Aslan saw Harrod.
More precisely, Aslan’s developed senses forcibly made her look at Harrod.
Aslan’s advanced intuition and fortune were abilities that showcased different directions and specializations for each person.
But no matter how their direction and specialization might diverge, fundamentally, it was a capability that allowed them to know what they otherwise wouldn’t have known.
Thus, Aslan was now obtaining information she shouldn’t normally be able to discern as she looked at Harrod.
This Harrod wasn’t the ordinary Harrod.
He wasn’t the somewhat rigid and stiff man who subtly showed a kind-hearted smile.
His scales were dry and brittle, with a hint of blood red.
His eyes lacked vitality, resembling those of a dead fish.
His vocal cords were torn, which explained the horrifying voice he had emitted earlier.
Harrod, who should have died from his grievous wounds, now stood there bearing such injuries.
Yet, he couldn’t exactly be called alive either.
The way his back was hunched, the cane he leaned on, and the faint smell of decay noticeable even from a distance all indicated this.
Harrod was dead.
Just like these corpses rushing toward her now.
“Damn it…!”
Without realizing it, Aslan muttered a curse and reached out her hand toward the charging corpses.
Then, the tattoo—the farewell of Astrid—glowed a vivid blue.
“Shield!”
A shield surged upward, materialized mana that could even serve as a foothold, blocking the corpses.
With a deafening roar, Aslan swung her axe, transforming the abyssal shield into an abyssal blade.
KRAK!
Corpses pierced through the shield.
ZCHUNK!
She cleanly decapitated one corpse.
As the severed head floated high into the air, Aslan moved swiftly, gripping her Abyssal Blade tightly.
The approaching horde of corpses was vast. Even with her enhanced speed and wind magic, Aslan knew she couldn’t handle them all individually.
And with Harrod still orchestrating them, the situation would only worsen.
So Aslan tightened her grip on the Abyssal Blade and thought:
She had to destroy everything herself, including Harrod.
She couldn’t tell her friend to kill her own brother in anguish.
‘I must do it.’
In her peripheral vision, she spotted Harrod.
Harrod was controlling and commanding the corpses.
Even though he was aware of his brother Tiamat and his close friend Aslan being present…
It was clear his mind was not right.
Whether his mind had been completely taken over, brainwashed, or his memories manipulated, it was impossible to tell.
But leaving him be was not an option.
So Aslan gripped her Abyssal Blade in reverse and prepared to contact Lewena to unleash its full power.
However, before she could do so, a tremendous sound erupted behind her.
KAWOOOOONG!
The sound of something powerful flying through the air.
Turning reflexively, she saw Tiamat holding his bow high.
His face was distorted.
Terrified, he furrowed his brows deeply.
Though Tiamat normally wouldn’t shoot, he did so now for several reasons.
Firstly, his instincts as a warrior informed him that Harrod was the key.
His experience as a sniper whispered that targeting Harrod was the fastest solution.
Tiamat’s sense of crisis, repressed anger, and paranoia pushed him to grab the bow, draw the string, and place the arrow.
Ultimately, it was a defense mechanism that compelled him to fire.
The fear that if Harrod remained in sight any longer, he might break down drove him to act.
After firing, Tiamat himself wore a terrified expression.
In other words, it was a noble spirit compelling him to perform his duty under any circumstances, albeit with an unfortunate outcome.
The arrow flew at a speed even Aslan couldn’t evade easily.
There was no chance Harrod, already dead, could avoid it.
Despite the random aim, Tiamat’s arrow pierced accurately toward a fatal spot.
Thus, the arrow lodged directly into Harrod’s waist, splitting him in two.
KRAK!
Spilled intestines and flesh.
Decayed crimson blood splattered onto the ground as Harrod’s body spun wildly in the air before finally falling.
With a heavy thud, his upper body collapsed while his lower half, wrapped in a tattered robe, crumpled from the knees.
Tiamat’s remarkable perception.
His transcendent sensory organs, which didn’t require sight, refused to let him look away from the scene.
At that moment, Tiamat cursed his extraordinary perception.
Everything felt vividly real.
His heart had long ceased, parts eaten by insects, and more than half of the intestines spilling out weren’t even Harrod’s but randomly stuffed animal innards.
“Guh.”
The sight of the spilled intestines and bisected Harrod reminded Tiamat of the day Harrod died.
Already feeling dizzy, the world spun around him like chains and nets enveloping him.
Falling to the floor without realizing it, Tiamat instinctively clamped his mouth shut.
But despite his efforts, nausea rose, and vomit spewed forth, unyielding to any restraint or patience.
Droplets of vomit carried a sharp metallic smell of blood from where he had unknowingly bitten his tongue.
Breathing became labored as the vomit blocked his throat, and Tiamat gasped for breath, tears of blood streaming down his ruined eyes.
It was horrific enough to want to gouge out his eyes.
But his eyes were already gone. With a face neither laughing nor crying, Tiamat spat out the vomit and scratched at the scales around his eyes with his fingernails.
Blood dripped. Unlike Harrod’s decayed blood, it was bright red.
“Tiamat!”
Aslan was bewildered by the scene.
She understood his pain, and because of that understanding, she was even more bewildered.
“Tiamat! Pull yourself together… Ugh!”
Now wasn’t the time to collapse.
Because the already dead Harrod didn’t stop just from being split in half.
The writhing movement of Harrod rising again. Beneath him, countless corpses surged forward toward Aslan and Tiamat.
Tiamat couldn’t even defend himself against the onslaught.
So Aslan swung her weapon, blocking the corpses rushing toward Tiamat.
The pure white blade carved straight lines, cleaving the corpses. The traces left by the various weapons conjured from the abyss caused the corpses to collapse and disintegrate.
―!
The spirit creature, whether knowing or not what was happening, lashed out with its front paws instead of the crouching Tiamat.
Each swipe of its paw scattered corpses into three pieces, but there were too many.
As the number of archer-corpses increased from afar, Aslan extended her hand.
“Shield.”
A circular shield of mana materialized in a brilliant blue light.
TOODOODOOD!
Arrows struck and bounced off the shield.
Amidst the rain of arrows, Aslan watched as Harrod, covered in decaying flesh, rose once more.
Harrod was undoubtedly dead.
He had merely been dragged back from beyond death.
With the realm of sadness and death gone, when the magic faded, it would mean annihilation.
And Harrod’s mind wasn’t intact.
Rather, it had been deliberately made that way.
Aslan instantly understood multiple facts upon seeing him.
The torn vocal cords were inflicted after his resurrection.
The intent was obvious.
It was to make him aware of his death and instill the recognition that he couldn’t act of his own will.
An unpleasant method, revealing how Boren used necromancy.
Since it came to her intuitively, it must be correct. Aslan frowned.
Was it because the death of her friend’s younger brother was dishonored?
Or because it was evident that many others had been exploited this way?
Or perhaps because if left unchecked, countless victims like Harrod would continue to emerge?
Any reason sufficed.
Listening to the ringing in her ears, Aslan gritted her teeth.
Behind the mana shield she summoned, she gripped her Abyssal Blade in reverse.
“Levana.”
The anger-laden tone went unanswered as Levana merged into the world, causing Aslan’s shadow to ominously stretch and ripple.
“The divine power of hunting and prosperity won’t last long.”
“I don’t care.”
Within the spreading shadow, Aslan raised her Abyssal Blade held in reverse.
Then the Abyssal Blade greedily devoured space, swirling like a vortex.
Trees, the sky, the muddy ground, and the sea breeze were all consumed by her wrath.
Aslan muttered.
“Seize.”
Then blades emerged from within the shadow.
*
KUUNG!
Suddenly hearing the thunderous roar, Boren flinched.
Looking up with unease toward the passage leading outside, Boren shook his head after a brief glance.
To this action, though nothing was in his line of sight, the figure walking ahead spoke.
“Who are you afraid of?”
Startled by the question, Boren turned his head and saw a man standing there.
A man clad in armor riddled with mechanical cracks.
What seemed to be flesh beneath the armor was indistinguishable from actual armor.
Even his gender was only guessed from his voice, as his face was obscured.
Yet, his presence was overwhelming, leaving no room for doubt.
The immense mana surrounding him and the circuits through which it flowed produced a turbine-like sound.
Within it, Boren felt as though someone had gripped his throat.
“There is no such enemy.”
A fleeting answer given while glancing at the man.
Normally, such an answer to a powerful individual would result in death, yet the man politely acknowledged it.
“Is that so? Perhaps I was rude. I asked because you appeared distressed.”
Still, Boren couldn’t relax, instead observing the man cautiously.
The conversation halted, and shortly afterward, the man descended the stairs again.
Long stairs leading to a very deep place. In the oppressive silence filled with fine dust, only the man’s voice echoed.
“But it would be wise to keep this in mind. From your current brainwaves alone, it’s evident you’re recalling and fearing someone other than me.”
Boren didn’t respond, but the man continued.
“Clearly, it’s tinged with fear. You’re not afraid of divine punishment now, so it must be related to the noise you’re hearing…”
“Enough…”
“This isn’t the kind of noise a personal ability of a spirit can create. Rather, it resembles the sound produced by a meticulously trained army achieving similar results.”
“Perhaps what you fear is the true nature of that noise?”
Unable to respond to the added statement, Boren watched as the man grinned slightly with apparent delight.
Inside the mechanical helmet, two flashing red lights aimed at Boren, making him feel suffocated.
When his steps paused, the man looked at Boren.
A teacher’s ally and superior,
and simultaneously, a madman who foresaw four thousand years of suffering after the end of the Mythic Age.
Looking at Boren, the man spoke mockingly, as if knowing everything.
“Will you refuse to answer even now?”
Perceiving this as a threat, Boren rolled his eyes.
Above the stairs, the path they had already passed was littered with countless corpses.
They were the bodies of monsters, traps, and creatures prepared by the deity for those who invaded this sanctuary.
Seeing the scattered remains, Boren broke out in a cold sweat.
Tiyalmisof, hailed as the greatest mage in history.
From such a man, Boren had nothing to hide.
Realizing this belatedly, Boren opened his mouth.
