A deer cried out briefly. As the frightened beast rolled its eyes and struggled, the one standing beside it, gripping the beast by the neck, twisted their hand.
A sickening sound of muscle tearing, bones twisting, and the neck being wrenched followed. In that spot, the body with a severed neck collapsed, trembling faintly.
The blood that flowed down stained the floor, spreading along the engraved patterns on it.
At first glance, the pattern might have seemed simple, but the design carved into the floor was a symbol of the entity that had given birth to them.
It depicted a chaotic mix of various animals, with elongated snake-like or centipede-like symbols intertwined.
As blood filled the symbol, an ominous light began to rise from within it.
The figure standing above was peculiar in appearance.
They had a head reminiscent of a moose, wore a long robe, and possessed horse-like legs ending in cow hooves.
This monstrous giant, almost devoid of any human traits, assumed a posture of human prayer.
The priest of the entity that had given birth to them knelt and prayed over the pool of blood, murmuring desperate pleas to their unresponsive mother.
Desperate prayers offered to something unreachable, something that would not respond.
Prayers raised to turn away from despair.
This prayer continued for a long time, silently dragging on as if it would never end.
Eventually, the prayer ceased when a sound of movement reached their ears.
The moose-headed priest turned their head without hiding their expression of surprise and saw someone approaching through the wide basement stairs.
This figure too was unique.
They had a body resembling that of a werewolf mixed with human features, draped in a large robe.
The werewolf stopped upon meeting the gaze of the moose-headed priest.
The moose-headed priest looked at the werewolf and asked, “How did it go?”
The voice emanating from the moose’s head was human, feminine, and melodic.
In response, the werewolf answered in an equally melodic male voice, “They’ve all fallen, Master.”
“So it is,” replied the moose-headed priest, lowering their gaze to the ground sorrowfully and sighing.
They then rose, and as they stood up, their robe soaked in blood made a squelching sound as it settled.
It sounded like a chunk of meat being thrown into water.
With this sound, the priest slowly approached the window. The cessation of prayer meant facing despair once more.
Hooooo.
In the basement carved out beneath the cliff was a massive window.
A window that concealed its interior from outside view while quietly offering a panorama of the landscape beyond the cliff.
High-quality glass resistant to the cold wind blowing against it.
Beyond the window, in the distant haze, there was a thick white mist.
It was no ordinary fog.
It was the trace left behind by one of the most powerful evil deities who had temporarily manifested there.
People called it the distant world.
Amidst the dense white mist, remnants of the ancient Northern Empire lay shattered and scattered.
A dead city that had neither rusted nor decayed over four thousand years.
Once part of the southern continent, it was the former territory of the Northern Empire, which operated under imperial orders.
The creeping spread of dead spacetime.
The moose-headed priest gazed at this scene and quietly reflected.
Even though they hadn’t personally experienced the history, it remained vivid in their mind, prompting many thoughts.
Thoughts about the glory and revival the Northern Empire should rightfully have claimed.
Thoughts about the current tragedy where they starved and fought each other instead.
These thoughts inevitably led to silence, and in that silence, the disciple spoke.
“Things… aren’t going well, are they?”
A cautious question. Though the teacher wouldn’t likely become angry, the disciple hesitated, fearing to offend.
A question arising because the outcome was already known. The moose-headed priest quietly sighed.
What naturally came to mind was a certain scene: the watcher with emerald skin, a master of restoration arts.
His words filled her mind.
“I saw it on the way here, but there’s no hope. There’s no way to reverse this. We can neither slow down nor interfere with the erosion process.”
Matter-of-factly spoken by Green, whose pupils glowed with mana akin to white light, he had added:
As if delivering a death sentence to a terminal patient,
“The Northern Empire will be swallowed.”
Thus, the watcher had pronounced a death sentence on the Northern Empire, information she already knew.
She suppressed her emotions with renewed sorrow at this truth.
She had believed that a master of restoration could intervene not only in human bodies but also in objects and phenomena.
Even if not, she thought she might gain some clue.
When she realized this wasn’t the case, she understood she had no choice.
This inevitability, this near-certain struggle, left her with deep sorrow.
In the red eyes of the moose, the creeping white death reflected.
Facing the great power that rendered time and space meaningless, she recalled the day she first became a priest.
Back then, the farmlands and fortresses that caught her eye were now found within that white death.
“At first, it wasn’t so close.”
By uttering these words, she reaffirmed the startling truth anew.
That someday, the Northern Empire would be entirely consumed by the power of the Veil of Mercy and perish.
This fact filled her with regret, and she exhaled another sigh.
“Still, there must be some harvest.”
To the teacher’s muttered words, the disciple remained silent, patiently waiting.
After a moment of waiting, the teacher spoke.
“…So, whose doing was it this time? Red Mane? Or the axe drenched in blood? Perhaps Balder? They must be staggering under the influence of the granted power…”
Trailing off and folding his arms, the moose-headed priest observed rationally. Watching this, the werewolf priest struggled to speak.
“It’s… unclear.”
The conversation between teacher and disciple was about beasts.
Beasts tasked with completely erasing the traces of ships and gathering nearby people.
Unable to understand the “I don’t know” response, the moose-headed priest tilted their head slightly, and the werewolf priest bowed deeply, explaining.
“They were burned, torn apart, and pierced. It seems either multiple factions simultaneously rebelled against us, another faction accelerated their conquest, or perhaps it was the priest of another deity.”
A reasonable inference. But not definitive.
The moose priest clicked their tongue and shook their head.
Taking a few steps forward, they gradually transformed their form.
Crack! Crack!
The horrifying sound of bones twisting.
For a brief moment, the terrible sound echoed, and the moose-headed priest now stood as a woman with flowing black hair.
The woman, with black hair and glowing heterochromatic eyes, said,
“Go investigate directly then, and return.”
“I shall do so.”
The werewolf priest bowed deeply, and the woman slowly walked out of the basement with a resolute expression.
Whatever the matter or variable was, she thought,
the plan would not change.
She would definitely save the Northern Empire.
*
“All dead.”
Upon Aslan’s words, two individuals from the Northern Empire stepped outside. Treading on the creaking deck, the elder and the youth beheld numerous corpses.
Twisted beasts—monsters that could easily tear apart a grown man at a glance.
Most of them had died without withstanding a single strike.
Precise, fast, and powerful strikes.
Corpses dismembered or scattered exactly targeting vital points.
Most couldn’t withstand Aslan’s sword and fell with a single blow, but those who resisted met their end with daggers thrown by Aslan piercing their vitals.
The sight of a lone person slaughtering dozens of beasts left the two Northerners utterly bewildered.
“Monster…”
Though Aslan didn’t react to the inadvertent remark, the elder glanced at him cautiously since everyone present understood the implication.
To such an extent, Aslan’s strength was abnormal.
Where an ordinary person would have reached their physical limit, Aslan continued fighting tirelessly.
An extraordinary endurance, surpassing human limits.
That was why he could confidently tell the Northerners to proceed inland, yet the two felt an unsettling sense of unease towards such an Aslan.
Of course, this unease didn’t last long.
“Ahh, the village! We must hurry to the village! Sir! The village is in danger…!”
“That’s right! There aren’t many fighters in the village! If we chase now, we can catch them!”
Unlike the beasts rushing toward them, these beasts had headed toward the village, clearly intending to attack it.
At the elder’s hurried shout, the youth panicked as well, but Aslan silently nodded his chin toward the village direction.
―Woooom.
Then a small sun bloomed in that place.
A light sufficient to silence the youth and the elder. Once they closed their mouths, Aslan added,
“There’s no need to worry. My companions and the general are over there.”
Though the Northerners harbored doubts, thinking it an impossible feat for humans, the fact remained that they needed to return to the village.
The three men disembarked and headed toward the village, reaching it after a long walk.
Upon arrival, countless beast corpses greeted them at the entrance to the village.
Also present were Aslan’s companions clearing away the corpses.
As expected, Aslan paid no attention to the predictable result but approached Lumel, who was busy finishing off a still-breathing beast.
The woman, who had been looking down at the corpses with detached eyes, lit up upon seeing Aslan but quickly composed herself upon noticing the Northerners behind him, beginning her performance.
Pretending to be the general, the woman asked,
“How did the investigation go?”
Her feigned serious tone.
Having seen her abrupt change in attitude, Aslan couldn’t help but find it endearing and smiled.
Lumel momentarily frowned at that smiling expression before erasing it.
“The ship you witnessed, presumed to be the ship plundered by the Balder faction, belongs to the empire. It encountered a group of enemies during its return and dealt with them.”
Lumel tried to adopt a worried expression but managed to stop herself just in time.
After thoroughly inspecting Aslan’s body, Lumel finally nodded.
“Thank you for your efforts in the investigation. Rest now.”
“Thank you.”
Just as this show-for-the-audience dialogue was about to conclude, the Northern elder standing behind asked,
“Well… what do you plan to do now?”
The elder’s question amidst listening to the conversation.
Lumel looked at Aslan with an expression asking what the question implied.
“Understood.”
And Aslan nodded as if acknowledging a command.
Before Lumel could express her curiosity, Aslan stepped forward, gestured to the elder, and looked at Eric.
“Eric. Can you guide us to the location of the Balder faction?”
“Uh… the faction’s location? Why…?”
Caught off guard by being addressed, Eric appeared flustered.
Seeing Eric’s youthful confusion, Aslan chuckled slightly and thought.
Aslan’s purpose in the Northern Empire wasn’t simple.
Something unknown, obstructing the plans and purposes of priests existing in this Northern land, and drawing the Northern Empire into an alliance.
However, with the factions fragmented now, this goal seemed distant, and Aslan recognized the need for a different approach to achieve it.
Something possible because of Lumel, who held the general’s sword and convincingly pretended to be a general.
Turning Lumel into the Northern Empire’s general, subduing others, purging priests, and creating an emperor to forge an alliance.
This path was the one Aslan aimed to take among several stages necessary now.
Uniting the Northern Empire through military subjugation.
A method that wouldn’t work in other countries but was different for the Northern Empire.
Because those claiming succession to the ancient empire valued strength above all else.
Which the party had in abundance.
Thus, the first step was amplifying that strength.
That is, finding the Balder faction, which likely detained an outstanding watcher.
Of course, there was more than just that reason.
‘That footprint. It was definitely a priest’s.’
The footprint that stopped the watcher’s hallucination and willingly submitted, evoking the weight of a cow.
Aslan suspected it was either a priest’s footprint or a monster’s footprint heavily influenced by a priest—not merely a human-level transformation.
There, even an excellent warrior like the watcher, who had killed dozens of beasts before surrendering, deemed victory impossible.
Clearly a priest’s mark.
Meanwhile, the faction that plundered the ship was Balder’s.
Aslan believed there existed within that faction someone related or connected to the priest.
Certainly, factions touched by priests wouldn’t end with Balder’s.
Whatever they were plotting, nearly all factions were guided by leaders affected by monstrosity.
Thus, Aslan wanted to start devouring the most vulnerable target using the clues he currently possessed.
Fortunately, there was an appropriate pretext.
Using that pretext, Aslan answered Eric’s question.
“The general wishes to test whether Balder is worthy of being emperor.”
And that pretext was far beyond what a mere youth could challenge.
