The reaction that came only now, unable to even detect it earlier.
Aslan surmised that the reason for the significant drop in detection ability was due to the thick poisonous smoke.
Even Tiamat’s excellent sensory organs were powerless within the swirling toxic fumes, and Phey’s remarkable senses would surely lose their way in this thickness.
Thus, it was unavoidable.
It was something that was bound to happen from the moment the Artist’s intentions weren’t discerned early on.
The relief was that they hadn’t been caught off guard.
Towards Aslan, who had let down his sword, the Artist suddenly spoke.
“Remarkable. I thought I had deceived your eyes, so how did you notice?”
Aslan didn’t respond. It seemed shameful to even exchange words, and he remained silent with his lips sealed, merely lowering his blade. There was nothing to ask, nothing to answer, and so he only sharpened his gaze while preparing for battle.
The Artist, observing Aslan’s reaction, slightly tilted their head toward Ereta with an expression of regret.
“It’s been a while, Ereta. Have you been well?”
Unlike Aslan, Ereta was quite vocal.
“Where have you sent Mother?”
Ereta’s openly revealed hostility and enmity, mixed with intent to kill, were unlike her usual self.
Upon seeing this reaction, the Artist chuckled.
“I imagine she might be rolling around somewhere down below. Would you like to check?”
As Ereta gritted her teeth and lifted her axe, the Artist extended both hands and grinned cunningly.
“Just a joke. If the spider is indeed crawling around down there looking for judgment, isn’t that your goal as well?”
“Mother! Where is she?!”
“How should I know? It’s the spider crawling down there, not me. Anyway, if you find her, she’ll either return on her own or absorb her to restore power. Either way, I’ll try my best to give her a peaceful death.”
Coupled with this condescending statement, the Artist lightly added,
“Of course, I don’t truly believe you’ll find her. You’re more likely to discover her than I am, which is why I’ve been following closely behind.”
While the traveling party aimed spears, raised fists, took stances, and drew bows with arrows nocked, the Artist smiled gently.
“When I plan, I meticulously prepare contingencies. Just in case things go awry, I rely on alternative methods. That’s why I’m here, and you’re over there.”
So don’t worry. With that addition, the Artist subtly picked up their weapon.
A dazzling white steel mace and an even more splendid white steel shield.
After spinning and stopping the mace with a sound like wind, the Artist revealed a fierce look through their gentle smile and said,
With a mocking ferocity, the Artist taunted,
“The spider playing with fire will soon be sent your way.”
“Shut up!”
KWAANG!
Because of this provocation, Ereta, who loved her mother too much and wasn’t aware of which way her emotions leaned, charged forward swinging her axe.
Together with the axe cutting through the dented floor, the priests standing behind the Artist all rushed forward at once.
“Damn…!”
With Angie’s startled voice, the group countered the priests with weapons and fists.
CHREEEEEEENG!
Angie’s punch struck a priest’s torso, Phey’s blade intercepted a spear aimed at Angie’s opening, and Tiamat’s arrow whistled through the air, piercing the priest’s shield.
But the pierced priest didn’t fall.
The priest Angie had struck didn’t die either, and Phey was clutching her wrist, wincing.
A strength and resilience different from the conventional priests of the previous universe.
Even Lumel’s spiral spear stopped after barely scratching the surface and was ignored as the priest retaliated.
Richard deflected the thrust spear with his armored wrist made of white steel, but the attacks continued without pause. Both Lumel and Richard struggled against the priests with troubled expressions.
Just as everyone in the group was thrown into confusion, Aslan pulled out a single feather towards the charging priests and murmured.
“Purity.”
What followed was the ancient deity’s flame.
The feather transformed into a greatsword, and Aslan’s foot dragged along the ground as he moved. The sword edge ignited brilliantly in an instant.
“Mooncutting.”
The arc drawn by the blade bisected the rushing priest. Though the splattered viscera emitted a foul odor, Aslan paid it no mind and shouted.
“Group up! Work together to fight them!”
“Ugh, what about Ereta?!”
As Angie blocked a priest’s attack with her forearm, grabbing her broken arm and kicking them away, she voiced her concern—just as Ereta was alone.
CRACK, ZING!
The blunt techniques of rotation and flexibility were used to the fullest. The axe blade swung with a twisting body effectively blocked the Artist’s sharp attacks, but in reality, it was the opposite.
Ereta was being overwhelmed by the Artist.
The angry expression she had maintained until moments ago was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow showing only confusion and frustration as she faced the Artist.
“I’ll take care of this!”
Aslan quickly judged the situation and charged toward the Artist.
While the rest of the group could handle the larger numbers, Ereta was alone. She was in a state where she couldn’t even respond to surprise attacks coming from behind.
As Aslan charged, Ereta unleashed a flurry of attacks.
Changing her grip on the axe handle, she swung it, thrust its head to deflect the mace, delivered a short upward strike, twisted her waist to spin, and slashed at the neck.
Three attacks in a single breath. Normally, one wouldn’t be able to block even the first attack, but the Artist wasn’t normal.
The Artist deflected all the attacks, easily swishing the mace, crossed the shield to bounce them off, and dodged by sidestepping.
The only fortunate thing was that the Artist couldn’t counterattack.
“Let’s play a bit. Did you enjoy it?”
As the Artist’s words signaled a change in momentum, that advantage was lost.
The moment the Artist’s foot stepped forward, three beams of white light surged toward Ereta.
An upward strike with the mace. Barely blocking it with the axe handle.
Next, the shield sliding like a snake up the handle to strike her temple. Blocked again with the axe head.
But with the resulting imbalance, the Artist wasted no time in smashing down with the mace.
POW!
“Ugh…!”
The protective magic enveloping the shoulder allowed by the mace crackled and sparked.
Despite the protection, the shoulder appeared dislocated.
The heightened physical abilities gained upon becoming a high-ranking priest combined with the skills accumulated before becoming one.
The dedication to art displayed overwhelming, practical techniques that bridged the gap, leaving Ereta perplexed.
Most challenging of all was the poison.
The pervasive toxic gas suppressed breathing and hesitated movement.
She could endure it only thanks to the vitality built up through Bijou’s courage.
Even that was now useless. There was no way to block the descending mace. But if she didn’t block it, she would die. Just as the woman struggled to lift her axe.
KAANG!
Aslan intervened from the side, deflecting the mace.
Leaving trails of white sparks created by the clash of whites, Aslan briefly locked eyes with Ereta. The message was simple: I’ll help; stay calm.
Clutching her teeth, Ereta forced the recovery power generated by Bijou’s courage into her shoulder and gripped her axe.
Aslan steadied the wavering purity and swung his blade using his entire body.
Then white light and black light converged. Two distinct beams surged toward the Artist.
“Ah, two opponents. Today’s my lucky day.”
The Artist’s response was leisurely.
Subsequently, the clang of metal resounded.
Almost a dozen times in a single breath. To an untrained eye, it sounded like dozens of clashes. Amidst this noise, the Artist laughed while facing Aslan and Ereta.
Deflecting a downward slash with the shield face, dodging a thrust by tilting their head, then swinging the mace.
As Aslan blocked the attack and stumbled back, the shield aimed for Ereta.
Ereta deflected it with the end of her axe handle while striking down with her axe, but the Artist had already moved far out of range.
The Artist moved agilely.
Flipping their wrist, driving their knee into Ereta’s knee, crossing arms holding the shield to swing it.
This series of movements was precise and artistic, almost like a choreographed dance.
In the perfectly technical motions, there was no waste.
Even with the immense power gained from escaping the Three Evils, there was no room for complacency or negligence.
Under the Artist’s hand, who viewed martial arts as an art form, this art performed its role and sang of death.
ZEEEEEET, KANG!
Amid the ringing of metal,
Aslan realized.
The Artist before him had reached the level of a complete high-ranking priest.
Not the awkward kind often seen among high priests of the Three Evils.
Compared to the Dragon King, weaker perhaps, but clearly at the level of a high priest.
Heroic figures prepared to kneel, true demigods who held laws in their grasp.
Such beings are called high priests in the world, so Aslan clenched his teeth and narrowly deflected the incoming mace with focused purity while swinging his blade several times.
Back-to-back with Ereta, covering her openings, receiving her support, they clashed weapons.
‘The situation is unfavorable.’
In this process, Aslan thought.
There was no way to turn the tide now.
It was impossible to use prescience. The moment one concentrated to use it, the seeping poison seemed to treat it as damage and immediately manifested in reality.
Even if it could be used, could Aslan’s brain handle another use of prescience?
Most likely not. Without using prescience, Aslan needed to devise a move to reverse the current situation.
Would giving up flesh to take bone work?
No, revealing an opening by giving up flesh could lead to immediate death right there.
Though thanks to blood fusion, there was a second chance, Aslan preferred to spare his life if possible.
Perhaps waiting for comrades to deal with all the priests and join forces?
But the Artist’s attacks were growing increasingly fierce and rapidly changing.
Coming from above, below, to the side, aiming for the arm, head, neck, chest—every thrust of the mace felt like death itself if concentration lapsed even for a moment.
Gritting his teeth, Aslan focused on the increasingly accelerating Artist’s attacks.
KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KANG!
Continuous metallic clashes. Amid the collision of weapons and the clash of malice and survival instincts, the ground groaned slowly.
From the start, the place where the battle began resembled a rock jutting out from a cliff. The ground wasn’t sturdy enough to withstand such harsh exchanges.
RUMBLE, sensing the trembling ground, Aslan thought while blocking attacks aimed at his head and neck with the hilt and blade respectively.
The moment the ground collapses must be seized.
At that moment when the ground collapses, it must be used as the decisive move—a single powerful strike to sever the Artist’s head.
Aslan perceived this and took his stance. Pulling out of the exchange and gathering purity in both hands.
The Artist likely thought the same. Knowing this was the decisive moment, Aslan settled into position.
When the ground trembled, the head would be severed.
The target was the reversal of shadows.
Lowering his stance as if placing a bet, Aslan started as the ground began to collapse.
However, at the moment the ground collapsed, the Artist moved differently than Aslan expected.
Lifting the white mace high, the Artist dropped it toward Ereta, who momentarily froze.
Seeing this, Aslan was momentarily startled.
The action lacked rationality.
Thus, Aslan quickly understood the reason behind it.
The Artist’s purpose wasn’t solely the verdict.
For some unknown reason, it seemed the Artist also targeted Ereta.
Even amidst the exchange, the Artist attacked Ereta repeatedly rather than focusing on Aslan.
Through this exchange and the current decisive move, lacking rationality, Aslan grasped the meaning.
Targeting Ereta instead of the far more threatening Aslan.
Conversely, capturing Ereta meant gaining something.
Even knowing that capturing Ereta might result in death at Aslan’s hands afterward, choosing this gamble indicated nothing else.
It was irrational. Obsession was evident.
But it was advantageous for Aslan.
If he ignored the attack heading toward Ereta and swung his weapon, he could sever the Artist’s head.
But he didn’t.
Aslan retracted the blade he was about to thrust and stepped in front of Ereta.
It was almost a reflexive action.
Within the stretching time, it was the recoil of something Aslan recalled.
Fighting the Dragon King multiple times, sacrificing Ereta within prescience.
The whispered confession of affection.
Warmth.
The halting heartbeat.
Hot yet icy blood.
That vivid yet horrific sensation accompanied it.
The image of Ereta kissing her palm as if it were proof of love, blushing despite embarrassment, came to mind.
Ereta’s face flushed red under the sunset.
Because the unforgettable scene lingered in his mind.
Humans are inherently irrational beings.
They possess reason, but actions are often driven more by emotion than reason.
Reason usually follows later to justify those actions.
Aslan was no different.
“Damn.”
The Artist’s eyes widened in surprise, and fear filled Ereta’s eyes.
In that gap, Aslan extended his essence.
CRUNCH, CREAK!
The mace crushed the extended stone sword, grinding Aslan’s entire left arm—from the wrist to the shoulder—into a mass of mashed flesh and bone.
As the pulverized flesh and shattered bones mixed and flowed like Omul, Aslan managed a faint smile.
Smiling, he turned his body and swung the gathered purity forward.
SWISH!
Simultaneous blows exchanged. Aslan offered his left arm, and the Artist’s left hand disappeared. The shield held in the severed wrist clattered against the ground as the floor collapsed.
Amid the rush of falling toward the deepest abyss, the Artist and Aslan wielded their weapons.
KANG!
Aslan blocked the mace aimed at Ereta’s head with the tip of his pure blade.
And as the blade edge slid to aim for Ereta’s neck, he deflected it by tilting the sword.
Beyond the sparks flying between the two clashing metals, the Artist’s gray eyes met Aslan’s teal ones.
The moment those pairs of eyes held different emotions.
KOOOOOOOONG!
The colliding boulders split the water’s surface, and the poison surged upward violently.
