As Aslan advanced along the path, he saw spots dotted with traces.
Though these marks did not fully illuminate the shadowy corridor, they were enough to catch one’s eye.
Burnt marks remained, embers still glowing faintly, piles of ash accumulated, and there were unmistakable signs of slashing, piercing, and smashing.
Everywhere Aslan looked, countless traces existed.
These traces conveyed a series of pieces of information to Aslan.
With his tracking skills honed over twelve years, Aslan could vaguely guess who or what had passed this way.
Whoever had gone ahead could use all sorts of means.
There was no waste in their usage, and beyond any skillful aspect, it even felt like an artistic composition.
A solid piece of metal was shot out, piercing through the center of an onrushing monster aimed at intruders and pinning it to the wall.
At that spot, flames erupted.
It seemed to be a form of magic, and even now, it was a high-density enchantment reacting with Aslan’s luck and mana.
It appeared that beasts or monsters that got too close were dealt with physically.
Necks were broken, bodies split by blades, torn apart, pierced, and shredded.
Though these methods seemed barbaric at first glance, they were thoroughly rational.
Aslan understood this the moment he saw them.
If all of this was the work of one being, then it was likely at least a high-ranking priest.
Judging from the unknown material of the metal and the method of destruction, it was probably a high-ranking priest of the Devourer.
“What is happening here?”
As Aslan moved forward, he became increasingly confused about the situation.
He found what seemed to be the entrance—a wide hole in the ceiling above the long stretch of the corridor.
But hadn’t Boren entered this sanctuary?
Aslan couldn’t make sense of things because Boren was clearly a priest of the Dark Ram. The Dark Ram would never permit worship of another deity, and unless Boren had been abandoned by the Dark Ram altogether, it was impossible for him to serve the Devourer.
Thus, there was only one conclusion: someone other than Boren was also present here.
Just as Aslan was trying to guess who this person might be,
Grrrrr.
The spirit creature growled low, prompting Aslan to suddenly look up and finally realize.
In the dim corridor ahead, a figure emerged, filling the space.
The shape, though unclear in the darkness, emitted a stench of decay mixed with the distinct smell of oil.
The figure was massive, large enough to block the entire corridor at a glance.
Because of this size, Aslan failed to recognize who or what had revealed itself until he drew his Abyssal Blade.
It wasn’t until he caught sight of the eyes that he noticed.
Golden eyes with reptilian vertical pupils.
Seeing those eyes, Aslan flinched, the spirit creature lowered its stance with a low growl, and Tiyalmisof trembled.
The entity walking out possessed the unique eyes characteristic of dragons.
This was none other than Harrod, whose body had been so heavily mechanized that little of his original form remained.
Harrod’s identity was confirmed by the remnants of his head.
His greatly bent waist, reminiscent of a primate, and the two enormous arms planted on the ground completed the picture.
The residual mana emanating from those arms, along with the burn marks left on them, continued down to the rest of his body, encased in sturdy gauntlets. Seeing such a Harrod, Aslan sighed.
Indeed, a priest of the Devourer had been here.
Not just any ordinary priest, but one with such an understanding of divine power that they could modify dead bodies into something like this.
Considering the presence of such an entity alongside Boren and thousands of spirit creatures, the situation was nothing short of catastrophic.
Even if Aslan called for backup now, it would take considerable time to reach this point.
If this threat wasn’t eliminated here and now, it was unimaginable what collateral damage might arise later.
Surely the enemy knew this too.
Thinking about the high-ranking priest of the Devourer accompanying Boren, the reason for Harrod’s appearance here was obvious.
To resurrect as many spirit creatures as possible, gain an advantage in the battle against Aslan, and buy as much time as possible by blocking the path.
Harrod had been sent out to delay, to create more favorable conditions for the upcoming fight.
Realizing this, Aslan closed his mouth in irritation.
His jaw muscles tensed, his lips twisted, and his eyebrows furrowed.
Aslan was angered by the fact that his acquaintance, the sibling of his friend, specifically the corpse of said sibling, was being used in this manner.
He thought this behavior couldn’t be tolerated.
He also considered that Harrod needed to be freed as soon as possible.
However, worries about what might come next held Aslan back.
That fleeting hesitation was read by Tiyalmisof.
“ASLAN.”
Tiyalmisof called out to Aslan, who was angry yet ready to fight.
Aslan didn’t turn around at her words.
“Don’t worry. I’ll free him soon.”
Focusing on the enemy before him, Aslan concentrated.
“No, that’s not it.”
Before Tiyalmisof could add more, Aslan unconsciously turned his head.
Harrod stood silently, while Tiyalmisof’s hands trembled.
Beyond the different gazes filled with various emotions, Tiyalmisof, despite being blind, clasped her trembling hands tightly.
“Go ahead.”
She said.
Before Aslan could refuse, Tiyalmisof added:
“I’ll handle this.”
Aslan stared at Tiyalmisof, concern etched on his face.
Even though she couldn’t see it, Tiyalmisof well understood Aslan’s expression and feelings.
What Aslan worried about, what concerns he harbored—she knew them best.
She herself was anxious, but Tiyalmisof shook her head vigorously to dispel those concerns.
What was needed now wasn’t worry.
Her hands still trembled.
Her expression wasn’t good.
The cloth covering her eyes was red from the tears of blood she had shed. The scales she had torn from her face had formed ugly scabs.
Her breathing was heavy, her heartbeat irregular and ominous.
Still, Tiyalmisof clenched her teeth and gripped her bow tightly.
Her trembling hands caused the bow to shake as well.
And then the Archer spoke.
“This is my fault.”
As if declaring some unshakable truth.
“I made him this way.”
Dismissing any potential counterargument from Aslan, she spoke matter-of-factly yet pitifully.
“So, it’s me who—”
No.
The towering dragon-man shook his head and corrected her.
“It’s this elder who must do it.”
Unyielding under Aslan’s gaze, Tiyalmisof raised her bow.
Aimed at her younger brother, though no trace of him remained, she still felt the kinship.
“Go.”
“—!”
As Tiyalmisof murmured, the previously silent Harrod suddenly lunged forward.
Letting out a sound no longer human, he leaped with both arms raised high.
Straight toward Harrod and Tiyalmisof aiming her bow at him.
Without giving Aslan a chance to intervene, Tiyalmisof nocked an arrow.
Lifting both arms as if pushing a mountain, she pulled back with the force of toppling it.
The drawn bowstring groaned tautly, and when the trembling ceased, Tiyalmisof released it.
Twang!
A tremendous roar followed.
A clear, thunderous sound even from close range. The arrow flew with a whistling noise, striking Harrod with a shockwave that pushed him back.
The part where the arrow hit, the gauntlet crumpled, and Harrod was sent tumbling away, rolling across the floor before coming to a stop.
Painfully halting for a moment, Tiyalmisof gritted her teeth and shouted.
“GO!”
Aslan didn’t respond to her cry.
“Just don’t die.”
With just those words, Aslan ran down the corridor with the spirit creature.
As they raced past the dark corridor where Harrod had appeared, continuous roars echoed behind them.
Boom, bang.
The sounds of something flying and striking the ground, along with the powerful clang of steel being battered.
Aslan turned his eyes away from the final brotherly struggle and continued running, following Tiyalmisof’s will.
Even as he ran, the corridor seemed endless, cloaked in a thick darkness akin to falling snowflakes. Unconsciously, Aslan reflected.
Priests of the Devourer typically retained some degree of rationality and intellect, but not at a particularly high level.
Most often, their intelligence and sanity were comparable to that of a chimera.
At least, most of the priests of the Devourer that Aslan knew fit this description.
The exception, if any, was the Dragon King.
Were it not for the Dragon King’s uniqueness, every priest of the Devourer would merely be a controlled entity governed by the AI of the Devourer itself.
But now, Aslan perceived something different within this chain of events: a thorough mechanical rationality untainted, yet distant from efficiency—an intent purely rooted in malice.
Not the kind that sought victory by merely inflicting discomfort and pain on the enemy.
Rather, it moved solely for its own interest, disregarding pain and discomfort entirely.
This was markedly different from the thorough utilitarian evil often displayed by the Devourer.
So, Aslan pondered.
If the Devourer, in its calculations, decided to preserve the rationality, memory, and intellect of a being it subjugated—
What sort of entity, or specter, might that be?
Aslan deduced, and the answer came easily.
A being the Devourer calculated would achieve greater results with preserved rationality, intellect, and memory.
A being whose independent actions would yield more benefits than keeping them under strict control.
In short, a being with intellectual capabilities surpassing the Devourer’s own calculations.
Aslan’s deduction ended there, interrupted by something cutting through the corridor.
Instinctively, Aslan drew his Abyssal Blade, transforming it into a shield. The object embedded in the Abyssal Shield emitted flames, scorching everything around.
KWAHHHHH!
The intense flames scattering from the shield.
Beyond them, Lewena muttered perplexedly.
“This mana…”
Even Aslan could feel the bewilderment at the mana reaching the divine level.
The density of the mana and the perfection of the magic were unprecedented.
It was impossible to keep blocking with the Abyssal Shield.
WHOOSH!
As Aslan retracted the shield, the flames surged forward toward him. With the Purity already in hand, Aslan swung it, shattering the magic using the effects of the Sword of Fire and the Heart of Sorrow.
Through the dissipating flames, a vast chamber came into view.
Once a place brimming with symbols of hunting and prosperity, now empty.
Seeing this expansive space, the spirit creature crouched lower.
Unlike the narrow passage where Aslan and the spirit creature stood alone, on the opposite side were quite a few individuals.
Two people stood foremost.
Behind them were countless beasts and corpses.
While Aslan was unfamiliar with the corpses and beasts, he recognized one of the two humans standing there.
“Boren.”
Calling out the name quietly, Boren flinched but did not retreat.
Instead, he glanced briefly at the person standing beside him.
Only then did Aslan see him, and their eyes met.
Though they had never met before, Aslan knew.
The mechanical body, the typical form of cyborgs or androids, a solid metallic physique.
From the cracks visible on his body, blue light emanated, and Aslan focused on the dense mana radiating from that glow.
The machine was undoubtedly far stronger than Aslan had imagined.
Even more so than his previous estimates.
Thus, it was easy to surmise that this being was a high-ranking priest.
As Aslan gazed, the high-ranking priest spoke.
“Murderer of priests.”
A mechanical yet charismatic voice, almost resembling that of an aristocrat.
“Assassin of the emperor.”
Despite the refined tone, his words carried weight, spoken lightly as if amused.
“He who has felled the Abyss, tamed the Abyss, master of the Abyss… ”
Raising the hand resting on his hip, he pointed at Aslan with a reversed gesture.
“Veteran of battles.”
All these epithets referred to one being. Aslan observed silently, and the high-ranking priest chuckled mechanically.
“In contrast, all I can offer you is a name, so please forgive me.”
Aslan knew who he was.
He also realized that the man knew Aslan recognized him.
Nevertheless, he introduced himself.
“My name is Tiyalmisof.”
As if declaring his very existence.
“A humble magician.”
At that, streams of blue light poured from the artificial cracks all over his body.
WOOOOOONG!
The subsequent turbine-like sound was familiar.
It was the sound of mana circuits operating, heard from the body of the Dragon King.
Aslan gripped the similarly resonant fist.
