[Completed Main Quest]
[! Defeated the Poison-Spitting Dragon]
[LEVEL UP]
A deity is not an entity that can be defeated.
They bend the world with their will, and by their greed, they swallow even the universe; they are transcendent beings.
They truly do not know defeat, and humans cannot fell them.
Only victory exists for them.
This was Geladridion’s unspoken rule, its law.
No one who opposes the gods survives, a bitter unspoken rule of those who lost their native deities and were forced to accept foreign ones, steeped in a sense of defeat.
Moreover, this rule was conjured out of ignorance, without understanding how the once-absolute deities could have been defeated.
And for over four thousand years, that unspoken rule and law had never been broken.
Countless histories, warriors, and heroes existed, yet none of them had ever even grazed the skin of a god.
Not even touched it.
Thus, Aslan’s talk about saving the world, killing an evil deity, or changing the world sounded like the empty ramblings of a dreamer.
Lumel regarded Aslan’s dream as merely another fantasy.
Tiamat thought highly of them but found their ideas unrealistic.
Richard was here only out of respect for his teacher’s wishes, never fully grasping the goal.
Angie trusted but didn’t quite connect with it.
Ereta didn’t believe at all.
Lewena and Phey weren’t concerned but…
Now, they realized that the dream was right before their eyes.
The unspoken rule and the law had been broken.
The undefeated evil deity had tasted defeat.
Defeated, it lay sprawled on the ground, dying.
Emerald green scales cooling against the floor.
Red blood pooling beneath their feet, the acrid smell of venom wafting from afar.
Everyone present realized it.
The long, bitter history of failure over four millennia had finally come to an end.
The buried humanity within the dirt had finally revealed its blade and plunged it into the neck of the absolute being.
The absolute ruler had fallen.
Countless people had died, and an incalculable number of lives had vanished into the maw of the deity.
But while people may fall, they did not surrender.
Aslan stood there, exhausted, gripping the bronze-hilted sword in their hand, and raised their head.
What met that lifted gaze was more than just system messages clouding their vision.
From the sky, stars descended.
So many stars fell that the sky, which had been growing dark, now seemed almost white.
These stars were what Aslan had sought to cleave and what had been oppressing Geladridion.
The divine power of the evil deity.
Truly dying, this transcendent force plummeted toward the earth, its master gone, eventually fading into death.
Watching the dying stars, seeing them fall like moths after death, Aslan exhaled deeply, finally feeling the reality of their accomplishment.
With that breath came a wave of fatigue.
[Obtained Poison-Spitting Dragon’s Blood: Strength +3, Health +3]
Feeling the stiffness in their limbs and the numbing ache in their mind, Aslan lowered their head.
There lay the corpse of the dragon they had just slain themselves.
Aslan couldn’t quite believe it.
During the fight, they had simply done everything possible to survive, no, to achieve victory.
They seized every opportunity and minimized damage when faced with danger.
In the end, the god had died.
With the dead god’s body lying there, Aslan looked far away.
From now on, the world would be very different.
Aslan thought so, and indeed, the world was already changing.
The stars were falling. But contrary to belief, the falling stars were not ominous signs.
People looked up at the sky where the stars fell.
It was a sky that often made one feel the sinister gaze and manipulative hands of the evil deities.
Now, in that sky, the unusually numerous stars were visibly decreasing.
Before the stars began to fall, when people gazed at the star-filled black sky, they often reflected:
There were too many gods in Geladridion, and these gods possessed not even a shred of mercy.
That one day, Geladridion would vanish, not even leaving behind a speck of dust.
That those living on this land would prove to be less than that dust, disappearing as evidence.
Yet, they held no hope against this grim future.
For 4,000 years was far too long for humans to hold onto hope.
In those 4,000 years, humans had forgotten how to live.
[Completed Main Quest]
[! Repelled the Evil Deity, the Universe’s Inevitability]
[LEVEL UP]
But oblivion had finally met its end.
People looked at the falling stars, the emptied corners, and the vast, open black sky, thinking and realizing many things.
Unshackled from the hands of transcendent beings, a future too dark to see even a step ahead.
The dimly spreading night emanating from the emptied corner of the galaxy.
The true night, unlike the starlit and bright night sky visible when one turns their head slightly.
Thus, those who looked up at the sky saw countless stars still scattered across the heavens, despite the falling stars.
A brightly open sky filled with stars.
It was a fiery, resolute destruction.
The claws of transcendent beings reaching into Geladridion and the merciless breath of ignorant evil deities.
The dimness untouched by them appeared, at first glance, chaotic and unstable.
It was the darkest night where no one knew their fate or could foresee the future.
A chaos where one couldn’t see even a step ahead.
Simultaneously, it marked the death of gods as absolutes.
Gods were beings who bent the world with their will, and their will itself was a world.
Today, one world had died, and humanity had learned darkness.
Not ominous or unfortunate, but a comforting night where one could close their eyes.
An immutable chaos belonging solely to humanity, extending in any direction.
People gazed at this chaos and darkness, the pitch-black night blossoming in the wake of the evil deities’ retreat.
The young boy who had lost his father and inherited the largest dukedom in the empire sat in his office and looked up at the sky.
The woman who had lost her arms and legs but saved her family sank into deep thought as she watched the falling stars.
The girl emperor ruling the largest empire of the northern continent indifferently ordered her people around while ignoring the falling stars.
The duke whose son had embarked on a great mission felt uneasy and anxiously awaited his betrothed, who had left for the same cause, as he gazed at the night sky.
Even the disgraced king, who only understood justice and his sins upon becoming an elf, trembled lightly while observing the descending night and burning stars.
And even non-humans stared at the sky.
They trembled, sensing the impending change.
An ancient priest of a dead god who had secretly influenced events for over four thousand years behind the Anurthin Council, now resurrected as a specter.
The first mage, moved to tears by the sight of the falling stars confirming his predictions of doom.
The supreme martial artist who sought to transcend limits by becoming a god.
The observer who embarked on a journey out of pity, neither committing good nor evil.
Even the fearless emperor who feared human conflict looked up at the sky and foresaw the changes in the world.
The premise was clear to all of them.
There were too many evil deities in this world, Geladridion.
The man who spread this thought most widely looked up and met the eyes of the stars.
Thus, among the stars embedded in the sky, evil deities watched him.
Among the countless gazes, each star burned with a different light.
He counted them.
One had brought the demise of dozens of universes, residing in frozen ones while spreading endless death. She prophesied his doom.
On the other hand, a god forged of steel and fire despised him for resisting death.
A monstrous deity that had chosen life to combat death but ultimately failed and declined, salivated at the prospect.
Meanwhile, another enigmatic monstrosity praised his nothingness.
A being that swam through time and consumed silently observed without emotion.
All their gazes converged on one person.
Surrounded by infinite stars and the light of destruction, standing at the center, he gripped his sword, receiving countless stares.
He was Aslan.
A heretic who announced the death of stars and the end of evil deities, the lone idealist in this world.
He gripped his sword.
The sacrifice was immense.
The memories of those already dead would not return.
Those who perished would be forgotten forever, their existence erased.
Still, Aslan could not say their sacrifices were in vain.
For when he lowered his head, what he saw was clear.
Today, here, a god had died.
Forgotten, vanished, and painfully expired, they would not be forgotten.
For within Aslan’s memory, amidst his vague intuition, there were twelve.
The nine martyrs who dared to overthrow a god might have their names forgotten, but their existence would not.
Their deaths and erasure would be overshadowed by the death of the god.
Their existence and value were steadfast.
Aslan looked at the last remaining one, precisely his legacy.
The First Sword of the Empire.
The name and existence of the man who burned brightest at the final moment, leaving his mark on the world, though forgotten.
Aslan gazed at the bronze sword he left behind and then looked away.
His eyes returned to the remains of the god.
Dead but still possessing a lingering will capable of distorting the world.
Aslan took a step closer.
If dead, the dragon’s will could only distort the world through its remains—the sole relic left behind.
It couldn’t be wasted. Aslan extended his hand and closed his eyes.
Nothing was visible, but something was palpable.
It resembled a delicate thread faintly influencing the world.
Recalling the skill of handling divinity, Aslan clenched the thread in his hand.
Upon recognizing the one who had felled him, the deceased divinity remembered the unyielding strength and unwavering will.
Seeing certain defeat even in another battle, it acknowledged a firm victory.
Thus, the remnants of the Poison-Spitting Dragon’s divinity submitted to Aslan.
Bowing low, it approached Aslan.
“Aslan!”
Opening his eyes, what Aslan saw was a torrent of emerald scales surging toward him as if trying to engulf him.
Reactively, his companions rushed to protect him, but Aslan extended his hand forward to stop them.
Kwaaaaarrrr!
Scales, muscles, bones, and membranes brushed past Aslan.
Encircling him as if embracing, they swirled around his body.
Unable to cling to Aslan’s form, the fragment of divinity searched for a vessel.
Finally, it dove into Aslan’s flowing mantle behind him.
The legendary creation of dwarven craftsmen that initiated Ragnarok—Naglfar’s sail.
Kwaaaaarrrr! Kwaaak!
Penetrating, tearing, analyzing, it settled within.
The companions who had rushed to protect Aslan stopped, and the watcher who had been gathering the remains of forgotten comrades observed the scene.
It was as if the Poison-Spitting Dragon had submitted, becoming a part of Aslan.
The overflowing scales halted. The emerald scales darkened and blended into the mantle.
Whooshhh!
The mantle stilled, and wings unfurled.
Sharp enough to slice through the coldest void of space, wings like blades.
Circled by the essence of the godlike monster, Aslan raised his head once more.
‘The next is you.’
And a silent vow echoed throughout.
