As is usually the case in every game, for this kind of boss, the real battle began from Phase 2.
The change in patterns, appearance, and behavior principles was intentional to bring about a sense of novelty and genuine power, which Aslan could understand.
Whether this world was originally a game or if it became one, like the chicken-and-egg dilemma, was unclear. However, it was certain that some gaming principles applied within this world.
Thus, the true worth of the Supreme Divinity’s Sword, the mythical slayer, would now be revealed.
During Phase 1, the centipede-like form displayed impeccable swordsmanship. However, it was merely technique being dominated by physicality.
But upon entering Phase 2 and revealing its human form, the swordplay of the Supreme Divinity’s Sword had reached a realm where the body was incorporated as part of the technique, rather than being controlled by it.
A scream erupted from the human-shaped figure resembling an insect’s maw. As it twisted its body mid-scream, Aslan snapped out of a momentary trance.
“Ah…!”
Lumel’s startled voice rang out as he disregarded the reins touching his chest and gripped them tightly, emitting a shrill sound.
Gooooooong!
At the resonating spinning sound, Lumel stared blankly at the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
Turning its body, the lower half shaped like a centipede swung around. At the end of the swing were numerous appendages wielding countless weapons.
Their target was the location where Lumel and Aslan stood.
It resembled a whip, breaking the sound barrier with its motion, causing the massive figure to momentarily vanish.
This attack was similar to when it attempted to split the fortress earlier or responded to Aslan’s provocation—a sheer combination of mass and swordsmanship.
The diagonal slash from the left pierced through so fast that it struck the spot where Lumel’s horse had just departed.
—Kwa-ga-ga-ga-ga-gang!
As the displaced air surged back like a tide, an explosive sound filled the void. The impact cratered the ground and hurled a heavy mound of earth skyward.
The scene resembled a sudden bomb explosion. The centipede’s tail, rebounding along the ground, smashed into the fortress.
Based on the aftermath, one could infer the extent of the damage. From the point where the tail grazed, it carved a path up the wall, erasing the entire front-left section of the fortress.
Though sudden, the result was undeniable. Even Lumel, who typically panicked during physical contact but often entered delusions, gaped at the sight behind him.
Neither Lumel’s hazel eyes nor Aslan’s teal ones found much remaining at their shared focal point.
A side of the fortress appeared torn apart. Flying debris and bricks fell to the ground. There was no trace of the humans caught beneath; only red stains hinted at their former existence.
Amidst the unexpected downpour of humans, screams echoed, and the ancient cannons atop the fortress halted momentarily. The involved mages also ceased their spells.
As the relentless assault paused, cries emerged from another direction.
Following the Supreme Divinity’s Sword’s cry, a group of martial monks charged in unison, fleeing in terror while clutching their weapons and heading toward the fortress.
“…Damn.”
An involuntary curse escaped Aslan’s lips as they finally understood the Supreme Divinity’s Sword’s plan. It was an accurate assessment of the situation.
From the Supreme Divinity’s Sword’s perspective, there were limited ways to land effective blows: the old cannons, magic, and perhaps the Archer’s sniping. With the third option excluded, it seemed confident that capturing the fortress equated to victory.
And it was correct—partially correct.
Losing the fortress would drastically reduce their chances of winning, practically eliminating them.
Closing their eyes briefly before reopening them, Aslan handed the reins back to Lumel.
Turning his startled expression, Lumel saw Aslan already dismounted and speaking.
“Lumel, please gather and lead the cavalry to attack the monks’ flanks.”
Pulling a small flute from their tool pouch, Aslan blew a long note.
Piiiiik! The ear-piercing sound didn’t faze Lumel, who continued staring at Aslan.
“Aslan… what do you intend to do?”
As if guessing something from Aslan’s demeanor, Lumel wore an anxious expression. Meeting it, Aslan gazed beyond the ruined wall.
The movement of infantry units was faintly visible.
Holding off the monks with cannons or magic would mean diverting all firepower to the Supreme Divinity’s Sword. Attempting to stop the monks would surely prompt the Supreme Divinity’s Sword to destroy the fortress without hesitation.
Firepower needed to be directed at the Supreme Divinity’s Sword, yet the infantry wouldn’t arrive immediately. Leaving the monks unchecked would result in fortress capture.
There was no choice. A rare flicker of unease crossed Aslan’s eyes as they blinked and barely suppressed a sigh.
“I intend to buy time.”
Drawing down the Artist’s white steel shield strapped to their back and rotating the purity in their right hand, the faint glow of a white blade pointed low towards the ground emanated softly.
“At least someone needs to hold them off until the infantry arrives.”
It was reasonable. Though not a seasoned mercenary, Lumel understood. The issue lay in the countless monks charging ahead.
“It’s impossible. You’ll die! That number… even if you’re strong, Aslan…”
“Lumel.”
Seeing Lumel’s panic, Aslan smiled gently.
“Please.”
An unusual informal tone made Lumel flinch. Aslan added with a smile.
“I might die, but I’ve never fought without accepting that possibility. So, please, do as I ask.”
No reply came. Without looking back, Aslan kicked off the ground and sprinted.
One of the auxiliary skills, Mobility. This skill, which affects land movement, had reached its final level, allowing Aslan to swiftly race forward.
With enhanced stamina from determination, Aslan did not stop and soon reached the middle of the monks’ advance.
Thanks partly to the short distance, Aslan took it as a good sign—their limbs still moved, and they could still fight.
Exhaling deeply, Aslan glared at the approaching monks.
This was the real fight. Without allies, people, or comrades, they wouldn’t have come this far.
Now it was Aslan’s turn to step up.
Without hesitation, Aslan charged straight ahead. The path was full of monks, their faces filled with fear, intent on overwhelming and trampling over Aslan.
Frightened priests trailed behind. Further back, the Supreme Divinity’s Sword slowly advanced, its towering sword casting a shadow that tilted as Aslan planted their left foot firmly on the ground.
The left foot surrounded by a misty thunderous aura.
Aslan’s consciousness sharpened, and as the sharp blade tilted diagonally,
‘Thunder Call.’
Aslan became thunder itself.
Krrrrrrooooom!
Thunder roared as Aslan disappeared in a flash, leaving an explosion akin to a bomb detonation in their place—a strike from the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
A beat later, Aslan’s fortune reacted. A translucent trajectory of the giant sword overlaid Aslan’s vision.
A chilling sensation trembled through their limbs. Fortune burned fiercely, reacting as violently as when attacked by the Dragon King or encountering Ash.
Indicating death was imminent, that escape was impossible this time.
Clutching Cassandra’s neck metaphorically, Aslan listened while thinking.
This was the turning point, and what they were doing was their role.
To protect the fortress, sustain firepower, and continuously inflict damage on the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
To buy time for the infantry preparing to halt the monks and survive the Supreme Divinity’s Sword’s attacks.
That was Aslan’s role.
They had to stall until the reorganized infantry from the partially destroyed fortress marched out.
The only variable capable of acting here and now was Aslan.
It was something only Aslan could do—an unavoidable situation.
The victory condition was simple: endure until the infantry joined, and it would be Aslan’s triumph.
It was an incredibly difficult task, but for twelve years, it had been no different.
Facing yet another unsurprising crisis, Aslan exhaled calmly.
