The count reminisced.
He recalled the words his father had told him about a man named Aslan.
Though there wasn’t anything particularly profound in those recollections, the count couldn’t help but bring them to mind as he observed Aslan’s current demeanor.
Among these thoughts, one stood out prominently:
Aslan was stubborn.
While he didn’t easily become obstinate, once he set his mind on something, nothing could sway him—not even the strongest persuasion.
With only five years left at most, and perhaps as little as one year, Aslan insisted on fighting personally despite possibly shortening his lifespan further with the recent use of Equalization.
There was no way to change his resolve.
Neither threats, bribery, persuasion, intimidation, nor appeals to practicality or emotion swayed Aslan; his will remained unshaken.
Had it been mere arrogance about surviving, one might have reprimanded him, but Aslan’s expression bore a deep sense of purpose and understanding.
An unwavering will in the face of death.
The comprehension of someone who realizes they can still fight despite knowing their days are numbered.
Thus, the count could do nothing to stop Aslan as he left the study.
He could only later question whether this was truly the right course of action.
But soon, he realized that regardless of its correctness, the decision was already beyond his control. All that lay ahead was the battle between veterans and priests.
Shaking off his worries, the count turned his attention to the pressing matters awaiting him.
‘If Aslan is handling it, I can at least ease my concerns for now, but the real problem lies here.’
Most of these tasks revolved around the aftermath of the rebellion.
To be direct, the rebellion had ended quite successfully, thanks to the support of veterans and the sudden transformation of Baron Olpasbet.
Even with the overwhelming odds due to the veterans’ assistance, when their master, the baron, suddenly turned into a colossal monster, most of the guards threw down their weapons and surrendered.
Count Scherlukunde arrived immediately after. Just as the prisoners were about to quarrel over Olpasbet’s interests and before the guards could be summarily executed, the young lord stepped in.
Using his personal troops, he reinforced his implicit authority and promised a position to the apparent ringleader from the Northern Empire, thereby securing control over Olpasbet.
For those who voiced dissatisfaction, he offered positions related to Olpasbet or his own territory. If that didn’t work, he resorted to monetary rewards to settle disputes.
Given the effectiveness of wealth throughout history, most prisoners accepted this arrangement.
What followed was straightforward. The count summoned his vassal and relative to oversee Olpasbet’s administration and incorporated it into his direct domain.
Although opposition from the nobles might arise, their voices would likely be drowned out by the impending eradication campaign of the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
This was the young lord’s plan.
All that remained were minor administrative tasks: releasing those without clear charges, freeing captives, and granting liberty to those unjustly imprisoned.
However, a small number of prisoners posed problems—those with definitive crimes, those detained for political reasons, and former associates of the previous lord wielding influence.
Contemplating how to handle these individuals, the young lord sighed.
Elsewhere, outside the study, Aslan also let out a sigh. Donning armor, retrieving his weapon, and fastening it to his waist and back, he gripped a golden spear.
With a troubled expression, he gazed at someone.
A sigh mingled with worry, concern, and slight breathing difficulty caused those blocking his path to flinch.
“Youngster.”
“Tiamat.”
“Isn’t there any way you can reconsider?”
Clear anxiety. Aslan tilted his head with a wry smile—a smile that seemed precarious.
Though it appeared similar to his usual expressions, Angie and Tiamat noticed something different.
Knowing that Aslan wasn’t born in Geladridion, they saw the fear embedded deeply within his smile.
His remaining lifespan ranged from one to five years—optimistically five if luck held, realistically one based on appearances.
Living only a year. Within that time, all evil deities must be destroyed. There was nothing afterward.
It essentially meant dying alone in a foreign land, leaving both Tiamat and Angie overwhelmed by vicarious pain.
Aslan, however, seemed to think differently.
With his characteristic wry smile, he said naturally,
“It’s the Supreme Divinity’s Sword. We all have to risk our lives in this fight. Otherwise, we won’t win.”
“So consider it again. You spoke of annihilating evil deities and making the world like Belus Alphen, a better place. Even without your direct involvement, planning and commanding would suffice…”
Aslan shook his head to cut off the words.
“Then people would die—many more than I can bear to witness…”
Interrupting Aslan’s unfinished sentence, Tiamat growled, her tail tapping the floor restlessly.
“Aren’t you human? Isn’t your life just disposable? Please listen. When have we ever ignored your words? Can’t you hear ours?”
“That’s why…”
Tiamat frowned, and Aslan responded with a gentle laugh.
“I’m human, and so are others. I don’t think my life weighs heavier than anyone else’s. That’s why I fight.”
Tiamat fell silent, unable to find a rebuttal. She sensed an unyielding determination in Aslan’s consistent attitude.
Uncomfortably stepping aside, Angie beside her spoke up.
“Aslan.”
“Angie.”
“I believe Aslan doesn’t need to fight this time.”
“Why?”
“Just… I dislike it. I dislike seeing Aslan in pain, seeing him struggle so much. I just don’t like it.”
Her eloquence might lack, but her intent was clear. Angie thought it unfair for Aslan to burn himself out for lands not his own.
The girl’s honesty, her golden eyes gleaming with some fervor, moved Aslan. Looking at her clenched fists, he placed his hand atop her head and gently stroked it.
“Thank you.”
Yet, he gave no indication of changing his mind. The girl, familiar with Aslan’s stubbornness, understood and silently stepped aside.
Passing the dragon and the girl, Aslan stepped outside to see those waiting for him.
Lumel, whose eyes carried deep sorrow and intense emotions, and Ereta, who bowed her head as if she might wilt at any moment. Phey maintained an impassive expression, though visibly strained.
Maria watched Aslan with a curious gaze, and Richard stood nearby, uneasily shouldering his bag.
Seeing them, Aslan softened his expression and addressed Richard.
“Are you heading to Cardi?”
“Seems like it. If we’re going to fight the Supreme Divinity’s Sword, I’ll probably need Father’s help.”
“That makes sense. Helsing’s resources will surely be invaluable.”
Richard seemed to have several things he wanted to say but held back, deterred by the light-heartedness in Aslan’s expression.
Noticing this, Aslan turned to Maria, who wore an amused yet unconcerned look.
“Princess Maria, can we expect support from the Vida Kingdom?”
“It might affect my succession rank, but I can bring along some forces.”
“Then I leave it to you.”
Though seemingly unreasonable, Maria didn’t refuse. While it would diminish her immediate political influence, eradicating the Supreme Divinity’s Sword would grant her immense power afterward.
They didn’t linger long.
Richard, having spent little time with Aslan lately, regretfully acknowledged his inability to alter Aslan’s decision. Maria, intrigued by Aslan’s conviction, had no intention of stopping him.
After they left, Aslan looked at Lumel.
Lumel stared at Aslan, her lips tightly pressed, on the verge of tears. Despite past struggles with delusions, she was lost in thought now.
With her sensitive nature, she envisioned Aslan’s life.
Aslan had lost his sense of taste. Upon hearing this from the doctor, she momentarily felt disheartened.
Thinking about how futile it was to have Aslan praise her cooking when he couldn’t taste it made her efforts seem foolish.
But it wasn’t like that.
Her momentary disappointment quickly turned into embarrassment and regret, for Aslan was considerate.
He could have revealed the truth and embarrassed or saddened her, but he didn’t.
Instead, he praised her cooking, encouraging her. Though unaware of his secret, Lumel still felt profound sadness.
Thus, she couldn’t prevent Aslan from continuing to fight despite having only a year left.
Her self-esteem was too low to indulge in selfish desires, and her noble pride wouldn’t allow her to push excessively. Falling in love recklessly and harboring unrequited feelings were her limits.
The person she loved unconditionally, the one she wished would live, would die in a year.
It was a heartbreaking and sorrowful reality.
Lumel’s thoughts warned her that her own grief shouldn’t overshadow her sympathy, and she suppressed it accordingly.
“How can you smile like that?”
The words slipped out. Tears welled in her large brown eyes as Aslan softened his smile and reached out.
Handling her delicately, he bent his finger and wiped her tear-streaked eyes with its joint.
Beyond her startled expression, Aslan shook his head.
“I can still smile now, and I want to keep smiling in the future.”
Smiling now wouldn’t change what lay ahead. Aslan would eventually die.
But recalling that everyone eventually dies diminished the shock somewhat.
Suppressing his fears, Aslan handed the spear to Lumel, who was shedding tears.
A long spear resembling a needle or spike, its golden current mesmerizing. Aslan spoke.
“One of the twin spears used by Law and Order, Judgment.”
Their eyes met. Lifting her head, Aslan smiled gently.
“Please use it, Lady Lumel. It won’t break, so it should be convenient.”
An unbreakable spear, a golden spear glowing with electric currents. Lumel took it, and Aslan smiled peacefully, suppressing his fears and anxieties for the task ahead.
The words “I don’t want to die” remained unspoken.
