As the sunlight slanted and filled the room, Aslan opened his eyes.
The moment he did, a faint ache in his lower back accompanied by stiffness caused him to frown.
“…Hmm.”
Pushing aside the blanket carelessly draped over him, as though tidying up an accident scene, Aslan got up. Upon standing, Aslan realized it was close to the afternoon.
It must have been past noon, or perhaps evening was approaching just after noon.
Regardless, there was no denying that he had slept in late. The reason wasn’t hard to guess.
Considering Angie’s scent lingering heavily in the room despite her absence, dismissing last night’s events as a dream or hallucination would be impossible.
Though feeling slightly awkward at the reality of what happened, Aslan didn’t feel particularly embarrassed or newly self-conscious.
Having experienced much with Lewena, Aslan was too mature to feel bashful about such small experiences.
So, not long after, Aslan turned his head and glanced around the room.
The room was unchanged from before last night’s activities.
There were minor differences, but nothing too noticeable. Lewena still lay quietly asleep, untouched. Her Abyssal Sword remained where it had been placed beside her. Aslan’s pants, which he had discarded, were still there as well. Rubbing his sore lower back, Aslan rose from his seat.
After pulling on his pants and checking on Lewena, Aslan stepped outside to find the inn almost empty, lacking most of the traveling party.
“A, Aslan!”
Only Lumel was present.
Sitting aside in the inn reading a book, Lumel set it down upon noticing Aslan, greeted him with a bright smile, and approached.
“Hello, Lumel.”
In response to Aslan’s greeting, Lumel smiled happily.
Approaching, Lumel suddenly stiffened upon catching a strong whiff of feminine fragrance emanating from Aslan.
Likewise, Aslan froze, realizing too late that his body was giving off this scent.
Currently, Aslan bore a heavy trace of Angie’s fragrance.
Angie’s unique aroma, layered with the scent of perfume specific to women.
It was a smell only someone like Lumel could detect since Angie used the same perfume as Lumel.
Given this, when Lumel smelled a familiar perfume on Aslan after not seeing him all night, the conclusion was inevitable.
Angie and Aslan had spent the night together.
Thus, Aslan tensed, and Lumel looked at the tense Aslan.
After staring for some time, Lumel asked, tilting her head:
“Aslan, did you use my perfume?”
Though Aslan’s body had stiffened under subtle tension, he relaxed his shoulders and gave a sheepish grin.
“Yeah, it kind of happened. I woke up late, so… I didn’t have time to wash…”
The excuse was crude, yet Lumel either believed Aslan or filled in the unspoken parts with imagination, easily letting it go.
Moreover,
“If you liked my perfume, you should have said something… I’ll prepare some specifically for Aslan later.”
With a hint of pleasure, she smiled brightly.
Seeing that smile, Aslan felt a twinge of guilt but saw no need to reveal the truth unnecessarily.
When the time was right and preparations were sufficient, informing her would be appropriate.
While thinking this, Lumel lightly sniffed near Aslan while passing by.
“I’ll prepare something for you if you’d like to sit down. I can still put together a meal.”
For Aslan, who had been fasting for quite some time, this was welcome news, and there was no reason to refuse such an offer.
“Thank you. I’ll eat well.”
With gratitude expressed, Lumel smiled subtly and disappeared into the kitchen.
Not long after, she returned with food.
Despite claiming it was leftovers, the spread was anything but minimal.
A red stew-like broth cooked with vegetables, bread hollowed out and filled with soup, roasted fish—ample offerings for someone who had risen late.
Even cookies intended for her own consumption were brought out, and she sat across from Aslan.
Aslan smiled apologetically and began eating while exchanging conversation.
“What do you plan to do next, Aslan?”
“I intend to head to the fortress to finalize my report. After that, I might take a little rest.”
Sometimes they discussed the day’s plans.
“Besides your sword, what other weapon would complement your spear well?”
“Hmm, a small shield might work, but using daggers or bludgeoning weapons in limited circumstances could also be effective.”
Other times, they talked tactics.
“Your skin looks better, Aslan.”
“That… yeah? That’s good.”
Occasionally, they touched on sensitive matters that could lead back to last night.
But even if occasionally so, their conversations were generally comfortable.
While eating without interruption, Lumel asked questions, answered them, and ate her cookies.
Later, she opened a book and skimmed through it casually, engaging in ordinary conversation.
The weather might soon bring rain, or how the southern continent was unexpectedly humid, requiring more clothing.
Their conversation tapered off as Aslan finished his meal.
“I plan to cook deer meat received from the barracks tonight. Please return early.”
With that farewell, Aslan stepped outside toward the fortress to recount the detailed story involving the Abyss.
On the way,
Zzaak!
Aslan witnessed a giant wyrm being slapped by someone.
The unmistakable personality of the group member, Tiamat, was evident despite not knowing when or where he’d seen her before. She was being slapped by a smaller wyrm.
The slapper appeared to be female based on physical characteristics.
Though only inferred from the curvature of her chest, she cradled an egg in her arms.
This female wyrm wore an expression that seemed reluctant despite having delivered the slap.
It wasn’t easy to deduce the situation immediately upon seeing her.
Without Aslan’s high fortune, one could only speculate.
However, even speculation led to an obvious answer.
She was Harrod’s wife.
The egg she held must belong to Harrod.
Her body lacked signs of extensive training, indicating she wasn’t a warrior.
Judging by the tools she carried, she was likely a craftsman, probably from the wing district designated for artisans.
Understanding this, Aslan could fully grasp the situation.
The woman had concluded her husband’s funeral and come seeking their only offspring.
She likely hadn’t intended to reprimand anyone from the start.
If she had, she would’ve likely reconsidered given Tiamat’s attitude of apology.
Thus, the scene was simple.
Confronting her guilt and receiving a plea born from that guilt, the woman slapped Tiamat reluctantly.
Even after being slapped by her sister-in-law, Tiamat didn’t appear to feel that justice had been served.
Rather, her expression suggested regret for some wrongdoing, indicating they were engaged in conversation.
Aslan couldn’t hear it, but observing their serious expressions, he couldn’t help but mirror their gravity.
Indeed, among the group, none suffered greater loss in the battle against the tyrant than Tiamat.
Tiamat lost both eyes.
Though losing sight didn’t prevent him from shooting arrows or discern objects, Tiamat could no longer see with his eyes. His sense of loss must be significant, seeing only eternal darkness and night.
Furthermore, Tiamat also lost his younger brother.
Considering the lack of familial bonds among wyrms, the relationship between Harrod and Tiamat was especially unique.
Rarely did wyrm siblings exhibit such affection and camaraderie.
Aslan watched Tiamat with a troubled expression, reflecting on the details of Harrod’s death.
When the tyrant scattered its scales, Harrod stood forward with a shield to protect his elder brother.
Had Harrod retreated or dodged like most would, the shield might have held, but it shattered instantly upon contact with the scales.
Though retreating or dodging might have been expected, whether Harrod thought he must protect his brother or simply had no time, he blocked the incoming scale with his body.
His internal organs burst, his waist was severed, his arm shattered.
Half his jaw was torn away, making it clear that even full recovery with Resham would be impossible.
At the time, Harrod had no chance of survival.
Most likely, Harrod himself understood this best.
Thus, Harrod chose his brother over his own life.
He pleaded for treatment for Tiamat, who had lost his eyes and waist due to the scales he failed to block.
Since Tiamat firing arrows would contribute more to the battle than Harrod fighting alive, it made sense.
Ultimately, Harrod died as a warrior.
That decision changed the tide and secured victory.
Certainly, it would lead to victory, but Aslan mourned Harrod’s death.
Though somewhat arrogant and overly noble, he was a person who protected Angie, a stranger, simply because they shared the same region.
He was a wyrm of strong character despite his authoritarian tendencies.
His attitude after Angie grew stronger was also impressive.
Accepting his own weakness and acknowledging Angie’s strength, he departed gracefully.
Had they ever had a proper conversation since then? Watching the female wyrm and the egg in her arms, Aslan wore a sorrowful expression.
As her bitter smile faded, the female wyrm had already left.
Tiamat continued to stare into nothingness where the female wyrm had been.
“…Aslan.”
Finally, after his prolonged gaze, Tiamat addressed Aslan, who had been watching silently.
Tiamat, who lost his eyes and his younger brother, possessed heightened senses beyond the ordinary.
The wyrm harbored deep anger stemming from self-loathing.
He had known Aslan was watching him for quite some time.
Aware of this fact, Aslan approached the towering wyrm.
“How much did you hear?”
“I heard nothing.”
Whether Lumel believed him or not, Tiamat kept his head fixed toward where his sister-in-law had departed, remaining silent.
“But the situation is clear enough.”
After adding this, Tiamat fell silent again.
Already quiet, he now exuded an even deeper silence, rummaging through his robes.
In his hand emerged a pipe.
Even as Aslan observed curiously, Tiamat offered no explanation for the pipe he had produced.
Instead, he naturally placed the pipe in his mouth and began smoking skillfully.
Filling the tobacco leaves, lighting it, inhaling deeply, exhaling smoke, Tiamat laughed—a self-deprecating laugh.
“In truth, I regretted.”
“…What?”
In response to Aslan’s question, Tiamat’s head tilted slightly upward. His gaze undoubtedly directed toward the darkness.
A darkness encountered in the past.
“If only I hadn’t brought Harrod along… If only I had severely reprimanded him and sent him back to Belus Alphen the moment he disembarked…”
Trailing off, Tiamat once again took the pipe into his mouth. The acrid smoke mingled with his words.
It was a deep and dark regret.
“If only we hadn’t gone to the southern continent, if only I had briefly vacated my post and stayed in the northern continent… And furthermore, if only I hadn’t met you.”
Aslan understood the forthcoming words and closed his mouth, while Tiamat remained silent, exhaling smoke.
With a sigh, the dissipating smoke revealed Tiamat’s laughter.
“I entertained such regrets.”
And as Aslan’s face hardened, Tiamat added:
“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”
Tiamat’s smile was one of mockery.
Mockery of his own pitiful state, and derision of his stubborn adherence to something he knew couldn’t come true.
Aslan couldn’t agree with that statement. He didn’t truly believe it, nor was he cruel enough to say it.
Before he could deny it—”It’s not,” “You did your best,” “It’s my fault,” “There was nothing you could do,” “It’s okay to feel defeated,” “I understand losing family”—Tiamat shook his head.
Turning his head as if looking at Aslan, though his sightless eyes couldn’t actually see, Tiamat spoke.
“An outsider who neither grew up in Geladridion nor has anything to lose here. Such an outsider strives to save the world, shedding blood in a fight that isn’t even his own.”
Despite being unable to see, Aslan felt a burning gaze piercing through him.
“And yet… A descendant of dragons regrets not having fought, merely because he lost his younger brother. It’s certainly pathetic, isn’t it?”
Self-loathing surged from deep within Tiamat’s chest, fueling his anger.
Watching this, Aslan found nothing to say.
Statements like “It’s not,” “You did your best,” “It’s my fault,” “There was nothing you could do,” “It’s okay to feel defeated,” “I understand losing family,” were all too shallow to offer comfort.
Tiamat neither needed nor desired such comfort.
He would likely disdain Aslan for offering it.
Thus, all Aslan could do was remain silent, standing beside him.
In that silence, Tiamat quietly coughed.
As the cigarette smoke thinned and the burned tobacco ash accumulated, Tiamat finally spoke.
“Don’t worry too much.”
He said this while putting away his pipe.
“The task you must accomplish, the mission you bear, cannot halt for someone like me alone. I won’t leave the group either. So, don’t worry. Do what you must.”
With a mechanical nod, he walked away.
Aslan couldn’t hold him back.
All he could do was watch his departing back with a bitter expression.
Such pain couldn’t be resolved with mere words.
Aslan knew this well, having experienced it himself.
Understanding this pain, Aslan realized something.
Perhaps the one who needed the most attention among the group wasn’t Lumel or Phey, but Tiamat.
With that realization, Aslan sighed and left.
Afterward, Aslan headed to the fortress.
The reporting went smoothly at the fortress.
Aslan recounted everything he had experienced in the Abyss and the changes occurring there.
Further, he explained the potential impact these changes could have on the world, within the limits of his knowledge and understanding.
Until the very end, the atmosphere had been fine.
However, the mood suddenly tensed as the fortress commanders looked anxiously at Resham, and Budonggong stroked his beard with concern.
Resham calmly read the Emperor’s decree filled with flowery language and indirect expressions.
Summarized, it conveyed the following:
The group was requested to visit the capital as there was a matter to entrust to them.
This matter included concise information related to the request.
The information boiled down to one thing:
A specter had appeared.
