Though unable to wield proper magic himself, Aslan had nonetheless amassed skills befitting the title of Archmage.
With twenty units of mana and a transcendent fortune surpassing even divine realms, he had managed to grasp future visions.
Even without formal training, Aslan could discern the astonishing secrets embedded within the magic used by Number 13 upon observing it.
The spells employed by Number 13 were fundamentally intricate, woven with multiple complex formulas.
Most of these incantations influenced time and space—a type of magic never before seen in Geladridion.
Unlike Anton’s immortality spells or destructive incantations activated by trigger words, nor Boren’s necromancy or Ados’ lightning magic, this unprecedented magic seemed to be Number 13’s original creation.
Her mana interacted intricately with her spells, bending space to amplify their power and automatically increasing accuracy.
She could also manipulate time, either slowing or accelerating it, enabling simultaneous spell impacts.
This was similar to how Aslan had once deflected a comet from the Abyss before using Divine Power to destroy it.
By accelerating the comet as it was launched and drastically decelerating it upon impact with its target, he ensured maximum effect.
Though possessing divine essence, Aslan’s magic only had minimal impact on the Abyss, leaving it no room to even consider escape.
Number 13 demonstrated exceptional mastery over both time and space.
Aslan realized that such magic might indeed be capable of sending him back to his original timeline.
However, returning wasn’t as simple as it seemed.
There were many reasons for this hesitation, but one stood out in Aslan’s mind: what would happen to Number 13 if he left her behind?
When Number 13 had fallen asleep on his lap, Aslan took the opportunity to investigate her situation.
Could she accompany him? If not, was there an alternative solution?
How would the Dark Ram react if they succeeded?
While pondering these questions, Aslan transferred the sleeping Number 13 to her bed and immediately began analyzing her mana.
After all, he was a legendary archmage; nothing about this process was difficult.
Placing his hand on her forehead as she slept, Aslan observed her distressed expressions while unraveling the intricacies of her magical knowledge.
Despite his efforts, despair threatened to overwhelm him when he realized that even exhausting Number 13’s full mana would merely suffice to send him back.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind—perhaps sending Number 13 first to his timeline—but the likelihood of success was slim. There was no guarantee they could pinpoint the exact ruined Geladridion amidst countless timelines.
Even Aslan, transformed into an evil deity, hadn’t been able to find his way back without the intervention of the Voracious Eater opening a temporal rift.
Instead of pursuing the impossible, Aslan focused on assessing the tools at his disposal.
He thought carefully, devising strategies, and utilized the knowledge gained from their recent battle.
Desperate to find a way, he continued his contemplation until Number 13 woke up unexpectedly.
In some ways, this interruption felt fortuitous.
At least Aslan, feeling the flow of command mana coursing through his veins, thought so.
“Why…?”
Number 13 looked bewildered, realizing that Aslan had intentionally disrupted her magic interference. He had deliberately severed the connection, preventing her from using her command abilities.
Now, as Aslan’s mana coursed through her body, her command powers failed to manifest, leaving her feeling exposed.
It seemed Aslan had anticipated her words and intentionally cut off the interference, waiting for her to speak.
Understanding her psychology, he had waited patiently for her to verbalize her thoughts.
Blushing and tearing up slightly, Number 13 stared at Aslan, her eyes filled with a subtle sense of betrayal.
Embarrassment, shame, and betrayal mingled in her gaze, prompting Aslan to chuckle awkwardly.
“Because I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”
Aslan spoke, knowing exactly what Number 13 wanted to say.
“Made up your mind?”
“Yes, made up my mind.”
The nature of his decision was clear enough to infer.
Sure enough, Aslan elaborated.
“Even if we return, I’ve decided to find several ways to ensure I don’t leave you behind. That part was lacking.”
“So…”
“Yes, hence why I relied on your command abilities.”
Caught off guard by his intentions, Number 13 remained silent. Aslan continued.
“Your body can’t traverse timelines—it’s likely only entities like me, originating from that era, can pass through.”
Although unsure of the exact principles, Aslan intuitively knew this to be true.
Speaking based on results rather than theoretical magic, Number 13 tilted her head in confusion. Aslan added,
“Regardless, we’ll need a mage to maintain the passage.”
“Acknowledged.”
Number 13 nodded, her hood fluttering gently.
“If I do nothing, I’ll have to return alone, leaving you here in this cold, dark future.”
Number 13’s shoulders trembled slightly.
Within her eyes lingered scenes from dreams—visions of a terrifying future.
While dreaming, she couldn’t articulate them clearly, but now, after regenerating her mana through incantation and feeling fully restored, she could express her fears.
She dreaded the possibility of losing her last hope.
Having waited thousands of years solely for Aslan’s arrival, she had never foreseen what lay beyond that moment.
Perhaps the dream wasn’t just a dream—it might represent a plausible reality.
And if Aslan were to leave, she would remain trapped in this cold, lifeless future indefinitely.
Alone, with no one to converse with, surrounded only by divine monsters, she would endure a miserable existence where death eluded her due to her immortality.
Her own magic, which loved her deeply, wouldn’t even allow her to harm herself with spells.
The mere thought caused her body to shiver.
Shaking violently, Number 13 lowered her head.
Aslan watched her silently for a moment before gently caressing her cheek.
“I won’t let it come to that.”
Using the dragon king’s hand—cold yet kind—he tenderly brushed her delicate cheek.
“No matter what, I will find a way to bring you with me.”
“Aslan…”
“Even if it comes at a great cost.”
The word “cost” resonated sharply in her mind.
Recalling something from the past, Number 13 closed her mouth. Her predominant emotion was worry.
She envisioned the Dark Ram.
She remembered what it could do and the consequences that followed.
Priests were those who couldn’t face adversaries unprepared, while high priests required miracles to defeat such foes.
This entity truly embodied the concept of a deity.
Thus, Number 13 tightly shut her lips, directing her dragon-like gaze toward Aslan.
His eyes differed from the radiant three-hundred-pupil eyes he displayed during battles against the Three Evil Deities. These eyes, though affectionate, carried a trace of reproach.
“Aslan, you’re foolish.”
Through her reproachful gaze, she refrained from pushing away Aslan’s hand resting on her cheek.
An act born of trust. Aslan leaned forward, acknowledging her reproach.
It wasn’t merely emotional; it seemed grounded in reason.
Indeed, Aslan’s guess was correct. Number 13, fidgeting nervously, eventually voiced her concerns.
“Aslan, unilateral actions are dangerous.”
Her habitual speech pattern, breaking sentences into fragments, reflected ingrained habits.
Presumably, Aslan assumed she restrained herself to avoid accidental interruptions of his magic interference. Meanwhile, Number 13 occasionally read Aslan’s mana and spoke intermittently.
“That Being reacts sensitively to Aslan’s actions.”
That Being.
Fearful even to utter its name, she trembled faintly.
“13 doesn’t want Aslan to fall into danger.”
Beneath her fear lay concern—not for herself, but for others.
Such was Number 13: kind-hearted, always prioritizing others over herself.
Whether due to her innate elven traits or life experiences unknown to Aslan, she worried more about the difficulties Aslan might face in bringing her along than the impossibility itself.
At least outwardly.
Aslan perceived what she left unsaid: her desire to be taken along and, failing that, her wish to remain together.
Even if she became irrelevant in Aslan’s timeline, she desired inclusion.
What profound kindness.
Understanding her unspoken desires, Aslan smiled.
There was only one thing he could say to address her concerns.
“Of course, taking you might provoke a strong reaction from the Dark Ram. Perhaps it might send something even more malevolent our way.”
“But still…”
“Still, I can’t abandon my companion to rot alone in this lonely, cold future.”
These weren’t empty words—they were imbued with Aslan’s earnest sincerity.
He couldn’t leave her, someone who had shared life and death with him, isolated in this desolate future.
Above all, Aslan had confidence.
Confidence that his devised method wouldn’t elicit any significant reaction from the Dark Ram.
Unaware of this, Number 13 gazed at Aslan with deep apprehension.
Her eyes resembled a starry night sky, adorned with vertical pupils—an amalgamation of dragon, human, green essence, and elf, representing the last survivor.
With unwavering conviction, she saw Aslan smile and offer her gentle reassurance.
The man she had grown fond of responded to her query with a smirk.
“What is the method?”
Instead of answering directly, Aslan drew his sword.
It was a bronze-colored blade, somewhat familiar yet alien.
Holding the sword aloft, he whispered.
“Purity.”
Amidst the encroaching darkness, a blazing white light emerged, revealing a pristine blade untouched by time.
The sight of absolute purity, long unseen, struck Number 13 as she gazed upward at Aslan.
The tip of the sword pointed toward her.
“Aslan…?”
Her trembling voice betrayed her unease, but Aslan smiled again.
“Trust me.”
It wasn’t a particularly reassuring smile this time.
