“I would like to help you meet a peaceful death.”
As Aslan’s voice cut through the dark, I’taar looked at Aslan with sunken eyes.
Though the story might sound strange at first, I’taar simply stared at Aslan without any response.
It was because of the plan Aslan had presented that he said these words.
Aslan’s plan wasn’t complicated.
Rather, it was extremely simple.
It was merely about protecting I’taar so that he could die in peace from the impending threat.
However, the content made the plan seem strange.
Especially when compared to the usual notion of protection which is to keep someone alive and prevent their death.
Behind this unconventional plan stood the martial monks.
There were priests who could offer severed human heads to their deity at any moment.
Thus, simply guarding I’taar wouldn’t yield good results.
That’s why Aslan’s plan came into being.
Helping I’taar die surely.
Preventing I’taar’s soul from falling into the hands of the Supreme Divinity.
Burning I’taar’s body so that the martial monks couldn’t take it.
In this way, fully sending off both spirit and flesh.
Even amidst the uncomfortable silence, Aslan could sense I’taar’s emotions. He could tell that I’taar was struggling to understand his intentions.
While the rest of the party either didn’t understand or doubted whether this was truly Aslan’s intention even if they did, I’taar slowly turned his gaze towards Richard.
There was no malice in that gaze.
Instead, it carried only a faint trace of pity.
Because the foundation of all this planning depended on Richard’s approval.
Richard’s painful approval.
Then, as I’taar’s gaze reached Aslan, Aslan set down the arrow he had been crafting by the flickering campfire and spoke.
“How much longer do you think you can hold on?”
In response to this question, I’taar remained silent. His expressionless silence indicated neither discomfort nor hesitation, and he finally spoke.
“Not much longer.”
Even though the conversation was about his own death, I’taar remained composed. There was not even a hint of approaching death visible in him.
Like a fire burning brightest just before it goes out, I’taar appeared healthy.
At least on the surface.
“Do you have any regrets or lingering attachments?”
To Aslan’s question, I’taar shook his head briefly before replying. His tone carried a faint trace of bitterness.
“To me, who serves sorrow and death….”
“No.”
And Aslan’s firmness interrupted I’taar’s bitterness.
“You are human too. Humans regret things. Humans have lingering attachments. You must have them too.”
Hearing this, I’taar lowered his sunken eyes. Soon, a sense of repentance settled in his gaze sweeping across the ground, and regret filled the shadows stretching behind the campfire.
Faced with the faintly cast shadow, when the group urged silently, I’taar eventually closed his eyes and shook his head again.
“No, still… I have no regrets. Only vague memories too indelicate to speak of and stories that cannot be told. But….”
His gaze then shifted, landing on Richard.
“It saddens me that I haven’t guided Richard sufficiently.”
Though there were no regrets, there was regret. With I’taar’s benevolent smile, Richard bowed his head somberly.
As such solemnity fell again, Aslan signaled Tiamat sitting near the fire.
Upon receiving the signal, Tiamat sniffed and said,
“Hey, I don’t know if you’re aware, but an Executioner is coming. Including him, there are twenty in total. They all appear to be martial monks.”
Even for martial monks, the number was excessively large. When Ereta, who knew well the strength of the priests, let out a low whistle, Tiamat glanced at her and nodded.
“If we do nothing and make no preparations… they will definitely arrive within two days.”
“And if they reach and capture Lord I’taar, his spirit and flesh will surely be offered to the Supreme Divinity.”
Tiamat began the statement, and Aslan continued it. In response, I’taar quietly caressed his hand while remaining silent. The calluses embedded in his fist bore the weight of accumulated years.
“Perhaps if that happens, Lord I’taar’s skills will become a convenient tool for the martial monks, used to kill humans. So, may I ask what your plan is?”
Though there was no accusatory tone, I’taar felt the question as an accusation. Even if it were accusatory, there was nothing he could do about it. With a darkened expression, I’taar smiled.
I’taar had no plan.
However, this lack of planning wasn’t because having no plan was fine or because it was bothersome to create one.
It was unavoidable.
Running away would mean people dying, calling soldiers would mean people dying, fighting back would mean dying, and hiding would also lead to death.
And if he were to die, his skills would be defiled, and his spirit and flesh would not find peace.
There was no way out.
Recalling this, I’taar spoke to Aslan.
“I do not wish for you to die here. Even if you survive, you will surely be injured. If that happens… I cannot bear it.”
The old man dying thus spoke.
For him, who revered sorrow and death, the sight of another sacrificing their life for someone already nearing death was unbearable.
“I do not wish for the living to sacrifice themselves for my proper death, offering comfort. Thus, my proposal remains the same. Please take Richard and leave. That’s….”
“Is that truly the best option?”
But Aslan was not a follower of the god of death and sorrow.
To Aslan’s seemingly insensitive question, I’taar remained silent without any sign of displeasure, and Aslan broke the silence to answer himself.
“It probably isn’t. Clearly, it’s the lesser of two evils.”
“Isn’t it better than the worst option?”
“Then, what is the worst? What would be the worst outcome in this situation?”
I’taar hesitated for a moment before answering.
“This frail body dies, and all of you trying to protect this insignificant life also perish. That… would be the worst scenario I foresee.”
The will to protect would be thwarted, I’taar’s spirit and flesh would be stolen, and furthermore, Aslan, who served a more noble purpose, would kneel.
This was the worst-case scenario painted by I’taar.
The lesser evil hovered close enough to be dismissed as a possibility.
Noticing this, Aslan slowly began to speak.
The voice flowing out was a tale unheard of in Geladridion.
“…Long ago, there was such a person. A steadfast hero who refused to choose between greater and lesser evils.”
As the unfamiliar story drew everyone’s attention, Aslan plucked a feather from Steamfalos and placed it on the arrow shaft.
“I am neither as resolute nor as wise as that. I am someone who chooses the lesser evil if wriggling within it can lead to a better outcome.”
Simultaneously, this is my limitation. By the time Aslan finished crafting the arrow with the Steamfalos feather inserted, he fixed his gaze on I’taar while planting the arrow into the ground.
“I have no room for surrender, compromise, or retreat. I will struggle to the limits of what I can do for the lesser evil I’ve chosen.”
Even if it brings pain. Adding this, Aslan picked up several arrows stuck into the ground, each adorned with dagger-like feathers.
“My chosen lesser evil this time is watching you die, your spirit departing to the land of sorrow and death, your body reduced to ashes, ensuring that no one defiles your death.”
A statement that sounded neither like a lesser evil nor an evil at all. After slightly parting his lips, I’taar responded.
“It will be difficult. The Executioner… is a strong martial monk. There’s a chance I’ll die, and I’ll certainly be injured. It will be a tough task.”
“I know. It will be difficult.”
“Why go so far…?”
“Because difficulty is not impossibility.”
As Aslan’s soft voice drifted around the campfire, I’taar’s pupils trembled slightly.
It was a brief statement devoid of falsehood.
It was a statement without intent to persuade.
It was merely a softly murmured truth.
And it disconcerted I’taar.
“Difficult tasks are horizons reached by ceaselessly striving and looking forward. I believe that by overcoming difficulties, I can touch impossibility.”
And I am someone who must achieve the impossible. Behind this voice, Aslan’s gentle smile emerged.
“At that time, I’ll restate what I said in that cottage.”
With that gentle smile, Aslan whispered.
I will kill all the evil deities.
I will change the world.
I will save people.
Finally, Aslan added,
“You are no exception. I’ve decided to stop hesitating before my goals. I’ve decided not to idly watch misfortune before my eyes. Striving to prevent that misfortune is…”
My chosen lesser evil.
With these words, I’taar lowered his head and laughed helplessly.
“You make me a sinner.”
“There is no Law and Order to punish you, so you needn’t worry.”
With a gentle smile, joking and offering solace, the man.
After gazing at this man for a long while, I’taar sighed and closed his eyes.
In that sigh lingered resignation.
The resignation of an old man who realized he could not persuade Aslan.
*
Seini Forest was a peaceful forest rich in vegetation.
Monsters were rare, wild animals abundant, and thanks to the nearby river, the flora flourished without any dangerous creatures present.
At most, occasionally bandits descended from the Bandit Woods.
Thus, the beings now walking through this forest were unusual, out of place with its usual tranquility.
Moving as if part of a highly disciplined army.
Each step sent wild animals fleeing in panic or cowering in fear.
They crushed the lives of those animals without hesitation as they advanced.
Among them, the figure leading at the front was unmistakably violent.
Standing three meters tall, with a bulky frame, thick arms and legs brimming with muscles bore tiger-like stripes.
Female curves were subtly visible between the stripes but were mostly overshadowed by her massive build.
Beyond these feminine curves and bulk, she carried two executioner swords on her back and a strange metal object, halfway between a sword and a club, at her waist.
Her name was the Executioner.
A martial monk, and once a veteran.
Now, she was heading toward I’taar’s dwelling, finally found.
There was no fear.
No crisis.
Nor was there any complacency.
She was once a veteran and had clashed with I’taar not long ago.
Though victorious through cunning, she did not let her guard down.
Find him definitively, kill I’taar, and offer the sacrifice.
Just that.
Stopping her hurried pace momentarily, she resumed after a short pause, followed closely by the martial monks.
The forest, which should have been silent, was filled with the sounds of boots crunching.
It was shortly after passing a certain tree that the woman suddenly stopped.
She halted and noticed a thin line stretched between this tree and another.
Hardly visible, it resembled a tendon of some sort.
A clear sign of a trap.
‘This I’taar… has grown crafty.’
The woman clicked her teeth together, pleased.
It meant the proud I’taar feared the Executioner enough to resort to traps.
Between clicks of her teeth, her eyes gleamed brightly.
‘I wonder how long he can hold out this time… intriguing.’
Enjoy the show. Murmuring this, the woman stepped over the trap and moved forward, seeking to kill I’taar.
Just as she planted her foot beyond the trap…
—BOOM!
A powerful whistling sound echoed from afar, and soon two projectiles appeared in view.
They were arrows.
Arrows as long as short swords, resembling ones fired from siege weapons, tipped with strange feather-shaped arrowheads.
Flying at a speed that seemed to warp space, the woman swiftly drew one of her executioner swords from her back.
And swung it.
Drawn instantly, the executioner sword combined overwhelming strength, perfect stance, and masterful technique to strike the arrowhead precisely.
KA-BOOM!
The arrow shattered with a destructive sound. Metal fragments scattered, and the arrow shaft splintered into wood chips raining down on her.
An ordinary human might have been injured, but the Executioner’s sturdy chitin armor was not pierced so easily.
Scattering like raindrops hitting steel, the debris dissipated, and the woman raised her sword toward the slower, following arrow.
Too slow. Too weak. The force behind it wasn’t remarkable. An arrow spent by the time it reached here.
Yet, she took no chances. She blocked it with her sword.
As the woman calculated and the arrow slid through the air toward her sword—
The arrow pierced the executioner sword.
Or rather, it passed through as if the sword wasn’t there.
At a distance where she couldn’t react. Twisting the blade instinctively, but it was already too late.
A dagger ejected from the arrow shaft and lodged precisely in the woman’s eye.
CRUNCH!
The sound of flesh being mashed accompanied by blood soaking the ground. The woman stumbled, pulling the dagger from her eye with clawed fingers.
CRACK!
Twisting the dagger with brute force until it crumpled into metallic shards that fell to the ground, the woman contorted her face violently.
“It wasn’t I’taar…”
As if responding to her words, the next arrow flew toward her.
