Aslan soon realized the implications of his actions.
More precisely, he became aware of the fear that his actions might have instilled in No. 13.
Aslan sheathed his sword and, with an awkward smile, gently stroked No. 13’s hair.
The pale blue strands twisted softly in his hand.
As Aslan felt their soft texture, he finally added:
“I’m sorry. I made you misunderstand.”
No. 13 neither denied nor confirmed it but looked up at Aslan.
Her gaze subtly reprimanded him, sharp though fleeting, before she shrank back when the sword was extended again.
Before No. 13 could misconstrue his intentions once more, Aslan spoke.
“This isn’t about harming you. It’s just… well, feeling it will be quicker than explaining.”
Feel? What?
While ominous possibilities surfaced in No. 13’s mind, Aslan, unaware, added:
“Detect the divine power embedded within this blade.”
Perplexed blinking eyes from No. 13. Aslan withdrew his hand from her hair and extended the sword.
“It won’t be difficult if your mana is high.”
Reluctantly, No. 13 reached out toward the sword.
The radiant white light of the ancient deity’s blade, capable of severing anything but a primordial deity itself, flickered menacingly.
Even brushing its edge seemed dangerous enough to split her apart.
Carefully extending her trembling hand, she touched the side of the blade where there was no risk of being cut.
“…Ah.”
Finally, through the white flash coursing along the blade, she sensed something.
It wasn’t mana, nor the divine power of an evil deity. Instead, it carried a faintly sorrowful and solitary aura not detectable in any specific part of the blade.
“Aslan, what is this…?”
Though unable to identify it, when No. 13 looked up at Aslan, he nodded.
“The divine power of sorrow and death.”
Sorrow and death.
The final ancient deity who completed the boundary of the Night and Eternity God, and the ruler of the afterlife.
An existence with no connection to No. 13 whatsoever.
A divinity unfamiliar to her, making it difficult for her to grasp Aslan’s intentions.
Tilting her head slightly, her abundant hair cascaded down to her chest.
In response to her evident perplexity, Aslan sheathed his sword and said:
“I wasn’t sure before, but while using it and interfacing with the divine power of an evil deity, I got a feel for it. If I can use the purity imbued divine power or functions, perhaps I can replicate some of its powers.”
Of course, unless the abilities are immutable like fire or metallurgy, hunting or prosperity, some of the ancient deities’ powers, including sorrow and death, seem reproducible.
Aslan’s plan rested on the premise that this was possible.
“I will bring your soul back using the divine power of sorrow and death.”
No. 13’s eyes widened, and her thoughts froze.
She opened her mouth to speak but closed it tightly, hesitating as she extended her hand toward Aslan, who belatedly understood her intention and took it.
Though startled by No. 13 interlocking their fingers, Aslan immediately used magic interference, prompting her to clear her throat twice before asking:
“No. 13, does this mean dying? Aslan, friends, oblivion?”
Aslan shook his head.
“You may perceive it that way, but it’s not dying. You won’t lose your memories either.”
A hint of distrust or unease welled up in her vertical pupils.
Aslan smiled to ease her anxiety.
“I’ve seen many souls while passing through the afterlife.”
Souls—an entity particularly prominent in the afterlife.
Elsewhere, they were rarely encountered except as specters.
Having utilized the afterlife several times already, Aslan had a decent understanding of the nature of souls and the afterlife.
“The self-forgetting characteristic of souls is due to the influence of the afterlife. This doesn’t apply to souls that have escaped the afterlife or never reached it.”
Moreover, depending on the quality of the soul or its determination, this rule might not even apply, allowing Aslan to confidently state:
“If we move your soul, though your current body will be left behind here, finding a new vessel, another body, should be easy.”
Upon hearing this, No. 13 rolled her eyes and hesitated before speaking.
“No. 13 likes her current body…”
So she didn’t want to leave it behind, expressing her concern. To which Aslan already had a prepared response.
“That’s no issue. I own the Anuritin Council.”
Surprisingly large eyes opened wide on No. 13, as if questioning whether Aslan had dismantled the Anuritin Council and abducted her from this world.
Apparently, she found it hard to believe.
“Ados and Tiyalmisof are alive and actively cooperating with me. Well, actually, they don’t have much choice.”
“How…?”
“There are always ways.”
Smiling wryly, Aslan watched as No. 13 displayed a look of confusion.
She had caught onto something Aslan hadn’t yet voiced.
With Ados and Tiyalmisof around, creating a puppet or vessel for her physical form would be straightforward.
Without waiting for her to change her mind, Aslan quickly added:
“Even without them, there are plenty of people who can create a body.”
Beneath No. 13’s confused expression, Aslan glanced briefly at the Abyssal Sword at his waist.
In truth, all these plans were backup options.
Creating a new body and worrying about the loss of the soul over time were measures taken out of necessity due to Lewena’s absence.
‘If only she hadn’t been absent, I could have entrusted this to Lewena.’
Was it due to temporal stasis or a divergence in timelines?
Lewena showed no reaction.
Originally, storing No. 13 in the Abyssal Sword, where time did not exist, and transporting her was also considered, so Aslan felt regret.
With no response or connection to Lewena now,
the functionality of the Abyssal Sword remained uncertain.
Thus, Aslan didn’t even touch it.
He couldn’t verify if it connected to Lewena’s abyss.
Feeling regretful, Aslan ultimately had to make a decision.
Waiting for Lewena to respond again was less preferable than taking action himself.
Alone, making decisions was always familiar, and deciding itself wasn’t difficult.
For all that, the method was crude and straightforward.
Abandoning the current body, moving the soul, and switching to a new one—No. 13 fell silent, seemingly overwhelmed, and Aslan, looking at her, placed Purity on his shoulder.
“Handling divine power has become somewhat familiar, so if we do it now, we can return before half a day passes.”
Gazing briefly at the shimmering white flames of Purity, Aslan continued,
“Even in a soul state, we might be able to cast spells, so I’ll open a passage beforehand…”
He was essentially suggesting they leave immediately, and No. 13, listening to Aslan, slowly spoke.
“How many of the traveling party survived?”
“Huh?”
“How many died?”
Though it seemed random, this question was significant to No. 13.
Not only was she curious about how many friends remained, but it wasn’t entirely about that.
Some of her companions were also her rivals.
“No one died. Everyone’s alive, so when you see them, they will surely…”
Aslan continued speaking, but No. 13 didn’t hear it.
Tilting her pointed ears forward, she closed her mouth and thought.
No deaths were undoubtedly a fortunate and joyful event.
That was certain.
She cared for the traveling party more than she liked Aslan, cherishing them like family.
But that didn’t mean she wanted to watch her beloved man mingle with family-like companions without spending time with her.
She realized.
Now was the moment to monopolize Aslan.
Besides, wasn’t there another version of herself in the other world?
Monopolizing was out of the question; the absurd possibility of having to share Aslan with another timeline version of herself loomed.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Thousands of years of prolonged solitude had infused pure affection into this artificial elf, nurturing obsession and possessiveness.
“Aslan, can’t we travel together?”
“Ah, of course we must go together. I…”
Shaking his head vigorously, her pale blue hair fluttered.
Looking up at Aslan, she tightened the interlocked fingers of their clasped hands.
“Can’t we rest now with just me?”
Aslan blinked in surprise, unprepared for the suggestion.
“Well, it’s not impossible, but why? We can spend time together there too.”
Confused by the question, No. 13 hesitated, blushing.
Obsession and possessiveness that came to mind.
Putting those words into speech, despite thousands of years of loneliness, was embarrassingly daunting.
After a brief internal conflict, she conjured up an excuse and, blushing, voiced it.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“Something you want to show?”
“Affirmative.”
He momentarily raised his head to look at the vertical shaft blocked by rocks, recalling the battlefield scenery.
Upon revisiting the memory, it didn’t seem like anything remarkable.
The sky was gloomy because of the destruction.
Fortunately, No. 13 had come up with several other excuses while Aslan was thinking.
“The time of return differs. The length of rest doesn’t matter.”
Aslan’s teal eyes lowered back to No. 13, and she worried about how pretentious she might appear in his gaze.
The meaning of her words was simple.
Since the timelines differed, resting here wouldn’t affect the flow of time in the original timeline.
Seeing Aslan understand, she spoke up.
“No. 13 informs Aslan. Aslan resists rest. Upon return, Aslan won’t rest.”
Meaning: since he wouldn’t rest upon returning, they should rest now.
Aslan opened his mouth to object but closed it, and No. 13, celebrating internally, pressed on.
“If you’re going to push yourself, let’s rest thoroughly now. I’ll take good care of you kindly.”
Discarding her usual tone and risking the potential of a command spell,
she even hoped it would turn into a command.
Unfortunately, Aslan used magic interference, preventing it from becoming a command spell.
Though disappointed, No. 13 realized that the words she had concocted as an excuse were true.
Resolution arose naturally.
Yet, contrary to the resolution that emerged, she wasn’t ready to take responsibility for the words she’d spoken.
Surprisingly, Aslan asked, seemingly puzzled by her aggressive approach.
“What do you want to show me?”
Though she had claimed there was something she wanted to show, No. 13 panicked as she had nothing to display, and Aslan, seeing her blush, deduced her lie.
He guessed that she simply wanted to be alone with him.
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment, and No. 13 thought.
A place that shouldn’t have come to mind did.
A place she had forgotten about while waiting endlessly for so long.
Raising her still-flushed face,
“Sea.”
“…The sea?”
Aslan repeated, and before he could answer, No. 13 lifted her staff.
The tip of the staff, now in her hand, glowed with magical light.
Space distorted. The cozy crimson hue enveloping them dissipated, and space trembled as if shards of a broken mirror scattered.
When they regained their senses, they were by the sea.
Aslan saw the encroaching darkness as the distorted space returned to its original form.
The sandy shore tinted with a soft purple hue.
Extending from the cracked space was the sea reaching the horizon.
Aslan realized then that he had fallen victim to a teleportation spell.
The teal eyes of Aslan, catching sight of the scenery late, filled with wonder.
A photograph capturing the brightest parts of the universe.
The landscape resembled a kaleidoscope displaying the printed image of such a splendid photo.
Because the sea stretching to the horizon was painted with hues of the cosmos.
Every time the tide surged, it seemed as though fragments of the universe shattered and sparkled brilliantly atop grains of sand.
A mesmerizing view he had never witnessed before.
A beautiful sea, even amidst the world’s demise.
Only later did he realize it was the aftermath of the Veil of Benevolence breaking, mingling with the divine power of Night and Eternity.
“No. 13 loves this sea.”
Aslan’s consciousness, absorbed by the sea, snapped back, and he turned his attention to the woman beside him who had clasped her hands.
The woman held her staff.
Tracing the air gently caused the staff to glow, distorting the space.
In the rippling space, not far from Aslan and No. 13, suddenly appeared a house.
A cozy wooden house.
A bit small for two people but intimate.
Close to the sandy shore, untouched by water, yet offering a full view of the sea.
As Aslan stared at the quaint house, No. 13 fidgeted and said,
“The thing I want to show you can only be seen at dawn.”
Unspoken, but obvious.
It was an invitation to wait.
If it were merely an invitation to wait, her attitude wouldn’t have been so suggestive.
Aslan felt a sense of déjà vu.
What No. 13 desired, perhaps Aslan unwillingly wished for as well—the anticipation of such actions.
Amidst the jumble of emotions, Aslan looked at No. 13.
And No. 13, realizing he had figured everything out, shyly said,
“Aslan.”
Holding the hem of her dress with her index finger, she slightly lifted it.
Blushing slightly, despite the embarrassment of the gesture, her eyes brimming with anticipation turned toward Aslan.
She knew she needed to seize the opportunity to claim exclusivity now.
For the love she couldn’t achieve thousands of years ago, she was willing to overcome any embarrassment.
This time would be different.
She resolved firmly.
“Use… permissible.”
At least before discarding her physical form, she intended to take this step.
Aslan was quite flustered.
“Not here? That’s…”
While searching for a way to dissuade her, No. 13 wouldn’t let him escape.
She pulled their intertwined hands closer, drawing near to Aslan.
“No. 13 hopes to use Aslan.”
Her reproachful gaze implied a subtle scolding for not granting her wish.
