The fortress of the traitors, the knight responsible for it undoubtedly overheard the conversation between Aslan and the traveling party.
More precisely, it was more accurate to say that Aslan had allowed Aslan to overhear it.
Aslan even confirmed through Lewena whether they were being spied on, so there was no doubt.
The knight surely had no choice but to move.
What Aslan had done and said boiled down to something akin to a threat.
It was a threat indicating that Aslan and the group knew the knight was hiding something, urging them to take action.
Thus, Aslan thought.
From here on out, the response to this threat would dictate what course of action Aslan needed to take.
Firstly, if the knight had some sort of secret and if that secret was dark enough, they might attack or attempt an assassination.
Or perhaps they would remain silent in preparation.
But if the hidden secret wasn’t something as crude as having dirty dealings, they would surely make contact.
Aslan believed they wouldn’t simply send a polite dismissal or attempt anything else.
At the very least, it was a fact that the knight harbored a secret and was hiding something.
‘There’s no way someone reacts like that upon hearing my name if they have nothing to hide.’
Moreover, since Aslan informed the group of this fact and even publicized it, making contact was inevitable.
So, Aslan ventured out onto the plain while everyone in the group was asleep under the cover of night.
Standing quietly on the plain, Aslan consolidated the information at hand, speculating about the knight’s secret.
The person responsible for the fortress was clearly not a true knight.
And likely, that fake knight probably suspected that Aslan had noticed.
Although Aslan didn’t know how the title of knight functioned in the fallen kingdom, it was evidently significant within the fortress.
This became clear the moment Aslan learned of the death of the genuine knight who had lost both arms; their reaction was conspicuously flustered.
All that remained now was to see how the fake knight would proceed.
Aslan rested his hand on the hilt of the Abyssal Sword at his waist and faced the cold wind rustling over his cloak.
A cosmic death that felt merely chilly thanks to divine power.
Facing it, Aslan steadied his mind.
His spirit was already clear from the meditation he had performed beforehand.
With Aslan’s strength, the Abyssal Sword, and the mana that had reached the 16th level of divine attainment—those two factors ensured that he could counter any ambush that might come his way.
Therefore, as Aslan sensed the approaching presence, he began to gauge its owner.
He was armed.
Carrying a sword and shield, the sound of cloth fluttering over the plate armor indicated that a surcoat muffled the usual clinking sounds of metal.
However, the characteristic metallic creaks were almost inaudible.
That wasn’t the bearing of a knight.
Thus, Aslan was certain the man was not a knight.
Perhaps only a few people knew that this man wasn’t a knight.
While sensing the approaching figure, Aslan organized his thoughts, and the fake knight halted.
Even a warrior of Aslan’s caliber could sense the strength radiating off the approaching individual.
Based on his estimation, the fake knight was quite formidable.
Gait. Heavy yet steady without wavering, suggesting disciplined training.
The imposing weight of his approach was typical of a heavy infantryman, implying thorough conditioning beyond expectations.
Most decisively, the smell of blood.
This was the unique scent of someone who made killing their profession.
Considering the padding or magical alterations used to suppress the sound of the plate armor, the identity of this man became easy to deduce.
He was not a knight but a mercenary.
A mercenary pretending to be a knight.
And when Aslan realized this, the mercenary took a deep breath.
Tension was evident, and countless shadows detected by Aslan’s keen senses appeared.
Aslan glanced around while feeling the wind, and the fake knight spoke.
“Veteran of battles, Aslan.”
As Aslan quietly gripped the Abyssal Sword, the voice continued swiftly.
“I did not come here to fight.”
“If that’s the case, then removing the spear aimed at me would be the proper order.”
Upon hearing this, the mercenary flinched.
Glancing sideways, the man clearly wore an expression of surprise.
“Everyone, lower your weapons and step forward.”
Following the command, figures emerged one by one from the tall grass of the plain.
They were typical mercenaries.
Though they were dressed impeccably and looked like regular troops—elite auxiliary soldiers even—they were unmistakably mercenaries.
Aslan could tell.
Their varied weaponry: axes, hammers, spears, shields, swords, flails, maces, and bows—all mixed together.
Their behavior, too, suggested a group bound by loyalty rather than military discipline, clearly marking them as mercenaries.
“There’s no illusion here. What you see is real.”
Just as Lewena whispered from the Abyssal Sword, with no magic sensed, Aslan observed them.
They were a band of mercenaries.
This scene brought back memories of the journey just before everything began.
Though the situation was different now.
For some reason, the fake knight smiled under Aslan’s gaze.
“Indeed… It was intentional that I let you hear.”
This statement surprised Aslan.
“How did you know?”
“I know your reputation; it would be natural to suspect, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmm, fame must suit you well.”
The knight answered matter-of-factly, and from the Abyssal Sword, Lewena chimed in teasingly.
Aslan felt a slight itch in his throat and became a little embarrassed.
But on the other hand, he understood why the knight had reacted upon hearing Aslan’s name earlier.
The fake knight was a mercenary.
And he knew of Aslan’s reputation.
Naturally, he had been afraid.
Since the mercenary had essentially admitted to being one, Aslan stated:
“You’re not really a knight after all.”
“No, I am a knight.”
After a brief hesitation, the reply came. Confused, Aslan raised an eyebrow, and the knight scratched the back of his neck.
“After the kingdom fell apart, I was knighted.”
Under the moonlight, the knight’s eyes turned toward Aslan.
In those eyes lingered a hint of regret.
“The knight who died before you, Diel, made me a knight.”
Hearing this, Aslan deduced the relationship between the two-armed knight, Diel, and the man before him.
Perhaps teacher and student, maybe lovers, or most likely employer and colleague.
Regardless, Aslan didn’t perceive this mercenary as evil.
Even though he followed the orders of a priest who would mercilessly slay others.
‘Fortunately, he doesn’t.’
Thinking this, Aslan released his grip on the sword handle, causing the lurking shadows to halt.
The purpose of this visit was easy to guess.
It likely involved the maintenance of this fortress and the fraudulent knighthood received.
When Aslan lowered his killing intent, the fake knight visibly relaxed, and the mercenaries stood awkwardly, unsure whether to raise or lower their flails.
Amidst the tense atmosphere, Aslan suddenly spoke.
“What’s your name?”
“Huh?”
“Your name.”
At Aslan’s question, the fake knight paused briefly before answering.
“Regyn Solis.”
And as if emphasizing its importance, he added:
“Knight Regyn Solis.”
*
The next morning, the group entered the fortress.
As the group walked in, people watched them cautiously, while carriages and horses moved along the well-maintained roads.
Despite the wary gazes, there was no direct attack or resistance.
Beyond these cautious people lay a surprisingly prosperous village.
Many houses had vegetable gardens attached, and the people seemed well-fed with good complexions.
The wary looks directed at the group were cautious but not fearful.
It was undoubtedly due to the divine power of eternity and night.
Aslan glanced up momentarily, focusing on the divine power he could feel.
This divine power, rooted around the fortress, resisted death and allowed life within it to thrive.
Thanks to this, people survived, and they could cultivate their vegetable patches.
Self-sufficient in food production, they lived peacefully.
At first glance, it seemed peaceful, but to Aslan, it appeared precarious.
In other words, it meant that without this divine power, the place would collapse.
Surely the inhabitants were aware of this.
Still, they didn’t obstruct strangers because of the one leading them.
Knight Regyn Solis.
The goodwill shown toward him wherever he passed was evident.
Refugees were fond of this fake knight.
Ordinarily, knights are not easily approachable, but perhaps because this fake knight’s conduct itself was unorthodox, he was more likable.
Simultaneously, as the force sustaining this fortress, the people couldn’t help but be kind to Regyn Solis.
Recalling the two-armed knight called Diel, Aslan guessed what the knight had worried about.
He, too, must have been a pillar of this fortress, worrying about what would happen after his death.
With his death, the fortress would inevitably change.
Thinking about this, Aslan urged his horse to follow Regyn Solis when a voice came from behind.
“It’s not exactly a welcoming atmosphere…”
A distinct baritone with a subtle undertone of caution—it was Richard speaking.
Responding was the woman, Lumel, whose pronunciation was impeccable to the point of correctness.
“We are foreigners. If Tiamat’s claim that this fortress was attacked is true, it’s only natural we aren’t welcomed.”
“Even otherwise… foreigners are rarely welcomed.”
The deep voice added lightly.
Due to his considerable weight, the blind dragon archer riding in the carriage ended his words without adding his usual jests.
His characteristic lighthearted attitude hadn’t disappeared, but his tone carried aimless anger.
Naturally, the mouths of those in the group who understood the situation closed.
As silence flowed, Ereta fiddled with the pendant around her neck.
The pendant engraved with the symbol of her mother.
The woman touched the pendant for a long time, and Aslan, glancing at her, looked at Regyn Solis.
If there had indeed been an attack, this wariness was understandable.
Yet, Regyn Solis seemed to be handling things well enough that one could forget about the supposed attack.
Thus, Aslan felt slightly puzzled.
He understood why Knight Diel had worried.
But why he entrusted this matter to Aslan was unclear.
Because this fortress didn’t seem to need help.
Suppressing this curiosity, Aslan simply followed the path led by Regyn Solis.
Passing through the gathered crowd, they entered the inner section of the fortress, where Regyn Solis finally spoke.
“Above this fortress lies a sanctuary.”
Such an unexpected remark that even Aslan’s reaction was delayed.
“I may be ignorant, but I’ve heard it’s an ancient deity’s sanctuary.”
It was a statement whose intent was hard to decipher.
Not just Aslan, but everyone in the group found it perplexing. They stared questioningly at the knight, who then said:
“Dielle, the knight who led you here mentioned this: Someone might target that sanctuary. I… thought it was just an overreaction.”
The reins tightened in his hand, causing the horse to softly snort.
“But now that he’s dead, I can’t dismiss it as overreaction anymore. His death proves it. He always said we must protect that sanctuary. That it’s the only way we survive. So….”
Regyn Solis trailed off.
Amid the sound of hooves as the horse entered the inner fortress area, his voice faded.
The continuation was obvious. Aslan knew what it would be.
Certainly, Regyn would ask them to protect the sanctuary.
Maybe even request they fight alongside him.
Aslan didn’t expect much and therefore didn’t intervene.
Which is why he was somewhat startled by the words that followed.
“But, I don’t care if that sanctuary is taken or not. People are more important to me.”
Loosening his grip on the reins, the knight continued.
“Anyway, it’s impossible for people to continue living in a land like this forever. We cannot leave people’s fates in the hands of a capricious deity. Thus, I ask you.”
Turning his head slightly, his dark eyes met Aslan’s, leaving Aslan surprised.
The request was a statement that precisely defied Aslan’s expectations.
“Please, kindly assist us in our relocation.”
