It’s raining. As if trying to dye and erase the world in green and black, an overwhelming downpour falls—a deluge beyond human comprehension.
Aslan moved forward through this torrential rain, feeling his hood stick to his head as it was flipped backward. The clinging hood carried a faint trace of dampness.
“Feels like I’m being turned into jerky while still alive.”
Aslan, who had once experienced being captured by a monster, couldn’t help but think that perhaps someone was seasoning him to make him more palatable.
The road toward the Sanctuary of Sorrow was wet, salty, and clammy to such an extent that it felt like walking on the surface of a giant eye weeping tears.
It was an unpleasant day, one that stirred discomfort and even slight fear, yet there was no reason to retreat.
Because if he didn’t go to the Sanctuary of Sorrow now, he wouldn’t know how things would turn out.
Lost in trivial thoughts, Aslan lowered his stance. Then, grabbing the shoulder of the girl following behind him, he gestured with a nod toward something beyond the rain.
“Eh, what is it?”
The girl, struggling to open her eyes against the heavy rain, asked with her eyelids nearly closed.
In response to her question, Aslan kept his hand on the girl’s shoulder and replied in a low voice.
“We’re heading in the right direction. So keep your voice down.”
As Aslan nodded again, the girl, barely opening her large eyes, caught sight of a blurred shape and flinched.
In the direction Aslan had indicated, something indescribable was flying about.
A body resembling mist, its hazy and writhing form carried a distinct shadow glowing with a cold, blue light.
That shadow looked like a veiled woman. And over that shadow of a woman flowed divine power gently.
This creature was called a banshee.
It was the final form of someone who worshipped the God of Sorrow and Death, choosing to remain in the world rather than proceeding to the afterlife upon death.
In typical fantasy games, this creature would be considered undead.
However, in Geladridion, this monster possessed a weak divine power, along with abilities to charm and steal life force through a kiss, as well as sonic attacks.
For this reason, it was generally difficult to vanquish. Physical attacks weren’t very effective, and due to the ancient deity’s divine power, magic didn’t work particularly well either.
If there were special means available, the difficulty level might drop, turning it into mere walking experience points. But without such methods, it was best not to confront this troublesome monster.
With vague certainty, Aslan took a step forward, followed closely by the woman and the girl.
Moving from one trace to another, Aslan gradually approached the sanctuary.
The closer he got to the sanctuary, the more monsters drenched and dying in water began to appear.
There were creatures resembling barking dogs, others vaguely resembling giants, and some with long snake-like bodies.
Various kinds of monsters, soaked to the bone, were slowly dying. Aslan quietly embedded the blade of his double-handed axe into their necks, killing them all as he went along.
Finally, after passing through several fierce streams, Aslan reached the sanctuary. He maintained a low posture and gazed through the rain.
Keeeeeaaaah!
Grrrreak!
At the entrance to the sanctuary, two monsters were fighting amidst the rain.
One was a monster brought by priests, and the other was the banshee.
The banshee darted around with its amorphous body, either absorbing life force or screaming to crush the brains of the monsters and kill them.
The monsters struggled to capture the banshee, but whenever it seemed too dangerous, the banshee would rise high to evade their attacks.
Watching this scene, Aslan let out a low whistle.
Even though the old gods had been defeated long ago, the monsters of the old gods and the monsters of the new gods continued their endless battle.
This filled him with an odd sensation, for it was a spectacle beyond what could be seen in games.
But the tide of this fight was gradually changing. The monsters of the old gods could not defeat the monsters of the new gods. The outcome of their masters’ battles had already decided their fates.
When the banshee finally started to disintegrate under the relentless assault of the monsters, Aslan drew his bow.
It was the longbow he had received upon request from the White Peak and the same one that had pierced Ereta’s eye.
Despite the pounding rain, the longbow made a dull thudding sound, but the monsters did not look back.
Aslan aimed the bow at the spot where the monsters were tangled up in combat, pulled an arrow tipped with a sharp spike from his waist, and placed it on the string.
Creeeak
The tightly drawn bowstring stretched and groaned. Aslan silently listened to the sound before releasing the arrow.
Twang!
The arrow flew through the rain almost in a straight line and struck the head of a monster.
Twang, twang, twang, twang!
The sound of the taut bowstring snapping echoed, and the spike-tipped arrows pierced through the heads of the giant-like monsters.
Every time Aslan drew the bowstring and released an arrow, a monster fell to the ground. As their numbers rapidly decreased, the remaining monsters noticed something amiss and turned toward Aslan.
Keearrrrraaaaa!
Before they could react, the banshee, diving low, let out a scream, causing blood to spurt from their eyes, noses, and ears as they died.
And with that final scream, the banshee’s head was bitten off by a massive snake.
Leaving that scene behind, Aslan fired his last arrow.
Twang!
The final arrow pierced the head of the snake spitting poison, turning the area in front of the sanctuary into a desolate wasteland where no one moved.
In the silence that followed, Aslan exhaled deeply and lowered his bow.
“What… is all this?”
Angie, looking at the scattered corpses of the monsters, spoke with a queasy tone.
“…”
Ereta bit her lips while observing the fallen monsters, her expression troubled.
Though her psychology wasn’t entirely unreadable, Aslan chose not to say anything to Ereta. Seeing it with her own eyes would be persuasive enough. Instead, Aslan patted Ereta’s shoulder lightly and stepped forward.
Among the scattered corpses of the monsters, there were traces leading to the entrance of the sanctuary.
These traces consisted of several human footprints mixed with those of non-human beings.
“Wow…”
The sanctuary they entered by following these footprints was unique.
The dark walls were densely covered with faintly glowing blue lines that pulsed rhythmically, forming patterns resembling letters.
Such letter-like formations covered the walls, stretching into a long corridor, which was why Angie couldn’t help but exclaim upon entering.
Even with the grotesque corpse of a monster pierced by thorns from a trap lying there.
Approaching the dead monster, Aslan switched the grip of his bow to his other hand.
The activated trap was a typical pressure-plate trap, partially hidden among the dense blue writings. The protruding thorns emitted a similar bluish glow.
Next to it, there were thorns embedded in the wall with blood trailing from them. Seeing the blood stretch far, Aslan let out a low whistle.
This was a trail.
The trail left by the priests as they advanced into the sanctuary.
Aslan gathered information while following this trail.
Whenever traps were triggered along the way, the number of monsters decreased. Occasionally, there were signs of injuries indicated by bloodstains in different positions.
Clearly, they hadn’t managed to advance unscathed.
Some of the spilled blood was toxic, allowing Aslan to deduce the composition of the group.
Since there was a giant-shaped monster among the ones killed by the traps, there must have been a priest of the giant. And since there were traces of toxic blood and monsters capable of producing it, there must also have been a priest of the poison-spitting dragon.
Most of the members were monsters, but there were clearly rare human followers as well, evidenced by the human footprints stamped over the bloodstains.
Aslan collected this information and briefly questioned Ereta.
“Ereta, is there any base of the cult nearby?”
“…No, there isn’t. The nearest one would be up in the Forest of Laughter.”
Until now seemingly powerless, the woman answered the question and firmly gripped her weapon. Finally, Aslan pieced together part of the truth.
They were in a hurry.
And they were anxious.
They were hastily searching for something, advancing while forcing sacrifices instead of carefully checking the traps.
The trail eventually stopped at a wide chamber filled with coffins.
In the center of the chamber were campfires and a few beds.
It was clearly used as a campsite, but now it lay cold alongside a pile of corpses.
Aslan approached the corpses.
“Most weapons are neatly placed beside the bedding. Do they belong to these corpses?”
Notably, the weapons were arranged neatly next to the bedding. Judging from the chaotic splatter of blood on the floor, there had been some resistance or rebellion, but there hadn’t been time to use the weapons.
In other words, they were caught off guard by an unexpected attack without expecting betrayal or assault, likely accompanied by orders rather than external pressure.
“Looks like they were ambushed by their allies. Betrayal? Or internal conflict? Or…”
Regardless, the ambush wasn’t perfect, and although they resisted, they were overwhelmed before they could arm themselves, resulting in minimal casualties.
As evidence, most of the piled corpses consisted of giant-shaped monsters, their followers, and their priests.
Aslan focused on a female priest of the giant whose throat had been split open, revealing the agony of her death caused by the surging poison inside.
The reason for the internal conflict was unclear, but everything usable seemed to be exploited. Picking up a large single-edged sword from the bedding, he secured it to his belt.
“Angie, gather any weapons you can carry. Ereta too.”
“…I’m fine.”
“I’ve already gathered some.”
Ereta declined, but Angie had already picked up a mace and a strangely curved sword. Once the two were ready, Aslan continued to follow the trail.
Deeper into the sanctuary, the number of deactivated and triggered traps increased, as did the corpses of monsters and followers.
This was proof that they were getting closer to the core.
Tension hung heavily in the air, and a putrid smell wafted past, irritating their nostrils.
Aslan breathed deeply, sensing the location where he expected the dungeon boss to appear soon.
Eventually, a long corridor appeared. The corridor, filled with numerous traps and countless corpses, had walls streaming with blue inscriptions soaked in blood.
This was the deepest part of the Sanctuary of Sorrow.
Raising his hand at the sounds coming from the end of the corridor,
“…Kill…”
Kiiaaaaarrrr…
The distant noise consisted of metallic clashes and boiling sounds. Listening to the mingled screams, Aslan cautiously moved forward, lowering his stance while drawing an arrow on his raised bow.
Stopping at the end of the corridor, Aslan frowned as he observed what was happening in the brightly lit innermost sanctum.
The Sanctuary of Sorrow was a kind of dungeon, and naturally, it housed a creature worthy of being called a dungeon boss—a named monster.
The result of a renowned priest of the God of Sorrow and Death going mad after the deity’s demise.
The named banshee, Daughter of Sorrow.
The Daughter of Sorrow was battling a priest of the poison-spitting dragon.
Most of the monsters were already sprawled on the ground, dead, but a few survivors still lunged at the Daughter of Sorrow.
The priest of the poison-spitting dragon fought by spurting venom like pus from their decayed skin, their eyes showing only whites, indicating a loss of sanity.
It was an intense fight.
“…At this rate, the Daughter of Sorrow will win.”
The tide of the battle had already shifted significantly. The priest had lost about half of their upper body, and the surviving monsters were either exhausted or dying. On the other hand, the Daughter of Sorrow appeared relatively unscathed.
Observing this, Aslan aimed his bow from the shadows.
He intended to eliminate whichever side won, as it would be more efficient.
Just as he was about to hide further in the shadows,
Thud!
The banshee, who had been clawing at the dragon priest and spewing some unknown energy, suddenly twisted her head.
She tilted her head to an impossible degree for a human, glaring directly at the shadow where Aslan hid.
Her pale, decaying eyes clearly reflected Aslan’s figure.
“…What?”
Startled, Aslan watched as the banshee turned her body. Floating in mid-air, she spun around, her dress billowing, and charged straight at Aslan.
Ignoring all the monsters and the priest attacking her, she came directly at him.
Her charge carried a horrifying intent to kill.
“…Damn it.”
Seeing the banshee change her target to him, Aslan, caught between confusion and irritation, discarded his longbow and drew his double-handed axe.
