I’taar stared silently at the girl’s back for a while before speaking.
“That’s a good child. Though she tries to appear rough… she has a fine character.”
Though unexpected, Aslan did not ignore the words. Instead, he nodded in agreement and spoke.
“Was it not difficult to teach her due to her lack of martial talent?”
“Martial talent is not important. What could be more significant than the heart?”
As he answered, the elder smiled kindly. The black lips that curved into a gentle line made Aslan nod faintly.
“Even though this brute strength and ruggedness don’t fully align with my style of close combat, I can still teach the basics. Talent isn’t that crucial.”
As the elder continued, his gaze shifted, and Aslan met the dark, sunken eyes of the old man.
In those eyes floated an enigmatic gleam. When Aslan looked into them, the elder smiled.
“The difficulties you bear for your noble purpose are incomparable. Thus, please do not concern yourself with my troubles.”
I’taar offered a benevolent smile. As Aslan observed the elder, a wry smile formed on his lips just as someone approached.
From deep within the forest came two figures: Richard, the disciple of I’taar, and Tiamat.
“Did you sleep well, young one?”
“You all have been asking me that today. Yeah, I slept fine.”
Tiamat greeted, and Aslan responded. With a slight smile, Tiamat added,
“Given how bad your condition was lately, I thought you’d shake it off easily since you’re under this elder’s care… but others who don’t know you might’ve been worried.”
Aslan realized his recent instability stemmed from Lewena and gave an awkward smile.
“I’m fine now. Thanks.”
“Didn’t this elder worry?”
“Thank you,” Aslan replied.
“Even if he didn’t, right?”
With a chuckle, Tiamat approached. Aslan gazed steadily at him and asked.
“So, how was it?”
The question was unclear, yet Tiamat’s expression turned serious immediately.
“This tattooed youth seems correct. Likely around twenty. There might be some variation depending on who they are, but generally…”
Tiamat’s quiver held exactly twenty arrows, indicating his confidence in the number.
“How are they distributed?”
“The traces are too chaotic to confirm, but they’re surrounding us. They must be searching every corner of the forest.”
“I see. Thanks for the effort. Go rest.”
Tiamat smirked, dismissing it as nothing significant, but Richard cast a disgruntled glance toward Aslan.
It seemed I’taar wasn’t paying much attention, considering this a last act of kindness before departure, but Richard clearly felt dissatisfied with the situation.
Recognizing this as the only chance to explain, Aslan turned to I’taar.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Master I’taar, but could you guide Tiamat to a place where they can wash up?”
I’taar wore a puzzled look, so Aslan elaborated.
“Tiamat is a dragonkin, so washing in cold water might cause them to faint or fall asleep. They need warm water… If you could prepare that for them, we’d greatly appreciate it.”
Tiamat, perhaps catching the tone, let out a soft laugh.
“This elder does require some effort, doesn’t he? But then again, isn’t that what makes him great?”
His voice carried pride. I’taar chuckled softly at Tiamat’s demeanor.
“Very well. I’ll prepare it. Please follow me. By the way, there’s a small bathhouse behind the house, made of wood…”
“Oh, a bathhouse. That sounds good. Let’s go.”
“Hehe, understood.”
Tiamat nudged I’taar forward while subtly signaling Aslan, who gave a slight nod. Tiamat then led I’taar away toward the log cabin.
Once they were far enough, leaving only Richard and Aslan, who appeared perplexed by the sudden situation.
“Master Richard, what do you plan to do about Master I’taar?”
Without looking at Richard, Aslan asked bluntly.
“What?”
A delayed response. Turning around, Aslan saw Richard frowning and repeated the question.
“Master I’taar is nearing death, and the martial monks are approaching. What’s your plan?”
“…What do you mean?”
Richard frowned again, prompting Aslan to deliberately keep his expression neutral.
“How we fight isn’t as important compared to the immediate problem at hand. We can always figure out a way to fight.”
“…I don’t understand what you mean.”
An affected denial. Despite noticing it, Aslan sighed, understanding Richard’s evasion.
He had just turned twenty, hadn’t he?
Age isn’t necessarily an excuse, but Aslan could comprehend his avoidance.
For now, it wasn’t necessary.
What was needed now was the truth.
Thus, Aslan laid out the bare truth directly before Richard.
“Master I’taar is dying. Even if he survives for now, it will only be a few weeks at most. Are there any plans regarding this?”
Already stiff-faced, Richard stammered a few times before grimacing painfully.
This was the expression of someone unwilling to acknowledge the truth.
It was the despair of someone incapable of preparation.
Perhaps all he planned was to fight, win, and then search for an antidote afterward.
A consideration allowed only to a youth unprepared to face an inevitable farewell.
“Master I’taar will die.”
Richard fell silent. In the painful silence, he managed to stutter.
“Is there no way to detoxify…?”
“Detoxifying doesn’t guarantee complete recovery. The effects of the poison remain even if it’s neutralized.”
As Richard cast a despondent look, Aslan added.
“Master I’taar has never been physically strong. He’s not as robust as you. Even if detoxified, he will eventually pass. At best, he might survive a few more months.”
“Then…”
“That’s assuming we find a way to detoxify such potent poison.”
“Couldn’t we use a mage from the restoration school or an exceptional alchemist?”
Aslan could only shake his head at such naivety.
After all, it was implausible that the warrior monk, who had spent most of his life dealing in poisons meant to kill humans, would encounter something easily curable.
Richard closed his eyes, unable to bear the unspoken implications.
With a sorrowful expression, Richard wiped his face as Aslan watched him silently.
“Accept it. Master I’taar will die. You need to recognize this…”
To share your plan.
Adding this, Richard hesitated for a moment before removing his hand from his eyes.
“Do you… have a plan?”
Aslan nodded.
“What… kind of…”
Hope flickered in Richard’s eyes—innocent eyes of youth. Seeing this, Aslan gave a bitter smile, knowing it wasn’t the hopeful suggestion Richard anticipated.
So instead of answering immediately, Aslan paused briefly before speaking.
“There’s only one thing we can do for Master I’taar. Nothing more. It won’t be hopeful, nor will it dramatically alter the future. So…”
If you refuse, you may refuse.
Before Aslan could continue, the sound of someone collapsing interrupted him. Looking toward the source, Aslan found Richard kneeling.
As if bowing deeply, seeking mercy.
“What can I do?”
His tone became deferential, causing Aslan to momentarily falter, closing his mouth.
Perceiving this silence as refusal, Richard clenched his lips and bowed his head further.
“I’ll do anything, please.”
“…That wasn’t my intention. Please stand up.”
Still deeply bowed, Richard showed no sign of rising. Watching this, Aslan opened his mouth with a pained expression.
“I’ll tell you, but please stand. This is making me uncomfortable.”
Richard stood promptly. Aslan watched the young man with a heavy heart before sighing. Fortunately, the plan that followed this sigh transcended Richard’s expectations.
On the surface, it went like this:
“We can ensure Master I’taar’s death remains untainted, allowing him to pass as the human I’taar.”
Aslan met Richard’s eyes and added,
“At least we can escort him to the side of sorrow he serves without handing him over to the Supreme Divinity.”
Serving sorrow and death, and renowned as the strongest tank in the game for his prowess in combat, I’taar’s death was certain—a fact unchangeable.
Since obtaining the impossible was futile, Aslan chose the next best option for a better outcome.
Which was:
“Until Master I’taar departs to the side of sorrow and death, we will protect him.”
It was akin to a final farewell ceremony.
