Aslan’s calm demeanor, despite the impending death, seemed nonchalant to Lumel, who found the scene profoundly sorrowful.
Tears overflowed, and Lumel retreated while covering his face. Angie embraced the retreating Lumel and patted his back.
Next was Ereta.
Ereta hung her head low with a face swirling with emotions. To her, it all felt like her fault.
Aslan’s shortened lifespan was nothing more than the cost of pushing too hard, the side effect of prolonged Equalization use.
But in Ereta’s eyes, it only seemed like Aslan had expended himself trying to protect her this time.
Because of her, Aslan was dying. Not the Aslan who was meant to defeat the Evil Deity and save the world, but the Aslan who was her one precious existence.
This was a sight Ereta, who had already lost her mother, couldn’t endure. So she reached out and held Aslan’s hand.
“Aslan.”
“…Yeah.”
Aslan, carrying the White Steel Shield and folded greatsword on his back and the White Steel Mace at his waist, stood ready to fight the Priests at any moment.
There was no way such a spirited Aslan could die.
That’s what Ereta wanted to believe.
“Aslan.”
Yet no words came, only his name escaped her lips.
If only Aslan could live a little longer. With that thought, Ereta illuminated the tattoos on her back, infusing them with life force—a life force that seemed to slip away as soon as it was given.
With a somber expression, Ereta rested her forehead on Aslan’s hand. No further words were needed; Aslan understood her meaning clearly.
She didn’t want him to die.
She was sorry.
She wanted him to tell her it was a lie.
“It’s okay.”
Reading her thoughts, Aslan replied. This wasn’t the first time he’d pushed himself in battle and paid the price.
So Aslan was fine.
While ruffling Ereta’s hair, Aslan turned his head to look at Phey.
Phey met Aslan’s gaze, blinked rapidly, and said,
“Everyone’s being an idiot. There’s no way Aslan is going to die.”
Hands on her hips, Phey blinked rapidly. Always calm in telling lies and playing the cute Elf, Phey now forcibly avoided the looming anxiety. She continued,
“Aslan is Aslan. He wouldn’t leave Phey behind. So he won’t die, right?”
Aslan responded with a smile, and Phey bit her lip before lowering her head.
The atmosphere grew heavy. A woman cried, a girl looked despondent, and others bore expressions of despair.
Seeing everyone succumbing to the gloom, Aslan sighed.
Eyes wet with tears, filled with frustration and regret, stared at Aslan. Forcing a smile despite it all, Aslan said,
“There might be a way.”
There isn’t.
“Maybe we can find something in the Ancient Deity’s temple.”
Aslan knew there was nothing from the countless times he had cleared the Eternal Dominion.
“Perhaps among the things the Priests use, we might find a solution. After all, they’re the ones who bring people back from the brink of death.”
True, but only for those destined to become Priests of the Evil Deity. No such miracle awaited Aslan.
Still, Aslan lied.
A believable lie, one that gave hope.
A lie even Aslan wanted to believe.
Slowly, the mood began to shift. Watching Aslan act as if it were nothing, the group started to think perhaps it truly wasn’t, that Aslan must have a plan.
So Aslan forced a smile to make them believe.
When Lumel stopped crying, Angie teased him about it.
Lumel complained in response, and Angie smiled brightly.
Tiamat smirked lightly at the scene, and Phey resumed playing the carefree Elf.
Ereta tried to loosen her constricted throat by complimenting how well Aslan’s mace and shield fit him.
The effort to find false hope. Aslan didn’t want this to break, so he diverted the topic.
“Well, enough about me. You all know my stubbornness by now, so let’s focus on finding a way to win the upcoming battles.”
His usual gentle tone. Tiamat chimed in, stroking her chin,
“The upcoming battles… Do you have any ideas?”
“Exactly. Is the Supreme Divinity’s Sword really that strong?” Ereta added.
Wiping her tears, Lumel spoke up,
“So, are we gathering an army? Together with—”
“The Supreme Divinity’s Sword isn’t something an army can handle. We’ll need some kind of strategy to counter it.”
The group talked without mentioning failure or death, signs of post-traumatic stress. Smiling faintly at their attempts, Aslan said,
“Do I have any ideas? Yes. We’ll seek out a master of magic while alliances form.”
Master of magic. Phey frowned, recognizing the reference.
“The guy in his 70s who wears a mask, keeps cats, uses a flail, and specializes in mutation and manifestation schools?”
“Yeah, that guy.”
Anton, the Master of Magic, whose information was scarce. The group exchanged curious glances at this sudden revelation.
“Seventies? Is that really helpful?”
Especially Angie, who asked skeptically, seemingly worried about his age.
“Yeah, ironically… Anton might play a significant role when wielding the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.”
Aslan answered naturally. This much wasn’t a lie.
While a typical Master of Magic would struggle against the Supreme Divinity’s Sword, Anton could manage it.
“We’ve met before, and my last visit was just two years ago, so he probably still remembers me… probably.”
“…Is he senile?”
“A bit.”
“Is that really helpful?”
Tiamat chuckled, half-joking, half-serious. Aslan shrugged in response.
Though calculating that even senility wouldn’t be a problem.
“The real issue is location.”
At this, Lumel, whose tear-streaked face tilted in confusion, asked,
“Location? Is it floating in the sky or something?”
Lumel’s imaginative question, perhaps hoping for a sky-bound wizard, made Aslan awkwardly shake his head.
“I wish. It’s not that it’s inaccessible, but approaching will be problematic.”
The group looked puzzled again. Aslan glanced around before asking,
“What do you think is the most central land of the Supreme Divinity?”
Caught off guard by the random question, the group looked at each other before answering in turn.
“Uh, isn’t it the Calus Empire? Since this is its sphere of influence….”
“Wrong. Though it’s on the same continent.”
“Then, hmm, the brilliant insight of this elder points to the Wolphol Barony.”
“Great insight, but wrong.”
“Hmm.”
“Then, um, the city of Wolphol Barony… Wolphol? If Wolphol Barony has fallen—”
“Wrong. The base hasn’t changed.”
Unchanged base. Same continent as the Calus Empire. Confused, the group exchanged perplexed looks until Aslan revealed,
“The correct answer is the Sanctuary of the Supreme Divinity. Where all Male warriors gather, and the stone tablet listing the chosen Veterans resides.”
That’s the Supreme Divinity’s base. At Aslan’s additional explanation, the group remained puzzled.
During which Angie, who had quietly listened due to lack of knowledge, raised her hand slightly and asked,
“Why ask such a sudden question?”
“Because… our destination is near there.”
“Eh?”
Even Angie was startled, sensing the oddity of his statement.
The Veteran lives near the Supreme Divinity’s base.
Ordinarily, a situation where one would be captured and sacrificed immediately.
Finally, the group noticed something was off and looked at Aslan.
Aslan explained,
“Anton’s residence. Anton’s tower… is located north of the Supreme Divinity’s Sanctuary.”
“…Is he even alive? And on our side?”
“Yeah. He hates the Supreme Divinity as much as I do.”
“Wow, that’s surprising…”
Indeed, an improbable situation under normal circumstances.
It was also a method that wouldn’t have been attempted without Anton being the Master of Magic. Of course, part of it was due to Aslan teaching Anton the proverb ‘The light beneath the lamp is the darkest,’ though Aslan didn’t bother mentioning this fact.
For whatever reason, it was true that the Supreme Divinity hadn’t been able to find Anton because of it.
Did the group finally understand why Aslan mentioned the location was problematic?
Aslan thought,
Perhaps the hardest part of preparing to eliminate the Supreme Divinity’s Sword would be reaching Anton.
Anton, hiding beneath the Supreme Divinity’s Sanctuary, unseen like the proverb suggests.
Once they found and recruited Anton, they’d have to evade the Male warriors dispatched from the Supreme Divinity’s Sanctuary and escort Anton to safety.
