Netchagni Fortress.
It was the last place Aslan visited before meeting Angie and also the place where this entire journey had effectively begun.
At the fortress, an atmosphere unsuited to a battlefield was swirling now.
It wasn’t the kind of tension that came from facing an enemy.
It was the kind of tension that came from the feeling of having survived some calamity.
And at the forefront of that tension lay unease.
A black, red, and somehow sticky unease.
An unease that seemed capable of toppling any force or rendering preparations useless.
But Aslan made no effort to prevent or push away that unease.
Even though it spread like an epidemic or wildfire.
Aslan watched as the unease surged like a red flame consuming everything in its path, flowing quickly through the soldiers, and realized that it wasn’t quite what it seemed.
Rather, it was closer to a precaution than an infectious disease.
Some would collapse under it, but those who overcame it would be able to fight.
It was a cruel story, but there was nothing to be done about it.
If they couldn’t stop it here, the Supreme Divinity’s Sword would soon gnaw away at humanity’s land, birthing pain and death.
Aslan was human too, and humans couldn’t protect what they couldn’t see.
To protect everyone, or ensure no one died—such idealistic talk was something Aslan had been fighting for twelve years.
Enough time for any idealist to confront reality.
So, Aslan deliberately spread the unease through Karl.
The unease spread by that cross-dressing soldier acted as Aslan had expected, and Aslan could detect a glimmer of resolve akin to sparks flying in the eyes of passing soldiers.
Most were people living in Shollukund and Worfoll.
While their carried supplies built up fortifications and wooden stakes to hinder approach, Aslan wandered aimlessly among the soldiers.
“Hey, Lord Aslan!”
Lost in thought about how to fight, Aslan stopped around that time.
A familiar voice. Turning his head, Aslan saw Richard, who had just arrived with troops from Vida Kingdom and Helsing Duchy a couple of days ago.
Approaching with the same casual demeanor as his voice, the heir to the duke poked Aslan’s shoulder with his elbow and grinned.
“Where are you headed?”
Then he blinked his gray eyes and asked. Seeing those eyes, Aslan gave an awkward smile.
“I wasn’t really going anywhere specific. How about you?”
“Me? I’ve been helping the soldiers. My craftsmanship isn’t amazing, so carrying supplies is all I can do.”
Richard, who had looked solemn during Itaar’s death, now wore a bright expression.
Apparently, whether it was convincing his father or resolving family conflicts, things had gone well.
Which was why he’d brought soldiers along.
Shaking off such musings, Aslan casually asked Richard, whose hands were full of sword dirt.
“Is it alright for a noble, especially a young master of a ducal house, to do such work?”
Richard scratched the back of his neck in response.
Whatever tar or other substance it was, the dirt on his hand left marks on his neck, causing nearby soldiers to chuckle softly.
Their manner was more like addressing a peer than a noble.
Perhaps Richard himself desired this, as he muttered while the soldiers laughed.
“Well, I still feel more like my teacher’s disciple than a noble… Moving my body feels more natural. When my teacher was alive, I mostly handled odd jobs anyway.”
“Hmm, it suits you well.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Chuckling in response, Richard didn’t seem particularly bothered by the teasing remark about manual labor being more fitting for him than nobility.
Maybe he didn’t care.
Either way, it wasn’t bad.
As Aslan nodded with such thoughts, Richard suddenly exclaimed, “Ah,” as if remembering something.
“By the way, Lord Bahort Head is looking for you, Lord Aslan. Haven’t you met yet?”
Bahort Head?
Shaking his head, Aslan followed Richard’s nod toward the fortress entrance.
“He says he’ll wait at the fortress entrance. If you have time, he’d like you to come see him. If you’re not busy, how about checking it out?”
Though Aslan didn’t know why he was specifically sought after at the moment, he nodded to Richard’s suggestion and immediately set off.
On the way, there were soldiers: dragon riders, Barmanz warriors, and Calus Empire soldiers. Some had resolute eyes, while others trembled with fear.
The closer he got to the fortress entrance, the thicker the fear grew. It was a fear Aslan easily understood.
Frowning slightly at the sight, Aslan stared ahead.
Squelch!
A severed head rolled across the ground, its terrified eyes staring at the sky. Aslan frowned deeply, fixing his gaze straight ahead.
There stood Bahort Head gripping an axe. He was dealing with deserters.
Those who couldn’t overcome the planted unease and attempted to flee in the dead of night only to be caught.
Caught thus, their fate was death. In the name of maintaining military discipline and order, these heads were cut off. Not many, but not few either.
Aslan took note of each death and met the eyes of Bahort Head, who was in the midst of harvesting these deaths.
The elderly dragon rider warrior, with his scaly skin, was the chairman of the Senate. Upon seeing Aslan, he scanned Aslan’s gaze and briefly smiled wryly.
“Do you think it’s wrong?”
What followed was a question.
Though unclear in context, Aslan didn’t inquire further. Instead, he answered.
“…No. It’s right for the overall order.”
They couldn’t afford to lose more deserters and have the fortress’s entire defensive force crumble.
Thus, it was correct. Aslan had no objections regarding this aspect.
What came to mind was beyond right and wrong.
Aslan voiced it next.
“Still, personally, it’s unpleasant.”
Bahort Head gazed deeply at the axe in his hand, then wiped it on his pants and returned it to his waist.
The axe, finding its place again, emitted a chilling gleam as the elder said,
“Good.”
It wasn’t clear what exactly was good, but he didn’t open his mouth to add anything.
“Here.”
Instead, he rummaged through his clothes, pulled something out, and lightly tossed it to Aslan.
The weight startled Aslan momentarily upon catching it reflexively.
Glancing back curiously, Aslan soon realized what he had caught—a hand.
A hand stained black with sharp nails typical of dragonkind, cleanly severed at the forearm.
Aslan felt an odd sense of familiarity upon seeing it.
A familiarity from blurred memories forced down deep within.
After staring for a long while, when Aslan finally recognized what it was and looked up at the elder, the elder spoke.
“That’s why I called you.”
…
That.
Following the elder’s pointed finger, Aslan lowered his head to look at what he held in his hand.
What the elder referred to and what Aslan could only vaguely recall was the arm of the Dragon King.
More precisely, the arm Aslan had severed during the moment of cultivating purity.
Surely, it should have disappeared. But raising his head with doubts, Aslan heard the elder say,
“At the crater where you were found… It was retrieved from the very center of the lava there.”
“From the… lava?”
“Yes, from the lava.”
It was an illogical statement under normal circumstances.
Lava is melted rock. Extracting something from it doesn’t usually make sense.
Both Bahort Head and Aslan were aware of this fact.
However, it wasn’t false.
Bahort Head recalled the scene while looking at the hand Aslan held.
The lava that suddenly solidified and split open, revealing the hilt and the Dragon King’s hand.
Whether it was an auspicious or ominous omen remained unknown, but for whom it was intended was clear.
Thus, the Dragon King’s hand now rested in Aslan’s grasp.
Looking at the remnant of the Dragon King in his hand, Aslan recalled several things.
One of them was why it hadn’t been processed.
It was filled with metallic muscles, just as it had been the moment Aslan severed it.
Had it been forged into armor or turned into a weapon, perhaps Aslan wouldn’t have thought much of it. His curious gaze shifted toward the elder, who chuckled awkwardly.
“Don’t give me that look. We tried processing it, we really did. Most tools couldn’t even bite into it, and whatever little we managed to carve out repaired itself when we looked away for a moment. So… Well, use it as a talisman or a weapon, whatever you want.”
Lowering his gaze, Aslan looked at the Dragon King’s hand in his possession.
The darkened metallic scales and the dense metallic muscles left a vivid impression even in Aslan’s blurred memory due to their impenetrability unless cut by purity.
But what could this possibly be used for?
Aslan wore an awkward and uncomfortable expression and eventually stuffed the hand into his pocket with the same discomfort.
Though unclear why the elder summoned him just to give this, Aslan decided to ask since he was already there.
“Are preparations almost complete?”
Bahort Head nodded in response and gestured toward Anton far away on the fortress wall, barking orders at a soldier.
“Hmm, they’re going well. The siege hooks you requested, the repeating hooks designed by that old man over there, and even the blue iron tents—they’re all ready.”
Fortunately. As Aslan thought this, the elder added with a perplexed look.
“But… Is that right? Should we have made scrolls for the wizards instead of making tents out of blue iron?”
Clearly confused. However, Aslan understood. After all, if Aslan hadn’t met Tiamat, he wouldn’t have even considered such a plan.
He merely smiled sheepishly and said there were uses for it.
Beyond the elder’s skeptical gaze, the sun was gradually setting.
When another day passed, the situation changed a week later.
*
“Move, you fools! Faster, faster!”
“Get your stance ready! Prepare your spears! Keep them close for immediate use!”
“Watch the front! Any shortage of arrows?”
Commands rang out one after another, and amidst the subtle tension coexisting with calm, countless soldiers stood guard atop Netchagni Fortress.
The soldiers maintained discipline amidst the ambiguous atmosphere and bustled about.
Checking their armor, securing their positions, transporting missing supplies, and reconfirming their training.
Behind them, the wizards took turns resting, ready to cast spells at any moment.
With such activity occurring everywhere in the fortress, a blond, one-eyed woman adjusted the weapon at her waist while scanning the fortress.
Morale wasn’t bad, and the preparations were perfect. Even against the Green Empire of the southern continent, they might stand a chance at victory.
But today’s adversary wasn’t the Green Empire. Nor were they even human.
Seeing the soldiers’ uneasy faces, knowing the truth, the woman clicked her tongue and looked up.
High on the watchtower stood a slanted figure, a raven-haired younger brother with a thoughtful green gaze.
His face clearly showed signs of tension, but there was no trace of unease. Rather, it radiated determination.
A resolute will to kill something today was palpable.
Had the moment finally arrived? The woman instinctively sensed this as she looked at her younger brother’s face.
The ancillary plan leading to the main strategy was simple.
Sending successive waves of elite Barmanz cavalry to attack the sanctuary.
Attacking and retreating repeatedly to make it appear as if the sanctuary was under assault.
Several martial monks and cavalry sacrificed their lives in fierce attacks until blood soaked their ankles before the Supreme Divinity acted.
Calling all martial monks from nearby areas, as if guarding against an impending attack from Netchagni.
This movement signaled that the Supreme Divinity had indeed fallen for the trap.
Simultaneously, as regular reports from scouts monitoring the sanctuary ceased, everyone in the fortress realized it.
The Supreme Divinity’s Sword was coming here.
But what mattered to the woman wasn’t the fact that the Supreme Divinity’s Sword was coming.
It was when and how it would arrive.
Would it send martial monks first and then charge in?
Would it approach by tunneling underground?
Or would it employ a method beyond imagination, exclusive to the Supreme Divinity?
There was no way to know.
Thus, the woman felt foreboding.
Perhaps it would overturn all their preparations and appear unexpectedly.
She thought their chances of winning might diminish.
Inhaling the creeping foreboding, she gripped the hilt tightly and exhaled sharply, turning her gaze.
‘Aslan, are you ready?’
Not just her, but everyone in the fortress was watching the seemingly composed younger brother.
His reaction was immediate.
The moment Aslan flinched, everyone watching him turned their heads.
Those hiding their unease raised their heads.
Even those grinding their teeth in frustration glanced around.
Every human in the fortress turned their gaze far away, towards the direction of the setting sun.
Precisely, towards the approaching ominous presence.
It was akin to an instinctive repulsion.
Something immensely large and ominous appeared, compelling attention involuntarily.
Swish-swish-swish.
A sound like grasses uniformly bowing occurred.
Sounds resembling soil dust stirring themselves up were heard.
Sounds like falling raindrops dramatically plummeting to the ground were present.
Amidst countless groans of nature, sounds of swallowing saliva echoed successively.
Everyone strained their ears, gazing toward the horizon.
To not miss whatever was approaching from there.
And the moment a shadow fell from the horizon, Frida clicked her tongue.
Surely, this was happening.
‘Direct frontal assault, huh…!’
Strategy and tactics are tools used by humans.
Against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, strategy and tactics become useless.
This was something the inhabitants of Geladridion knew painfully well.
Those mighty evil deities, especially the strongest among them, lacked intellect, and their methods lacked logic.
Likewise, they possessed no strategy or tactics.
What existed was only the horror stemming from their supremacy.
Thus, something massive revealed itself confidently.
It wasn’t so enormous as to wrap around a mountain range with its body.
Nor was it so colossal as to swallow entire cities whole.
Yet, the shadow visible even beyond the horizon proved everything else insignificant.
That conceivable enormity became a realistic fear.
The sound of clenched teeth grinding together. The suppressed screams of frightened humans. Amidst these, a creeping dread slowly rose and took form.
A towering existence rising from beyond the horizon, reaching heights as if piercing the sky.
Staring blankly at its indistinct silhouette, everyone suddenly heard Aslan shout.
“Sound absorption barrier!”
And at that shout, those who snapped back to reality shouted in succession.
“Sound absorption barrier!”
“Sound absorption barrier, now!”
Without understanding the reason, shouting the words, the wizards began chanting spells, forming hand signs, and extending their hands. Several layers of barriers covered the front.
The sound absorption barrier covering the entire fortress—a magical defense against creatures using sound waves as an attack method. A thick wall emerged that seemed capable of blocking any powerful sound wave attacks.
—
Suddenly, space warped.
The sound absorption barrier violently shook, and the entire area outside it rippled as if being torn apart.
Outside the sound absorption barrier, the earth flipped over and scattered. Dirt rained down like rain, staining the world brown.
Trees unable to withstand the roar flew up and scattered, creating a spectacle akin to a massive explosion.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The sound absorption barrier was worn down, cracked, and shook amidst the roar. Magic fragments like shattered glass fluttered and collapsed.
A roar filled the void left behind.
-!
An indescribable roar.
It sounded like hundreds of humans screaming simultaneously and like an immense, incomprehensible monster crying out.
Kzzzzzzzzt!
The roar, the fierce anger contained within it, and some malevolent will extended, eroding space. Instantly, the dust cloud that had enveloped the area cleared.
The sound absorption barrier shattered, scattering fragments of magic like broken glass, and as hundreds of swords flickered on the horizon, everyone in the fortress realized.
The Myth Slayer, the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
Its endless malevolence had arrived.
