Leaning on his cane as he strolled, Aslan realized that this place had once been the mansion of Baron Olpasbet.
Though there were occasional bloodstains and more than a few broken pieces of furniture,
Aslan could still imagine the mansion’s former grandeur from the remnants.
And as he continued to move through it, Aslan confirmed that his assumptions were correct.
Healers are rare.
Even those who merely dabble in restoration magic are scarce, but doctors who possess medical knowledge and function as proper healers are even rarer.
They are worth their weight in gold and favored by the powerful wherever they go on the continent.
So much so that even the church of the Supreme Divinity hires them at great cost.
To have one such magician employed here…
“Ahh, Master Muhim. I see you’ve finished the treatment…”
Seeing Aslan now, a soldier faltered, looking flustered, just like several heavily armed soldiers brought beyond their usual territory might.
Their identity was not hard to guess.
With no intention of concealing it, the doctor sheepishly asked the soldier for forgiveness and led Aslan along. Aslan followed the doctor, walking until they reached an office.
An office where the baron used to conduct business when away from the main estate.
The guards standing by the door stepped aside, and as the door opened, Aslan nodded indifferently upon seeing the expected scene.
There was a boy.
A boy who looked younger than Lee Hyun-woo had been before Aslan possessed him.
Perhaps around fifteen years old?
Of average height with a delicate face, his deep-set worries made a strong impression.
Although there was no trace of his father in his face, Aslan knew who he was.
When Aslan entered the office and slightly bowed, the boy seemed to notice his presence only then and looked at Aslan.
“Veteran of War, Aslan, reporting to Count Scherlukunde.”
The son of Count Scherlukunde, and the newly acquired Count of the Scherlukunde Earldom.
“Is this the first time you meet me in person?”
The hoarse voice spoke as politely as possible. Although it might seem amusing at first glance, Aslan showed no such signs.
Rather, it felt familiar.
A frail-looking appearance but with a confident stance.
A self-assured tone and eloquent speech.
A noble yet practical outfit that balanced convenience with aesthetics.
Like the previous Count Scherlukunde, who despite his cunning looks was actually righteous and clever, the current count appeared frail but was self-confident and astute.
Though their appearances didn’t resemble each other, Aslan could find traces of the former count in this young lord’s demeanor.
It was almost déjà vu. Just as Aslan thought this, the young lord grinned.
“Yes, this is the first… Though you might think I resemble my father in atmosphere. Am I right?”
Grinning mischievously, Aslan stiffened momentarily but soon nodded, and the young lord stroked his chin, smiling contentedly.
“Certainly, my appearance resembles my mother more than my father. But in other aspects, I take pride in being like my father. He liked these traits very much, often saying ‘Good farming of offspring who only took the best qualities.'”
A seemingly playful setup. When Aslan chuckled awkwardly, unsurprisingly, the next words came.
“He would also joke when talking about you, saying ‘You don’t look cunning like me, so you won’t get scolded by Aslan either.'”
The casual posture of the young lord leaning against the office table.
Though it sounded like a mere joke, it wasn’t.
It was reminiscing about the deceased, recalling pleasant memories of him.
In short, it was a form of remembrance.
Realizing this, Aslan wiped away the awkwardness revealed by his smile and solemnized his expression with a sense of melancholy.
“I apologize.”
“…What is there to apologize for? Every noble living in this era must be careful. The late emperor… No, the emperor two generations ago now. Even he effectively died because of priests, didn’t he? It’s a calamity even His Majesty can’t avoid, so it can’t be helped.”
It was common for well-progressing wars to turn into chaos with the appearance of a priest. That was how Geladridion was.
“It’s regrettable that we couldn’t find any remains of my father… But it can’t be helped. I don’t blame you. Geladridion is such a land.”
Such a land indeed.
The sigh exhaled alongside the troubled expression was a muttered soliloquy, unbecoming of a boy, yet sincere nonetheless. Aslan focused on the expression and sincerity without uttering a word, suspecting his summons here were related to this.
“I heard you needed me. What is the matter?”
Indeed, Aslan’s suspicion was correct.
The noticeably hesitant young count. Hesitating, he seemed to fidget his hands like a frail boy, then sighed.
“Don’t take this too seriously.”
Then, pulling his body closer, he sat on the office table, dangling his legs while speaking.
“My father, the previous Count Scherlukunde, used to say this: If anything happens, something beyond human control, don’t hesitate to ask Aslan for help.”
Aslan’s eyebrows twitched, prompting the boy to add,
“If it’s for the sake of humanity, if it’s about punishing evil, he said you might accept even a meager payment and handle it perfectly.”
That’s what he believed. Aslan’s expression slightly furrowed, and the boy faintly smiled upon seeing it.
“Moreover, he said there wouldn’t be unreasonable demands. Forcing excessive payment would only earn you the insult of looking cunning, so he advised simply relying on you.”
“So…”
“Yes, this time I’ve come to you for that ‘job that pays poorly.'”
For the benefit of humanity, for punishing evil. Aslan stared blankly, clueless about what the matter could be, as the young lord sighed again.
“Count Worfal has died.”
“…Pardon?”
Though expecting it to be unusual from the frequent sighs, it exceeded expectations.
It’s not easy for a count-level noble to die.
Especially someone like Count Worfal, who suffered from paranoia.
Thus, Aslan frowned in confusion, and the young lord nodded as if understanding.
“You’re surprised how Count Worfal could die, aren’t you? So am I.”
Continuing, the young lord descended from the table and gazed out the window.
Outside the window, his soldiers were busily maintaining order in the city, and prisoners who succeeded in rebellion were assisting under the new order.
With command over troops larger than his own father’s forces, contracts with several elite mercenary groups, and recent alliances with Northern Empire invaders, the death of Count Worfal—someone overseeing multiple mage towers and cultivating many wizards—was…
“Hard for me to accept as well.”
Even tactically superior, whenever territorial battles approached, his father would grumble about losing hair.
Imagining these anecdotes, the young lord gave a somewhat twisted smile to Aslan.
“At least until recently.”
Now accepting it. Aslan could foresee the entire story.
If there existed an entity capable of killing such a great noble, not through trickery like Aslan’s but through straightforward means, there was only one.
“The Priest.”
“Hmm, you’re right… But not exactly.”
Right but not exactly? Perplexed, Aslan noticed Count Scherlukunde anxiously stroking the hilt of his sword at his waist.
“A High Priest. The Supreme Divinity’s Sword. He killed Count Worfal.”
Aslan’s expression hardened, and the young lord spoke with a voice tinged with unease.
“I don’t know the reason or circumstances. But what’s certain is… 40% of the Worfal Earldom has been devastated, Count Worfal is dead, and numerous powerful mages and warriors perished in the process. Refugees are pouring out, and ominous rumors are spreading. They say the next target is the Scherlukunde Count.”
“…That’s…”
“Yes, it’s not baseless gossip.”
The hand gripping the sword hilt whitened as the young lord looked at it, then greeted Aslan with a twisted smile.
“The world is changing. It seems humans are no longer very useful pawns for the Supreme Divinity. That’s why I’ve come to seek your help. Or rather, I intended to…”
Past tense.
Aslan felt the gaze sweeping over his body and gave a wry smile.
“I’ve heard about your lifespan. Before waking up, the examination results… Given Muhi hasn’t corrected them now, the outcome probably hasn’t changed.”
Doctor and restorative mage Muhi briefly bowed his head toward the count’s gaze, a silent affirmation.
“At most five years.”
Another sigh. It was the sigh of a ruler seeking a way to alleviate worry but instead finding himself trapped deeper.
The gaze that followed landed on Aslan.
Unable to run or stand due to missing an ankle.
One arm missing, the remaining one nonfunctional.
Clearly incapable of fighting, Aslan’s condition. The count spoke with a troubled expression.
“Teach me how to counter the Supreme Divinity’s Sword and help train the soldiers.”
A preconceived judgment that Aslan wouldn’t fight directly.
“I’m the master of this land and must protect its people. My father would have wanted that.”
Still, a sense of responsibility trying to make things work somehow.
Watching all this, Aslan thought for a moment.
The Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
The strongest martial artist Aslan had personally engaged with, comparable in strength to the Dragon King.
The value of that martial artist lay in the immense magnitude and mass that made even large-scale battles feel like individual combat.
Possessing skills absorbed from both war and knowledge, wielding hundreds of swords simultaneously—a figure truly worthy of the title “Avatar of Destruction.”
Even in games, praised as a well-designed boss where suddenly the game scale changes, making for an exciting boss battle.
That was the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
Additionally, considering counters, the Supreme Divinity’s Sword particularly showed strength against armies.
Its enormity was practically equivalent to an army itself.
Thinking about how impossible it is to defeat a priest with an army, Aslan foresaw how this hunt without himself would unfold.
“How many do you estimate will die if we face the Supreme Divinity’s Sword without the Veteran of War?”
Thus, bait was thrown.
Biting into it, the count gave a pessimistic smile.
“An incalculable number.”
Hearing the expected, desired answer, Aslan smiled gently. Without a hint of hesitation.
“Then I shall face it.”
“What?”
The count’s startled voice. Aslan smiled and said,
“But I won’t fight alone. My comrades will join me, and so will my allies. All of Baramanz, the Helsing Earldom, the Calus Empire, and the City of Wizards will join this hunt.”
Alliances. The massive coalition Aslan was forming to capture the Evil Deity and liberate Geladridion—startled by hearing it for the first time, the count’s confusion was evident. Aslan added,
“This alliance is for moments like this.”
Then the count barely regained his composure and looked at Aslan with a perplexed expression, eyes filled with anxiety.
“…An alliance would be good if it exists, but can you fight? In that condition?”
“Use Equalization.”
“What?”
“Are you suggesting using Equalization on a person? Well, it might be possible, but…”
Both the count and Doctor Muhi were visibly shocked by Aslan’s statement.
Indeed, it was uncommon to use Equalization on humans, so their reaction was natural.
But it didn’t apply to Aslan, who didn’t care.
“Now I understand why your lifespan is like this. If it’s a side effect of Equalization, continuing this could kill you. Sir Aslan.”
At the doctor’s advice, Aslan replied nonchalantly,
“It might. But if I don’t fight for that reason, many people will die.”
“And I don’t want to see people dying needlessly.”
Firm tone, the following words even firmer, imbued with willpower.
“If I refuse now and retreat to save myself, I might survive. But countless people will die because of my choice.”
Neither the count nor the doctor could refute that.
“You’ve already proposed it. You’ve already informed me that many will die. Their lives are in my hands, and my decision can let them live or die. Thus, my choice is already decided.”
Through the resolute tone flowed a kind of resolution. Swallowing unconsciously, the count watched as Aslan turned his cane-supported body to face him directly.
“I won’t sit idly by in the face of impending death. I won’t waste lives entrusted to me.”
“That is my choice.”
The emerald green eyes burned with fervor, unlike the cold gaze they usually emitted, causing the count to speak involuntarily.
“Why go so far…?”
Looking at Aslan’s body again, Aslan too glanced down at himself while thinking.
Remaining lifespan, at most five years, possibly as short as one year. It decreases with every use of Equalization.
The left eye is already blind, the right fading due to aging or the effects of the limited time.
Sensory perception is dulled; the feeling of dying is clear.
Taste disappeared long ago, unable to perceive any flavors.
The homeland is distant and blurred. Now, even its scenery feels like a faint illusion.
Therefore, naturally, hope is faint.
But it still exists.
Thus, Aslan does not avert his eyes from the immediate duty.
As long as there is even one life within reach, Aslan will not stop fighting.
That was Aslan.
A way of life upheld for twelve years.
And it was also the commonality between the monk seen in dreams and Aslan.
Why go so far?
The answer was set.
The faint mana tattoo on the upper arm glowed. Emitting a blue light, Aslan murmured,
“Equalization.”
A spell not meant for humans, fraught with risks.
Yet the spell that allowed Aslan to rise repeatedly.
A burning hallucination. Beyond it, Aslan’s limbs were returning.
After a week of recuperation and restoration magic, Aslan regained his limbs through Equalization.
Beyond the sound of the cane dropping, Aslan spoke,
“Because only I can.”
