Bright light was not present.
To be precise, it was closer to a dim light.
However, that light carried an intense kind of energy within it.
A powerful force capable of reviving not just the soul imbued with divinity but even the body itself beyond that soul.
That power seeped into a certain tomb.
A tomb where fresh flowers were placed daily; from within the stone coffin in this tomb, someone opened their eyes.
The stone coffin was dark. It was only natural.
There was no reason to place anything inside that could serve as lighting, and in a coffin sealed so tightly that no oxygen could pass through, ordinary lighting would not burn.
Thus, Aslan was immediately bewildered upon opening their eyes.
They were extremely bewildered.
The surroundings had faded into darkness, and nothing could be seen.
Even the faintest light is usually present in the darkest of nights, yet there was not a single ray of light reaching inside the coffin.
The impending lack of oxygen also played its part.
The return of death creeping up immediately after resurrection. Despite the confusion, Aslan tried to regain as much composure as possible and moved their body.
Creak, creak.
Aslan was inside the coffin.
If they didn’t want to die right after being resurrected, they had to get out of this coffin.
“It won’t open!”
The material was clearly stone—likely very heavy and sturdy stone. Despite pushing against it, it wouldn’t budge at all.
From this, one fact was clear: Aslan had already been buried.
Kaboom, kaboom!
The realization that they had come to while entombed alive, the tightness and hardness of the coffin surrounding them—it all became apparent.
Aslan immediately clenched their fist and struck the lid of the stone coffin.
Kaboom!
But the lid of the stone coffin didn’t move an inch.
It neither budged nor showed any signs of breaking.
For a punch to carry real force, a certain range of motion is required, and Aslan couldn’t break the lid without enough space or oxygen to fully exert strength.
Moreover, the depth of the burial wasn’t even known.
Carelessly striking might result in being buried further under the dirt.
Yet, staying still meant dying anyway.
So, attempting to break free was the correct course of action.
The problem was the complete lack of weapons or tools to break the stone coffin.
Aslan lay inside, clad in tattered clothing, alone.
“Ugh…”
Gradually choking, their vision blurred, and the unseen darkness around them grew dimmer until it faded away entirely.
In the midst of this, a sharp pain coursed through their outstretched left hand.
“Grrrhh…”
The hand feeling along the coffin—it didn’t have the usual texture.
This throbbing pain itself was foreign.
Amidst the fading consciousness, Aslan realized this and clenched then unclenched their fist.
Clang, a soft metallic sound rang out.
Not Aslan’s original hand but the arm of the Dragon King.
Each black scale on this arm was filled with vivid sensation.
Despite the confusion, Aslan deduced the situation by looking at this scaled hand.
The circuitry running through the arm—designed to channel mana, resembling veins and nerves.
The tactile sensations flowing through it confirmed that this was part of Aslan, their own arm.
It seemed likely that during the process of connecting the mana circuits of the Dragon King’s arm, this arm had become intertwined with a fragment of Aslan’s soul.
Though it might indicate some damage to the soul, Aslan felt neither regret nor confusion.
Instead, they were grateful for having another means to use, feeling the alien sensation of the arm as they clenched their fist.
Bang!
The solid fist pounding against the lid of the stone coffin, shaking it.
An arm made of metal so hard it surpassed white steel.
Even without proper room to move or sufficient oxygen to fully exert strength, the impact was significant.
Even though the lack of oxygen clouded their consciousness and caused the punch to veer slightly, it was more than enough.
Aslan repeatedly drove their fist forward.
Thud, thud, bang!
And using the remaining oxygen, they swung their arm as strongly as possible, hammering against the lid of the stone coffin.
Creaking sounds from the lid and dirt pouring through the cracks.
In the struggle for survival, Aslan instinctively pulled their fist back as far as possible.
‘I want to live.’
Aslan listened to their instincts, which poured mana into the arm.
Woooom!
In the thinning oxygen, the arm emitted a turbine-like sound before—
BOOOOOM!
Shattering the lid of the stone coffin and blasting the mound of dirt piled above.
The shattered lid and dirt scattered like rain, amidst which a real downpour was drenching everything.
“Huff, huff, huuuuh…”
Aslan crawled out of their grave, gasping for breath.
Cold rainwater ran down their body, soaking them thoroughly, but Aslan trembled with joy as they emerged from the grave.
Their senses were vivid.
The chill carried by the wind brushing past.
The dampness of the falling rain.
The stinging pain and dispersing droplets touching their skin.
The sound of the rain falling heavily.
The moonlit raindrops scattering vividly before their eyes.
Despite the enveloping darkness, Aslan knelt before their grave.
“—!”
And screamed.
The fact that they had almost died after coming back to life.
The fact that they almost died immediately after resurrection.
The possibility that they had been buried for a long time.
All these thoughts were cleanly erased from Aslan’s mind.
Regaining life, Aslan screamed.
Caught in the downpour, gasping for breath.
This wild behavior ceased when a certain sound reached their ears.
Tinkling.
The heavy clatter of metal rolling on the ground. As Aslan turned their head while panting, there stood a woman.
Her silken white hair clung to her skin.
Her eyes were a floral pink—a vibrant hue that retained its brilliance even in flickering lamplight.
In the torrential downpour, the black clothes clinging to her revealed the contours of her body.
Under the heavy rain, she stood there, having dropped the axe she held, staring at Aslan.
Dazed, her face vacant.
“Ereta…?”
Upon hearing their name called, her expression gradually welled up.
Clang, the fallen lamp scattered sparks before going out, and the woman rushed forward to embrace Aslan.
With a splash, the soaked warmth of her body pressed against Aslan.
As if she herself were a source of heat.
The cold body of Aslan, who had been trembling from the rain, welcomed this warmth.
Instinctively wrapping his arms around her to stay warm, the woman flinched and buried her face in Aslan’s chest.
At that moment, the unique soft yet firm scent of Ereta permeated Aslan’s bare skin.
The sensory experience was so vivid it startled Aslan.
The plush sensation triggered multiple reactions simultaneously.
Realizing that failing to push her away might lead to inappropriate responses, Aslan tried to do so—but Ereta did not let go.
She clung tightly, as if determined never to release Aslan again.
Thanks to this, despite the downpour, they remained warm.
Aslan eventually gave up, allowing the various reactions coursing through his body as he gently stroked Ereta’s back.
*
A cottage not far from the gravesite.
A cozy home for two. For Aslan, it reminded him of the life he shared with Lewena.
Inside, Aslan sat on a bed permeated with Ereta’s strong scent.
When handed a clay cup by Ereta, the warm aroma of tea tickled Aslan’s nose.
It was a comforting scent.
Because of this, Aslan easily accepted the revelation that three months had passed since his death.
“Three months?”
“Yes.”
“Three months… What happened?”
Ereta wiped her reddened eyes and sat close beside Aslan.
“After Aslan died… everyone was really struggling. Phey cried for days. Only after your burial did their tears finally stop.”
There was no space to retreat, so Aslan resigned himself to letting Ereta’s thigh touch his.
Ereta went further, extending her hand to softly caress Aslan’s thigh.
It was a ticklish sensation, making Aslan unconsciously tense his shoulders.
“Phey and Tiamat wanted revenge. They wanted to kill every priest they saw. Tiamat wanted vengeance for her sibling, and Phey sought revenge for you. But…”
“But?”
“Angie stopped them. She said that wasn’t what Aslan would’ve wanted.”
Ereta sipped her tea after saying this.
“Aslan often said there were things only he could do, but now that he’s gone, we must take his place… That’s what she said.”
Everyone agreed with that statement and left.
Looking down at the teacup in his hands, Aslan noticed something peculiar about Ereta’s absence from the “everyone.”
Seemingly sensing his doubt, Ereta smiled faintly.
“I stayed to tend to Aslan’s grave.”
“…The grave?”
“Yes.”
Was there really a need to tend to the grave? Aslan wondered, but upon hearing Ereta’s painful explanation, he couldn’t help but understand.
“After Aslan died, his body quickly turned into dense white steel. Grave robbers, treasure hunters, mercenaries, priests—they all came seeking Aslan’s remains.”
White steel is a rare metal, certainly not abundant.
It forms only when an ancient deity dies, so it can’t be plentiful.
Given that a new, high-density white steel existed, it was only natural for greedy individuals to appear.
Ereta stayed for this very reason.
“Some people even suggested selling Aslan’s body… So, someone had to guard the grave.”
Hearing this, Aslan was slightly taken aback.
While Angie might be expected to make such sacrifices, it was surprising that Aslan’s corpse had turned into white steel.
Because Aslan was not born with divine power.
At most, he possessed purity, but divine essence would never flow through his body.
Purity may have belonged to Aslan, but it wasn’t Aslan himself.
For this reason, Aslan found it strange that someone who wasn’t an ancient deity could turn into white steel.
While contemplating this, Aslan suddenly recalled something.
“Everyone has the potential to become a Buddha.”
These were the words of an unnamed monk, one who had fallen to the Dark Ram before Aslan.
Recalling this, Aslan wore a meaningful expression, prompting Ereta to grasp his hand.
The softness she conveyed was incredibly vivid.
Had he reached a state beyond human existence? Aslan sensed the emotions embedded in this vividness.
A sticky, dripping affection. A creeping attachment directed toward Aslan.
Startled, Aslan looked up to meet her gaze, finding eyes brimming with that same sentiment.
Her sorrowful pink eyes met his. Upon meeting his gaze, Ereta moved her lips.
“Is this… a dream?”
Her voice, strained with emotion, hinted at imminent tears but managed to hold them back. Aslan stiffened at the sound, prompting Ereta to continue.
“I’m so happy I feel anxious. If I wake up… I’m afraid Aslan will be gone again. I’m scared.”
With that, Ereta lowered her head.
It was a sight that begged for comfort.
Aslan struggled to speak.
“I’m… I’m real. I won’t just disappear suddenly.”
In response, Ereta silently continued to fondle Aslan’s hand without replying.
Silence ensued for a while.
It was a silence destined to be broken.
“Everyone… thinking about Aslan’s body, we reflected on many things. We realized how much Aslan had pushed himself… how much he had suffered internally.”
A body consumed from within, turning into white steel despite showing clear signs of multiple organ failures.
One eye had gone blind, and nearly none of his internal organs functioned properly.
Sensory perception had been lost long ago, and tactile sensations were almost nonexistent. In the end, he fought with a heart that had stopped beating.
The history recounted by Resham was horrifyingly painful.
“Since then… I kept thinking. Regretting. Everyone must’ve thought the same thing—’I should’ve died in Aslan’s place.'”
Speaking with her head bowed, Ereta lifted it to look at Aslan.
“So did I.”
Her reddened eyes carried deep concern.
Her pink eyes met Aslan’s teal ones, and he instantly understood what she was about to say.
But he neither interrupted nor responded, simply listening quietly.
“Don’t push yourself anymore.”
Softly, she scooted closer, resting her head on Aslan’s chest.
“Angie has grown stronger, and so has everyone else. All Aslan needs to do is guide us from behind, telling us what to do. So… Aslan doesn’t need to fight anymore…”
Her voice lacked conviction.
She didn’t truly believe her own words.
Ultimately, she knew that to change the world, Aslan would have to step forward personally.
But fearing the loss of Aslan once more, she prioritized him over the world.
To her, Aslan was more precious than the entire world.
Understanding all this, Aslan conflicted internally.
The unnamed monk had said it.
This body wasn’t meant for fighting anymore—it was meant for happiness.
It was contrary to everything Aslan had done until now.
Aslan had always fought selfishly.
He burned the lives of his comrades to fuel his battles, choosing to consume his own life rather than rely on others.
This was far from a normal relationship among comrades.
He could imagine the feelings of his companions.
If only I had done better, worked harder, stepped forward despite Aslan’s protests…
Such regrets must have lingered.
Ereta’s current state was evidence of those regrets.
The man who witnessed 4,377 fellow direction-seekers burning their lives to bring about Aslan’s resurrection reflected on their noble deaths.
Thinking about their struggles to save Aslan,
he realized the truth: This task was possible only for Aslan.
Burning lives wasn’t enough.
Good intentions and determination weren’t enough.
Even miracles wouldn’t suffice.
To achieve what Aslan desired, he had to survive.
His first life was spent fighting and dying.
The second had to be better.
It had to be different.
Unable to continue speaking, Ereta clutched Aslan’s hand against her cheek.
The warmth flowing through her touch mingled with her fragrance, creating a comforting atmosphere.
It was the comfort of a woman ready to cradle him and grant him everything he asked for.
Yet her expression remained resolute.
“Ereta.”
Her unwavering demeanor upon hearing her name spoke volumes of her deliberation.
“That’s not possible.”
Sadness tinged his tone, but his resolve remained firm.
“Because it’s something only I can do.”
Aslan shook his head slightly, and her immediate readiness to protest confirmed her reluctance to lose someone more precious than duty.
Like Lee Hyun-woo, who regretted for a lifetime not asking his father to take a vacation and visit,
Ereta spoke to prevent Aslan’s selfless sacrifice.
But Aslan interjected before she could.
“However.”
The unexpected word paused her speech, and with a hint of surprise, she looked at Aslan.
After death, Aslan realized something.
“I can’t do it alone.”
A voice Aslan was not expected to produce. When Ereta widened her eyes in astonishment, Aslan smiled faintly at her beautiful, innocent face.
Smiling gently, Aslan brushed her cheek.
From now on, Aslan had to change.
Not out of selfishness but out of altruism.
From now on, Aslan had to fight not to die but to survive.
“I need you all.”
Aslan caressed Ereta’s cheek.
“I need you.”
Meeting Ereta’s wide-eyed gaze, Aslan wrapped his arms around her back and embraced her.
The warm body pressed against him, the love she bore for him causing her to shed tears, valuing him more than the world—a precious person.
For her and others who loved him, Aslan smiled and spoke.
“Will you help me?”
A phrase never expected to come from Aslan’s lips.
Ereta trembled at the words, responding in a tearful voice.
“…Yes.”
Despite the tears, her voice radiated immense joy.
Hearing that joyful voice, Aslan decided on his happy ending.
Aslan would survive the Evil Deity and find happiness together with everyone.
