“Ugh….”
Beneath the sky where the sun was gradually setting, amidst scattered and collapsed ruins, a woman stirred and rose to her feet.
With silver hair cascading down and pink eyes blinking, the woman stood.
Her name was Ereta.
She was one of the relatively unscathed members of the group in this disaster.
Whether it was because Aslan had directly protected her or simply due to good fortune, it was unclear.
Holding her severed arm and reattaching it, she listened carefully to the distant clamor.
—Clang, clash, screech.
The faint noise was undoubtedly Aslan fighting.
She needed to go help. The tyrant was a formidable opponent—even Aslan’s abilities seemed ineffective against it.
A high-ranking priest fully prepared to face Aslan.
Ereta didn’t want Aslan to fight alone against such an adversary and was about to rush in herself when…
“…E, reta.”
Suddenly hearing her name called, she paused.
Turning her head slightly, she saw a familiar face trapped under the rubble.
One of the group, Richard.
The veteran of combat.
Through the bloodstains on the debris, Ereta realized Richard was severely injured.
His complexion was pale, and his body lacked strength.
Even though the debris pinning him wasn’t heavy or overwhelming, he couldn’t move.
“Would you… help me?”
Richard weakly smiled at Ereta, who had called out his name, and asked her. In response, Ereta extended her hand.
Her body strengthened by divine power easily cleared away the debris.
It was unclear whether it was thanks to her regenerative abilities or sheer strength, but as Ereta removed the rubble, Richard’s condition became even more apparent.
His side was torn open, revealing glimpses of his internal organs.
His broken arm was bent at an unnatural angle.
The bloodstains around his lips revealed that Richard had narrowly returned from the brink of death.
First, treatment.
Ereta placed her hand on Richard’s nearly shattered arm and infused it with her life force.
The arm was restored, though Richard winced in pain during the process.
However, the wound on his side wouldn’t close. The flowing blood was too dark, the injury too severe.
He was far from being able to fight alongside Aslan.
“How are you holding up? Can you see anything?”
Glancing briefly at Richard asking her suddenly, Ereta hesitated expressionlessly.
“I don’t know. I’m not a restoration school mage.”
Deliberately curt to hide her unease, Richard seemed to notice and gave a faint smile.
“Blood won’t stop.”
At his words, Ereta could only shrink back.
What mattered to her was Aslan, and what mattered to Aslan was protecting his companions.
Thus, her hesitation didn’t last long. Clenching her lips tightly, she looked at Richard, who gazed back as if urging her to speak the truth.
“It won’t stop. Your injuries are beyond what my divine power can heal.”
“Figures.”
“So… please don’t make this difficult. From what I see, Richard, you’re in no shape to fight. You couldn’t intervene earlier when we fought the tyrant either.”
Going into battle now would be suicide. Richard chuckled while listening to Ereta’s cold tone.
That was the truth.
Richard knew it well.
There was nothing to deny.
No reason to fight, and the weakest member of the group.
Recently, Richard hadn’t accomplished much—not even as much as Ereta.
Both Ereta and Richard were aware of this fact.
So their conversation was brief. Explanations were unnecessary, and persuasion meaningless.
Richard simply smiled and requested.
“Can you cauterize my wound with fire?”
At this request, Ereta frowned.
“It will hurt a lot.”
“I don’t care about the pain. Please do it.”
As he spoke, Richard’s magic tattoo began to glow.
By Aslan’s game-like knowledge, the magic tattoo allowed for arbitrary distribution of up to two points among strength, agility, and health.
The giant hunter. Richard used the magic tattoo to fortify his body further and healthier.
To withstand the searing pain without passing out.
Ereta watched Richard skeptically as he nodded at her.
“…Clench your teeth. It’ll hurt a lot.”
In the end, Ereta had no choice. With hands burning with flames, she gripped Richard’s side.
Sssssss!
“Ghhhhhh!”
The smell and sound of burning flesh filled the air as Richard clenched his teeth against the overwhelming pain, almost losing consciousness.
As Richard’s eyes rolled back, indicating he was about to faint, Ereta moved to pull her hand away, but Richard grabbed her wrist.
“Keep… going!”
“…It might scar badly!”
Through gritted teeth, the two endured the smell of burning flesh. The large burn sealed the bleeding wound, and the smell eventually faded as the blood stopped.
The panting man and the charred scars left on Richard’s skin. Richard examined the wound while panting, then wobbled as he got up.
“This should do it. Ereta, find the others and heal them, wake them up.”
“And what about you?”
“I need to go help Aslan.”
Though unsteady on his feet, Richard’s words lacked conviction.
He looked too worn out to help anyone.
From Ereta’s perspective, it was an impossible suggestion.
So Ereta opened her mouth, intending to say she would go help Aslan while asking Richard to assist the others.
But…
“You’ll die. Let me go, and you, Richard…”
“Let me do this.”
Richard was resolute. Placing his hand on the side he had cauterized, he stood despite his labored breathing.
Wobbling but continuing forward.
“Please.”
Ereta fell silent.
There was something beyond mere persuasiveness or logic in his stance.
Something she had seen before when Aslan first failed and later worked miracles.
Determination.
“If I die with Aslan, I’ll find him in the afterlife and tear him apart.”
Ereta ultimately had no choice but to let Richard go.
With a faint smile, Richard glanced at Ereta walking away and said,
“Aslan sure attracts dangerous women.”
Chuckling softly, the man moved forward.
In reality, Ereta was right.
This task should have been done by someone else in the group, not Richard.
Meanwhile, what Ereta should have been doing was something Richard could handle just fine.
If there had been other people here instead of Richard, Ereta wouldn’t have tried so hard to stop him.
Phey’s speed could have struck the tyrant’s blind spot.
Ange’s strength could destroy the tyrant’s scales.
Lumel’s spear skills could support Aslan effectively against the tyrant.
Tiamat’s firepower would have been immensely helpful.
Even Ereta herself could have healed Aslan’s wounds and provided tenacious regeneration support.
On the other hand, Richard had none of these advantages.
All he had were slightly tougher-than-average fists and legs.
Richard lacked even the ironclad belief Aslan possessed.
His fighting skills paled in comparison to the rest of the group.
Thus, Richard understood what Ereta wanted to say but didn’t.
There was no reason for Richard to go fight.
Nothing to gain from fighting.
Yet Richard continued forward.
Walking, he observed people.
Observed dead people.
He saw guards who had stepped forward to protect the dead, only to be caught up and killed themselves.
Click.
A dying guard clutched Richard’s ankle with pleading eyes.
“Please… protect… the people…”
The grip soon loosened, and the half-remaining body slumped lifelessly.
Before such tragedies, life and death stood sharply opposed.
Boom, bang.
Crackling sounds, metallic clashes.
It was a battlefield.
Richard observed the battlefield and clearly understood he had no reason to risk his life there.
He had no strong conviction demanding his presence.
There was no particularly precious person here.
After all, Richard was just an ordinary man incapable of claiming he could protect everyone.
But Richard remembered.
Remembered Aslan affirming his ordinariness, treating his reasons as no less significant than his own.
Remembered the calm, wise expression usually worn by Aslan replaced by a bright smile.
A sight that couldn’t be overlooked.
A reminder of what it truly meant to be someone different.
Therefore.
There was still no reason to fight.
There was much to lose by fighting.
Nothing to gain.
But Richard chose to fight.
Because if his teacher were here, they would have jumped into the battlefield regardless of the lack of reason.
Because if he didn’t fight here, many more people would lose much more.
Because there was something to protect by fighting, even if nothing to gain.
Richard always hoped that those nobler and greater than himself would live longer.
Because he admired their beliefs.
Because boys admire heroes.
Thus, Richard moved forward.
For a death worth more than life.
And ran.
Joints creaking, barely obeying their master’s commands.
The searing pain in his side mocked him.
Fading consciousness prophesied the futility of all his decisions.
Labored breaths foretold his limits.
But Richard ran.
The tattoo glowed violet, enhancing his strength and agility.
And he kept running.
Bang!
Kaboom!
Just as Richard reached them, the battle between Aslan and the tyrant ended.
The tyrant, riddled with countless wounds, its scaled arm shattered, its head regenerating, and fallen scales scattered everywhere.
But it wasn’t dead. It hadn’t been defeated.
Aslan was flying backward after taking a critical hit, the armor dented in the center.
Taking advantage of this opening, Richard dashed in like the wind.
Crash, clang!
Using the remnants of a collapsed building as leverage, he twisted his body.
And delivered a spinning kick.
Zzzziiing!
The tyrant blocked the kick with its scaled arm, even without a head.
The kick halted by the armored limb. A counterattack that would surely kill Richard was imminent.
But before it came, Richard twisted his body mid-air.
Using only his core strength, he bent his body and trapped the tyrant’s regenerating head between his legs.
Like a crocodile catching prey, Richard twisted violently, slamming the tyrant’s head into the ground.
Kaboooooooom!
Clouds of dust erupted with the explosion.
The moment it was pinned, Richard twisted his body and stood up, while the tyrant casually adjusted itself and planted its feet firmly on the ground.
Thud, thud!
Rotating its neck, the tyrant regarded Richard with a cold gaze.
There was no trace of warmth in its eyes.
Instead, it seemed filled with hatred.
Apparently, it found it extremely unpleasant that a mere weakling dared interfere in a battle between two mighty beings.
“What are you?”
A toneless question. An indifferent face. Richard assumed his stance.
The same stance his teacher took in his final moments.
One hand raised to the sky, the other to the ground. Twisting sideways, aiming toward the enemy with his damaged side.
“The veteran of combat.”
Upon hearing this, the tyrant raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“That’s amusing. I too was once a veteran of combat before becoming a master of war.”
Seemingly genuinely interested, the tyrant balled his fists and approached Richard loosely.
A pure stance of combat. A confrontation between an overwhelmingly powerful fighter and one who was not.
Yet Richard stood firm.
Undying determination surrounded him, and the divine power of an ancient deity enveloped Richard.
