A memorial stone that resembled something carved out of transparent crystal.
Aslan stood before it.
The memorial stone, with people passing by here and there, had been modestly adorned with flowers and the like.
It was far too modest for the funeral of those who had once been renowned in the empire.
But there was nothing to be done about it. Aslan looked at the memorial stone with a sense of regret.
There were no names inscribed on the memorial stone.
All that existed were nine stars, as if revealing the presence of the nine watchers.
The scattered stars shone with a non-descript brass color.
For a memorial honoring those who gave their lives for the empire, it appeared far too meager.
However, there was no better way to honor the nine who weren’t even permitted to exist.
This was, at least, the best form of solace available.
Just as the dead do not return, neither do those whose existence has been erased.
Aslan merely gazed at the memorial stone with a bitter expression.
If one glanced down slightly, there was a reflective surface beneath the star-shaped emblem where the figure standing before it could be seen.
In that surface, Aslan’s reflection appeared.
Aslan saw his own image reflected in the memorial stone.
There were two differences in this appearance compared to before.
First, a cloak made of black scales that seemed to shimmer with an emerald green hue.
It wasn’t the old cloak that barely covered his back but had transformed into an overcoat style, covering his shoulders and entire back.
The thick scales made his shoulders appear much broader and heavily draped around Aslan’s neck.
Its color wasn’t the deep gray or ash white from before, making it hard to believe that the cloak had simply changed into this form.
It must be due to the power of the deity infused within.
Aslan thought while running his fingers along the cloak, and as he unconsciously raised his arm, his gaze fell upon the hilt of the sword.
Below the dark violet Abyssal Sword lay the longsword wrapped around it.
The longsword, which possessed a brass-colored hilt and blade, did not originally belong to Aslan.
Aslan unconsciously reached out and caressed the sword upon seeing it.
It felt as though the sword fit perfectly in his hand, like someone had used it for a very long time.
It almost felt as if the sword possessed its own consciousness.
However, the blade held no awareness.
It was merely imbued with someone else’s life to such an extent that it created the illusion.
Aslan smiled bitterly as he tried to recall the man known as the Empire’s First Swordsman.
Yet, he couldn’t bring him to mind.
Perhaps it was only natural.
Even his family had forgotten him.
With a sigh, as Aslan released the hilt, his reflection appeared again on the memorial stone.
He intended to return the sword to its rightful place but found himself instead still wearing the brass longsword at his waist.
“Is existence itself disappearing supposed to feel like this?”
For some reason, Aslan remembered the family of the Empire’s First Swordsman.
Therefore, he had sought them out, hoping to leave the sword as a keepsake.
However, they didn’t remember the Empire’s First Swordsman.
They only vaguely recalled the existence of such a position, showing caution towards the sword Aslan wanted to return and towards Aslan himself.
As if the man known as the Empire’s First Swordsman had never existed.
Their encounter with Aslan and his companions had also been long forgotten.
When asked about their origins, all they could offer were confused expressions and answers of ignorance.
Thus, Aslan had no choice but to leave.
“Maybe it is only natural.”
Expecting something when there was nothing to gain wasn’t particularly strange either.
After all, someone whose existence had been erased wouldn’t return, even if the perpetrator were removed.
Wishing for such a thing was merely Aslan’s hope; the dead do not return.
Aslan stared at the evidence of the nine who had vanished due to the poison that erased existence.
Originally, this memorial stone shouldn’t have existed either.
Those affected by the poison have their existence wiped out: direct records are erased, family ties restructured without them, and all their achievements and legacies redistributed among others.
Truly, they are completely erased.
Still, Aslan remembered the name “Empire’s First Swordsman.”
That was the blind spot of the poison.
Indirect references and mentions aren’t erased.
Though the man known as the Empire’s First Swordsman was forgotten, his godlike swordplay became part of the legacy attributed to the title.
Similarly, the deaths of the other Watchers could be inferred because both Aslan’s group and the Watchers left indirect records of how many had departed before embarking on their missions.
Had these not been recorded, it might have been impossible to know who had perished.
Aslan considered forgetting a sin.
Having fought alongside them, forgetting comrades was an entirely new experience for Aslan, and so he couldn’t erase the bitter expression from his face as he turned away.
As Aslan walked away from the memorial stone, gazes were drawn to him.
How could they miss the black-scaled overcoat and armor made of dark scales that Aslan wore?
Aslan quickly strode forward and soon entered a tavern.
“What took you so long?”
Upon entering, a voice greeted him immediately.
The tone, heavy and resonant yet playful, made Aslan smile faintly.
“I got lost.”
“You? Lost?”
The speaker chuckled, clearly disbelieving. It was Tiamat, the dragon-man with a towering frame.
Due to his immense size, Tiamat couldn’t sit on a chair and instead sat on a crate provided by the tavern owner, drinking alcohol straight from the bottle.
“Don’t be too hard on Aslan. Even he can get lost sometimes.”
“A lackluster excuse. If it were funny, I might have let it slide.”
Tiamat wasn’t alone in the tavern.
Aslan’s fellow companions had all gathered there.
“Hyunwoo, your seat’s ready. Come over.”
One of them, a woman with black hair, beckoned him, and Aslan approached with an awkward smile.
As he sat down, several pairs of eyes turned toward him. Aslan met those familiar gazes.
Currently, Aslan and his group were in a city.
More precisely, they were in Behist, near the border of the Polaina Principality.
It was a pastoral and pleasant city, but if Aslan’s group and the Watchers hadn’t slain the Poison-Spitting Dragon, it would have been the first to vanish.
“Everyone rested well?”
It had been a week since they arrived in the city.
After spending a week in the city for recovery and rest, the group looked refreshed, and one wouldn’t guess they had suffered severe injuries.
All thanks to Ereta’s divine power.
To be precise, thanks to Ereta’s divinity, which excelled at burning away other divine powers and healing wounds.
Within a week, severed arms could easily be reattached.
Of course, exceptions like Phey and Angie, who possessed regenerative abilities, aside.
This fact struck Aslan as strange.
Glancing at Phey, who now carried a pouch he hadn’t seen before, Aslan revealed this emotion. At this, Lumel, who had been sipping his drink, tilted his head in confusion.
“Why are you acting like that? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. It’s just…it feels unreal.”
“Unreal? Ah.”
By the time Lumel asked and Aslan answered, the group seemed to understand and silently agreed with the sentiment.
And amidst this silence, a certain scene lingered in their minds.
Falling stars like rain and the gaze of a deity.
Standing at the center of that gaze was Aslan.
They had killed a deity.
An unprecedented feat in history.
Despite what should have been a monumental achievement—where countless humans might die and several nations vanish—none of Aslan’s group had perished.
Although quite a few others outside the group had died, losing nine humans from one city to kill a deity wasn’t a steep price.
Lumel felt like the protagonist of a grand tale.
“Well, why should it feel real? It was just something we had to do.”
Angie said this with bravado but secretly marveled at it herself.
“Hmm, if fights like this keep happening, it’ll be pretty tough.”
Richard, looking tense, rubbed his chin as he spoke.
Ereta looked similarly uneasy.
Of course, unlike Richard, her unease stemmed from the fact that the deity her mother had belonged to had disappeared entirely.
Meanwhile, Tiamat and Phey remained silent, not betraying any emotions.
“Still, we’re lucky none of us died, right?”
Only Rowena spoke up casually, as if it were no big deal.
Upon hearing her words, Aslan nodded belatedly, realizing she had read him perfectly.
Just a week ago, Aslan and the group had killed a deity.
And none of them had died.
Aslan genuinely felt relieved about that fact.
Though some were injured, no one had truly been lost.
Aslan regarded this as fortunate.
Had their strength been even slightly less, the outcome would have been vastly different.
They might have forgotten their losses, failed to realize who they had lost, and the shared memories would have vanished along with the person, leaving no trace of emptiness behind.
Aslan felt fear at the mere possibility.
A fear characteristic of someone who dreaded loss deeply.
Therefore, Aslan visibly relaxed, and his companions exchanged glances upon reading his relief.
“Ah, um, well… Ah! Didn’t we say our divine powers increased? And that we needed to decide how to use them?”
In the midst of this, the group seemed to nudge Richard forward, causing him to frown momentarily before brightening and shouting.
“Ah… right. That’s correct.”
Aslan belatedly snapped out of it and nodded, while Richard shot reproachful glances at the group.
Though Aslan, distracted by the system window that had popped up, wouldn’t have said anything even if he’d noticed the expression.
Compared to the result before him now, such matters were trivial.
[Aslan]
[Level: 14]
[Remaining Ability Points: 6]
[Strength 5] [Agility ■] [Health 5]
[Mana 16] [Willpower 10] [Luck 10]
The massive amount of experience gained from defeating the Poison-Spitting Dragon resulted in a two-level increase, likely categorized as the eradication of a universal inevitability.
Naturally, the levels of his companions also rose by one.
With the ability to enhance their stats, future battles would undoubtedly become smoother.
Of course, that wasn’t the whole story.
[Fire and Compassion Deity, Ereta]
[Level: 7]
[Remaining Ability Points: 18]
[Strength 5(1)] [Agility 5(1)] [Health 5(1)]
[Divine Power 4] [Willpower 1] [Luck 2]
For some reason, Ereta was also listed as a companion.
Whether it was due to what happened during that battle or because the death of the universal inevitability freed her from her role as a priestess, it was unclear.
What mattered was that Ereta also had potential to grow stronger.
The fact that her Divine Power replaced Mana and seemed to influence Strength, Agility, and Health was worth noting.
But Aslan, who didn’t shy away from using whatever means came his way, quietly turned his gaze to Ereta.
“Ereta, you go first.”
“Me? Hmm, how about this… Can I make my divine power stronger? It’s my unique advantage, after all…”
“Sure, why not.”
Aslan smiled faintly and allocated points to the Divine Power section, which was marked differently from Mana.
After maxing it out to the limit of 20 points, he had 2 points left, which he decided to invest in Luck after a moment’s thought.
Then, he proceeded to assign points to the remaining members of the group as usual.
“Hmm, after fighting this time, I realized I’d benefit from being tougher.”
Angie wanted a sturdier body and put 5 points into Health, raising it to 20, and added 1 point to Strength.
“Phey is an elf. Speed is the best trait for elves. The leftover points? Well, I’d prefer my legs not getting chopped off.”
Phey put 2 points into Health and the last point into Agility, bringing it up to 20.
“This old man’s bow has room to grow stronger. The draw weight… This lovely lady will adjust it accordingly.”
“Calling a bow ‘lovely’? That’s a bit odd.”
“Shut up.”
Tiamat followed his preference and poured all 3 points into Strength.
“Hmm, if I ask you to handle it yourself, I’ll probably get scolded later… Seems like we’ll be encountering stronger foes. I’d like a body capable of enduring more, like Sister Sa.”
After receiving a glare from Aslan, Richard launched into a long explanation and added 3 points to Health.
“I want to get stronger. Increased strength will boost the power of my spear, right?”
Lumel, aiming to increase the spear’s power, brought Strength up to 11.
Finally, it was Aslan’s turn to allocate his points.
Aslan stared at the number 6, then pressed Strength and Health sequentially.
“Still not increasing.”
Agility was the same. Aslan gave up and scanned the remaining three attributes.
Should he increase Willpower to use more special abilities and enhance the power of Star-Cutting?
Or should he raise Luck to improve detection abilities?
Alternatively, should he finish off Mana to reach 20 and unlock a second special ability?
Aslan stroked his chin, pondering these options.
“Hyunwoo.”
Before he could continue, Rowena called out his name.
As Aslan looked up from the system window at the unseen gaze beyond it, Rowena pointed behind him with her finger.
It was confusing.
As Aslan blinked and dismissed the system window, the faces of his companions came into view.
They too were looking in the direction Rowena pointed, wearing expressions of bewilderment and question.
Among them, Lumel’s reaction stood out the most.
His look went beyond surprise, expressing outright incomprehension.
As Aslan observed this, he belatedly turned his head toward the sensation at his back.
There, standing behind him, was Lumel.
Hood pulled low, but features partially visible, braided hair spilling out from under the hood, and a robust chest that couldn’t be concealed by the robe—it was unmistakably a woman.
Lumel.
So Aslan mirrored Lumel’s expression, and the Lumel standing behind him removed her hood.
The revealed face exuded a subtly cold emotion.
Her lips were closed impassively, her gaze distant.
Beneath the gaze, the face was identical to Lumel’s.
Yet it felt different despite the resemblance.
‘Not Lumel.’
Aslan instinctively realized this.
Of course, with Lumel already seated at the table, it was only natural.
“Could we talk for a moment, Godslayer?”
The woman with Lumel’s face spoke, and Aslan heard a voice identical to Lumel’s but with an unfamiliar tone.
Though the voice was familiar, the manner of speaking was not.
However, it somehow reminded Aslan of Omul.
The specter he had mistakenly confused with another phantom.
This confusion wasn’t a symptom of delusion or mental illness.
Realizing this, Aslan lifted his eyes.
The name came naturally to his lips.
“Ados.”
Archbishop Ados.
Upon hearing her name, she smiled—a seductive smirk that seemed mocking.
