doubt and caution are necessary traits for survival. Even if Lord I’taar and I have different perspectives… I won’t condemn Richard’s suspicions.”
But.
Aslan’s brief addition puzzled I’taar and Richard.
“Why were you wary of me?”
Aslan’s question, though short, carried inherent truths.
Why would someone living peacefully in Seini Forest—rich in vegetation and scarce in monsters, adjacent to a village as large as a city—suddenly be suspicious of a stranger?
Aslan thought about this while considering several reasons why I’taar hadn’t been injured by the Executioner for long.
First, the state of the bandits he’d encountered on the way.
Those bandits appeared weakened by some sort of poisoning, their minds unclear. Their constant repetition of words related to hornets’ mouths clearly pointed to the Executioner’s signature.
Second, Richard’s statement upon seeing Aslan’s group—”These aren’t monster brats, so there’ll be no blood on our hands.” Considering that monsters barely existed in Seini Forest, this comment was strange.
Lastly, I’taar’s condition.
I’taar claimed he didn’t know when he would die, which, judging by the color of the blood he had coughed up earlier, was likely true.
Yet, I’taar hadn’t appeared directly from his home but rather emerged somewhere within the forest to protect Richard, as if searching for something.
Considering all these clues, Aslan could only conclude one thing.
“Could it be that the Executioner is wandering through this forest leading a group of martial monks?”
Richard hiccupped at this and began stuttering, while I’taar looked at his disciple momentarily with pity.
“Surely, Lord I’taar and his martial arts aren’t still being targeted, are they? That’s why Master Richard was wary of me, thinking I might be a mercenary hired by the martial monks…”
An awkward silence ensued, but Richard’s uneasy expression itself served as clear proof.
In fact, it was too obvious, leading Aslan to briefly consider whether it was a deception designed to mislead.
However, that was unlikely. If it were a trick, it would contradict all the information and circumstances.
Finally, the uncomfortable silence ended with a sigh from I’taar.
“…Yes. The Executioner and his followers are wandering this forest, searching for my residence.”
“Master…!”
“I’m dying from injuries sustained in my previous battle with the Executioner, and my disciple Richard cannot defeat them. He will surely die.”
As Richard tried to stop his master, I’taar gently shook his head to halt his student.
“Are you not asking for help?”
Aslan hesitated, looking between the two men uncomfortably before speaking.
“It’s impossible. One can’t send young lives to death merely to protect a dying old man.”
I’taar refused resolutely.
Even this statement was one Aslan couldn’t outright deny. After all, Aslan himself avoided putting others in danger under his name, treating his own body like expendable material.
Thus, Aslan was in no position to advise others against such actions, knowing he would likely behave similarly.
“Therefore, I ask this: could you perhaps escort Richard to safety?”
Aslan anticipated the next words from I’taar.
It seemed I’taar intended to fight alone, much like how Aslan fought the Dragon King alone to avoid risking Ereta’s life.
Such decisions rarely garnered empathy from others.
“I won’t leave! I can’t let my master face those alone!”
Richard naturally resisted.
“Well then… if my master insists on fighting, let’s ask them to join us! You mentioned he’s a master of combat, surely…”
“Richard.”
“Or… perhaps… antidotes! Let’s ask them to look for one! If the poison can be cured, surely my master could handle mere martial monks…”
“Richard.”
Richard stopped mid-sentence upon hearing his name softly called by his master, gazing at him with a sorrowful expression.
Their eyes meeting, I’taar kindly explained.
“These lives are also precious. The Executioner and his subordinates are targeting me alone. I can’t subject them to unnecessary deaths.”
Though it sounded like resignation, Aslan knew better. I’taar was planning for the worst.
He didn’t want anyone to get hurt or die trying to protect him.
It wasn’t right to risk lives for the sake of preserving his own, which wouldn’t last much longer anyway.
Aslan understood this sentiment. He felt the same way.
Perhaps, he was simply too weary of bearing the deaths of others under his name.
I’taar was around seventy years old. Over his lifetime, he must have witnessed countless deaths.
Especially considering this land was Geladridion.
Where hope and virtue rarely blossomed, Aslan could empathize with the reclusive old man in this forest.
Aslan closed his eyes, and I’taar, observing the emotions flickering across Aslan’s face, smiled softly.
It was an understanding, an enlightenment.
Though this enlightenment diverged from what I’taar desired.
Opening his eyes, Aslan feigned agreement.
“I shall do as you say.”
“Thank you.”
Relieved, I’taar smiled, while Richard stared at Aslan with betrayal evident in his expression.
Aslan gave the youth a subtle glance, but Richard seemed oblivious.
‘Too naive.’
He fit the description perfectly. Deciding to explain later, Aslan turned his gaze back to I’taar.
Fortunately, I’taar didn’t seem to notice Aslan’s glance toward Richard and relaxed his expression.
“May we rest for a moment before leaving?”
Both Richard and I’taar looked at Aslan, who responded with a gentle smile.
To ensure I’taar didn’t suspect and to deepen Richard’s sense of betrayal.
“We’ve wandered the forest searching for you, and my companions are tired. We’ll rest briefly and then take Richard with us.”
I’taar’s dark, sunken eyes curved into a smile as he struggled to rise despite his poisoned body, accepting Richard’s familiar support.
“Of course. In that case, since bedding will be insufficient… I’ll fetch more.”
While I’taar remained gentle and reassuring, Richard now glared at Aslan as if he were an enemy.
Everything was going according to plan.
As Aslan watched the famed fighter depart, he smirked bitterly.
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