After Tiyalmisof’s explanation ended, disregarding Ados’ sense of humiliation,
Aslan came to understand the evil ghost who had newly become the Supreme Divinity’s Sword even better.
The deity of war, the god of self-sacrifice.
Evil Ghost.
He was more thorough than Aslan had thought and, on the other hand, had a nature that didn’t easily inspire trust.
This could also be seen through the conversation Aslan had with Tiyalmisof.
When Aslan asked her to name the Evil Ghost’s base, location, or even an estimated place, she responded.
“He doesn’t trust me. Whenever he offered to send me to his base via spatial teleportation, he would firmly shake his head and go back himself.”
“Did you try tailing him?”
“Of course I did. But he was too agile and quickly shook me off. Though I anticipated something like this…”
Unfortunately, it was clear that they hadn’t managed to find out.
Though Aslan didn’t know much about Tiyalmisof, it seemed unlikely that she would have left a potentially hostile ally alone.
The man who was so meticulous that even Tiyalmisof couldn’t gather proper information, who showed great caution and prudence, and who protected Ados against the group’s combined attacks—this was the Evil Ghost.
Although Aslan hadn’t met the Evil Ghost directly, he deduced from the testimonies of the traveling party, Tiyalmisof and Ados’ attitudes, and the brief history Lumel mentioned, that the Evil Ghost was of Aslan’s kind.
The Evil Ghost was skilled at fighting opponents stronger than himself, just like Aslan.
Moreover, he knew how to turn such situations around—a warrior indeed.
History proved this, and thus Aslan understood that adversity and disadvantage were constants in the Evil Ghost’s life, like light and salt.
Aslan had lived such a life for twelve years, so he understood.
Thus, when Aslan got up to leave, he felt a bit awkward.
The Evil Ghost was undoubtedly of Aslan’s kind.
Aslan could guess how someone like that got involved in such struggles and why they persisted in such a fighting style.
Even if it was only a guess, Aslan knew.
But there was still a question.
How to find him and how to deal with him?
Aslan’s worries deepened, and it was only after some time that he noticed someone walking toward him from the opposite end of the corridor.
Or rather, around the time that person made a small sound of “Ah.”
When Aslan finally looked up, No. 13 was standing there.
A woman with long, wavy hair glowing a pale bluish hue, wearing a hood.
She smiled brightly upon seeing Aslan and those standing beside him—Lumel and Phey.
“No. 13, joy.”
The vocabulary remained the same, but her expressions were richer, as if compensating for something.
She quietly approached Aslan.
Aslan greeted her with a smile, and Lumel waved.
“No. 13, good morning.”
“No. 13, good morning.”
Only Phey looked uncomfortable.
Perhaps sensing this discomfort, No. 13 shyly smiled, not understanding its source.
Aslan glanced briefly at Phey before speaking.
“Did you have a good trip?”
No. 13 nodded happily and replied cheerfully.
“No. 13. Happiness.”
Her happiness seemed personal. Thus, Aslan looked around and realized they were alone in the corridor.
It was strange; the person who should have been with her wasn’t there.
“Where’s Richard?”
At Aslan’s question, No. 13 wore an ambiguous expression—one that indicated knowledge of some fact but reluctance to share it.
“Richard. With fiancée. Returning later….”
Her voice subtly hinted at something. She mentioned Richard being occupied.
Aslan sighed softly upon hearing all this.
He understood, so he didn’t ask further.
Not long ago, Aslan had gained control of the Anurthin Council.
By ‘persuading’ Ados, he also acquired her vision-based spatial teleportation ability.
Although the exact principle of spatial teleportation was unclear, Aslan could learn to use it even while Ados was unconscious, provided he accessed the Anurthin Council as a relay point.
Now, the group could travel anywhere, though mana consumption was high, making frequent use impractical. Nevertheless, the spatial limitations were effectively gone.
Taking advantage of this, part of the group, including Richard, decided to visit the northern continent for a while.
Showing No. 13 the world was an added bonus during this trip.
And this time, Richard was responsible for showing her around.
“Surely, Richard didn’t just show her around and then get captured.”
Aslan sighed again, recalling the time he walked into the tent where Maria and Richard were having a private meeting.
Though it was an unintentional sigh, No. 13 seemed to interpret it differently.
“Richard excellently guided No. 13. Opposed to punishing Richard…”
Trying to defend Richard, No. 13 spoke earnestly, and Aslan, understanding her intent, smiled faintly.
“I get it. I wasn’t planning to say anything anyway, so don’t worry.”
Upon hearing this, No. 13 visibly relaxed.
With a sigh of relief, Aslan smiled, while Lumel muttered something about understanding Maria.
Phey, however, remained disconnected from this atmosphere.
Suddenly, No. 13 turned her head following the gaze directed at her and met Phey’s cold, emotionless eyes.
Emotionless but tinged with subtle hints of suspicion and hostility.
No. 13 tilted her head curiously before saying,
“Phey, good morning.”
Despite the friendly tone, Phey didn’t respond, continuing to stare blankly at No. 13.
Aslan failed to grasp the hostility.
Perhaps it was because No. 13 wasn’t a pure elf, Aslan guessed.
To Phey, who was a pure elf, No. 13 might have appeared as a hybrid of humans and monkeys.
Therefore, Aslan paid no attention to Phey, who continued to silently observe No. 13.
Eventually, No. 13 took the initiative.
Hesitating, she extended her hand.
Phey stared at the hand for a moment, glanced at Aslan, and then returned her gaze to No. 13.
In the tense silence that followed, No. 13 placed her hand on Phey’s head.
Was this an attempt to befriend?
Smiling warmly but hesitantly, No. 13 gently stroked Phey’s hair.
The soft touch of the strands brushing against her palm elicited a rustling sound, amidst which No. 13 said,
“Phey, cute.”
Phey finally spoke.
“Yeah. Phey is cuter than No. 13.”
Though delivered expressionlessly, it was impossible to tell if it was sincere.
Unfazed by any hidden emotions, No. 13 smiled brightly.
“Agreed. Phey is cute.”
This prompted Phey to pout slightly.
However, there was no indication that she intended to remove or push away the hand.
For Aslan, who hoped the group would bond like family, this was a fortunate sight.
So Aslan playfully remarked to the pouting Phey,
“That’s right, Phey is cute.”
Reacting unexpectedly to this comment was natural.
Phey’s cyan-colored eyes turned toward Aslan.
Those cyan eyes were cold and piercing, gripping the belt at her waist tightly.
It felt like liquid inside, squishing under pressure. Aslan caught a sharp scent from it.
What was in that belt? Before curiosity arose, confusion set in first.
Whenever Phey heard Aslan call her cute, it usually improved her mood—whether she was feeling bad or good.
Her mood had never worsened.
Because of this, Aslan froze, unsure of how to respond. Observing Aslan’s rigid state, Phey gave a bitter smile.
Her eyes didn’t laugh; only her lips curved upward.
The elf girl, who momentarily glanced at Aslan, opened her mouth as if to say something but closed it without uttering a word.
Aslan, with all his insight and experience, couldn’t fathom what she had swallowed.
Thus, none of them questioned her until Phey distanced herself, No. 13 stood perplexed, and Lumel started noticing the tension.
Even if asked, she probably wouldn’t have answered.
Quietly lowering her gaze, Phey reflected.
She was well aware that she was an elf and Aslan was human.
Phey understood the characteristics of her body and therefore knew she shouldn’t expect too much.
Yet, every time Aslan called her cute, Phey felt like her expectations were trampled.
The broken elf girl clearly understood the meaning behind Aslan’s “cute.”
It wasn’t the way one calls a woman cute but rather akin to addressing a pet.
And she knew that no matter how much she desired, Aslan’s perception wouldn’t change.
So unconsciously, Phey gripped the pouch at her side.
Inside the leather pouch was soil.
Among the soil lay poison.
Poison retrieved from the site where a forgotten knight, whose name and face no longer lingered in memory, fell after attempting to replicate Aslan’s sword strike.
Phey had witnessed that knight surpass limits.
The boundaries of life, species, and even soul—she saw him wield his sword beyond all these.
That poison possessed the power to dissolve even limits.
Thus, Phey collected the soil that the poison hadn’t corroded, placed it in the pouch, and added the poison.
Perhaps this poison could melt and alter even the limits and restrictions of elves.
Desiring, conflicting, and painfully biting her lip, Phey endured.
Her bitten lips healed instantly as the blessings of nature rose from below to prevent her harm.
As her mood deteriorated rapidly, the three observed Phey, pondering their responses.
Lumel empathized vaguely with Phey’s feelings and deliberated over what words or actions to take.
Aslan carefully considered how to proceed without worsening the situation.
No. 13 struggled to comprehend the situation itself.
Despite knowing all this, Phey soon lifted her head. A faint sense of resignation lingered in her downcast eyes.
Within the group, she understood the behaviors and exchanged emotions.
Avoiding the display of futile hopes, she released the pouch she had been gripping.
“Phey will leave.”
Leaving just those words, she turned her body and walked away toward the opposite end of the corridor.
Her legs, faster than anyone else’s in the world, moved at a pace that seemed unchanging despite her strides.
And the three watched her retreating figure in a daze.
