If it were a situation where one could not help but fall into a trap,
and when there was no other option but to get caught, regardless of what was done,
how could the damage be minimized and an opportunity for counterattack secured?
At least Aslan believed that the answer was simple.
Crack!
Suddenly, the sky split open.
Above Beli Fortress, at an unfathomable height, this phenomenon was accompanied by a tremendous roar.
White lightning surged upward, and a channel glowing with a golden hue opened up.
Below, those who had taken positions within Beli Fortress all looked up at the channel in unison.
Those hiding in the shadows of Beli Fortress, those who had burrowed underground to conceal themselves,
and even those who were neither wise nor dull, hidden through magical means—
all beings near Beli Fortress gazed up at the channel.
What this channel was, why it had opened,
and who might emerge from it—
there was none who did not know.
The evil ghost gripped the hilt of their beloved sword, which they had defiantly plunged into the ground.
The sticky hilt was seized, and with a kick, the blade embedded in the ground was dislodged.
With a sound akin to water or mud being swept aside, the blade was revealed.
Next, the evil ghost reached behind them.
Rustling, what was drawn was the holy sword.
An enigmatic holy sword composed of gray carapace and metal.
Though blasphemous beyond measure, it was undoubtedly a holy sword to the martial priests.
And as the evil ghost grasped two blades, something burst forth from the split in the heavens.
A black light hurtled toward the ground.
A trap impossible to avoid.
The method to minimize harm from such a trap was simple:
minimize the number of people exposed to it.
Furthermore, send just one person capable of breaking any trap.
Thus, a black meteor descended from the sky toward the ground.
High-speed descent.
Simultaneously, martial priests erupted from various parts of Beli Fortress.
From the shadows, through the earth, and from behind the fortress,
hundreds of martial priests emerged from every location, running toward the falling object that stained the ground.
They intended to attack upon its descent, eliminating it without allowing any chance for evasion.
Divine power blazed from their bodies, fueled by their souls, enhancing their physical capabilities.
Their speed increased. The sound of their running was already inaudible.
Only the rustling sound of countless insects brushing against the ground remained.
Some martial priests observed the scene silently, while hundreds clashed with the black meteor.
The sight resembled frantic insects rushing to a corpse.
It was a grotesque spectacle.
Most of these martial priests lacked weapons.
They were hastily assembled priests, naturally so.
However, there were no expectations placed on them from the start.
Only they believed they could carve out their own destinies with their own hands.
Somewhere, common villains gathered together, advancing under the power of divine strength.
Through the dust, toward the fallen black meteor.
The fastest among them finally pierced through the dust, making contact with the meteor.
Upon contact, a metallic sound rang out.
Clang!
The resounding metallic noise. The bending and shattering of flesh, bone, and carapace.
The martial priest froze. The carapace covering their body trembled eerily.
They sensed death.
As the dust cleared slightly, they saw a helmet.
A helmet resembling a dragon’s maw, from whose slit greenish light flowed out.
The Dragon King had appeared.
Crack!
The dust split apart, and martial priests scattered.
Shattered martial priests fell toward the ground.
In the center stood a man.
Amidst the sight and sound of hundreds of martial priests’ flesh falling to the ground, a towering man stood straight.
Any blade would be sharper than his two wings, and no blade could pierce the dragon scales encasing him.
Aslan.
When he revealed himself, the martial priests gradually showed themselves as if they had been waiting.
Calmly, with enough self-control not to be swayed by force, these priests appeared.
Skilled individuals, both in technique and physical prowess.
Aslan looked at the martial priests revealing themselves one by one and moved his hand to his waist.
Swish! The sword in his hand glowed with a brass color. It was the Sword of the Watcher.
His left hand reached behind him, drawing the beast of Tiyalmisof, a greatsword with serrated edges.
Grrrrr!
The sound of drawing was beast-like, and as it sounded, the serrated edge slowly revealed itself.
Aslan held the greatsword in his left hand and recalled someone’s words.
“The method is simple.”
A mechanical female voice.
Recalling her words, Aslan looked at the greatsword and the martial priests keeping their distance.
No matter how fast they were, it would take time to reach him.
Thus, Aslan leaned the drawn greatsword against the ground.
Clack!
And he firmly pressed it down.
Clack, clack-clack-clack!
The blades seemed to twist, then overlapped.
The beast was a single-edged greatsword composed of three overlapping blades.
As it overlapped, the length shortened, and six serrated edges merged.
“Compression.”
The compressed six serrated edges. At the moment they overlapped,
“And cutting.”
Tiyalmisof’s masterpiece activated.
Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!
Tiyalmisof’s beast was not a greatsword.
Its essence was a cutter that used the high-speed movement of six overlapping blades to slice through everything it touched.
With grating friction and destruction sounds, Tiyalmisof’s beast revealed its true nature.
The ground touched by the vibrating six serrated edges was torn apart.
Flying rocks battered the ground as Aslan rested the beast on his shoulder.
Unlike the resting sword, the sword in his right hand was silent.
But it was firm in its silence.
Aslan extended the sword, forgotten yet resolute, aiming at the ghost.
“Purity.”
Whoosh!
The pure spirit of humanity burned fiercely, transforming the area into pure white.
As the flames subsided, what was revealed was a greatsword burning with purity.
Aslan gripped the long handle diagonally and extended it, targeting the ghost.
The ghost, clad in wooden carapace all over and gripping a handle similar in color, approached Aslan.
Aslan walked towards him, and the ghost approached Aslan.
The movements prompted martial priests to follow as support.
On the other hand, Aslan advanced alone, ready to face the enemy head-on.
The distance closed.
Within it, Aslan and the ghost stared at each other.
They could guess each other’s intentions.
The martial priests who attacked Aslan upon his arrival.
They were many in divine power despite being hastily assembled, and like the mythic slayer, they gained explosive power by burning divine energy.
Their lifespan would be extremely short, but their power was anything but ordinary.
They intended to deal severe damage to the arriving group right from the start.
Since that plan failed, they had entered phase 2.
Phase 2 consisted of seasoned martial priests with stable combat capabilities.
Aslan’s strategy was to accept the trap and unleash full power from the beginning to decisively cut down the opposition.
Whether the battle would follow the ghost’s plan or Aslan’s strategy depended on this moment.
Everything hinged on this instant.
The distance closed. Suddenly, it stopped. A stillness akin to hesitation. Without any sign of doubt, Aslan twisted his leg.
Sharp debris sprayed sharply in all directions, and Aslan’s form tore through the air imperceptibly.
The cold scent of overturned soil spread, and the ghost charged forward.
The mana circuit roared like a dragon, and the beast growled ferociously.
Aslan’s purity clashed with the ghost’s holy sword.
Kaaaaaang!
A tremendous sound resonated upon impact.
The reverberating sound became a shockwave, and the sharp ringing of metal scattered boulders and dust in all directions.
The frozen soil beneath was flipped and lifted, and amidst it, Aslan twisted his waist.
A sharp slash from the upper diagonal. The slash, starting from the shoulder, was powerful due to the torque applied from the waist.
The ghost dodged the attack by twisting his body. As he dodged, the streak of white light carved a long mark on the ground.
Aslan continued the motion by spinning and swinging his wings.
Screeech!
A heavy and sharp strike. The divine blade imbued with torque was impossible to resist.
The ghost blocked it with his sword.
Clash! Despite the sparks flying in all directions, he silently tilted his sword to deflect it. When the wings slammed into the ground, he closed the distance and kicked out.
Front kick. The purpose wasn’t solely to create distance.
The precision of the strike was considerable. Had Aslan not used the Dragon King Form, the blow would have shattered his intestines and spine upon impact.
Now, with the Dragon King Form active, things were different.
Even if hit, the damage wouldn’t be significant.
But Aslan’s instinct chose to evade.
Aslan tilted his body to dodge and shifted his balance close to the ground, catching the leg.
He swung the captured leg, slamming it into the ground. Boom! Upon impact, he rebounded into the air.
In mid-air, evasion was impossible. Aslan gripped the beast and brought it down, but—
Crack-crack-crack!
The ghost twisted his body and leaped away, avoiding the strike. The smell of death spread around, and the iron-like stench filled the nostrils.
Fixing his gaze on the evading ghost, Aslan twisted his body.
The residual momentum after a swing.
Using that, he twisted his waist and thrust with his wings.
Kaaaang!
A thrust with the wings. An attack transitioning from a point to a surface. There was no choice but to block it. Pushed back upon blocking, the body slid backward.
Crash-crash-crash!
Slamming into the ground, dragging a deep trench as he was pushed back. Taking advantage of the gap, martial priests closed the distance.
Simultaneous attacks. The fastest were spears. Spears thrusting upward from below.
Right in their trajectory, Aslan shoved the beast forward.
Crack-crack-crack!
Weapons were broken. A martial priest trying to maintain balance while spreading his legs to stab with the remaining spear shaft demonstrated agility and experience.
But Aslan didn’t evade. With a knee strike during the weapon pull, he shattered the martial priest’s head.
Bang!
The martial priest’s headless body collapsed, and others approached faster than the body hitting the ground. Aslan hurled the dead martial priest at them.
A faint smell of decay and insects.
That pungent odor was slashed by a martial priest wielding an axe.
A martial priest approaching through the floating entrails, raising a beetle-like head, swung the axe downward.
The leftover force after cleaving through a comrade was considerable, but Aslan didn’t evade.
Clang!
For the Dragon King doesn’t split so easily.
Sparks flew, and Aslan raised his Purity diagonally.
Slice!
A martial priest split diagonally. Before his eyes clouded over, Aslan moved, and martial priests closed the distance again.
Aslan condensed his wings close to his body and spun.
At the end of the spin, he unleashed his wings.
Boom!
An explosion.
The wings, freed after a short spin, slashed, struck, and pushed away everything in their path.
The countless corpses scattered thusly.
Ten named-level martial priests were simultaneously cut, crushed, and destroyed from within.
They were veterans who understood their martial arts and harmonized power and nothingness.
Even such veterans couldn’t leave a scratch on Aslan.
It was insufficient to face a godslayer who had already slain a deity and claimed its power.
Still, the remaining ones continued to charge.
Fear lingered in their eyes, yet their bodies moved.
They embodied the “wu” accumulated by humanity.
The means for the weak to kill the strong.
White light flashed, and with every swipe of the sawblade sword, two died.
Two deaths per movement. The exchange rate was terrifying.
In the end, only two remained.
One martial priest threw a spear.
Clang!
The spear aimed for the neck was deflected with a slap of the wrist, and the waist was split with Purity.
The falling torso and fragments of vertebrae left only the ghost.
Aslan spun with the momentum of his swing, attempting to split the ghost’s sword aimed at his head with Purity.
Clang!
But the sword didn’t break; only the metallic sound echoed.
Strange. Not even made of white steel.
Aslan twitched his eyebrows and gripped his weapon tightly. Flying flesh and dust slowed everything further.
Faster than the falling speed, Aslan and the ghost clashed.
Aslan infused his waist with power and swung Purity briefly.
An attack aimed at the waist. The center of the torso. Too late to lower the stance. The ghost blocked it with his upright holy sword.
Immediately pressing down on the hilt, the ghost struck. Aslan stepped back slightly and blocked with the hilt.
Clang! Before the metallic sound fully echoed, another strike came. Aslan’s leg pierced through the center.
A roundhouse kick.
Already sharpened to near blade-like precision.
The ghost greatly lowered his stance to evade and countered with an upward slash.
Aslan twisted his body to evade the overhead slash and swung his wing.
Roar!
Surprisingly agile for such a large wing.
Even though it should have pierced through, the ghost stepped aside as if intangible and closed the distance.
In the split second of the closing distance, dozens of exchanges occurred.
A slash starting from the waist. A straightforward powerful strike twisting the body. After blocking, twisting the blade and receiving the recoil into the waist to thrust.
Whistle! Dodging the flying blade aimed at the head, a front kick followed.
Twanging dragon scales indicated the attempt to evade. Aslan retreated while swinging Purity.
White light split the dawn, cutting through the dust cloud.
Following the swing to catch up, sliding the grip to grasp the end, Aslan clipped the ghost’s cheek.
Crunch! Trampling the torn-off carapace and pursuing, Aslan clashed with the ghost.
Aslan thrust, kicked, and struck.
The ghost received, evaded, blocked, and counterattacked.
White light mixed with ash, and the harshly howling sawblade ripped through from the ground to the sky, seeking openings as it drove forward.
The interval didn’t easily narrow.
They were evenly matched.
The ghost had the advantage in strength, but Aslan was superior in technique.
Though their forms were similar, Aslan’s completion was far superior.
The ghost nullified this with strength and experience.
Five seconds passed.
Hundreds of sword strikes and exchanges occurred.
The crimson-stained air returned to its original color, and the descending Purity and the Supreme Divinity’s holy sword clashed.
Kaaaaaaang!
Clashing blades. Two warriors prepared to collapse the balance and sever heads at any moment locked gazes and halted.
Aslan realized.
He was of the same kind as himself.
What the ghost knew, Aslan also knew.
And vice versa.
Just as Aslan knew this wasn’t all the ghost had prepared, the ghost didn’t believe Aslan had come alone.
Though there were clearly no more traps,
reserves still remained.
Clack.
Power infused the aligned Purity, and the blade glowed faintly white.
As the ghost attempted to create distance,
Boom!
Thunder suddenly struck the ground, pushing him back. Flipping in midair to land, the ghost lowered his sword.
Scream! Scream!
A tremendous sound echoed. The sharp swing of the single-edged sword severed an arrow aimed at the ghost’s head.
An arrow of considerable length, targeting his head.
Then fireworks illuminated the sky.
A deluge of flames poured toward him.
Lowering his stance, the ghost crossed his two swords.
Hissing, the sound of inhalation was heard, then—
Boom!
All the flames were cleanly sliced and scattered.
Like petals falling at the end of spring.
—!
He severed the last red figure that barely grazed him.
Clang!
Although the figure wasn’t cut, the intended sword strike was deflected.
The red figure whirled in midair and stopped, revealing Phey landing beside Aslan.
The archer Tiamat and 13th Number, with a tense expression after unleashing magic, appeared from a distant spot untouched by the fortress’s shadow.
Behind them, one by one, veterans emerged.
A woman carrying a greatsword on her shoulder, blazing like fire.
A goddess enveloped in scorching white flames.
A prodigy holding a lightning-infused spear with sharp eyes and his ancestor.
A massive blue tiger crouched low, a mechanical human, and a martial artist clenching fists, among others.
From behind the ghost, other martial priests gradually appeared.
These martial priests were different in atmosphere from those who had died earlier.
More refined, more dangerous, and calmer.
There were dozens of them.
Seeing these martial priests, Aslan instantly realized.
Every single one of these martial priests was of high-priest level.
But, so what?
Green light flowed from between Aslan’s helmet, and as Aslan extended his purity-burning white sword, the ghost repositioned himself in response.
The ghost and the martial priests.
Aslan and the veterans.
Facing the twisted “wu,” Aslan spoke.
“Let’s go.”
