Kicking off from the ground and accelerating with that force, what extends forward is a fist.
Even Aslan could not strike the Dragon King without purity. At the moment their trajectories intersected, it was a fist that seemed to draw diagonal lines in the air.
An evidently fatal attack that would bring instant death upon impact. Nevertheless, Aslan did not hold back his strength, and Richard did not falter either.
He glared at the fist as if familiar with it.
Instead, Aslan took another step toward his approaching trajectory.
Perfectly timed for the moment Aslan arrived.
The black fist swinging down. Richard reached out his hand toward the trajectory of that fist.
Click, the sound of it being lightly grabbed. Along with the brief ringing sound, an impact surged forth. In response, Richard moved as if returning the shock.
Lowering his stance deeply, he relaxed the hand that had caught the punch and lightly twisted his body into a diagonal line.
What followed was a deflection starting from his elbow. Not striking with his own fist but instead adhering his arm to the Dragon King’s arm, deflecting the opponent entirely.
Thus, the result was clear.
KWAANG!
With a heavy sound, Aslan’s fist bounced back. Following that, Richard charged forward.
Aslan adjusted his posture while observing the advancing Richard, and Richard swung his fist during this adjustment.
Like Aslan’s extended punch, Richard’s fist shot out straight. Aslan thrust the Dragon King’s fist toward that punch.
JJEONG!
When the fists and wrists collided.
TUK, KWANG!
Elbows and knuckles clashed.
What followed was a chain of punches.
A sharp competition reminiscent of fencing.
Aslan’s extended black fist met Richard’s in turn—fist, elbow, knee, wrist, and knuckle all engaging in sequence.
As if selecting the right timing, the Dragon King’s fist lightly drew a circle, which Richard’s wrist followed to deflect.
“Hmm…!”
Richard’s admiration and Aslan’s quiet upward curl of the lips in response.
Both were aware of each other’s and their own conditions.
Although Richard couldn’t be sure due to Aslan having fought him through foresight alone, the combat techniques and skills of these two men were incomparable to when they first met.
Especially astonished was Richard.
‘Is there still more to climb?’
Richard was amazed by Aslan’s astonishing talent.
Even though he had thought Aslan’s technique had already reached its peak, it had further developed since the first encounter.
It wasn’t just about improvement in skill.
‘My techniques… He’s absorbing them.’
KKAANG!
Thrusting fists. While sweeping them away, Richard realized with every collision that Aslan was gradually learning from his martial arts.
A realm surpassing the levels of genius or talent.
As if possessing a blank parchment and freely drawing on it.
A completely free form of nothingness.
That’s why Richard was astonished, and Aslan too was surprised by Richard’s appearance.
When Richard had fought against Aslan’s foresight initially, his techniques were riddled with flaws.
Though deadly enough that one couldn’t face him without being prepared to die because of his mastery, in simpler terms, his significant flaws made him easy to defeat but hard to subdue.
In other words, an opponent difficult to suppress but easy to kill.
But now, things were different.
The flaws in Richard’s techniques were almost invisible now.
His former recklessness was also restrained.
More than that, his movements resembled protecting himself.
Repelling, blocking, deflecting, overturning, and countering the opponent’s attacks.
Solidifying his territory firmly, his fighting style reminded one of I’taar.
The veteran who had felled countless strong foes with merely his fists and skills.
Aslan smiled contentedly, and Richard grinned awkwardly.
—
Interlocking fists and wrists.
Resisting the pressing weight, Richard bent deeply at the waist before rolling his foot to extend his punch even deeper.
KWANG!
For the first time, Richard landed an effective hit on Aslan.
The distance he was pushed back exceeded a meter. Though Aslan intentionally retreated to absorb the impact.
But Richard didn’t feel regret.
As always, he stiffened his body in the final pose of a master, though his expression wasn’t as trustworthy as I’taar’s.
“Aslan… Remarkable. How can you…?”
First came admiration.
Despite not appearing much older than Richard, Aslan possessed a strength akin to someone who had dedicated hundreds of years solely to martial arts.
“Twelve intense years.”
Even Aslan’s vague answer didn’t dim Richard’s admiration. Keeping his rigid stance, Richard’s expression remained firm.
“Intensity… Indeed, it shows. The battlefields where you’ve fought make all my experiences seem like child’s play.”
The half-formed smile carried emotions that couldn’t be summarized in a single word.
At a glance, it seemed akin to guilt, somewhat unpleasant, perhaps sorrowful, or even angry.
The emotion perplexing Aslan was shame.
Richard hardened his expression with shame, then relaxed his stance and charged forward.
Unusual for Ittar’s techniques, which usually revolve around counterattacks.
At the moment Aslan’s response was delayed, Richard lunged and thrust his fist.
Blocked by the hastily raised other arm, but this time Aslan was pushed back by about 50 centimeters. The unabsorbed impact caused Aslan to furrow his brow.
“With everyone fulfilling their roles on those intense battlefields… Everyone except me.”
“No…”
To Aslan’s denial, another punch came swiftly. A short right jab followed by a long left hook.
Regaining his posture, Aslan thrust his left side forward, raising the Dragon King’s fist.
Facing the punch aimed at his face, he blocked it with the Dragon King’s hand, then countered the incoming punch by twisting his body and striking with his elbow.
KWANG! With the rebounding punch, Richard unleashed a flurry of strikes while saying,
“I’m not as strong as you guys. I know that well. I’m the most useless and weakest among our group. The one with the least reason to fight.”
Fists driven by shame targeted various areas.
Face, jaw, forehead, neck, chest, shoulders, abdomen, ribs.
Aslan sequentially defended, evaded, and countered all these attacks.
Blocking with the Dragon King’s arm, evading by twisting his body, bending his waist and lowering his arms to block with his elbows, and interlocking knees and elbows to defend.
Then lifting his elbow to strike, extending his left fist, delivering a right punch, and toppling his opponent’s stance with a brief knee-to-knee contact.
The swaying stance pierced by a right hook. Accurately hitting the ribs, Richard was pushed back, gasping for breath before charging again.
Aslan couldn’t let Richard retreat.
Because Aslan needed every veteran.
Thinking to stop him by beating him senseless, Aslan received another punch from Richard, as if saying such wasn’t the case.
“I’m curious. How can you become as strong as you? How can I stand tall and confront with pride?”
The descending fists varied in speed and power like snowflakes and hailstones.
Their diverse changes seemed to represent Richard’s wavering self, causing Aslan to narrow his brows while receiving the blows.
And he listened intently.
KWANG!
Receiving the extended punch and stepping back two meters. Two steps away. Enough distance for a brief respite.
Taking only two breaths, Richard spoke.
“I don’t understand. How can you all face such terrifying enemies… How can you fight alone… I want to know the reason.”
The Richard who previously appeared clumsy, had low self-esteem, and asked to ignore sparring was no longer present.
Only a warrior seeking answers remained.
After taking those two breaths, Richard charged again, using his fists as his sole means of communication.
Fortunately, Aslan was also a warrior.
Skills forcibly infused through Skill and Budonggong had become truly his over the twelve years.
Rapid, relentless attacks. A downpour of strikes. Aslan adjusted his stance to receive them.
It was the posture of the Dragon King.
Extending both hands forward and stepping the right leg far ahead.
Even without a tail, Aslan could recreate it.
Meeting Richard’s punch, Aslan moved his hands.
JJEONG, TUK, TU-DU-DU, KWANG!
Receiving with the Dragon King’s hands, catching with Aslan’s hands, deflecting, retreating.
The rapid assault inevitably left openings, like an emptied fortress launching a total offensive.
Aslan waited quietly, eyes focused.
Finally, when the attack paused.
CHUNK.
His cheek was caught.
The punch he thought was his last was actually a grab.
In the world of masters, that momentary lapse was sufficient.
Richard’s adaptability shone.
Not defensive like I’taar’s, but aggressive adaptability.
Reflexive actions akin to spinal reactions.
Using that adaptability, Richard slammed Aslan into the ground.
It was a fighter’s instinct.
If you catch, you throw; if you extend, you strike.
A reflex action honed through practice.
Only after unleashing it did the superlative fighter realize it, and with a “whoops,” tried to halt his swinging arm.
The ground was dirt, but using adaptability to throw doubled the power.
Aslan’s head might have cracked.
Realizing it was impossible to use adaptability again, Richard hesitated.
‘Seize.’
An inaudible voice seemed to echo, and a single feather drifted towards Aslan, who was falling upside down.
The feather accurately landed on Aslan’s foot.
CHHAE-AEAK, KWANG!
Using the telekinesis on his foot as a springboard, Aslan performed a mid-air somersault and landed gracefully.
As if nothing had happened, he landed perfectly upright, and naturally, Richard, who was still holding on, was thrown to the ground.
“Uh…?”
Though there was no real force, thus no injury, Richard blinked in confusion.
Richard flipped and was stuck in the ground. To such a Richard, Aslan extended a human hand.
When Richard grasped it, Aslan pulled him up.
Still bewildered as he stood on the ground, Richard watched as Aslan suddenly released his hand and asked,
“What do you like?”
An unexpected question. Richard immediately wore a puzzled expression.
“What…?”
But Aslan offered no explanation, simply smiling gently and urging him on.
Caught off guard, Richard blurted out something random.
“Uh, hmm, mountains?”
“Mountains, huh.”
Echoing the response, while Richard tried to grasp Aslan’s intent, Aslan stroked his chin. His tilted gaze was fixed on the sky.
“What kind of mountain do you like?”
A question that instantly brought to Richard’s mind a mountain he often visited with his mother.
An unnamed mountain.
A campsite where his mother showed him the ways of the Varmanz.
An environment made comfortable thanks to his mother.
Under Aslan’s steady gaze, Richard soon snapped back to reality.
“A-ah, no! What does it matter which mountain I like…!”
But watching Aslan silently grin, he had no choice but to close his mouth.
Soon, Aslan spoke.
“I’m greedy, so I like many things.”
Still abstract talk, but Richard could only listen quietly.
“I love golden fields bathed in sunlight.”
Aslan’s words began with a tinge of inexplicable sadness.
“I like quiet villages where people return home after a day’s work. I also like the laughter and chatter of families gathered for dinner.”
It was the sadness of longing for something irretrievable.
“I like tough sailors enduring sea breezes, and children gazing absent-mindedly at clouds rolling by in carriages.”
“I must surely love the world.”
The words tinged with resignation made Richard quietly observe Aslan.
Beyond the setting sun, shadows stretched long as Aslan’s greenish eyes shimmered with moisture.
“The world is beautiful. People may look similar wherever you look, but they’re all different, aren’t they? They all carry different stories and thoughts. Even though everyone is born, lives, and dies the same way, no two people are alike.”
The rambling words carried untainted sincerity.
Sincerity spreading with a bitter smile.
“That’s why I fight.”
Because the dead won’t return.
Words added casually didn’t quite fit as reasons.
But Richard understood.
They were the words of a man who claimed to oppose the Evil Deity, to annihilate it, and to change the world.
Recalling the words spoken while persuading his teacher, I’taar, Richard blinked.
There lay the idealistic dream that sounded like a fantasy.
“Aslan…”
At the name uttered absently by the dazed Richard, Aslan shrugged.
“This is my reason. You’ll have to ask others for theirs.”
Concluding nonchalantly, Richard scratched his head.
“Heh, whether they’ll answer is uncertain…”
“You won’t know until you ask.”
Aslan shrugged again.
“For now, today’s sparring ends here. You’re doing well. I’ve learned from sparring with you. All that’s left is time.”
“…I see. Thank you.”
As Richard sighed and scratched his head sheepishly, Aslan led him away from the hill.
And on the way back from leaving the hill…
KUUUUUUUNG!
A distant explosion echoed, and a flash of light shot up.
It was an extremely familiar flash.
Exchanging glances, Aslan and Richard ran and soon reached an open area near the border patrol zone.
There, Harrod and Tiamat were surrounded.
The surrounding group was a detachment of the border patrol.
Most were Green soldiers.
Where Tiamat’s bow had fallen was an additional detail.
The situation was too unexpected to assess immediately. After a brief hesitation, Aslan said,
“Richard, go gather everyone.”
“Ah, alright. Wait here! Don’t do anything reckless!”
Leaving what he thought was useful advice, Richard departed, and Aslan chuckled watching him go.
Something was off.
The explosion and light from earlier were clearly from Tiamat’s Plasma Arrow fired by a Bow Chimera.
Yet Tiamat wasn’t the type to fire such a technique recklessly.
She didn’t have enough mana for that anyway.
Looking at Harrod, Harrod typically considered wielding a bow dishonorable for a dragon person.
The details would likely only be revealed upon closer inspection.
Without hesitation, Aslan approached.
“…Who goes there!”
One of the border guards quickly turned and aimed his spear at Aslan. A spear made of blue iron, wielded by a soldier with green skin.
The inscribed alcohol patterns indicated lightning magic. That clue wouldn’t suffice. Calmly assessing it, Aslan raised both hands.
“I’ve come not to attack but to understand the situation. See? I’m unarmed, am I not?”
Indeed, at first glance, Aslan appeared unarmed.
Though his feather cloak could transform into daggers or purity at any moment.
And the Dragon King’s arm boasted superior blunt force compared to ordinary clubs.
Nevertheless, the border patrol slightly lowered their guard, narrowing their brows as they loosened their spears.
Was it permission? Aslan pondered briefly and asked,
“What has happened here?”
Tiamat and Harrod wore expressions of embarrassment, indicating it wasn’t intentional.
Whether the patrol knew this or not, they shouted,
“These fiends attempted to attack the border with magic! We’re waiting for reinforcements to arrest and transport them.”
“Not true! We’re warriors! Magic…!”
“Stay silent!”
The patrol was highly wary of them, not Aslan.
Certainly, given the massive explosion visible even to Aslan, their caution was understandable.
However, revisiting the scene, Aslan felt something was odd.
‘…Was the explosion really that large when Tiamat fired it?’
Even from afar, the power seemed unusually strong.
As if an excessive amount of mana had been forcefully compressed.
Seeking an explanation, Aslan looked at Tiamat and Harrod, and Harrod protested in a voice filled with indignation.
“Truly, we did not attack! Believe us, fellow countrymen sharing the same roots! It just went off when I touched it…!”
“Stay silent, I said! Don’t move your hands!”
Growling, the Green soldier intimidated Harrod, whose jaw scales trembled in indignation.
Regardless, Aslan gleaned an intriguing answer.
That it exploded upon Harrod’s touch and was exceptionally powerful.
‘Harrod…?’
It meant nothing more than Harrod possessed more mana than typical beings.
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