The resonating sound echoed.
Aslan, startled by the ringing in his ears, perked up and listened closely.
Then he heard the clamor of clashing steel mixed with the roaring flames.
In harmony with it, the acrid smell of burning poison reached him.
Clang, Klang, Kagak. The sensation of two killing intents sharply colliding, pushing away, and colliding again was palpable.
Vision was blurry. One eye couldn’t see at all. Blood tears had streamed down, soaking his face, making it feel cold whenever a breeze passed, as if his face might freeze.
Hearing still functioned, but perhaps due to a concussion, there was a lingering numbness.
My eardrums might have burst.
Touch. The only thing felt was an incessant pricking sensation. It was the effect of the poison that hadn’t fully detoxified. If it weren’t for the cooling sensation as the blood tears dried, he might not have noticed anything at all.
Smell. Only this sense remained active, but the thick poisonous smoke only brought a choking stench.
Thus, only luck and the sixth sense replaced Aslan’s perception. Like a butterfly settling on him, a dull feeling filled Aslan’s awareness.
Within that awareness, two priests were fighting.
The axe wrapped in flames tirelessly defended its master, while the mace laced with poison moved gracefully, singing a hymn of death.
Everything seemed detached, as if happening behind a very thin veil.
It felt like reaching out wouldn’t make contact, as if it belonged to another world, or merely a game.
Drowsy, tired, and lethargic, Aslan slumped, dangling his shattered left ankle on the ground and closed his eyes.
It was an instinctive movement. He felt the presence of something that wouldn’t let him go, akin to a primitive urge.
Submerging himself thus, Aslan soon reached his subconscious.
A landscape brightly ablaze with white fire, different from any usual dream.
There, he found some inscriptions carved into it.
Though unreadable, their meaning was somehow comprehensible—strange inscriptions densely etched onto a pristine white tombstone.
Reading these inscriptions, Aslan reflected on his past.
It was a natural process, like breathing or blinking.
Once a man who wanted to believe he was Lee Hyun-woo, familiar yet strange, wandered in this land for twelve years and called himself Aslan.
Lee Hyun-woo reflected on the twelfth year he lived as Aslan.
He recalled what he had done over those twelve years.
The memories surfaced, floating in the void before his eyelids.
Like fluttering butterflies, the words arose. Aslan absorbed them with his eyes, reading them silently, pondering.
Aslan had seen and experienced much during those twelve years.
He witnessed loss, endured sorrow, and suffered pain.
Among those who lost everything, including their lives, Aslan buried them, both in memory and in Geladridion.
Only when the faint traces left behind after such burials began to fade could Aslan finally move on.
On his journey, Aslan had to kill many times.
Sometimes they were not human but monsters, sometimes priests.
Whichever side they were on, he struck down those who rushed to harm him.
Among those he killed were lesser divinities.
There was a deity betrayed by humans and giants, crying out for vengeance against them. With sorrow, Aslan slew her.
Aslan also killed a man striving to fulfill his duty as a chieftain and survive in a changing world.
With mixed feelings, Aslan ended his life.
Aslan also killed a man who simply sought to grow stronger and reach higher one day.
This man adapted and transformed in this corrupt world, eventually meeting his death at Aslan’s hands.
Aslan regretfully acknowledged his passing.
And lastly,
Aslan saw the forest keeper.
A pitiable man who became a priest, was used, and ultimately had to be killed by Aslan.
Though their deaths varied, they occurred close together in time.
And all of them were deaths Aslan regretted but did not truly repent.
These conflicting emotions swirled chaotically in the pure white space, colliding. Then, the flickering inscription asked:
“Was their death justified?”
It was the voice of the forest keeper. A man who cried out, asking if he wasn’t even allowed to mourn his family.
As Aslan softened his gaze at the voice, the image of the forest keeper appeared.
“A man who sought revenge for his family, though it was part of a conspiracy, still possessed self-awareness. You awakened truths he didn’t wish to know and then killed him. Was that right?”
Aslan pondered deeply. After a long deliberation, his lips parted, and the words flowed naturally.
“It was right. Though he had will and just intentions, he would have continued to kill people. Stopping him by killing him is lamentable, but I believe it was right.”
At that, the flickering image changed. It morphed into a wild wizard shedding pus, rolling his eyes wildly.
“This child suffered great wounds at the hands of giants and humans. Thus, he desired revenge. Although his will was corrupted and evil, he bore no malice toward you. Yet, you killed her. Was that right?”
The question. An emotionless whisper. This time, Aslan didn’t hesitate.
“It was right. People should not die for crimes they did not commit, nor for the sins of their ancestors. I believed that no one should be condemned to death without knowing the reason.”
Then the hovering figure disappeared entirely. As the flickering form vanished, a presence was felt approaching.
One step, two steps. The footsteps were familiar.
Turning his head, Aslan saw Ereta there.
The figure of Ereta.
Ereta smiled gently and spoke in a soft voice.
“This woman has killed people. She is undoubtedly a priest of an evil deity and a sinner with remaining debts. The fact that you took her in as a companion and even feel affection for her…”
Approaching, the gentle smile. Feeling dizzy, Aslan closed his eyes, and the voice reverberated in his ear.
“Is it right?”
And Aslan opened his eyes. Opening his eyes, he lost his words and thought.
There weren’t many things to say. Nor much he could do.
But he didn’t hesitate.
“It is not right.”
Seeing the smiling face of the woman, Aslan said:
“Sin does not disappear. That Ereta killed people is a fact. Her being a priest is an undeniable truth. My taking her in was also not right.”
The silent gaze of Ereta’s figure. Aslan admitted and added:
“But…”
“The reason?”
“Not because I intend to ignore minor evils to catch greater ones.”
“Then?”
“Ereta can no longer commit evil deeds. No one will die because of Ereta anymore. And I don’t have the qualification to punish past sins. Neither do I have the heart to do so. The only things I can punish are two.”
The figure smiled gently and nodded slightly, as if urging him to continue.
“Those who currently harm others and those who will harm others in the future. Those are the only two. That is my order. And for my order, I need Ereta. To stop greater evils from harming more lives and trampling the world.”
Then Law and Order questioned:
“How can you guarantee that Ereta won’t harm the innocent?”
At this, Aslan looked at the figure of Ereta.
“I cannot guarantee.”
When the figure’s face hardened and showed a moment of confusion, Aslan said:
“But there is one thing I can be certain of.”
Aslan approached the figure. Standing face-to-face, he lit up with a resolute expression.
Emerald green eyes blazing with willpower.
“When Ereta eventually makes the wrong choice, when she intends to harm the innocent…”
The fleeting image of Lewena. A mistake that must not be repeated. Aslan clenched his teeth and lit up his eyes.
“I will not look away.”
Law and Order understood, hearing this and seeing the sight.
That these words were true.
That he had been doing so for twelve years.
As the figure’s face changed and slowly faded, Aslan extended his hand and gripped it.
Gripping it lightly, like holding a sword, something gradually revealed itself.
It was purity.
The proof bestowed by the ancient deity, the ultimate move arranged by the ancient deities to combat the evil deities.
The divine power of the ancient deity, burning brighter and whiter, painting the already white space even whiter.
Holding this divine power, Aslan spoke.
An incomprehensible voice filled the world, and amidst the crumbling white world, only this voice burned brightly.
“Purity.”
Then, the divine power slowly began to destroy the world.
The white background crumbled, and the weight of Aslan’s sins dissolved. Between the cracks, something vividly shining emerged.
It was a scale.
A scale glowing with purity, the scales of law and order.
The moment the scales merged seamlessly with the purity, a system window popped up.
[Effect of Purity]
[Can sever the connection between a deity and their priest.]
[Will not fade as long as the user’s determination persists.]
[Heart of Sorrow – Can cut through divine power and ethereal bodies.]
[Sword of Injustice – Can cut anything the user desires and will never break.]
[Note: The original Korean text contains a line that doesn’t translate directly into English.]
[Strengthens with increased resonance with the divine power of the ancient deity.]
The characters of the system window gradually peeled off, fading like time and wind eroding them.
[Scale of Order – Can withstand any attack.]
The massive blade of purity was supported by the scales and the crossguard.
It was the unyielding light of order that remained untarnished amidst chaos and suffering.
Holding this order, Aslan slowly opened his eyes.
KAAAAANG!
Sound spread. Upon opening his eyes, all he could see was profound darkness, and the spreading sounds were chilling echoes of death.
“Hah, hahaha!”
The laughter of the artist. Alongside it, the sound of Ereta swinging her axe, responding as if reacting to it, and the burning heat. Aslan perceived all this while muttering.
“Balance, illumination.”
Tattoos glowed blue, and Aslan’s crushed arm regenerated, rewinding-like.
However, it wasn’t complete. The left arm that revealed itself lacked skin, exposing muscles and bones, resembling a grotesque deformity.
The regeneration of the crushed ankle was also incomplete, showing signs of damage scattered throughout the body, yet Aslan rose without hesitation.
There was little vitality in the staggering steps, and the seeping blood was thick.
Yet Aslan could move. As long as he could move, there was something he could do.
The arm without skin, the arm whose fingers wouldn’t budge. Aslan felt it moving involuntarily and saw what it held.
It was a spear lying atop the fine ash.
Despite its broad blade, the spear had a slender shaft, giving it the impression of a long needle.
As electric currents flowed along the spear’s blade, crackling across the floor, Aslan remembered its name.
“Judgment.”
Moving the unresponsive arm, Aslan grabbed the spear and stepped forward.
Whoosh, Screech!
Ereta was wielding flames. Swinging her flaming axe, she fought fiercely despite shedding tears and getting injured.
In contrast, the artist seemed relaxed and joyful.
Casually swinging his mace, spreading poison everywhere, each impact cost Ereta a wrist, ankle, or shoulder.
The disparity in strength was evident.
Even though Ereta had regained her strength after encountering a spider.
Perhaps, the artist realized Aslan had lied.
Perhaps, the artist harbored hatred towards Aslan too.
Still, Aslan had to help Ereta.
Because Ereta was Aslan’s comrade, and Aslan was Ereta’s comrade.
No matter what happened, that fact wouldn’t change.
Dragging “Judgment” across the ground while letting purity flow, Aslan advanced.
His armor soaked with flowing blood, his mouth bleeding from the seeping poison, yet Aslan pressed on.
“Huff!”
Clang!
The highly ranked artist.
Fighting alone against such an artist proved overwhelming, and Ereta lost her axe under the artist’s assault.
“Guh…!”
The axe slipped from her hands, embedding itself into the ground as Ereta fell to her knees. The artist raised his mace high.
“Well, that’s the end!”
The writhing poison. A blow that would have shattered Aslan’s entire right side instantly if he were his former self.
Advancing towards the blow, Aslan lifted the purity.
Ziiiiing!
A loud noise accompanied by a shockwave.
The surrounding pools of poison were pushed back, flooding the area like a tidal wave.
Amidst the receding and advancing scenery, Aslan stood firm.
“…What?”
Ka-kak, Ka-gak.
Overwhelming physical force, terrifying poison.
All of it was futile against the order that had endured for so long.
Purity remained unbroken, deflecting the mace.
Aslan did not die.
Clang!
Retreating the sword-like strike.
The mace was deflected, causing the artist to stagger backward. Retreating, he looked at Aslan.
A body nearing death.
Was it the poison seeping from his crushed ankle? His body occasionally convulsed.
What about his arm? While holding “Judgment,” the arm exposed raw muscles and bones without a single layer of skin.
Blood drenched his lips, and his eyes brimmed with death, allowing the artist to regain his composure.
“To wield such sword energy even with a dying body… Truly astonishing, Aslan. It’s quite artistic. Perhaps you could give me your skull once you die? I’ll certainly…”
Aslan ignored the predictable provocation.
He simply moved his immobile arm, raising “Judgment” high. Lightning surged from the elevated spearhead.
“You…?”
“Asl…an…”
Just as the artist paused mid-sentence and Ereta stared at his back,
Aslan flipped the spear in his grip, holding it reverse-style, and plunged it into the ground.
Boom!
Electric currents coursing through the embedded spearhead. Golden flashes crawled across the ground as Aslan spoke.
“Judgment.”
The transcendent voice filled and reverberated throughout the space.
“Heliakas van Luminoks. What I shall discuss now is the sin you’ve accumulated until now.”
The golden lightning crackled and blazed.
