“Specter?”
A sound akin to a massive wheel grinding and rolling could be heard, as if interlocking with the emerging voice.
That sound was maximized by the colossal beast leading at the very front, resembling the turning of a watermill when heard briefly.
To that extent, the carriage was enormous.
It was spacious enough to carry both the soldiers sent by the Emperor and the traveling party, with room left over to accommodate Lewena as a patient.
The group sat in the remaining space, gazing out the window, sleeping, or exchanging conversations.
The scenery outside flowed past, following roads carved unrealistically precisely amidst rugged mountains. The carriage advanced steadily.
Beyond the sound of the eight large wheels rotating like massive waterwheels, the grumbling of the two dragons pulling the carriage echoed.
“Aslan.”
“A, yeah.”
Aslan, whose attention was captured by the scene, had been lost in thought when Angie’s presence beside him brought him back to reality as if it were the most natural thing.
The moment their eyes met, Angie smiled subtly with an enigmatic look.
Aslan rolled his eyes upon recalling some memory triggered by her gaze, and when he turned away, Richard appeared to be unaware of Angie’s expression, maintaining his usual blank look.
“Did you say specter?”
Richard casually repeated the question without any concern.
Specter. Since recounting the story to the group, Aslan had been deep in thought, listening to circulating tales about it.
Had there been no progress in the conversation at all?
He could understand that.
“Yeah, specter. It was written that it appeared.”
Aslan thought this over and responded promptly.
At the word “specter,” specifically the term itself, the group looked perplexed.
Aslan understood their reaction too; after all, the word “specter” was close to being archaic, hardly used anymore.
“What is a specter?”
Among them, only Angie asked purely out of curiosity, a response likely born from not knowing much about it.
Before Aslan could answer, Ereta continued the explanation.
“I’m not entirely sure myself… but apparently, long ago, before the gods descended upon this land, such phenomena existed.”
Ereta’s soft voice carried through the creaking carriage as she stared intently at Angie who had taken the seat next to Aslan.
Though it seemed she wasn’t merely explaining, the narrative proceeded regardless.
“They called it a specter—a soul escaped from the underworld taking physical form using mana. Typically, it was said these were created by particularly evil souls summoned by ancient deities associated with evil, or by corrupting good souls…”
“As you know, all the ancient gods are dead now.” When Ereta finished, the group gave her an uneasy look.
The meaning behind that gaze was simple.
Why did she know this?
Because of her origin as a high priestess of an evil deity, the looks contained a faint trace of distrust.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Ereta huffed as if it were obvious.
“You were a high priestess? Well, maybe you knew this for some ulterior motive.”
Angie replied just as matter-of-factly, prompting Ereta to furrow her brow and open her mouth before conceding,
“…Well, actually, yes.”
She sighed in resignation.
“My mother and the priests sought to exploit this knowledge. It was our ambition and my mother’s wish that she would soon descend and burn the universe.”
“That…”
“I know. I know. My mother has passed on, I’m no longer a priestess, and if I tried anything, you’d tear me apart, right? That’s why I’m telling you.”
With a somewhat defiant tone, the woman spoke.
Her words, delivered with a kind face and straightforward manner, left the group feeling awkward and slightly embarrassed as they looked at Ereta.
“The issue is this: there was no practical way to exploit it. Creating a specter requires divine power from the ancient gods, and since the underworld is no longer intact, even if we discovered the method, we couldn’t use it.”
Beyond the rumbling sounds, Ereta finished, brushing her hair behind her ear.
“And now, with most souls either claimed by the evil deity or absorbed into the underworld, even if we knew the method, we wouldn’t be able to use it.”
“But didn’t you say a specter appeared?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Ereta pouted, and Richard, accumulating more questions than answers, tilted his head curiously.
“Perhaps it’s metaphorical. Like, ‘a priest who cannot die,’ hence the nickname specter…”
Lumel offered his interpretation of the mystery.
“Nah, everything dies once you cut it down.”
Phey dismissed it simply.
“Even during my time as a high priestess, there were limits to regeneration. Even tyrants had their limits, right?”
Ereta’s testimony quieted the group again.
They struggled to even speculate about this entity called a specter.
Only Aslan had a vague idea.
In light of Ereta’s accurate explanation, certain words came to mind anew.
Killing the Abyss more easily than expected, discerning the deceitful ram and Valerie, and asking them various questions afterward…
“You know. I’m leaving now… But from here on, it will get harder. Anyway, you chose Ironman mode with realism difficulty, so you have to handle it, right?”
Valerie had issued that warning.
And the crucial part wasn’t the mention of difficulty.
It was the statement that it would get harder from here on.
Surviving Gelaadridion and battling the evil deities had already been beyond imagination.
In such circumstances, Aslan couldn’t figure out how things could get harder.
There was something that came to mind among conceivable possibilities, but it clearly violated the strategies and ‘rules’ upheld by the ram until now.
Thus, Aslan believed that events within the bounds of breaking or dismantling the worldview would occur… but perhaps it wasn’t so.
Although the ram claims to be bound by its own rules, it remains the master of this world.
Would it be difficult for the master of the world to resurrect beings who shouldn’t exist by employing powers long gone?
The answer would soon become clear.
Besides the decree Aslan received, Resham mentioned that “His Majesty has a specter confined.”
At the end of the road the group traveled, atop a mountain where the peak had been sliced off, stood a fortress.
The fortress, established in the old territory of the Empire after the creation of Supreme Divinity’s Sword devastated the old order, belonged to the Green-skin Empire.
It was the Green-skin Fortress.
*
The Green-skins disliked their derogatory nickname.
After all, it stemmed purely from fear.
When the last emperor betrayed the Empire and became the Supreme Divinity’s Sword, it was a certain Green-skin, commander of the defense forces, who protected the people of the Empire to the very end.
Turning his back on the traitorous emperor, he falsely proclaimed himself emperor, reestablished the Empire, and eradicated the warlords emerging across the empire’s lands.
Throughout this process, the Green-skins, originally superior to ordinary humans, became objects of fear, and those who barely survived and fled began calling them Green-skins derisively.
Though framed as mockery, it was closer to the barking of scared dogs.
Those who fled formed the Pervere Kingdom, while the fortress newly established by the Green-skin emperor became the Green-skin Fortress.
The carriage carrying the group arrived at the fortress.
A new imperial symbol, rising with the burgeoning dynasty.
An impregnable legendary fortress where even priests could be repelled, home to the South Continent’s dominant power.
Its walls uniquely blended two colors, incorporating the ruins of the ancient fortress Belus Kellem, exuding grandeur.
Aslan looked at the fortress, thinking they had finally reached the Green-skin Fortress.
The group shared similar sentiments, discussing what awaited inside this grand fortress and what they might do there.
Whether magical artifacts crafted by Green-skins or relics unearthed from the labyrinth within the Empire.
Not only items impactful to combat but also convenient ones that offered no tactical advantage were discussed.
After all, it was the capital of the strongest nation in the South Continent.
However, the carriage did not stop.
It passed through the fortress gates without inspection or scrutiny, heading straight toward the heart of the city.
No words were exchanged with the group during this journey.
Even as the group showed signs of confusion, neither the driver nor the soldiers responded.
“What is this? Where are we going?”
Only Angie questioned, causing the driver to flinch slightly before responding politely,
“My apologies. His Majesty is currently absent, but he instructed that showing the specter to Angie-sama and your party takes precedence…”
With that courteous explanation, they were ultimately asked to remain seated in the carriage.
Angie clicked her tongue in irritation but refrained from further protest upon meeting Aslan’s gaze, as he gestured for her to sit.
Thus, the group silently remained in the carriage, heading toward the center of the fortress, the Imperial Palace.
A place filled with thick pillars reminiscent of a tower, more akin to a temple than a castle.
The carriage passed through the grand doors without stopping and continued along a long corridor. The dimly lit corridor flickered with lights turning on and off as the carriage moved past.
Amidst the continuous sound of the carriage rolling, Aslan contemplated.
The intention behind presenting the specter in such a cautious manner.
Was it because the specter’s existence was an open secret?
No, that couldn’t be it. Most commoners were unaware of the concept of specters altogether.
Was it to prevent misuse of the specter’s existence becoming known?
Even the spider that judged fire couldn’t exploit it. Thus, whoever saw it, the outcome would likely be similar.
In a brief moment of thought, Aslan deduced the answer and frowned.
The answer was simpler than expected.
It was because the fact that this entity had been revived must not be publicly disclosed.
Finally, the carriage stopped, and the group disembarked from the carriage nestled deep within the mountain, guided even deeper.
The young Green-skin soldier leading them suppressed shock rather than fear, holding a torch while silently ignoring all inquiries.
“…Is this it?”
Only Tiamat, who had remained silent until now, made a remark that hinted at understanding the situation.
True to Tiamat’s words, the guidance ended here.
The group found themselves in a massive prison.
Or rather, it was hard to call it a prison.
There was only one cell. A cell suspended by chains attached to the ceiling, designed to drop at any moment.
Surrounding this central cell on a multi-leveled platform were countless cannons and catapults aimed at the cell.
Among the soldiers manning these weapons, mages could be seen, making it clear that even Aslan himself would find it difficult to survive if trapped inside.
The level of precaution seemed excessive.
It was extreme for just one person, but…
Aslan recognized the entity within the cell and understood why it wasn’t.
Only Angie among the group realized the same fact.
And Angie, upon seeing the entity, gasped involuntarily in surprise.
This small sound disturbed the silence of the dungeon, prompting the entity within the cell to raise its head and look at Aslan’s group.
“…You.”
The entity resembled Angie.
Given their origins, it was natural.
With crimson hair flowing loose and golden eyes dimly reflecting moisture, it had been staring at the ground.
Yet, despite their shared origin, this entity was not meant to exist here.
Upon recognizing this forbidden existence, Aslan grasped many truths and was startled.
Likewise, the entity was equally shocked upon seeing Aslan.
“How… how are you here?”
This entity was the Gender-neutral deity of defeat.
A god who had died long ago at Aslan’s hands in a distant past.
