The words Aslan spoke.
The specters couldn’t easily understand those words.
Unable to understand, the expressions they wore were ones of bewilderment as they regarded Aslan.
Aslan, that being, had thus revealed its name and also stated that it was human.
Setting aside whether or not that could be believed, Aslan had at least said so.
The story thus divulged was one that was difficult to comprehend.
The biggest reason for this was one: the divine power currently flowing copiously from Aslan.
While sensing that potent divinity, most of the specters thought along these lines:
Surely there must be some hidden intent behind this.
The specters among them who were somewhat cunning in strategy or possessed thoughtful minds generally thought this way.
Especially Omul did not firmly believe Aslan’s words.
He had once been a wicked man who had become a deity from being human and was the sole experienced individual here in becoming a god.
To his eyes, the divine power emanating from Aslan was no less than evidence.
Even if only a single unique divine essence could confirm a deity, the divine power now flowing from Aslan was complex.
It felt like all the divine essences of deities that Omul knew were mixed together.
To Omul, this divine power was solid proof.
Simultaneously, Omul reasoned based on this evidence.
Rather than feeling that a human had obtained divine power, it seemed more plausible that a deity had taken human form and was deceiving them.
If that were the case, how should he respond?
Omul pondered.
Given the extraordinary nature of the divine power flowing through that body, rash approach would surely invite calamity.
Most of the specters thought this way, but not all of them did.
Not all heroes and villains were wise.
Before Omul could decide on a response, two specters descended into the arena for precisely this reason.
Their abrupt appearance caused the specters to glance at them with puzzled eyes, and Omul too looked at the two specters with a skeptical gaze.
The two specters appeared to have already made up their minds before descending.
They seemed to have realized the whole situation and believed they had made the best choice.
One of the specters spoke.
“Is it really necessary to make such absurd excuses just to get ahead? It’s unacceptable. But… I can understand why. Showing such dominance against fellow specters would surely earn you the favor of a higher and more powerful deity.”
“You might perceive my agreement, but I came down here of my own will. However, now that I’m here, cooperating isn’t entirely out of the question.”
The two specters declared that they intended to prove their strength by defeating a strong specter and earning selection.
Having said that, the two immediately charged forward together.
Their bodies, rushing toward close combat, were infused with techniques, and the skills manifesting with each step were the pinnacle of decades of training.
The heavy two-handed axe, magic, and spear. The incoming warriors’ attacks and charges were threatening.
In the old days, Aslan would have missed their movements, seeing only faint afterimages.
A trajectory that could only be perceived by luck.
Ordinarily, Aslan would have sliced through the trajectory detected by luck without wasting any effort, but Aslan didn’t even feel the need to do so this time.
Given the current situation, what was needed was an overwhelming display.
At the moment Aslan muttered, the trajectory became vividly clear to him.
“Acceleration.”
With that incantation, mana flowed through Aslan’s body.
The flowing mana surged through Astri’s farewell and rose, spreading through the veins to every part of the body.
Reaching the brain, lingering in the limbs, and filling every nerve branching from the brain completely.
The heated body was cooled by the wind of the underworld.
Not the underworld of sorrow and death ruled by Geladridion, but the ancient underworld of Northern Europe from long ago.
A world where a cold breeze blew that could freeze even souls.
Right there, in the center of the underworld.
Hel’s wind.
As this wind enveloped Aslan, his figure disappeared, leaving behind a cool breeze.
The two charging specters were startled by Aslan’s sudden disappearance.
They hadn’t let their guard down. In fact, they had prepared to sacrifice an arm or leg if necessary.
Yet, they still lost sight of his movement.
Had he used spatial distortion to retreat elsewhere?
Or had he momentarily turned invisible to deceive their vision?
No, neither of those.
The two hero-turned-specters were somewhat surprised but quickly regained their composure and thought.
This wasn’t teleportation or invisibility—it was acceleration.
He was simply too fast for the eye to follow.
Upon realizing this, the two heroes responded.
It was a response worthy of true masters.
One prepared for defense, while the other prepared for a counterattack.
The warrior raising the axe for defense and the warrior aiming the spear while preparing magic.
As Aslan appeared intersecting their trajectories, stopping after accelerating, a gray streak transformed into black.
And at that moment, the other specters knew the two specters were going to die.
Swoosh!
The raised two-handed axe. Over it came purity.
The white blade cleanly severed the haft and tore through the shoulder, causing the warrior to drop the axe and fall.
Without retrieving the swung purity, Aslan spun along the trajectory and extended the Abyssal Blade.
The Abyssal Blade, taking the form of a pulse, interlocked with the thrusting spear tip.
There was no sound of “clang.”
Not even a sound.
And faster than the specters could react, Aslan’s foot passed by them.
The Abyssal Blade, its blade dyed black, glimmered with a hint of purple as if melting away.
Thud!
What followed was a clean decapitation.
The Abyssal Blade, carving horizontally through the spear, greedily gnawed through the neck and severed it, leaving the specter headless.
One lost his heart and entire right arm, while the other had his head cut off.
Ordinarily, they would have died, but these specters were heroes—heroes whose names were recorded in history.
Even as they died, they moved. Even facing death, they charged towards Aslan to kill him, something anyone else would have been unable to withstand.
Had the opponent not been Aslan.
Aslan, embracing acceleration and the wind of the underworld, spun again.
The spinning purity tore apart the spear-wielding specter who had lost his head.
Clang!
The Abyssal Blade, now transformed into a shield, deflected the easily severed axe haft.
Though the axe haft was made entirely of metal and could serve as a weapon to kill humans, it wasn’t sturdy enough to pierce the abyss.
Crack!
Furthermore, the Abyssal Blade underwent a mutation.
Eight spear blades suddenly sprouted from the shield.
Accurately piercing from the forehead through the heart, over the spine, and into the liver, the specter met death once more.
Thus, the two specters perished forever.
Without salvation, their souls vanished.
After their souls disappeared, one collapsed with a severed neck, and the other slowly knelt and fell when the shield was withdrawn.
Thus, silence enveloped the arena.
An oppressive silence where even breathing sounds were distinctly audible.
Amidst this silence, Aslan gripped the Abyssal Blade, which took the form of a pulse, and the greatsword blazing with pure white flames, glaring at them.
How many exchanges had there been?
A mere two exchanges.
In just two exchanges, two heroes who dominated an era fell and died.
If their fighting style had been closer to divine authority, perhaps no attention would have been paid, but the fighting style they witnessed was not that of a deity.
Rather, it was that of a human.
An ordinary person might have called it a divine fighting style, but they were specters.
Heroes, villains, demigods who left their mark on an era.
They were individuals who had encountered deities and even fought against them.
From their perspective, Aslan’s fighting style was clearly that of a human.
Could he truly be a real human?
With this common thought spreading among the specters, confusion arose, and Omul glanced around to look at the seat where Lumel had been sitting.
That seat was empty.
Looking around everywhere, there was no sign of the woman.
Thus, Omul deduced the situation.
“So that’s how it happened.”
A weary laugh escaped him. Omul stood up.
His robe rustled noisily, and the sudden movement and sound drew the specters’ attention.
The unified gaze. Among them was Aslan’s as well.
Without hesitation, he leapt up.
Aslan disappeared again, embracing acceleration and the wind of the underworld.
The specters couldn’t even see the trajectory of his disappearance, but they understood his target.
Everyone present knew.
From Aslan’s perspective, Omul was the one who should be eliminated first.
Aslan had more concrete reasons.
Omul was a priest serving under the Veil of Benevolence.
Moreover, he had once been a wicked man who became a deity.
It was clear that he was the one who needed to be dealt with first.
The issue was that…
Rushing in and swinging purity to sever the neck, then stabbing with the Abyssal Blade to tear it apart through transformation.
The notion driving Aslan’s charge was far slower than the speed at which Omul revealed the arm he had concealed within his robe.
Omul’s arm bursting through his robe.
On that arm were densely packed eyes.
Eyes covering the arm. Strangely, they wriggled as if alive.
Each of those was a Maan.
Omul, revealing these Maans, watched Aslan approaching with a bewildered expression and spoke.
“Are you indeed Aslan?”
As the Maans emitted light, that light enveloped the surroundings.
Omul floated within that light.
Words he had never mentioned to any other specter—Valerie’s message.
In this world, there weren’t many things to beware of, and ordinary priests couldn’t overcome spectral beings.
Among humans, very few could match the strength of specters, but there was one entity to be cautious about.
“Beware of Aslan, the Godslayer.”
That kind word spoken with a friendly smile.
By the time that memory surfaced, space had already warped before Aslan’s blade could reach Omul.
*
Maan were commonplace in the ancient times before wild magic ran rampant.
In fact, in those pre-ancient times, it was rare to find a wild wizard without Maan.
For a wild wizard, possessing at least one Maan was quite normal.
Since the eyes are organs for external perception, despite the risks, Maan were correspondingly powerful and convenient.
Wild wizards pursued magic through bodily understanding and transformation, making it natural.
As the eyes are organs for external perception and, in wild magic, the most direct and simple means to generate magic, it made sense.
Thus, the functions of Maan varied widely, depending on the wizard.
Some could ignite flames.
Others could skew vision.
Still others could move objects or exert telekinetic force centered on the point of view, or even enable group teleportation.
Given that Maan could alter the battlefield and slay dozens, it was common practice in pre-ancient times to conceal them as trump cards.
Even having just one was sufficiently terrifying.
Omul possessed 42 Maan, including his own two eyes.
Of those 42, 40 were stolen Maan, not ones he was born with.
In that sense, Omul differed from the other two Evils, the ghost and the tinkerer.
He was a wild wizard specialized in Maan.
His abilities centered around Maan.
Lumel, though unaware of this fact, instinctively sensed it.
“What is happening…”
The moment the Maan emitted light, the arena disappeared.
Along with the specters in the arena, Aslan vanished as well.
The only ones remaining underground were Omul and Lumel.
Omul, with his arms covered in densely packed eyes, twitched them.
Lumel guessed upon seeing this.
The power of those eyes had caused the current situation, and their power targeted everything within their line of sight.
Lumel avoided their effects solely due to the thief’s relic borrowed from Ereta.
Realizing this, she gripped her spear tightly while wearing a bewildered expression and looked at Omul, who stared back at her with the eyes embedded in his pale arms.
Despite hiding his presence,
He drew a short spear from his robes and spoke.
“Regrettable.”
As the blue current crackled and burned along the drawn spear, Lumel tightened her grip on her lowered spear.
A current of the same nature flowed in golden hues.
“I cannot comprehend why you’ve aligned yourself with such a creature.”
Omul spoke ambiguously, as if muttering to himself or addressing her.
“In the past, though you were arrogantly rigid, there was a definite order within you, which was admirable.”
A sigh escaped him. From the hole-ridden helmet, a chilling emotion emerged.
It was disappointment.
“It seems I was correct to kill you before you were corrupted. To degrade this much…”
Embracing that disappointment, Omul turned his body towards Lumel, who was supposed to be invisible.
Towards Lumel, who shouldn’t have been visible, 40 Maan glowed green and glared.
“Isn’t that right, Ados?”
As Lumel faced the dozens of glaring eyes aimed at her,
–Roar–
A massive sound akin to something colliding with the castle above ground was heard.
It was the sound of the vanished arena crushing the castle built atop the labyrinth.
