Death had come.
Death was blurrier than expected.
At least from Richard’s perspective, having lived for 26 years, he thought death would be something clearer.
He imagined a distinct path leading to the land of sorrow and death, where his soul would wander in the heavens.
Of course, opinions varied on this matter.
Richard, who considered himself somewhat educated as a nobleman, knew there was no clear information about the journey to the afterlife. Therefore, he was quite surprised that his death felt so vague.
But upon reflection, it made sense. As far as Richard knew, souls lacked senses.
Without eyes, nose, ears, or skin, nothing could be perceived.
That was what he initially thought.
Eventually, as his imagination wandered to the possibility that life itself might be an illusion, or perhaps that he had died without protecting his master’s remains, he was jolted awake by a drop of water landing on his head.
Like ripples spreading across water, consciousness returned to his body.
Clutching his throat, which was so dry it triggered coughs, Richard hacked violently for a while.
“Uh, ah… ugh.”
Had he fainted? Upon regaining his senses, Richard blinked at the scene before him.
The sky was filled with a light drizzle. A faint scent of grass and earth mingled around him.
In the center of it all, Richard sat leaning against a tree.
There were no other sounds of movement nearby.
“Ugh.”
Attempting to assess the situation and move, he turned his head, only to feel a throbbing pain throughout his body.
Startled by the pain, he tried to use his arms, but a sharp, searing pain shot from his elbow to the top of his head.
A stifled cry. Twisting and writhing, Richard finally managed to stop, and only then did he recall his last memory.
Deflecting a sword blade and subsequently blacking out—Richard’s collapsing form contrasted sharply with the image of the martial monk flying away, followed by Aslan enveloped in thunder.
It wasn’t magic but some highly refined technique. Richard, confident in his discernment, realized this as he tested his sore arm.
“Hmm?”
And in doing so, he noticed that the place where his bone had shattered and splintered was now healed.
This led to one conclusion: some power had settled within him, granting him incredible regenerative abilities.
Perhaps it was the power that manifested during his fight with the martial monk. Reflecting on this, Richard felt a significant sense of regret—if only he had gained this power before his master’s death, he might have been able to protect the remains.
“Ahh.”
With that thought, Richard paled and stumbled as he tried to stand.
Though his fall left his face bruised, the urgent need to find his master’s remains drove him forward.
After crawling a couple of steps, he was yanked back by the collar to the base of the original tree.
Sitting upright again, he saw a red-scaled dragon-person.
“Hey, I was going to ask if you’re okay… but I guess I don’t need to anymore.”
The dragon-person, wrapped in something thick like fur, stared silently at Richard for a moment before extending something.
It was pemmican—a mix of dried meat and vegetables compacted into solid form for easy consumption.
Taking it, Richard greedily shoveled it into his mouth to satisfy his hunger.
“So hungry, huh? Well, considering what you’ve been through, it makes sense.”
Tiamat chuckled. After hastily devouring the pemmican, Richard spoke up about something that came to mind.
“My master…”
The name caught in his throat. Tiamat nodded, sparing Richard the need to explain further.
“He’s being buried right now.”
Relieved, Richard sighed sadly as he slightly smiled. Tiamat stroked his chin and added,
“Personally, we usually cremate people, but we’d need to know where the old man was from. Anything you know?”
By now, the burial was likely complete, but Richard gathered his hands and bitterly smiled.
“My master never talked about his hometown. Whenever asked, he just said he considered here his home.”
“That’s good enough then. If he considered this his home, burying him in the Northern Continent style is appropriate.”
As Richard fell silent after speaking, Tiamat glanced at the young man.
Just moments ago, his body had been battered beyond repair.
The labored breathing from lungs soaked in blood, the broken limbs, the shattered ankle—all indicated that Richard should have died soon.
What saved the almost-dead Richard was someone from the traveling party.
While revealing too much information immediately might not be wise, it seemed best to share at least this much.
Tiamat shrugged and said,
“To tell you upfront, you were on the brink of death. Ereta… the white one… she saved you.”
“The white… one?”
“You know, the cheerful white one carrying a big axe on her back.”
“Are you talking about me?”
Approaching casually with the comment that such things should be discussed face-to-face were Aslan and Ereta. Both had dirt on their hands and cheeks and brushed wet hair from their faces as they drew near.
Seeing them approach, Richard hung his head somberly because of the grotesque sword carried on Aslan’s back—the sight reminded him painfully of his master’s death.
The apology Richard wanted to express was simple:
“I’m sorry.”
“I couldn’t protect my master.”
“I must have hindered your grand goal.”
Attempting to apologize thus, he was interrupted.
“Sorry, Richard.”
Hearing those words first, Richard froze and looked up blankly.
Standing there was a man. A man with a sword resembling an anvil strapped to his back. He wore a sorrowful smile, which seemed more genuine than his previous cold expression.
His face bore deep traces of fatigue and sorrow. Staring at him for a moment, Richard opened his mouth.
“What… no, why….”
Uncertain how to respond, but also feeling robbed of words since he believed he should be the one apologizing.
Unaware or pretending not to notice, Aslan’s teal eyes flickered momentarily before returning to Richard.
“I don’t really understand. Still… it feels like it’s my fault.”
Richard blinked at these words, and Aslan exhaled deeply.
“If I hadn’t given the medicine to I’taar, maybe he would still be alive. Perhaps… yes, I anticipated death, but not like this.”
The sudden statement. Richard belatedly understood its meaning.
I’taar had been torn into four pieces.
His arms were ripped off, his torso split, and his head torn away.
He remembered gathering the mangled remains and staggering into the forest.
Recalling this scene, Richard adopted a melancholy expression similar to Aslan’s. The silence dispersed into fragments, prompting Tiamat standing nearby to glance awkwardly at Ereta.
“Really.”
Her soft whisper drew the attention of both the youth and the man, and Ereta gently rubbed Aslan’s back.
“Aslan, blaming yourself might make you feel better temporarily, but it won’t solve anything. Besides, it’s not your fault anyway, right?”
Firm words caused Aslan to murmur “eh,” and Ereta smirked.
“Besides, how could it be Aslan’s fault? The real culprits are the Executioner who poisoned I’taar and the martial monks who came to kill him.”
Moreover, continuing her speech, Ereta met Aslan’s dazed gaze with a pleasant smile and pinched his cheek.
“Ereta…?”
“Hmm, anyway, it’s not Aslan’s fault. Yes, I’taar is dead, but he wasn’t sacrificed, right? His head was intact, and the wounds happened after his death, as you mentioned. So… stop being sad and comfort this child instead.”
“Child.” Hearing this term, Aslan and Tiamat instinctively turned to look at the “child,” leaving Richard dumbfounded.
“Child…?”
“Yes, a child.”
Richard blinked vacantly before shaking his head. He thought it was none of Ereta’s business since she appeared to be around his age.
“No, I’m not a child. I’ve undergone the coming-of-age ceremony and even became engaged…”
“Tsk.”
“No…”
“Anyone can see you’re asking for comfort with that pitiful face. You’re a child. Not an adult.”
A firm judgment. Richard frowned in frustration as Ereta gently stroked Aslan’s spine with her slender fingers and spoke.
“I’ve done my part by healing him. Next is Aslan’s turn. Comfort this child.”
“Though I appreciate the treatment, I’m not a child. I’ve undergone the coming-of-age ceremony and even got engaged…”
“Aslan.”
Interrupting Richard’s protest by simply calling Aslan’s name, Ereta stepped back with a faint smile. Aslan stared at her smile blankly before scratching his cheek.
“I’m not great with words, but I can manage a few. First… do you know why I came here?”
Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Richard involuntarily answered.
“Uh, to retrieve my master…”
“Exactly. More precisely, to recover you as well. When I recruited I’taar, I also intended to bring back his disciple, the son of the Duke of Helsing.”
Richard’s expression grew complicated. Though he wanted to throw a tantrum about not wanting to return, he realized during their conversation that such behavior would amount to throwing a childish fit. Moreover, would resisting even be possible? After such a devastating defeat, it would already be fortunate to avoid being dragged along.
Noticing Richard’s shifting expression, Aslan smiled faintly, mistaking his complex expression for refusal.
“If that’s the case… consider whether I’taar would want you to stay here.”
Though Richard hadn’t planned to refuse in the first place, he flinched dramatically. Without realizing it, he lowered his head, then looked up to meet Aslan’s gaze. Aslan smiled kindly, though it carried a trace of weariness different from I’taar’s benevolence.
“I’taar approved of what I aim to achieve. He would likely wish for you to assist me in my endeavors. Of course… he would prioritize your will above all else.”
Without realizing it, Richard nodded. Knowing his master, he would have indeed said something like that.
“Then why didn’t you come earlier? It’s because you assumed I’taar would surely agree to join, isn’t it?”
Before Richard could ask, Aslan responded with a sly smile, as if certain of victory.
However, it wasn’t premature. From the moment the first word was spoken, Richard would have followed out of a sense of obligation.
Thus, Richard chose to go along with the flow rather than elaborate further, and complied.
“I may not be much help. I’m a failure. I couldn’t even protect my master. I…”
“No, you haven’t failed.”
Aslan firmly contradicted Richard’s compliance, gripping his hand. Pulled to his feet by the strength of that grip, raindrops splashed onto Richard’s shoulders. The faint pain spreading over the cool sensation made Richard feel reality finally sinking in.
“Because you’re still standing here.”
As Aslan patted his shoulder to shake off the rain, Richard’s expression grew complex. Meeting that complex gaze directly, Aslan continued.
“As long as you refuse to acknowledge defeat, a human never truly fails.”
It was an incomprehensible statement. Staring blankly, Richard watched Aslan smirk faintly and shrug.
“At least, that’s what I believe. Anyway… I need you.”
If Lumel had heard this, he might have complained quietly that it sounded similar to something said to him. Aslan added:
“The Duke of Helsing is my ally. More accurately, a necessary piece in my plan. Since you’re a veteran, I require both your help and your father’s. Would you consider lending a hand?”
“If you ask for help…”
“Just show your face and try to persuade them.”
When Tiamat chimed in, Aslan nodded, gesturing toward Tiamat to confirm the accuracy of his statement.
“Besides, didn’t you mention having a fiancée? Isn’t it time to see her face?”
Until this point, Richard had seemed gradually convinced despite his vacant expression, but mentioning his fiancée caused him to pale completely.
“Eh, fiancée…?”
The emotions revealed beneath his pallor prompted Aslan to sense a kind of fear and grow curious. Richard bit his lips tightly, hesitating heavily before forcing a laugh.
“Yeah, let’s… do that.”
Anxiety was clearly evident.
Only upon arriving at the city of Cardi in the Helsing Earldom did Aslan understand the reason.
