The bottomless pit.
There was no up, down, left, or right there.
Though for convenience it was called the bottom, that was only because there was no further falling.
Even so, considering the possibility that this stillness might be due to some power wielded by the Dark Ram Herd, in truth, there was no front or back, no up or down.
That landscape left Aslan with an odd sense of familiarity.
A familiarity that evoked the trials of sorrow and death.
Yet, compared to the overwhelming darkness of that time, this bottomless pit was dim and oppressive.
It felt like being trapped in a black room whose size was unknowable.
Thinking it hard to breathe, Aslan clutched his chest and looked around.
All he could see was complete darkness.
A darkness so intense that it was clear this wasn’t reality.
And yet, despite this darkness, there was a sense of distance as if everything were laid bare.
Aslan thought amidst this.
Thought while walking.
With each step, Aslan moved forward without any sensation of touch beneath his feet.
In truth, there was no real feeling of moving forward, but since his legs were moving, he had to accept that he was.
And while walking thus, Aslan had to think about something to avoid going mad.
For instance, the identity of whatever he had seen among the dark rams earlier.
Aslan recalled those eerie eyes.
Eyes reminiscent of sheep, goats, mountain goats, or even octopuses—eyes with horizontal pupils.
Inside them burned a fiery yellow light, like flames.
Despite the immense distance that seemed impenetrable even to light, Aslan felt as though those eyes were staring directly at him from just inches away.
The immense power and presence.
Aslan had felt this when he held Thor Mull’s spear.
Thus, Aslan was certain.
That what he saw was something closest to the essence of the existence known absurdly as the “Dark Ram Herd.”
But apart from its location among the rams and the fact that it had horizontal pupils, Aslan couldn’t guess what kind of entity it was.
After all, how could any being summon someone from Earth into this world?
Was it a creature from the Cthulhu mythos, symbolized by an octopus?
Aslan didn’t know.
Perhaps, the gaze and smile were traps or disguises designed to induce wild guesses.
So, Aslan dismissed these thoughts while walking.
They were questions without answers or meaning.
The next thought that arose was surprisingly clear.
“Why did the ram herd do this?”
Aslan glanced around as he pondered.
This endless bottomless pit.
Aslan knew little about the behavior of the Dark Ram Herd.
The herd avoided situations where Aslan was isolated or unable to progress or remain unwatched.
Whenever such events occurred, the herd actively intervened to resolve them.
They would force paths open, revive Aslan forcefully, and push him to move forward.
On the other hand, they didn’t seem overly concerned with Aslan’s life.
This was true during the incident with Supreme Divinity’s Sword and when facing the Dragon King.
When Aslan faced mortal peril, the herd remained silent.
No trace of their presence was ever revealed.
What purpose could drive them to care so little about Aslan’s survival yet insist on his progression?
As Aslan continued thinking, he suddenly stopped.
Upon reflection, the current situation was quite peculiar.
At first glance, this bottomless pit seemed impossible to escape, let alone progress through.
Aslan had no idea how to leave.
Yet, the herd did not intervene.
Was it because they were within their domain, their power, or their disguise?
Or had they already consumed him?
If they wouldn’t intervene under such conditions, they would have acted before Aslan received the main quest.
Since they hadn’t, there must have been a reason.
Thus, Aslan reasoned:
Perhaps they weren’t intervening now because he wasn’t truly stuck or isolated.
Perhaps there was some purpose behind it.
Even if it was a life-threatening situation, it wasn’t isolation.
As Aslan solidified this deduction—
Suddenly, the herd affirmed it.
A breeze picked up.
“…GET DOWN!”
A familiar language, though not entirely so.
As Aslan reflexively turned toward the voice, a strange scene unfolded.
Something like fortifications stood densely packed. Perhaps trenches.
Toward them, something incredibly fast descended, causing an explosion that sent metal shards flying like rain.
As Aslan instinctively reacted to the warning, he extended his hand.
“Seize!”
A telekinetic barrier erected in front of Aslan deflected the incoming debris.
Chunks of metal ricocheted off with sparks.
Even Aslan, who knew nothing of military matters, could tell these fragments came from a bomb.
As the shards scattered and fell to the ground, Aslan stared at the unfolding scene beyond.
“What is this…?”
The bewildering sight was unfamiliar.
Before him stretched a battlefield.
Men in monochrome uniforms wielding guns ran amok.
As they pulled triggers, others crawling out of the trenches were sprayed with blood and collapsed.
One man tossed a grenade, dismembering another human into pieces.
A scene of mutual slaughter, colder and more indirect than the raw brutality of Geladridion’s battlefields.
As Aslan stood perplexed, the world slowly melted away.
“…Huh?!”
The scenery dissolved and gave way to another.
The ground beneath Aslan’s feet crumbled too.
The sudden sensation of falling followed. Aslan twisted his body amidst the roaring wind.
“Kwaoooh!” He kicked off the nearest wall beside him.
“GGrraaang!”
“Ugh?!”
The wall collapsed, and Aslan was sucked into it.
Aslan tumbled across the floor, gasping for breath from the fall. Using broken glass fragments under his hand for leverage, he rose.
The wall Aslan had kicked wasn’t a wall—it was a window.
A high-rise building’s window, opaque in the pitch-black night.
Through the shattered window, Aslan gazed outside, filling his confused eyes with the cityscape.
Reflected in his teal eyes was a distorted green city.
Not just any city—a futuristic one.
Unique architectural structures filled the skyline, traversed by countless flying cars weaving through what resembled a gray forest.
Gleaming brilliantly against the dimness of the night, the city felt eerily familiar to Aslan.
“What’s happening?”
Earlier, it had appeared to be a battlefield from the past; now, it was a futuristic scene.
Unable to comprehend, Aslan paused to assess the situation. At that moment, the world began to melt again.
“Tsk.” Aslan spat, leaping away as the ground crumbled beneath him.
He landed in yet another world.
Not Geladridion’s damp, oddly developed medieval setting but a Renaissance-like medieval period.
Aslan landed in a city bustling with activity.
Its inhabitants were unmistakably unique.
There were hybrids—not offspring of Aslan’s mother—with animal ears and tails. Passing by them were striking men and women with unusually elongated ears.
Some wore archetypal adventurer outfits straight out of fantasy.
Armor cobbled together haphazardly from plate and leather, assembled seemingly without aesthetic consideration.
Frowning, Aslan watched as the scenery collapsed once more.
Worlds kept appearing and dissolving.
But when the next one emerged, Aslan immediately recognized it.
It was a world familiar to both Aslan and Lee Hyun-woo.
The dark fantasy game where four divine beings are killed, and fire is reignited in the world.
Recognizing its symbolic background, Aslan understood.
A temple built around a burning flame, its gray facade giving the impression of decay.
A very famous game that Aslan had played before.
“…Here.”
Behind this, the worlds continued to collapse repeatedly.
As Aslan witnessed them, he finally grasped the pattern.
Not all worlds were recognizable, but many were.
They were games Aslan had played, heard of, or seen.
Some were manga he’d read.
Others were novels recommended by friends.
Even legends he’d heard somewhere.
Especially the legends—Aslan was confident.
If it was a typical myth involving Valhalla, a great tree, and battles between gods, wolves, snakes, and dragons, it was obvious.
A monk’s vision of a demon-filled hell also flashed before Aslan’s eyes.
Their sole commonality was clear:
They were all worlds of fiction and imagination, created by someone’s fancy or oral tradition.
Just like Geladridion itself.
And upon realizing this, Aslan inevitably understood:
The Dark Ram Herd was showing him all these scenes directly.
But why?
There was no clue or evidence.
Nevertheless, Aslan was sure.
This was a game.
A carefully balanced difficulty level, hints of secrets, encouraging deduction and gradual approach to the truth.
It was merely a tease.
That’s what Aslan assumed.
Annoyance welled up as Aslan clenched his teeth.
As the world of a legendary spy game dissolved and a new one emerged,
Aslan swung the fist of the Dragon King toward the nascent world.
Woooommm! Zzeeeerrrr!
The turbine sound of expended mana accompanied the punch, shattering the world into fragments.
Aslan clenched his trembling fist, gazing at the shattered remains resembling broken glass.
“Enough.”
The world attempting to reassemble itself was met with Aslan’s dismissive words.
“I’m tired of your antics.”
Addressed to an unseen entity, though obvious who it was.
At Aslan’s voice, the world halted its reassembly and dissolved back into the abyss.
The sound of its dissolution sounded mocking to Aslan.
Though it might have been his imagination, given recent experiences, Aslan was certain:
The herd was laughing.
As Aslan took a deep breath while raising his head, the world shifted again.
A desolate shoreline greeted him.
Just as Aslan prepared to shout—
“Astrid?”
A familiar voice called out.
Aslan froze, breathing heavily in surprise.
None of the worlds he’d experienced so far had acknowledged him.
Yet, this voice belonged to someone who not only recognized but already knew him.
Curiosity was inevitable.
After all, Lee Hyun-woo liked people.
Turning his head while breathing heavily, Aslan saw an unexpected figure.
Long, curly black hair flowing like a large dog’s coat.
Between the strands, a small, elegant face with large, bright blue eyes.
A woman standing barefoot on the dark, receding beach.
“Is that… Astrid?”
The woman adjusted her collar as she looked at Aslan.
Speechless, Aslan stared at her, while the woman observed him with a complex expression.
“…My friend, it is indeed Aslan.”
Her voice trembled slightly, thick with emotion.
Aslan, caught off guard by her tone and expression, watched as the woman cleared her throat and forced a smile.
A gentle, cheerful smile.
A smile etched in the corner of Aslan’s memory.
A forced smile meant to erase complicated feelings, which paradoxically transferred those complexities to Aslan.
“It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”
She greeted him with a smile, as if nothing had happened.
But Aslan could read something in her complex expression.
Astrid was aware of her own death.
And so, Aslan couldn’t respond.
