The Watchers.
Originally, they were experts of a caliber synonymous with veterans.
In fact, before the emergence of prodigies and geniuses like Aslan in large numbers, most veterans were from the Empire, which made perfect sense.
It was common for the “First Sword of the Empire” to be regarded as a master of the sword or combat.
Similarly, it was also quite common for watchers who handled other weapons to occupy various seats of mastery.
Among the emperors who learned and mastered the martial arts of such watchers, many themselves became veterans, leaving no doubt about the strength of the watchers.
The role of these powerful watchers was rather clear.
To fight and die for the Empire.
To defeat enemies of the Empire that seemed impossible to overthrow.
To protect the Empire by watching over its enemies.
That was the mission of the watchers.
Thus, whenever Aslan’s group arrived, most watchers would pick up their weapons without much complaint.
“There’s a Poison-Spitting Dragon, you say. Never thought I’d be sent to kill one in my time.”
Some watchers said this with a sense of nostalgia.
“…Could you give me a moment? I need to bid farewell to my family.”
Others knew they wouldn’t survive even if victorious and wanted to say goodbye to their families.
“Do we really need my strength? I don’t see what I can possibly do there…”
And some hesitated, making weak excuses but eventually picked up their weapons and set out.
It was evident through just meeting them that not all watchers loyal to the Empire were the same.
However, they weren’t entirely without commonalities.
They were all incredibly strong and prepared to use that strength for the Empire.
Whether it was someone making feeble protests, someone sensing death, someone burning with a competitive spirit, or someone willing to sacrifice themselves out of duty—they all ultimately picked up their weapons, prepared themselves, and followed the group.
Swords, hand-to-hand combat, spears, blunt weapons, bows.
Manifestation, mutation, transformation, restoration, illusions.
Men, women.
Youths, middle-aged, elders.
Those with families and those without.
Humans to entities like Green.
In short, despite being an assembly of eleven individuals who couldn’t be easily summarized and having different inner worlds, Aslan didn’t doubt them.
They clearly understood the threat they faced and appeared ready to risk their lives without hesitation.
Every time Aslan met them and shook their hands, he simply said:
“Let’s fight together.”
He didn’t make empty promises about guaranteed survival, fighting for the Empire, or any likelihood of victory—Aslan merely wished to fight.
By voicing only what could be done, reactions varied among the watchers, but generally, they weren’t negative.
When the eleven watchers gradually departed for the borderlands to prepare, Aslan and his companions approached the outskirts of a quiet village encircled by fortifications.
This was the village where the last watcher they sought resided, and he was also the village chief.
In front of the village, beneath the long shadows cast by the setting sun, there stretched a vast golden wheat field tilting with the wind.
A peaceful village where the scent of damp grass tickled the nose—a scene so pastoral and tranquil it felt like something Aslan had once imagined while lost in thought.
Had Aslan chosen to abandon the struggle and let himself rot away quietly, he might have lived in a place like this.
Lost in such thoughts, Aslan paused.
“Hm?”
Walking alongside the group, Angie suddenly turned her head and looked at Aslan.
“What’s up? What is it?”
“…Nothing, just thinking.”
Looking into Aslan’s glimmering golden eyes, Angie smirked and pulled his arm toward her.
“Daydreaming again? Let’s go.”
Aslan tried to protest that it wasn’t daydreaming, but Angie didn’t give him a chance, dragging him back into the group.
“Were you picking millet from behind or something?”
Tiamat joked with a playful smile as Aslan rejoined the group.
Though forced, the smile was almost natural and barely noticeable.
“It wasn’t that. I was just spacing out.”
“You looked like you were about to cry.”
“Aslan crying?”
The group chattered noisily.
Angie teased him with narrowed eyes, while Phey wore an expression of surprise.
Receiving their gazes, Aslan gave an awkward smile.
“No, I’m not crying. It’s just a beautiful village, that’s all.”
“Didn’t know Aslan was secretly sentimental.”
“Really? He’s always been like that…”
“Hmm? Aslan being sentimental?”
“It’s embarrassing, stop it.”
Ereta chimed in, Lumel teased, and Richard widened his eyes in genuine surprise.
Amidst their playful banter, Aslan cleared his throat and led them forward.
Upon entering, the group realized why this village was indeed picturesque enough to captivate even Aslan.
The village nestled against a serene hill enjoyed cool breezes even on typically hot days.
Though warm overall, occasional gusts prevented the heat from becoming unbearable.
Even when it was hot, stepping into the shade quickly made the village livable.
Moreover, with plenty of fertile fields nearby, the villagers lived comfortably, their faces reflecting ease.
The largest house in the village stood near the entrance.
A massive home housing the village chief, his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren.
It was also Aslan’s destination.
“Wangbokshili is here.”
Though nicknamed, the 5-meter-long spiritual entity named Wangbokshili blew a snort-like sound and plopped down, sprawling flat on the ground outside since it couldn’t fit inside.
Leaving the giant beast outside, Aslan knocked on the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
Beyond the wooden door came bustling sounds.
Then the door opened.
“What brings you here?”
Appearing was a seemingly ordinary Green.
Not only did he appear ordinary for a Green but truly harmless and unremarkable-looking man.
With black hair, pointed ears, jade-green skin, and a good physique, he didn’t look like someone who engaged in perilous deeds.
Yet there was a faint sense of familiarity in his face.
An oddly diluted familiarity.
“To see Resham.”
At Aslan’s statement, understanding flickered in his eyes.
With that comprehension, he turned around to call behind him.
“Father!”
That single word explaining the diluted familiarity caused Aslan to glance past the man’s shoulder.
There stood a familiar face.
Silver eyes that seemed distant yet radiant, accompanied by a black beard and pointed ears, belonged to an elder with a sturdy build anyone would recognize as a warrior.
Though dressed differently than usual, with a shirt covering his tattoos that were now barely visible except on his wrists and chest, the ink remained vivid.
He was the final watcher Aslan had come to seek, and also the strongest of the watchers.
The First Sword of the Empire, Resham.
The old man blinked in apparent surprise at this unexpected visit.
In his arms rested a young Green child whose face lacked any recognizable resemblance but whose lineage needed no questioning.
It seemed the First Sword of the Empire wasn’t the First Sword at home.
Instead, he was a kind grandfather, a strict yet caring father, and a reputable breadwinner.
As Aslan glanced around, several Greens moved busily behind Resham but stopped upon sensing unfamiliar presences.
Their identities were straightforward.
Understanding their roles, Aslan closed his mouth with mixed emotions.
Resham had a wonderful family.
His daughters, daughters-in-law, sons, grandsons, and granddaughters formed a picture-perfect large family, something Aslan never had.
It was a scene that stirred a hint of envy within him.
Since the days Aslan was Lee Hyun-woo, his family had effectively consisted of only his mother.
For such an Aslan, this harmonious household was nothing short of enviable.
Shaking off the painful memories that surfaced momentarily, Aslan noticed Resham’s son looking at him.
Thus, he hid his feelings.
Such jealousy was both unbecoming and unproductive.
Expressionless, Aslan stood at the modest threshold of the house despite Resham’s renowned status and large family.
“I’ve come with the Emperor’s command.”
That was the matter at hand.
Upon hearing it, Resham placed the grandson he’d been cradling onto his feet.
The small Green, who had been clinging despite being able to walk, immediately ran to his mother upon being set down.
Seeing this, Aslan hesitated briefly.
The content of the imperial order wasn’t something suitable for others to hear—not because of confidentiality but due to its sheer horror.
It involved the appearance of a well-known evil deity and the command to fight it.
He didn’t want to inform Resham’s family while they were present.
As he hesitated, Resham’s son spoke up.
“Are you heading out on another dangerous mission?”
Glancing at him, Aslan found the son wearing an expression of resignation.
He was perplexed. This reaction wasn’t what Aslan had expected.
Did the son not care about his father’s safety?
No, that wasn’t it.
The son trusted Resham.
Not the famed First Sword of the Empire, but his own father, Resham.
Considering his earlier comment about frequent dangerous missions, the meaning became clear.
He believed his father would return safely this time too.
From his calm demeanor, Aslan read all of this and looked back at Resham.
He suppressed a bitter expression and heard the son say with a smile,
“Please come in for tea…”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
Resham cut off the offer before it was fully made.
When his son turned to look, Resham already had an impressive bronze-colored sword strapped to his waist.
“If His Majesty needs a sword, I cannot refuse.”
Strapping on the sword, he removed the shirt he’d been wearing as an outer layer.
Apparently, the tattoos needed to be exposed for their effects to activate.
“If we leave in the morning…”
“It’s fine. I’ll be back soon.”
He adorned his exposed upper body with various tools carried in belts and pouches provided by his daughter-in-law.
Given the style of wearing equipment over an exposed torso, it didn’t take long to prepare.
Despite the situation, Resham’s son, grandson, and daughter-in-law appeared accustomed to such scenes.
Living as the family of the First Sword of the Empire must feel like this.
As Aslan contemplated this, Resham suddenly met his gaze.
Looking into those almost white eyes, Aslan suddenly felt that Resham likely already knew the situation.
Resham, the First Sword of the Empire, was a watcher.
One who surveilled external threats to the Empire and directly responded to them—a high-ranking scout and officer of the Empire.
It seemed unlikely that he wouldn’t be aware of the current upheaval.
In fact, it would be stranger if he didn’t know.
With a complex expression, Resham passed his son, patting his shoulder.
“I’ll be back.”
The door closed, leaving only the First Sword of the Empire standing before the group.
