Aslan’s luck was, in the end, a capability rooted entirely in heightened senses.
It wasn’t just Aslan.
Others like Tiamat, Phey, Richard, and Lumel were similar.
Luck, after all, stemmed from senses.
Even if it granted perception beyond ordinary cognition, it was still limited to what could be felt.
Thus, Aslan couldn’t fully replicate what Ereta sensed through her divine power.
Even with a detection ability that could sense mortal peril, there was no way it could extend to events happening over 1,500 kilometers away.
Even if the scale and danger far surpassed anything Aslan had experienced.
Only upon arriving at the encampment did Aslan realize something had occurred.
“Aslan, something…”
Ereta, having perceived an ominous occurrence through her divine power, warned them. She was thus particularly attuned to the changes happening at the campsite now.
Even without divine perception, the change would have been noticeable. Even someone without Aslan’s discerning eye could have seen it.
Aslan felt as though he finally understood, even physically, the words Ereta had spoken earlier.
The camp was filled with soldiers.
Moreover, there were no ordinary civilians in sight.
Everyone present at the campsite belonged to the Empire’s military.
Clad in armor, soldiers rushed about in every direction.
They were the most illustrious and best-trained elite troops of the Empire, their physique unmatched compared to soldiers from other nations or fiefdoms due to the vast territory and wealth of the Empire.
Despite this, they moved hurriedly, as if bracing for an imminent threat they knew they couldn’t withstand.
Still, they gripped their weapons tightly, maintaining vigilance.
As if fulfilling their duty was the only means of resistance left to them.
At first glance, the situation was grave.
What caught Aslan’s attention even more was…
“Emperor…”
There was a tent flying the Emperor’s banner within the encampment.
Aslan approached it as if drawn by some unseen force. As he neared, the soldiers attempted to intercept him but froze upon recognizing him.
One of the higher-ranking soldiers spoke up.
“Sir Aslan, inside.”
The soldier bowed deeply, indicating the tent. After exchanging a glance with Ereta, Aslan entered.
“…Uh, Aslan!”
Inside the tent was the traveling party.
“Aslan! You’ve finally arrived!”
Not only Richard, who had sent letters toward the Marese City Union, but also Tiamat and Phey with solemn expressions were present.
Even the usually stoic Lewena wore a rare serious look, while Lumel nervously ran his fingers through his hair.
Though the supernatural tiger wasn’t visible—considering its size, this was unsurprising.
Thus, Aslan naturally glanced at Angie, who had called out to him first, then looked toward the person seated at the head of the gathering.
“Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you.”
The ruler of the Empire, the master of this vast and ancient land.
“The Emperor.”
“Formalities are unnecessary. We don’t have time to waste on pleasantries.”
As Aslan bowed, the Emperor waved a hand dismissively.
“Do you understand the situation?”
The question carried little emotion.
Enough so that Aslan had to furrow his brow slightly and think about it.
There seemed to be no personal animosity.
This was a nation that claimed descent from the ancient empire.
Thus, there was no reason for them to harbor ill will against Aslan, who maintained close ties with Angie, the steed of the ancient gods.
Even if such reasons existed, concealing them would have been beneficial.
So, there must have been another reason.
Recalling the absence of migrants during his journey, Aslan stroked his chin.
“What happened to the migrants?”
“I issued an edict allowing them passage without screening, sending them straight to Regyn Solis’ estate.”
Even though it wasn’t the answer Aslan wanted, the Emperor patiently replied. From this response, Aslan deduced the situation.
Present in the encampment were only the Empire’s soldiers and Aslan’s group.
That meant all the migrants had been sent without exception to Regyn Solis’ estate.
For a nation claiming descent from the ancient empire, which expelled priests and believers with fervor, this behavior was peculiar.
There had to be a reason for it.
Thus, what came to Aslan’s mind was the strange statement Ereta had muttered, almost entranced, during their journey.
“It’s calling… The poison-spitting dragon…”
The moment this thought surfaced, Aslan’s expression stiffened.
While he couldn’t grasp the details, Aslan realized the involvement of one of the three evils.
Was that why an indescribable unease caused him to shiver?
A chill running down his spine, cold sweat breaking out.
This wasn’t luck—it was Aslan’s survival instinct, honed over twelve years of surviving.
It was the sensation he felt whenever he sensed trouble brewing.
Thus, the realization showed clearly on his face, and the Emperor nodded.
“To put it simply, a god has appeared in the Polaina Duchy.”
“A…god?”
“More precisely, an evil deity.”
“Hold on, what do you mean…?”
Despite Aslan’s evident confusion, the Emperor rested his chin on his hand, looking troubled.
Beads of sweat trickled down his emerald-green skin, tense from the situation.
“We’ll need detailed explanations.”
When Aslan hesitated, noticing the Emperor’s anxious demeanor and words, the Emperor continued.
“The Polaina Duchy is a vassal state of the Empire. It has been since the fall of the Pervere Kingdom. My officials have been overseeing the duchy, regularly reporting back.”
Though unexpected, Aslan didn’t interrupt.
It felt like the Emperor was circling around to make things easier for Aslan to understand.
“However, the regular reports from my officials suddenly ceased. Not only that, but all usual communications, envoys, and trade caravans from the Polaina Duchy stopped altogether.”
“So…”
“At first, I thought there might be issues along the route to the duchy, so I sent soldiers. Well-trained soldiers accompanied by two battalions of mages.”
What do you think happened? There was a faint hint of bewilderment in the Emperor’s tone.
It wasn’t a question seeking an answer.
When Aslan remained silent, the Emperor spoke.
“I instructed them to avoid combat during reconnaissance and return after identifying the cause. However… most of the dispatched forces returned dead, claiming there was no problem.”
“Most died, yet they said there was no issue…?”
“Yes, strange, isn’t it? Do you know what the astonishing fact is?”
“Initially, I thought there was no problem too,” the Emperor added.
Aslan frowned at this remark, sensing the Emperor was leading somewhere.
The explanation was brief, but its implications were clear.
Most had died without even realizing the existence they faced.
But how?
A specter? Or something else?
Suddenly recalling Ereta’s words, Aslan gasped, “Could it be…?”
The Emperor shifted his gaze from Aslan and extended something towards him.
It was a scroll.
Upon unrolling it, Aslan saw rows of numbers.
Numbers detailing the soldiers and their mission reports.
The figures indicated significant losses, marked with evident confusion.
“We only learned about the casualties after reviewing that document.”
The confusion stemmed from losses that shouldn’t exist.
It was the sign of soldiers erased so completely that their loss couldn’t be mourned, only leaving behind chaos.
Lowering the scroll, Aslan asked,
“Is it a priest?”
“No, not exactly. In fact, no one at all.”
“If not anyone, then…?”
“Simply stepping near was enough.”
What Ereta had felt, what she had said.
Looking at the Emperor, Aslan found his suspicions confirmed unknowingly.
“Half of the Polaina Duchy’s territory is now covered in poison. A poison that dissolves beings upon contact.”
“How…?”
“Through many sacrifices and records. This extreme poison, which erases existence itself, mirrors the phenomenon observed when law and order agents of a certain evil deity were killed.”
With this cryptic implication, Aslan clenched his jaw in pain.
Still, he had to ask.
“What happened to the Polaina Duchy?”
“I don’t know. The autonomous regions couldn’t even ascertain the facts. As always, the Anuritin Council remains silent, merely observing.”
As the poison spread, erasing people’s very existence, the fate of the duchy was predictable.
“But we couldn’t afford to observe as the Empire did. Losses have already occurred, and we barely discovered them thanks to our administrative efficiency. Perhaps the autonomous regions and councils have already forgotten the duchy ever existed.”
As the Emperor gathered the scroll with several gazes following his movements, Aslan noticed his companions’ lingering confusion despite presumably hearing the explanation.
And rightly so.
“This is a clear threat. The Empire exists to counter such threats.”
“Are you asking us to fight together?”
“No, I’m asking for help.”
There was a sense of inferiority in the added words.
It was the inferiority of a powerful entity forced to seek aid against an insurmountable threat.
“While the Empire will do everything in its power, we’ve never faced a god. Hence, we turn to you, someone who has fought gods before, and Lady Angie, the steed of the ancient gods.”
Despite the inferiority, the Emperor didn’t back down.
Even feeling shame and setting aside the pride of being descendants of the ancient empire, he bowed his head.
“In the Polaina Duchy, an evil deity and a poison-spitting dragon have appeared. A city with over forty thousand inhabitants has vanished. Since the closing of the world by sorrow and death, a deity has descended here for the first time. Thus, I beseech you.”
Closing his mouth, gritting his teeth, and furrowing his brows in anguish, the sovereign of all mankind spoke.
“Help us fight the gods and save people from their mercilessness.”
Moved by this desperate plea, Aslan opened his mouth but…
‘Something feels off.’
Closed it again, disturbed by an uneasy feeling.
Because the premise of this entire sequence of events didn’t make sense.
“Isn’t the Dark Ram supposed to disallow the descent of divine beings?”
The arrival of a god in Gelaadridion should be impossible.
When Aslan glanced at Lewena with this doubt, she met his eyes without a trace of her usual smile.
The meaning in her violet irises was clear enough from a single glance.
The answer buried in the subconscious was pulled forth by that simple gesture.
Lewena was the being who consumed the Abyss and ascended to divinity.
And Ereta had recently ascended to divinity as well.
With these two deities and the steed of the ancient gods, the difficulty level dropped, and fairness tilted.
Even though Aslan hadn’t taken any particular action, the situation was ripe for a shift in dynamics.
Valerie and the Dark Ram had adjusted the difficulty level multiple times in response to emerging situations.
The same applied now.
This incident was orchestrated by the Dark Ram.
In other words, it was Aslan’s responsibility.
Thus, Aslan couldn’t refuse the Emperor’s request.
He had no intention of refusing from the start.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t problems.
Aslan wore a troubled expression and swallowed hard.
The issue was singular:
In the game, gods aren’t direct adversaries you can meet and fight.
Even if you encounter them, it’s either event-based or within dreams.
There’s no data to support their existence.
At best, the Abyss appears in event battles, with retreat rather than defeat as the condition.
Therefore, another problem arose.
Aslan knows well the abilities possessed by the priests of the poison-spitting dragon but knows nothing about the dragon’s own capabilities.
The only recourse is to reverse-engineer conjectures based on the priests’ abilities.
In Eternal Dominion, gods aren’t entities that can be defeated.
Thus, Aslan felt a sense of crisis.
Accepting this proposal now offered no guarantee of victory.
There was neither plan nor strategy.
The thought crossed Aslan’s mind to use the Divine Throne Kehil as a last resort, but it was premature.
If used now and exposed, allowing the evil deity to respond accordingly, Aslan’s chances of success would vanish.
Yet, Aslan didn’t know how to defeat it without using that method.
The poison-spitting dragon.
One of the three evils.
An inevitability of the universe.
Called such, even if it’s the weakest among evil deities and requires three combined to match others, it’s still relative.
Dividing infinity into three parts still leaves infinity—far beyond comparison with humans.
Hence, Aslan hesitated to respond.
Because it wasn’t a being that could be simply eradicated upon suggestion.
The Abyss was defeated only because Lewena existed and information was gathered during an event battle.
Without Lewena, the best they could have done was mitigate the impact.
Attempting complete eradication would have left Aslan with nothing but death.
Aslan stiffened under the weight of such perplexity, and the Emperor looked at him with concern.
It was a gaze questioning whether dashed hopes left any remaining prospects.
The expressions of the traveling party mirrored this sentiment.
Especially Ereta’s face darkened.
Receiving all these gazes, Aslan opened and closed his mouth several times.
To say it couldn’t be defeated.
To say there was nothing that could be done.
These were words Aslan didn’t want to utter.
His sense of responsibility wouldn’t allow it.
But how?
After pondering, Aslan closed his mouth.
Instead, he asked,
“How many have died?”
“I’m unsure. Just considering Lesda alone, at least forty thousand. Including nearby mage towers, villages, and travelers, the number will surely increase.”
Furthermore, the Emperor added with a hollow laugh,
“The poison is spreading. So, it may be even higher.”
Though it might sound like resignation from the Emperor, Aslan couldn’t help but agonize over those words.
Deep within his anguish swirled various emotions.
Aslan didn’t know Lesda well.
He’d visited a few times, but only for business.
No matter how good-hearted Aslan might be, he couldn’t feel attachment or anger toward such a city.
Besides, he didn’t know a single one of those forty thousand people.
Thus, the estimate of forty thousand was an incomprehensible large number.
It felt like watching news of a massacre of an African tribe whose name he’d never heard before.
A death that didn’t resonate or feel real.
Such was human nature.
But.
‘That doesn’t make it a meaningless number.’
Aslan thought.
Even if he didn’t know those forty thousand people, their lives as human beings weren’t something that should be forgotten.
Forty thousand. A number greater than all the people Aslan knew combined, each life carrying its own history.
Their lives were wiped out root and branch.
Vanished without a trace.
Perhaps they were still disappearing right now.
If left unchecked, many more would suffer the same fate.
There was no guarantee that the next forty thousand wouldn’t include people Aslan knew, loved, or shared laughter with.
Simultaneously, Aslan considered that if this could be stopped, perhaps only his group could do it.
Despite the slim chances of success and unknown sacrifices that might come from the fight.
Aslan’s duty was clear.
“I can’t give a definite answer.”
The Emperor’s gaze turned to Aslan, and Aslan met it.
“We might fail.”
As the Emperor struggled to respond, Aslan added,
“Perhaps, in the end, we fail and are forgotten, leaving the Empire to fight a lonely battle.”
The last words drew surprised looks from the traveling party.
It was rare to hear such words of weakness from Aslan.
Nevertheless,
“But, I will fight.”
Finally, the Emperor spoke.
Though he had requested it, the lack of assurance in those words was undeniable.
“Why?”
Aslan answered simply,
“Because I want to be happy.”
“Happiness…?”
When the Emperor questioned in confusion, Aslan nodded, indicating he wouldn’t elaborate further.
As if there was no greater reason needed.
It was Aslan’s purest truth.
Aslan’s happiness couldn’t coexist with the blatant suffering of others, couldn’t ignore and look away from their existence.
Thus, the conversation ended, and the Emperor fell silent.
Seeing this, Aslan said,
“There’s no need for an army. It would only result in more deaths and forgotten souls. Instead, prepare the finest individuals—a select few elites.”
Given recent events, numbers wouldn’t provide an advantage.
What was needed were unmistakable strong individuals.
Realizing this, the Emperor closed his eyes.
“Fortunately, there are suitable candidates.”
When he reopened his eyes, the previous air of deflation was gone.
“The Empire’s First Sword, Resham, and all the Watchers shall accompany you.”
A familiar name. Looking at the Emperor, Aslan received a deep nod in confirmation.
“They are the sharpest blade of the Empire.”
As if it represented everything the Emperor could offer.
