Aslan felt nothing at all.
His vision was growing dim.
The only sound he could barely hear was the pounding of his own heart.
There was hardly any sensation left in his arms and legs; he could barely feel that he was still gripping the sword.
It was as if he were lost in a dreamlike haze.
This was, to put it plainly, what it looked like to be on the verge of death.
No, perhaps he was already dying.
If this were a game, it would be like when your health reaches zero, no matter how many times you reload from the same point—it’s just a repeat of dying over and over again.
Even in such a dire situation, Aslan hadn’t died yet thanks to the temporary life force given by the townspeople, sustained by his regenerative power.
That in itself was miraculous.
Had even one element been missing—whether it was something Aslan possessed or the circumstances of this place—this miracle wouldn’t have happened.
Because of his indomitable will, Aslan was able to choose to fight despite being in such a terrible physical state. He moved as if nothing was wrong.
Without the pillar of creation granted by Purity, the temporary life force would have drained away uselessly.
Had it not been for the life force provided by the people, Aslan would have fallen right there.
Holding onto that tenuous thread of life, Aslan saw the tyrant charging toward him.
His body creaked with every movement.
He was undoubtedly on the brink of death.
Perhaps he might fail.
Despite the immense effort it took just to move his body, Aslan grasped the sharp pain within his dazed mind.
It was his sword.
Suddenly, he remembered what the Warrior God had said: A warrior fights when the time calls for it.
Indeed, it was true.
Bang! The tyrant’s motion stopped. A sound echoed.
Then the fist accelerated.
The fist, filled with the full strength of the entire body, was powerful enough to kill Aslan with a single strike.
But Aslan neither retreated nor flinched. Instead, he swung Purity firmly in hand.
Clang!
The ringing metallic sound accompanied the deflected punch. The fist was pushed back after colliding with the blade.
“Hah, hahaha!”
The tyrant laughed joyfully upon seeing his fist being pushed aside.
What followed was a barrage of punches, each one coming faster than the last.
One, two, three…
Each swing became quicker, so much so that Aslan could no longer see them.
However, Aslan’s luck responded intensely to his master’s will.
A strange feeling, like an icy breeze brushing against his skin, warned him.
Following that sensation, Aslan swung his sword, deflecting the incoming punches.
Parrying, blocking, dodging, deflecting—he responded to the dozens of punches with matching swings of his blade.
Impressively, he showed no signs of fatigue as he continued to counterattack. The tyrant grinned with delight, halted mid-motion, and spun around.
And then came a spinning kick.
For Aslan, getting hit by this kick would likely split him in half. However, Aslan didn’t panic or try to evade recklessly.
He simply raised Purity quietly.
Kaaang!
“Hooh!”
Facing the direction of the leg thrust, Aslan extended his sword, stopping it with a resonating metallic clang.
With the momentum from the blocked kick, the tyrant retracted his leg and launched another spinning kick in the opposite direction.
At a speed that would be difficult for an ordinary warrior to block, Aslan placed the hilt of his sword under the dragon king’s fist to stop it.
Crack! Screeeech!
The scales of order embedded in Purity applied to the entire sword, including the hilt.
The hilt absorbed the impact effortlessly, while the dragon king’s fist shattered the leg coming at him with full force.
Shattered scales and splashing blood. The tyrant, who had intended to deliver a front kick while stepping back, hesitated as he clutched his broken ankle.
A simple kick catch.
An action far too unusual for this situation.
Given that he was at a disadvantage in terms of strength, it wasn’t a good idea. Sensing some other intent, the tyrant rolled his planted right foot.
Kwaahhh!
The rising body caught and torn apart by the dragon king’s grip, with his left ankle shattered.
Next, Richard appeared, diving down into the space where the tyrant had just been.
A flying kick delivered with full weight and velocity.
Twisting in mid-air, the tyrant landed smoothly despite the kick aimed at his previous position.
Even though the ambush missed, Richard stood calmly beside Aslan without showing any sign of frustration. Seeing this, the tyrant pressed down hard with his regenerated ankle and growled.
“Planning to interfere?”
“On our side, we’re weak. We need numbers to barely stand up to someone stronger, don’t we?”
Richard mocked while holding his sword silently, and Aslan remained still. Watching both of them, the tyrant ran forward with an unpleasant expression.
Targeting Richard, the tyrant stretched out his fist intending to subdue him in one blow. But Aslan stepped in to take the blow.
Clang, ka-ga-ga-gak, ching!
Using Purity, Aslan intercepted the punch aimed at Richard and deflected it along the blade.
As the tyrant’s punch missed, Richard immediately clenched both fists and swung them quickly.
Bang, kwa-kang!
Fists hitting the scales and abdomen. As the scales shattered and scattered, Richard inhaled deeply and repeatedly drove his fists in.
Ka-kang, ka-ga-kang, kang!
After striking five times in the abdomen, Richard twisted his body and delivered an uppercut.
The fist that accurately struck the jaw tilted the tyrant’s head back. Seizing the moment, Richard grabbed the tilted head and leaped slightly to deliver a knee strike.
“This… bastard…!”
The tyrant, annoyed by his broken jaw and scattered scales, twisted his body and pulled one arm back, distorting it.
The form revealed was similar to the maw that had bitten off the dragon’s head.
A giant mouth-like arm covered sparsely with white steel. An attack with a wide range that could hit Richard even if he dodged.
Right as this massive maw lunged towards Richard after his knee strike.
Something flew into the tyrant’s peripheral vision.
A red bolt of lightning soared through the air, piercing and tearing straight through the arm.
When the connection broke, the mouth fell to the ground but quickly regenerated as the tyrant used it to launch himself upward and land next to Aslan.
A small girl landed precisely beside Aslan.
Her disheveled red hair settled naturally, and the elven girl glared coldly at the tyrant.
“It’s because of you my clothes are torn.”
“I’ll kill you.” With calm menace, the threat left her lips as the tyrant raised his arm to block something flying toward his head.
Kaaaaaang!
Drrt! The tremendous force pushed the tyrant back slightly, and the greatsword held by the arm stopped.
Seizing the moment, Phey and Richard charged forward in sequence, delivering their attacks.
When the tyrant raised an arm to block the red blade, Richard’s fist struck his face again.
Blocking the following kick with a knife-hand, Richard’s blade tore through the tyrant’s groin between the scales. Before the flowing blood could stain the ground, someone else rushed in from behind the tyrant.
“Die!”
A loud shout accompanied the flying fist. The golden eyes and crimson hair seemed distorted by the speed as the woman’s fist approached.
Before the tyrant could twist his body to block, Richard seized his wrist.
This threw off his balance—a technique of compliance from Richard.
Thus, the crimson-haired woman’s fist, filled with great force, struck the tyrant’s spine.
Gaaaahh!
The thunderous sound echoed as the tyrant was sent flying. In the direction he was hurled, Aslan waited.
Holding Purity reversed, with his left hand drawn back. As the tyrant raised his hand to block.
Chzzk!
The slash was faster than the raised hand, shattering the tyrant’s faceplate.
The shattered mask, scattered scales. In that brief moment, someone burst forth from the debris.
“Huff!”
With a battle cry, they thrust their spear. The blade, filled with lightning, pierced the tyrant’s head exactly through the crack in the broken mask.
Piercing it, they discharged a bolt of lightning. Lumel’s keen senses caught the method of drawing out the lightning and transformed it into willpower, channeling the electricity into the mask.
Pzzzttt!
Soaring golden currents. Lightning wrapping around and leaving marks on the ground, while residual sparks scorched the surroundings. During this time, the tyrant couldn’t move.
By the time he hastily created defenses against the current, Lumel had already turned his body with the spear deep in the tyrant’s head.
“Erreta!”
Where did he throw it?
The tyrant instinctively deduced there must be an enemy there with his damaged and scorched brain and acted accordingly.
Crunch!
Steel scales grew on his body, which he immediately enlarged to pierce through.
Crzzt, per-shk!
The enormous steel spikes unhesitatingly pierced through someone, spraying blood.
‘One down.’
Though annoyed at having barely killed one of his weaker opponents, the tyrant tried to pull away.
Suddenly, a laugh was heard.
From the human impaled on the spike.
Before the tyrant could gauge the identity, a gentle yet chilling voice rang out.
“You can’t even satisfy my appetite with this.”
Before he could react, the voice, riddled with steel spikes, swung a massive iron mace.
Chzzk!
The precise blow landed squarely on the head. A mace sanctified by some evil deity’s divine power.
Accurately embedding itself, the mace peeled off the armor-like scales, followed by a kick.
Chzk!
Not very powerful, but the kick focused on pushing him away. Rolling on the ground, the tyrant figured out the identity of his attacker.
“What insolence, you insignificant thing!”
The Execution Saint Erreta.
The woman who betrayed even her own mother to cling to Aslan.
Regenerating while pulling out the steel spikes from her head, she picked up an axe and threw it at the recovering tyrant.
This was her most iconic attack.
Throwing axes.
The axe slicing through the wind was glowing hot, and the tyrant stretched out his hand to block it.
Thinking to grab and break or throw it away.
However, Erreta’s axe slipped past his hand effortlessly.
A feat accomplished by precise force distribution and aim. The axe that evaded his hand struck the tyrant’s head perfectly at the end of its haft.
Cheng!
The tilted head. The stripped-off mask. Toward the tilted head, a blade burning with pure white light descended.
It was death.
Kaaang!
Aslan’s sudden approach and decisive strike. A downward cut. The tyrant, flipping backward just in time, caught the blade between his palms.
Ka-kak, ka-ga-kak…
The tyrant’s startled and panicked expression. The cut aiming for his head through the gap in his scales was undoubtedly a lethal threat.
‘Did they plan this from the start…?’
The blade caught between his palms slowly drew closer as Aslan prepared to strike down.
If this continued, death was inevitable. Twisting his arm into a grotesque shape, the tyrant deflected the blade.
Kaaaang!
“Guh…!”
The blade precisely chopping down on his right shoulder.
As the blade deflected, Aslan’s posture faltered, and the tyrant swung his left fist.
An attack Aslan in his current state could neither block nor dodge. A fatal blow that would surely kill upon impact. It wasn’t Aslan who stopped it.
Kwajj-jjitt!
Someone else intercepted, grabbing Aslan and taking the blow instead.
Their shield thrust forward bent and crumpled as they slid across the ground with Aslan.
Finally coming to a halt, blood dripped heavily from Green’s exhausted mouth.
“Damn.”
It was Eiron.
The mayor of this city and its protector.
Calculating the odds, he had done the only thing he could.
Then came the command.
“Now! Volley fire! I’ll cover the cost from my fortune! Don’t hold back—pour it on!”
As the words were shouted, rubble shifted, and dozens of soldiers emerged simultaneously, pulling their triggers.
Tuu-tung, tuu-ung!
The firing sounds repeated dozens of times. The crossbows fired white steel bolts.
Kaang, ka-ga-ga-kang, chjeok!
The only means to batter the tyrant’s rising body and strip away his scales.
Seeing his own scales scattering, the tyrant scowled.
“You weaklings…!”
Spinning his feet in anger, shockwaves rippled outward, scattering the incoming bolts. Twisting his body, he assumed a familiar stance.
An attack that sprayed scales in all directions. A specialized area-of-effect assault akin to grenades, designed to slaughter numerous weaker foes.
An attack Aslan couldn’t ignore.
Pushing Mayor Eiron aside, Aslan charged forward.
As the high-raised Purity illuminated the darkness with white light, the tyrant hesitated mid-swing and twisted his body.
Aslan’s target was the head.
Prioritizing regeneration for the range attack meant the head was still uncovered by scales.
In haste, the tyrant raised his arm to block while hurriedly regenerating the head, but Purity descended like a bolt of lightning.
Chzeok!
Brushing aside the hastily raised arm, Purity struck the head directly. The makeshift scales covering the head shattered and fell, revealing the cracked mask as Aslan and the tyrant locked eyes.
Looking into those eyes brimming with irritation, Aslan spat out his words.
“There won’t be a second time.”
Gripping Purity tightly, knowing that continuing this way would lead to an endless battle, Aslan swung his sword once more, giving everything for the sole opportunity to create.
The figure of a warrior expending all his energy to seize a single chance.
“I won’t let anyone die before me anymore.”
Allowing the weak to intervene in the strong’s battle and attempting to reverse the tide with their strength.
The tyrant gritted his teeth in annoyance at this sight.
“Aslaaaan!”
Roaring like a dragon as he charged, Aslan murmured softly.
“Takehold.”
Then the weapons scattered across the battlefield responded.
The dead soldiers’ weapons rose to face the enemy, and Aslan’s beasts of prey joined Purity in targeting the tyrant.
Dozens of blades clashed with the tyrant.
The metallic clangs reverberated deeply across the battlefield.
