In an instant, the tyrant had regained his original form. Aslan looked at him with a despondent expression before shakily getting up.
The royal guards surrounded the tyrant, and the fallen members of Aslan’s party also began to rise one by one, regaining their composure.
The tyrant glanced at them and then suddenly turned his gaze toward Aslan.
And at the moment their eyes met, Aslan thought.
The tyrant did not possess physical abilities or martial skills honed to the extreme like the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
Nor did he have defenses beyond comprehension like the Dragon King or divine powers akin to Ash.
His physical capabilities were inferior compared to those three.
However, he still possessed overwhelming physical strength, martial arts prowess, and defensive abilities that were only slightly less than theirs.
With just that much, Aslan’s group should have been able to defeat him under normal circumstances.
The reason they couldn’t was simple: white steel and regeneration.
Because of his regeneration, no attack could be decisive unless it was pure.
But due to the white steel, purity didn’t take effect.
It felt as if everything had been meticulously prepared specifically to counter Aslan.
When Aslan’s thoughts reached this conclusion, the tyrant suddenly smirked.
Then, in a voice filled with apparent kindness, he spoke.
“It’s obvious what you’re thinking. You probably believe all this was prepared specifically to counter you.”
Aslan didn’t respond, but in this situation, silence was as good as agreement.
Smiling at this tacit acknowledgment, the tyrant looked around.
The guards who had surrounded him, trembling in fear.
Aslan’s companions who had been thrown back after landing a blow on the tyrant.
The citizens shaking with terror.
He observed them all and then suddenly spoke.
“The Supreme Divinity’s Sword, the Dragon King, the Herald of the Veil.”
As everyone focused on him after hearing these names, he spread his arms wide and declared,
“The most feared beings in this world—truly godlike high priests!”
Suddenly turning his gaze to Aslan, he extended a finger, pointing directly at him.
“You’ve survived encounters with all of them, even managing to kill two of them!”
Caught off guard by this unexpected praise, Aslan hesitated, and the tyrant grinned.
“You are strong. And when I face someone strong, I prepare accordingly.”
As he retracted his finger and clenched his fist, there was a metallic sound as the white steel scales on his arm rubbed against each other.
“Of course, you must understand. Thorough preparation when facing someone strong—it’s simply our nature.”
“Don’t call us ‘us.’ I’m not like you,” Aslan retorted sharply.
Frowning at being lumped together, Aslan showed his displeasure, but the tyrant merely smiled.
“Well then, how should we refer to it? Both you and I—we’re both veterans of combat.”
With that declaration, Aslan flinched as the tyrant smiled faintly and continued.
“It seems we are kindred spirits.” Bowing deeply in what seemed like mockery, he straightened up.
“My name has been forgotten, my records erased, but the world calls me the Tyrant. I am the strongest watcher, the truest veteran of combat!”
This self-praise brought the tyrant’s words to a halt. But this tyrant was clearly not the one Aslan knew.
The tyrant Aslan knew wasn’t a former combat veteran or a former watcher.
The tyrant Aslan knew was nothing more than a monster with a lion’s head and absurd regenerative abilities.
A being with extraordinary physical abilities, yet nothing more. A high priest who should have been easy to deal with.
For this reason, Aslan was extremely perplexed, and the tyrant, satisfied with Aslan’s confusion, spoke again.
“I’ll say it again—I wanted to meet you, Aslan.”
Before Aslan could respond, the tyrant added,
“I have a question for you.”
Casually addressing Aslan, the tyrant then glanced around.
The guards surrounding him, watching cautiously.
Resham, who had barely managed to restore her crushed arm using healing magic.
Mayor Eiron, who despite having his chest armor pierced and bleeding profusely, struggled to get up.
The tyrant’s gaze upon them was cold.
Naturally, the question that followed was equally cold.
“What value do you see in the lives of the weak?”
Confused by this incomprehensible question, Aslan grasped purity while wearing a puzzled expression, prompting the tyrant to smile faintly.
“I see no value in them whatsoever.”
Only then did Aslan frown.
“To assert life and enforce will—that is the sole right of the strong. In that sense… I’m very dissatisfied with the current situation.”
Saying this while resting his hand on his hip and tilting his head, the tyrant’s seemingly regretful smile was actually derisive.
It was a mockery of the weak.
True to his nature as a tyrant, he looked at Aslan with bored eyes and said,
“There are too many weaklings who don’t know their place. It’s laughable and irritating how these powerless and worthless individuals dare to attack so disgracefully! They have no qualifications!”
As his voice grew louder, causing the temple to tremble, the tyrant sighed and paused.
“Therefore, from this moment forward, I shall select those who are qualified.”
Responding to allow the struggling individuals a brief moment of rest, Aslan engaged in conversation, though he could feel an impending sense of unease.
Alongside this came a ringing sensation. A chill running down his spine and shaking his brain—an instinct telling him something terrible was about to happen. He felt nauseous.
“…Step back! Everyone, step back!”
Rarely shouting, Aslan’s loss of composure and urgency alarmed everyone.
Before anyone could respond to his urgency, the tyrant burst into laughter.
“It’s already too late!”
He twisted his ankle, altering his stance.
Then he twisted his waist, condensing his body as if preparing to spin.
Though his posture suggested spinning, it was insufficient for a full rotation.
Rather, it was a stance to violently swing his entire body, starting with his arms.
Watching this through his accelerated cognitive abilities, Aslan suddenly recalled something.
Back when he was Lee Hyun-woo, before becoming Aslan of Geladridion, he occasionally played FPS games.
In such games, grenades were commonplace.
Weapons designed to kill within a radius by scattering fragments with explosive force.
What the tyrant was about to do was exactly that.
The scales on the parts of his body moving along the swinging trajectory—his arms and torso—were visibly trembling.
These scales would launch the moment his arms swung at an invisible speed.
From a crouched position, he would twist his body, deforming and expanding the muscles in his arms, creating an explosion-like effect.
Thus, the hardest metal in Geladridion—white steel—was scattered.
The range covered all directions. The targets included everyone inside the temple.
Citizens, guards, allies.
All of them.
What was about to happen would be a massacre.
It could injure or kill many members of Aslan’s party.
There was no way to stop the act itself; the action was too fast, and the distance was too great.
Aslan had no choice.
Sliding purity, Aslan gripped the hilt and stepped forward.
“Reverse Shadow.”
The shadows disappeared, deflecting some fragments.
“Reverse Shadow.”
Next, he thrust and slashed, deflecting a few more fragments.
“Reverse Shadow.”
Deflecting the flying scales aimed at the citizens.
“Reverse Shadow.”
Attempting to deflect the scales aimed at the guards, but time was running out. Half the guards wouldn’t survive.
“Reverse Shadow.”
If the command structure, including Resham and Mayor Eiron, were lost, the death toll among the guards would accelerate. Aslan redirected the purity towards those scales.
“Reverse Shadow.”
Ereta, who was heavily injured while reconnecting her severed waist due to insufficient divine power, had her direction’s scales deflected by Aslan.
“Reverse Shadow.”
Angie tried to draw her sword late but was pushed back the moment she blocked a scale. Aslan intercepted the scale heading towards her head.
“Reverse Shadow.”
Finally, the scales reached Aslan’s body, and his role was complete by intercepting the scales that could have killed his companions.
There was no time left for another “Reverse Shadow,” despite his remaining resolve.
“Grasp.”
Feathers fluttered. A black cape erupted, and all the feathers launched to block the scales.
They shattered upon impact. The destruction of each feather resembled the end of the universe.
Stars falling, exploding across the cosmos.
Though mere objects, they bid no farewell.
But thanks to this, Aslan was grateful for saving even a few more lives.
He regretted not saving more.
The consequences of the action followed.
Despite the protection offered by the Dragon King’s armor, the white steel scales struck Aslan’s chest, legs, and arms.
Blood gushed, bones cracked, flesh tore. The violent impact sent Aslan flying backward.
Those Aslan failed to protect perished.
Regret overwhelmed Aslan as he flew back.
The lethal radius Aslan failed to eliminate.
It destroyed the temple.
Crash!
Tearing through people, sending bloodied rags flying, countless lives ended without a scream.
Half the guards were wiped out, and most of the citizens died.
Thanks to Aslan, total annihilation was avoided, but countless people still died or were injured.
His companions were no exception. Flying through the air, bleeding, their state resembled an explosion.
The temple collapsed.
Crackling sounds and a thunderous roar echoed as the collapsing roof hit the ground, stirring up dust and death, while the scattered scales sang songs of death.
What followed was wailing, sorrow, pain, and despair.
Amid the cries of anguish, the tyrant watched his scattered scales destroy parts of the city, surprised by the relatively minimal damage compared to what he had anticipated.
He was astonished that a single warrior had prevented total annihilation.
Yet, he openly rejoiced that it hadn’t been entirely stopped.
Spreading artificial and deliberate despair, suffering emerged everywhere.
Therefore.
Even as he was hurled through the air, his bones broken.
His muscles torn, his flesh ripped apart.
Regretting and despairing, someone still picked up a sword.
Unable to forgive such an unforgivable existence.
Unable to coexist with such an enemy.
Someone forced themselves to rise and fight.
BOOM!
Parting the rising dust with his body, the man revealed himself, wielding a sword blazing with pure white light.
Adjusting his creaking joints and bones, the warrior swung the sword.
KAAAAANG!
The blade was blocked by the tyrant’s arm, and the tyrant smiled satisfactorily.
“Yes, I expected you to survive.”
His usually calm eyes now burned with hatred, eerie green.
Facing these eyes, the tyrant lowered his white steel-scaled helmet.
Now the real battle begins.
