Aslan looked ahead.
Once upon a time, this grand hall served as both a banquet room and dining area within a colossal mansion.
Now, ancient characters forming the prototype of the ancient imperial language were densely carved in a circular pattern on the wall of that hall.
Aslan had experience using these intricate characters before; they were the method to open a gate to the underworld.
Though it was a technique unusable by those devoid of the divine powers of sorrow and death, Aslan could use it at any moment.
Of course, there were risks involved.
If there were no souls known to Aslan within, one might become trapped, perhaps never able to return.
But now was the moment to take that risk.
Something was happening in the Northern Empire.
If left unchecked, the situation would deteriorate uncontrollably.
There was no time to board a ship, find an appropriate route through trial and error, or make the journey to the Northern Empire.
There was also no time to delay.
While busy people carried provisions such as food and cold-weather gear for the traveling party’s journey to the Northern Empire, Aslan and the others waited for their preparations to finish while each occupied themselves with various tasks.
Except for Aslan and Lumel.
Aslan glanced briefly at Lumel.
The woman wearing the dress given by Anton, with a cloak draped over it, stood beside her sword of judgment, anxiously fingering the hilt of her waist sword.
Her palpable anxiety prompted Aslan to approach her. She was so lost in her unease that she didn’t even notice the sound of his approaching footsteps until he was right next to her.
“Ah, Aslan…”
“Are you alright?”
Trying to answer affirmatively but changing direction mid-sentence, the woman bit her lips and smiled weakly.
“Not really.”
Forcing a smile, Aslan met her eyes, causing her to look down.
“To be honest, I’m a little anxious.”
Her demeanor screamed anxiety—anyone could see it.
Acknowledging this with a nod, Aslan observed Lumel’s complexion, while Lumel, trying to smile, absentmindedly ran her fingers through her braided hair.
Aslan deduced the reason from her actions.
He thought it must be due to passing through the underworld.
It was ominous to traverse the realm of sorrow and death while still alive.
Understanding this, Aslan opened his mouth to speak but paused when Lumel firmly interjected.
“No, it’s not because we’re going through the underworld. It’s something else.”
At her firm denial, Aslan closed his mouth. Since he couldn’t guess what else it could be, he tilted his head slightly and asked.
“If it’s not that… why are you anxious?”
Lumel gave a wry smile.
“Do you know anything about the history of the Holrn family?”
The history of the Holrn family. Of course, Aslan wouldn’t know—it was a minor family rarely mentioned even in games.
Shaking his head, Aslan watched as Lumel smiled faintly, seemingly pleased that he didn’t know about her family and eager to share its history.
Her voice, calmer now, carried a persuasive tone suitable for storytelling.
“In fact, the Holrn family is quite new among the nobility. Originally, we were retainers of the Lingling of Shengqilu Change Count.”
“Retainers?”
“Yes, we became nobles after achieving great merit.”
Achieving great merit and becoming a noble wasn’t easy.
An extraordinary feat, nearly impossible for most. Connecting the current situation with the positions held by the Holrn family and the Lingling of Shengqilu Change Count, only one conclusion emerged.
“The Northern Empire.”
“Yes. We earned our nobility during the attack on the Lingling of Shengqilu Change County by a massive raiding party from the Northern Empire.”
Indeed. Aslan nodded as Lumel gauged his expression, stepping closer and continuing her story.
“It was said that the raiding party, crossing the Windblown River which separates the Emperor’s direct territory and the Lingling of Shengqilu Change County, was unprecedented in the history of the Calus Empire. Villages burned, and cries of anguish filled the air. My ancestor couldn’t bear to stand idly by.”
The ancestor of the newly-noble family. Aslan listened intently as Lumel subtly took his hand and continued.
“My ancestor launched a surprise attack when the raiders set up camp. Using the wind from the Windblown River, they employed fire tactics during the attack. The plan succeeded, killing most of them. This sword… was taken by my ancestor during that battle.”
The sword she gestured to was a weapon Aslan had seen before.
“This sword has been passed down as a family treasure of the Holrns ever since.”
This was the sword that had once belonged to Thor Mull before it fell into the hands of the Dark Ram.
Even then, Aslan had thought it was a fine blade, but he hadn’t realized it was the Holrn family heirloom.
Seemingly reading his expression, Lumel stood beside him and quietly intertwined her fingers with his.
Despite being the Dragon King’s hand, which should have felt only cold, Lumel seemed to enjoy even its coolness, smiling softly.
Aslan looked at her relaxed smile and suddenly asked,
“So, why are you anxious now?”
In response to the question, Lumel gave an awkward smile, shrugging while nervously fidgeting with the hilt of her sword.
She seemed to recall some fearful memory.
“The Holrn family’s garrison… fought against the Northern Empire repeatedly, not just during that time but afterward as well. Perhaps no other place in the entire Calus Empire has had as much involvement with the Northern Empire as we have.”
Even if it was a bitter relationship. Blinking at her supplementary explanation, Aslan sighed as Lumel continued.
“Therefore, I’ve heard rumors about the Northern Empire since I was a child. And… I’ve even witnessed Northern Empire raiders burning villages along the Gerné coast. The soldiers of the Holrn family fighting those raiders…”
The intertwining of their fingers broke, and Lumel resumed fidgeting with her braided hair and the hilt of her sword.
Aslan watched her emotions spiral back into anxiety.
It was fear stemming from a reputation she hadn’t built herself.
“That’s why I’m afraid. If they discover I’m a Holrn, they’ll surely try to kill me somehow…”
Considering her words, it was plausible that the Holrn family’s infamy in the Northern Empire was significant.
Perhaps, if they discovered Lumel was a Holrn, her fears could materialize.
However, it didn’t seem likely.
“Don’t worry, Lumel.”
Placing a hand on Lumel’s shoulder, Aslan spoke, prompting her to stop fussing with her braid and instead clasp his hand with hers.
Her brown eyes were moist, but Aslan continued.
“As long as you don’t voluntarily reveal you’re a Holrn… the people of the Northern Empire won’t know you’re Lumel von Holrn.”
So, don’t worry. Listening to Aslan’s reassurance, Lumel lowered her damp eyes and gently touched their clasped hands.
Though her hand remained on the hilt of her sword, her anxiety appeared to have lessened.
Relieved, Aslan patted her shoulder and approached the gate to the underworld.
The door yet to open. Observing the dense ancient characters, Aslan extracted and inserted his purity.
Between the 48 densely inscribed ancient characters, a ripple of light appeared, spreading from the embedded purity like amethyst-colored ripples across the wall.
The space distorted, fractured, and amidst the swirling fragments, the damp chill of the underworld rose.
Finally, the passage to the underworld revealed itself.
With this sight before him, Aslan retrieved his purity and picked up the backpack he’d placed on the floor.
“Are you really alright?”
As Aslan hoisted the backpack onto his back, the traveling party grabbed their own packs and bundled up in cold-weather gear. A voice called out from behind.
Turning his head, Aslan saw Maria.
The influential figure of the Vida Kingdom who greatly assisted in hastily gathering necessary supplies. Meeting her gaze for a moment, Aslan turned away without answering, adjusting his pack.
“Send a letter to the alliance immediately after we depart. Request a direct southwest route from Bellos Dursar.”
Instead of replying directly, Aslan offered these instructions, causing Maria to wear an uneasy expression.
Sensing his readiness to take clear risks, Maria glanced uncomfortably at Richard.
Richard, noticing her gaze, looked curiously at his fiancée before responding.
“He’ll be fine, Maria. Aslan’s smarter than me… he must have everything planned.”
As the damp chill of the underworld filled the room, Richard adjusted his gear with a smirk.
“See you later.”
Maria couldn’t offer any further words. Instead, she redirected her gaze toward Aslan.
A look of distrust mingled with trust. Exhaling deeply while meeting her gaze, Aslan acknowledged the lingering danger.
Perhaps he might get trapped inside.
But even if that happened, it wasn’t without recourse.
If trapped, Aslan intended to experiment with a means to deal with evil deities at Kehil.
Aslan glanced at Angie.
‘Having gathered about half the divine power… influencing the underworld should be possible.’
With Angie accompanying them, getting truly trapped wasn’t a concern. Thus, Aslan stepped into the underworld with peace of mind.
Following Aslan into the amethyst-like shimmering gateway to the underworld, the traveling party soon heard a voice from among them.
“My guide will be the former president of the Senate, Baholt Head, a creature of fire and metal!”
*
A crack formed in the void, splitting apart the space.
Amethyst crystals settled between the rifts, and through them emerged a group of travelers greeted by a fierce wind.
“Did it work…?”
Richard asked anxiously, and the party turned their heads to survey their surroundings.
Approaching waves of seawater resembling white foam, biting cold winds laden with salt, dry sandy beaches tinged with a faint brown hue.
And the pale sun slanting low in the sky.
It was unmistakably the bleak atmosphere of winter and the desolate winds of the Northern Empire.
Having visited the Northern Empire once before, Aslan exhaled as he folded the wings of Steamfalos.
His breath misted in the cold air, betraying familiarity.
“It worked. We’re in the Northern Empire.”
Fortunately, Baholt Head maintained enough sanity to understand speech.
Unlike the previous instance with Kobill, Baholt Head’s soul had obediently opened the way, allowing Aslan to relax as he surveyed the surroundings.
“Cold…”
While Tiamat complained of the chill, Lumel pulled her cloak tighter, glancing around with unfamiliar eyes.
“Is this… the Northern Empire?”
Though addressed to Aslan, the question wasn’t really directed at him.
It was more of a rhetorical question to herself.
Absentmindedly stroking her ancestral sword, Lumel let her gaze wander with a sense of nostalgia.
“Amazing.”
“So this is… the Northern Empire?”
Ereta’s indifferent comment and Angie’s slightly disappointed expression as she surveyed the surroundings.
Stretching endlessly before them, the barren wasteland was indeed characteristic of the Northern Empire.
A land where travelers were scarce, known only for its marauding parties heading towards the Calus Empire, rumored to be inhabited by monsters.
Realizing this, the traveling party displayed varying degrees of astonishment.
As their gazes scanned the desolation, Aslan turned to Phey, who was watching him silently.
“Phey.”
“Yeah.”
“Scout the area for signs of people, villages, or cities. If it seems unavoidable, fight. Otherwise, avoid contact.”
“Got it.”
Bounding lightly, Phey prepared to head towards the nearby sparse forest and wetlands, but suddenly hesitated.
Her pause caught Tiamat’s attention, who had been shivering from the cold but now stopped and turned her head.
Noticing their reactions, Aslan followed their gaze to see approaching figures.
Trudging across the sandy beach in boots barely maintaining their shape, these individuals approached.
Most had crimson or brown hair, and many carried weapons—axes, short spears, bows—all of primitive design and poor quality.
It was unclear whether they were farming tools, self-defense implements, or instruments for preemptive attacks.
Whether they were raiders, warriors, or mere civilians was indistinguishable.
Holding a single feather aloft, Aslan leaned slightly forward and observed them.
Yet, as they drew nearer, these figures increasingly resembled raiders.
Their exposed teeth and bloodthirsty expressions.
Their raised weapons and bows aimed askew.
Their clear hostility prompted the traveling party to hastily draw their arms in preparation.
Angie gripped Victory on her back, Ereta whistled a tune while deftly twirling and seizing her axe.
Tiamat nocked her bow and glared, Phey had already vanished, and Lumel loosened her cloak, gripping her spear low.
Positioning herself diagonally forward, her spear hummed with tiny currents of electricity.
The sight caused the approaching raiders to hesitate.
“Hmm?”
Aslan’s puzzled expression mirrored Lumel’s questioning murmur. The raiders’ gazes fixated on Lumel—not her face, but her waist.
Following their gaze, Aslan’s teal eyes landed on the ancestral sword of the Holrn family.
Suddenly, one of the raiders spoke—an elderly man of considerable height.
“Could it be… the new general?”
General.
The second most powerful figure in the Northern Empire after the emperor, responsible for planning raids.
While Lumel wore an expression of bewilderment, Aslan quickly assessed the situation.
The ancestral sword of the Holrn family strapped to Lumel’s waist.
The renowned blade supposedly seized from Northern Empire raiders.
It wasn’t just any ordinary weapon.
Originally designed as a one-handed sword in what was typically called the Ancient Empire style.
Short hilt but large crossguard with a protruding parrying hook, a double-edged one-handed sword.
Designed to handle offense, defense, and intimidation while casting magic with the other hand.
Through this realization came one conclusion:
It wasn’t merely a fancy, effective Ancient Empire-style sword but rather the sword of the raid leader.
And a weapon so famous that its appearance was widely recognized among the populace.
Aslan looked at Lumel, who merely glanced back at him.
A simple nod from Aslan was all it took. Fortunately, Lumel was quick on the uptake.
Lowering her stance, she stood tall, unsheathed her ancestral sword, and held it high.
Without hesitation or faltering, she proclaimed with charisma and noble bearing.
“Yes. I am your general, Lumel!”
Confident and commanding, her presence carried conviction, aligning perfectly with their mistaken assumption.
“Aah… finally…!”
Moved by her convincing tone, a raider wiped tears, followed by others expressing relief and joy.
“We’re saved!”
“Finally!”
“You didn’t abandon us! I believed you would come!”
Their overwhelming emotions poured forth, oblivious to Lumel’s bewildered expression.
