Ereta grabbed Aslan’s hand and ran.
Even so, since she was dragging Aslan, who was nearly 30cm taller, they were barely moving faster than a brisk walk.
Moreover, the difference in strength wasn’t that great, so it wasn’t long before Ereta had to stop.
Not far from where the traveling party was staying, Ereta and Aslan halted in a quiet corridor.
Recalling how Ereta had suddenly pulled him away, Aslan blinked in confusion.
“Why are you doing this?”
After catching her breath almost immediately, Ereta glanced at Aslan. The emotion that surfaced in her pink eyes was possessiveness—heartbreakingly intense yet fleeting.
When Aslan closed his mouth upon sensing that emotion, Ereta gently squeezed the hand she held and smiled faintly.
“Because if I let go, you’ll be taken away again.”
Turning her body around, Ereta now faced Aslan. With trembling hands filled with anxiety, she took both of his hands.
“I didn’t want to lose you again. I… I want to be with you, Aslan. That’s why I ran away.”
Though she thought Aslan might scold her at any moment, the woman still said these words. She believed it wouldn’t be strange if he criticized her for being too greedy, trying to monopolize someone who could offer no real help.
Still, even while thinking this, the woman felt compelled to speak.
“Aslan, will you… come to the festival with me?”
Her shoulders hunched and her eyes blinked uneasily. Occasionally, despite looking down, she would glance up at Aslan’s face.
All these actions were saturated with deep anxiety, which Aslan read as he stroked his chin with his other hand, feeling somewhat troubled.
Aslan had no intention of reprimanding Ereta. While understanding her feelings was one reason, the main reason was that the actions Ereta had taken made him feel uneasy. When her role was taken away, Ereta became extremely anxious and visibly depressed. These reactions appeared troubling to Aslan, making him concerned about her.
Tiamat’s wound was not something that could heal with mere words; if consolation could have restored it, it would have already been healed long ago.
On the other hand, though it wasn’t clear yet, Ereta seemed like someone whose condition could improve through words and actions.
Thus, Aslan decided it would be better to dedicate some time to Ereta, given that she was already on his mind.
“Sure.”
The answer came swiftly.
Upon hearing it, Ereta froze momentarily, wondering if she had misheard, staring blankly at Aslan.
Seeing her incredulous, vacant expression, Aslan smirked slightly.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh?”
Only after Ereta finally asked did Aslan demonstrate his intent by taking her hand and leading her forward.
The two quickly left the fortress. Passing through the quiet outer gate, they headed toward the main entrance of the outer city.
Once outside the grid-patterned gates, what greeted them was an endless crowd of people.
The smell of alcohol and food wafted from everywhere, and the peculiar scent of burning fire lingered all around.
This festival was quite different from the leisurely festivals of large cities or the formal ones held at small military fortresses.
If anything, it resembled a village festival.
A remote mountain village where few outsiders visited and not many people lived, hosting a modest celebration that repeated at regular intervals.
In fact, by Aslan’s standards, “feast” would be a more fitting term than “festival.”
There was no grandeur here.
Nor was there excessive adornment.
What existed was simply the raw joy of people letting go and reveling without pretense.
As Aslan observed the scene and stepped into the throng, Ereta finally snapped out of her daze.
“Aslan, is it really alright…?”
“It’s fine. Besides, you’re the one who made the invitation, right?”
Smiling faintly, Aslan received a vague expression in return from Ereta. Eventually, she took Aslan’s hand, and Aslan led her into the festival.
Inside the festival area, the pungent aroma of alcohol was strong. People holding cups of drink could be seen everywhere, regardless of gender.
Even children, though perhaps not drinking alcohol, sipped on their own primitive concoctions crafted to mimic the taste.
Families, lovers, good friends — all engaged in conversations, laughing amidst each other.
The peaceful atmosphere was vibrant, flushed with a crimson hue, and Aslan, satisfied with the sight, joined in.
“Can we have two cups, please?”
Suddenly interjecting, Aslan caught the attention of a woman busy serving drinks. Her eyes flickered as she looked at Aslan.
Perhaps recognizing him as an outsider brought by Regyn Solis, her expression turned less welcoming.
With a clatter,
She set down two wooden cups with a casual smile, as if nothing had happened.
The cups contained alcohol, not of particularly high quality or excellence, but perfectly suited to the ambiance.
Aslan picked up the cups and extended one to Ereta, who accepted it absentmindedly.
Although the naturally clasped hands parted, Aslan gestured with his chin to guide Ereta across the festival.
“But I…”
“Shh, later.”
Interrupting Ereta’s hesitant attempt to say something, Aslan deftly joined a group roasting and distributing hams, skillfully receiving a piece of meat.
The two plates he procured held thick slices of meat. Elsewhere, various foods emitted enticing aromas.
Honey-infused steamed bread, fruits grilled on long metal skewers, pies filled with slowly simmered dried fruits, and whole fish roasted and boldly sliced — all evidence of Regyn Solis’ generosity.
Indeed, these people seemed determined to create a bountiful festival as if it were their last day, using all the food they had.
It wasn’t just the abundance of food that stood out.
Their hearts were equally abundant.
First, there were those dancing around central fires.
Some carried food to the guards on duty.
Others excitedly competed to stack wooden cups higher.
And there were those who cheered whenever someone achieved a dramatic victory in dice games, despite no significant stakes being involved.
They genuinely enjoyed throwing dice, stacking wooden cups, and exchanging jokes.
Such people filled every corner.
Forgetting worries about the future and impending unrest, they reveled in the present.
Ordinary survivors.
Traitors who hadn’t thrown their lives away following the fallen kingdom.
As Aslan observed them and moved deeper into the festival,
“Did you bring your lover? You two look good together!”
There were those who approached casually, knowing Aslan was an outsider.
“Why is the young lady so thin? You need to eat well to build strength.”
A chef also appeared, carrying plenty of food to personally distribute to Aslan and Ereta.
The people at the festival didn’t care where Aslan came from.
Some invited him to join their dice games, others asked for more wooden cups while stacking theirs.
When Aslan downed his share of alcohol in one gulp and threw the cup, people cheered joyfully as if it were the most amusing thing.
Caught up in this joy, Ereta began to feel happy without fully understanding why.
It was only when Aslan and Ereta reached a secluded spot that all her concerns resurfaced.
Away from the festival’s flames, Aslan sat astride a log someone had stacked and forgotten.
Ereta sat beside him, and the two gazed at the same scenery.
Under the moonlight, the village dyed in crimson was painted in colors both similar yet different from the flames Ereta had often watched burn.
An unfamiliar emotion stirred, rippling through Ereta’s already chaotic inner world.
It was neither splendid nor extraordinary.
An exceedingly common, unremarkable scene.
Yet, it was special.
Because, despite the impending doom of the world, this ordinariness remained.
Enchanted by the view, Ereta absorbed it into her eyes.
Words flowed naturally from her lips.
“…I…”
Her eyes welled with moisture, and the woman gripped the wooden cup tightly with both hands.
“I’m not sure if I’m useful to Aslan.”
“I saw Lumel’s lightning soar. Heating the earth, soaring into the sky, piercing holes in the clouds.”
Recalling the technique Lumel had used, Aslan remembered seeing it just before the group arrived.
Realizing this, Ereta bowed her head deeply.
“I don’t have such abilities. Even if Aslan says not to worry, I realized then. I can’t contribute as full power.”
Ereta was different from the others.
Ereta was the child of an evil deity, a high-ranking priest of a deceased god, and a hybrid.
But as a hybrid, she lacked divine powers, having been created merely as a vessel to channel divine energy.
Thus, she was weak.
Compared to Tiamat’s transcendent senses, Phey’s speed surpassing deities, Angie’s immense strength capable of uprooting mountains, Ereta’s body barely exceeded human capabilities.
“I’m weak. And I can’t help Aslan.”
Nor was she exceptionally skilled.
She wasn’t a genius like Richard, possessing exceptional talent, combat skills, and physical abilities.
She wasn’t as talented as Lumel, mastering divine techniques without learning swordsmanship.
At best, her martial arts were effective in hindsight, solely due to her divine strength. This was the essence of her skills.
While her technique harmonized with divine power and had intrigued even the Supreme Divinity, it wasn’t enough to warrant sending a Martial Master after her, unlike what Aslan, Lumel, or Richard might attract.
Acknowledging this with a despondent expression, the woman admitted to herself that she was insignificant and offered no help to the group.
And, clenching her lips tightly, she lowered her gaze.
Otherwise, tears might have spilled.
Having dragged Aslan out because she wanted to be with him, she now found herself lamenting her inadequacies, finding it pathetic.
“Ereta.”
At least, she did until Aslan offered her a honey bun.
Startled by the sudden sweetness invading her mouth, Ereta looked up to find Aslan smiling slightly while feeding her the bun.
“You said you wanted to be together, didn’t you? Why are you only talking about sad things?”
“But…”
“At a festival, we don’t talk about sad things. Moreover… does it matter?”
Aslan wiped the honey from Ereta’s cheek with his finger and turned away with a smile.
What Aslan was looking at was the festival.
A festival that started purely out of emotional reasons, without any practical necessity.
A festival that someone overly practical might criticize.
But Aslan liked its impracticality.
“You might worry about such things, but honestly, I sometimes wonder if we must always operate efficiently. Must we?”
Looking at Aslan with a bewildered expression, Aslan took a bite of the same kind of honey bun Ereta was eating.
The sweet taste, the warmth and comfort spreading over his tongue and filling his mouth, made Aslan smile unconsciously.
“I come from another world. In this world, I have no family. Although Lord Budonggong acted as a father to me, and Sister Frida… well, she acted as a sister despite her nagging. But I distanced myself from them, never giving us the chance to become family.”
So Aslan had been alone in Geladridion.
Even if he returned, it wouldn’t be much different.
To Aslan, family consisted of only his mother.
His father was dead, and his mother was an orphan.
Mother and Lee Hyun-woo were all they had for each other.
Therefore…
“I rarely had relationships based on equality. They were mostly driven by necessity.”
Employers, collaborators, enemies, allies.
True comrades were rare. At best, only individuals like Phey and Astrid fit the description.
All of this stemmed from the losses Aslan had experienced and anticipated.
Relationships he had pushed away himself.
But now, what about now?
Aslan now had comrades.
Comrades who genuinely mourned his death and wished to bring him back.
Comrades who truly cared for him.
Aslan cherished them sincerely.
He desired their survival, even risking death for it.
To Aslan, this group was akin to family.
“Family isn’t something you can choose, but for me… you all feel like family. And I don’t want to abandon family just because they aren’t helpful.”
Hearing these words, Ereta felt both happiness and sadness.
The fact that she was useless hadn’t changed.
Quietly lowering her head, Aslan placed his hand on Ereta’s head.
The warmth flowing through her scalp caused her to look up, whereupon Aslan smiled.
“And anyway, you’re not entirely useless. There must be a way unique to Ereta. I think it’s just that her potential hasn’t fully awakened yet.”
Retracting his hand, Ereta looked at Aslan.
Above all, Aslan met Ereta’s eyes.
In his emerald eyes, instead of the coldness from their first meeting, kindness now resided.
A kindness that made Ereta’s heart race and her cheeks flush.
As the crimson tide of the festival surged like waves around them, Aslan, his face half-dyed red, spoke.
“Some take lives claiming they are helpful, others discard lives claiming they are not. I dislike that.”
He knew. For Aslan was such a man.
“I want to live comfortably. If I see someone fall, I want to extend my hand. If I see someone staggering from hunger, I want to share my food.”
She already knew this. Time spent with Aslan proved it.
Still, Ereta couldn’t understand how he managed it.
Unaware that she had spoken aloud, Aslan chuckled softly and looked at her, amused.
“It’s embarrassing for me to say, but… this works.”
Placing his hand on Ereta’s side, Aslan drew her closer.
Stiffening as she gasped, Ereta watched as Aslan pointed ahead.
Turning her head absentmindedly, beyond it lay the ongoing festival.
In the scene were people.
People who were about to relocate, uncertain and fearful of what the future might bring.
Yet, they still enjoyed the present.
People enjoying the festival, forgetting their uneasy future in a brief moment of abundance, laughing and reveling.
Aslan ensured Ereta had a full view of this spectacle before speaking.
“Isn’t it good?”
Even without Ereta’s response, Aslan continued.
“I like seeing people smile. Watching happy people makes me feel happy too.”
“…That’s strange.”
“What’s strange about it? I’m like this.”
Chuckling lightly, Ereta couldn’t help but smile, and Aslan spoke while observing her delicate smile.
“A memory of happiness is necessary for people to overcome difficult times. The belief that they can retrieve such memories someday is also essential.”
As Aslan lowered his finger, Ereta quietly agreed.
Hadn’t she sought refuge in her affection for Aslan when she lost her mother?
On the other hand, she knew someone who wasn’t like that.
Glancing sideways, their eyes met.
“But you, Aslan, aren’t like that. You… prioritize others’ happiness over your own, no matter how painful it is now.”
That was Aslan.
A man who rose again and again through countless pains and adversities.
A man who wielded his sword not for his own happiness, but for others’.
A man who raised his sword solely for that purpose.
“Aslan, you’re a strange person.”
“Am I? I’ve always been like this…”
“How can you be like that?”
Her tone sounded reproachful, and Ereta shrank back after speaking.
However, Aslan didn’t fault her tone. He merely tilted his head and smiled.
“How, you ask.”
Aslan thought.
There were many reasons.
Because his father was such a person. Because his mother taught him that way.
These innate causes existed.
There were also acquired reasons.
Life in Geladridion was undoubtedly painful and difficult, contrasting sharply with his past life, perhaps causing him to reflect on it.
Or maybe it was due to insights gained from enduring that hard and painful life.
But if he had to pick the biggest reason, it was one.
“If I were asked to do so by someone.”
Ereta didn’t respond, not understanding, so Aslan elaborated.
“Because someone might think and act that way. Because they might wish for the world to improve that way.”
Isn’t that more satisfying?
The added comment came from someone who clearly knew the world would never be like that.
Moved by this evident emotion, Ereta fell silent.
Quietly clinging to Aslan, she gazed at the flowing flames.
“Ah, I told you not to talk about sad things, didn’t I?”
Embarrassed laughter followed, and Ereta soon laughed too.
“You’re still strange, Aslan.”
Aslan laughed, saying it was too much, and Ereta clasped her hands while watching his smile.
But Ereta loved Aslan’s strangeness.
So, as she watched the flowing flames, Ereta thought they were beautiful.
For the first time, she thought the flames were beautiful even though they weren’t meant to consume anyone.
Wishing this moment would last forever, the festival continued amidst the flowing flames.
People exchanged positive words without worrying about the impending future.
Until the very next day.
The next day, the reconnaissance team sent to explore the route for relocation returned.
Only a horse soaked in blood remained.
