“Huhk, huk… Hhruu….”
In order to survive, the man ran.
His breath rose to his chin, and he had lost so much blood that his clothes were dyed crimson. But even with such injuries, the man could still run—not out of sheer willpower, but because he wasn’t human.
The man was a disciple.
A disciple of the Poison-Spitting Dragon.
While running, the man turned into a narrow alley and pressed forward into its depths.
Though the space was cramped, there was no other choice. He’d be too easily spotted in an open area. The man suppressed the urge to vomit as he pushed his legs onward.
“Aaaah!”
Mid-run, the man collapsed to the ground, rolling in agony. A searing pain shot through his thigh. Clutching his shredded leg, the man barely managed to open his eyes.
Embedded in the man’s thigh was a bone fragment about the size of a palm.
“Ugh, hhruu… Ughh…!”
The blood pooling beneath him made the floor slick, but there was no time to hesitate. The man pulled out the bone fragment, gasping for air before forcing himself back up. He limped forward.
Somehow, to escape and survive.
Limping along, the man reached the end of the long alley and stopped when he saw someone standing there.
It was a grotesque creature.
Though it had legs resembling those of a human, it lacked any skin or flesh. All that remained were exposed bones and muscles, yet the being stood upright.
Its intestines hung from its abdomen, studded with jagged bone shards, resembling a whip lined with razor blades. Where its head should have been, there was instead a long tube-like structure.
The disciple knew what this was: a follower of the Formless One.
The monster of the Formless One slowly advanced from the end of the alley.
As the disciple tried to flee, the hanging intestines moved at high speed.
Pwoosh!
“Gk….”
At the tip of the intestine was something sharp like a blade, which easily pierced through the disciple’s stomach. The writhing tentacle flung the disciple aside, and the floor became sticky with spilled guts and blood. In his fading consciousness, the disciple thought:
‘I’m dying.’
Just as the writhing intestines lunged toward him, filled with murderous intent—
Pwoosh!
With a sound like tearing flesh, the monster froze.
It was an arrow.
A thin, sharp arrowhead pierced through the creature. The Formless One’s monster raised its long tubular head.
Puck, Puerk!
When several more arrows struck simultaneously, the creature retreated. Its head, tentacles, and one arm were pierced, leaving its shoulders bare and wobbling. At that moment, the disciple wondered:
‘An ally? Is it the priest?’
There was hope of survival. As soon as this thought arose, the desire to live flared intensely. The disciple tried to rise and escape.
Kwajik!
But before he could, another arrow flew and pierced his thigh. The man’s eyes widened as he screamed.
Almost simultaneously fired arrows—too continuous to have been shot by one person. The figure who fired all these arrows finally revealed themselves at the opposite end of the alley.
It was Aslan, with cold emerald eyes and tousled black hair. Aslan put away his bow and drew a massive two-handed axe from behind his back.
Once wielded by Ereta, the heavy and enormous axe. With it in hand, Aslan crouched low and charged forward.
Facing Aslan’s low charge, the monster extended its tentacle. The intestine-based tentacle was adorned with numerous sharp objects resembling razors and arrowheads, making a chilling “chirrr” sound as it swung.
Tshak!
Swinging it downward in the narrow alley—a strike impossible to dodge under normal circumstances. Aslan met the attack aimed at his head with the axe.
Tshak!
And he cut it cleanly. Though the tentacle was densely covered with bone fragments, Aslan expertly slipped the axe blade between them and severed it.
Aslan completed the diagonal swing by gripping the handle wide and pulling it behind him. Another tentacle immediately shot toward him. There were multiple strands of these intestine-derived tentacles.
“Hmph.”
Taking a short breath, Aslan dodged by twisting his body. The tentacle slashed through the air, carving lines on the wall. Amidst the screeching sounds, Aslan closed in.
About 3 meters away. Too far for the axe to reach, but within range of the tentacles. This time, the Formless One’s tentacle came in from below in an uppercut motion. Aslan saw the whip-like tentacle aiming for his chin and brought down the axe he had swung behind him.
Ssweug!
It was cut off. Repeatedly cut off, yet the Formless One remained calm, showing no frustration. Calmly, it targeted Aslan with the long tube-like structure on its head.
Dzooom!
A sound like air escaping, followed by spike-like bone fragments shooting out.
Kaang!
Though they didn’t hit Aslan, they were enough to knock the axe from his hands. With the axe gone, the monster lunged to capture Aslan. The intestines writhed hungrily for fresh prey.
The disciple of the Formless One was famished. Desiring new souls and new flesh, it rampaged without regard for the situation.
Because of this, it failed to notice the change. By the time Aslan’s palm began to faintly glow, it was already too late to escape.
‘Pierce the heart.’
Following this muttered phrase, Aslan’s palm glowed faintly blue. Pierce the heart was a special technique of martial arts, with a simple effect.
Even with bare hands, it increased penetration power enough to pierce the heart of a fierce beast and kill it.
The moment Aslan’s palm gained more piercing power than a dagger, the outcome was already clear.
Tshak!
First, Aslan deflected the approaching tentacle upward and sliced it cleanly. The tentacle struck by his palm was severed as sharply as if cut by a legendary sword.
A clear anomaly. Just as the Formless One tried to withdraw its body, Aslan’s palm shot forward.
Pwoosh!
And Aslan’s palm easily pierced through the Formless One’s head. Without withdrawing the blow, Aslan spun his body.
“Can you do a dropkick?”
The monster’s legs lifted into the air, tracing a circle before crashing down. It slammed onto the ground.
Kooong!
The impaled monster trembled, and Aslan’s foot landed on it. Merciless stomping. With a “kwajik” sound, the shattered body ceased moving.
Aslan drenched the dead disciple in oil he took from his robes. When the corpse was soaked through, he put away the oil flask and pointed a finger.
“Ignite.”
Pwoosh!
The spark from Aslan’s fingertip set the corpse ablaze, and the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. Among the spreading smoke, the fleeing man—the disciple of the Poison-Spitting Dragon—felt relief.
He didn’t recognize Aslan. Aslan approached the disciple and offered his hand, but the disciple couldn’t stand alone. Grabbing his hand, the disciple said,
“Thank you. By any chance, are you a priest…?”
Because of this, he didn’t anticipate what happened next.
Aslan grabbed the disciple’s hand and collar, then slammed him down. It was the same judo move he had used on the Formless One’s disciple earlier.
Kooong!
“Gk…!”
Kwaajik!
“Khruuuuh, uhh.”
Slamming him down, Aslan pulled out a dagger and stabbed it into the disciple’s shoulder. Confused by the sudden violence, the disciple groaned in pain. Struggling to catch his breath, Aslan whispered,
“To think you’d believe the person who shot your leg with an arrow is an ally—you’re not fully aware of your surroundings.”
Eeji jijik
“Khuuuuaaaaah!”
Then Aslan twisted the dagger. The disciple screamed in agony as raw flesh tore.
“And why do you think I’m doing this?”
Stopping the twist, Aslan watched as the disciple panted fearfully.
“If you answer just a few questions truthfully right away, there’ll be no problems.”
“M-may I live if I speak?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“I-I won’t talk unless you spare me! I-I…”
Aslan, with a cold expression, pulled the dagger from the shoulder and plunged it into the disciple’s knuckles. The sound of splitting flesh echoed immediately as Aslan slowly dragged the reversed blade upward. Starting from the knuckle bones, it split through muscles and skin, causing blood to gush out.
“As long as you don’t mind immediate pain, I can provide as much as you want. If you wish to avoid this torment, tell me everything—leave nothing out.”
Aslan returned the dagger to his cheek, and the disciple visibly quivered in terror.
“I-I understand… I understand. Please, please…”
Begging, the disciple appeared pitiful. Aslan didn’t blink, merely watching with a cold gaze.
So icy was the meeting of their gazes that the disciple shrank back while taking a breath. After a long moment of eye contact, Aslan spoke.
“Mission complete. Come here.”
“Yes sir.”
“Okay.”
Responding, Angie and Ereta appeared from different directions.
They had been stationed at possible escape routes in case anyone slipped away. They approached and looked at the disciple awaiting interrogation with differing expressions.
Ereta repeatedly clenched and released her collar, seemingly excited by Aslan’s sadistic display, while Angie, recalling her own bravado about handling interrogations, blushed after looking at Aslan with a sickened expression.
Only the disciple of the Poison-Spitting Dragon wore a terrified face. While the others seemed at ease, he chattered his teeth, waiting anxiously for the questions to come.
Thus, the first question was this.
“Tell me everything you know about the Formless One.”
“The Formless One?”
Repeating the question, Aslan wasted no time stabbing the disciple’s cheek with a dagger. Piercing through and withdrawing the blade from the mouth side, a grotesque wound opened, and the disciple swallowed his scream.
“Answer. Nothing else is permitted.”
“It’s—it’s a god! A deity!”
“Why is your god attacking you?”
“Well, that…”
Hesitating, but Aslan’s dagger had already moved. Swinging it lightly across the eye, the disciple clutched his face and wept.
Kwadak!
“Khruuuh… Hhruu…”
Twisting the dagger embedded in the forearm, Aslan scraped away flesh and bone as if peeling fruit, causing the disciple to writhe and scream.
“Why is your god attacking you?”
But even as Aslan asked while withdrawing the dagger, the disciple could not answer, only repeating that he didn’t know while panting heavily.
‘Truly doesn’t know?’
Since arriving and staying in Cardi, Aslan had relentlessly hunted the disciples of the Formless One. During the hunt, Aslan discovered something strange.
The disciples of the Formless One were hunting other disciples hiding in Cardi.
As soon as Aslan found this out, he attempted to extract information by interrogating the captured disciples, but none of them knew the reason for the attacks.
Receiving only consistent answers of ignorance, Aslan was certain.
Ordinary disciples knew nothing.
With this certainty, some inferences were possible.
The Formless One wasn’t simply attacking Cardi.
They were waging war against the inevitability of the universe within Cardi.
Whether this war was one-sided or not was unknown, but it was definite.
When the alliance main quest began, how to identify and why the priests and disciples of the inevitability of the universe planned to attack the city remained unclear, but this attack was extremely aggressive.
To the extent that more civilians were getting injured and dying.
‘What’s the reason?’
Aslan returned the dagger to his waist and thought.
Gods originally don’t get along well.
Ancient gods were mostly siblings or spouses, so cases of bad relations were almost nonexistent, but current gods tend to be hostile towards each other.
One might say they compete for the world, and therefore, priests and disciples occasionally fight in the name of their deities.
But they don’t usually engage in outright battles.
The scale typically remains small skirmishes or duels, and there has never been guerrilla warfare over an entire city.
Since they can’t grapple until death anyway, conflicts among gods usually end with the deaths of a few disciples or priests.
That was usually how it went.
On the other hand, the behavior of the Formless One was completely different.
They attacked with the clear intention of annihilation, and most of the damage to the city was collateral.
Having gleaned little from the interrogations, Aslan still couldn’t guess the reason.
“You know nothing. Master, please let me go… The Cardi branch has been devastated… I know nothing. Even if I try, it’ll be useless…”
With a cracked voice, the disciple pleaded for mercy, and Aslan stared down at him coldly.
Externally, he looked like a regular human.
Aslan withdrew the dagger again and inserted it between the clothes.
Zzizziik
“Ugh…”
Aslan tore the clothes and quickly found the disciple’s dried, decayed skin, covered with scales.
A clear sign of partial priesthood and evidence of abandoning humanity.
Confirming this, Aslan briefly stated.
“No, you’ll die here.”
“A-an…”
Kwaajik!
Aslan’s reverse-grip dagger fell, causing the disciple to tremble violently before dying. The dagger embedded in his forehead quivered slightly.
Sheathing the dagger, Aslan glanced at the corpse of the Formless One.
The eradication of the Formless One’s disciples was proceeding fairly smoothly.
Although the goal was unclear and the reasons unknown, creating difficulties, the eradication itself was smooth.
Despite their mutations, the disciples were powerful but remained at the disciple level, far from reaching the priest level, so there was no difficulty.
The problem lay in finding them.
Recalling how the Formless One transformed before his eyes—human skin flipping inside-out in an instant, becoming monstrous figures—it was nearly impossible to detect them without deliberate effort.
Fortunately, Aslan had two methods.
One method was deduced midway, leveraging the fact that the Formless Ones actively hunted disciples of the inevitability of the universe.
While identifying Formless Ones was difficult, locating followers of the inevitability of the universe was easy since a former high priest was part of the group.
With Ereta’s help, Aslan could easily find them, follow them, and wait until they were attacked.
Upon being attacked, Aslan would eliminate the attackers, interrogate them, check for signs of partial priesthood, and either arrest or execute them.
The other method was more complex.
Inspired by a duke’s statement during negotiations with priests regarding the deeds of the Formless One, this method involved Aslan acting as bait.
If other gods could recognize each other, the Formless One likely could as well.
And if they could recognize, Aslan could lure them with his purity.
Purity, an ancient divine power now rare in this world.
This unfamiliar divine power was sure to attract the attention of disciples or priests.
Drawn by this divine power, when the Formless One revealed themselves, all that remained was detecting them first.
Fortunately, Aslan had both luck and experience.
By sensing divine power and fortune while slaying the divinity of the Spider of Fire, Aslan could preemptively identify the Formless One.
Through this method, Aslan caught quite a number of Formless Ones.
The problem was that their numbers were excessively large.
“How many was that one just now?”
“71.”
An excessive number even for ordinary disciples. Considering there might be more in Cardi, it was an alarmingly high count.
“…Isn’t that too many? We’ve already caught so many?”
Angie also thought it was too many, voicing her concern, and Ereta furrowed her delicate brow, tilting her head.
Of course, the death of disciples or priests doesn’t deplete a god’s power. Gods are fundamentally transcendent beings, so their strength isn’t diminished.
Still, such reckless scattering hasn’t happened before.
Aslan pondered deeply.
Evil deities, though transcendent and inscrutable, aren’t entirely incomprehensible in their behavior patterns.
While they don’t necessarily follow logical conditions or actions, they usually have emotional reasons.
In contrast, the Formless One’s actions were incomprehensible.
Neither emotional nor logical reasons existed.
Aslan completely dismissed the idea that the mastermind behind this was the Formless One.
It was too unintelligent to be the mastermind.
Perhaps it was a smokescreen to hide the true identity, but for now, it didn’t seem that way.
Massive dissemination of unintelligent disciples, chaos in Cardi, near-total-war-like situations, aggressively attacking other gods’ disciples—all these puzzle pieces didn’t fit together, causing Aslan to agonize.
‘What exactly is the Formless One’s purpose? What do they seek?’
If only there were a few more puzzle pieces, he might have understood, but without them, Aslan felt frustrated.
Should he hunt down and kill a priest to find out? He was considering this when—
“—Damn! Over here—”
Someone shouted, and the sound of weapons clashing rang out.
Amid the clash of weapons, an unnatural clicking sound could be heard, and Aslan recognized it from experience as the sound made by the disciples of the Formless One.
Intermixed with the sounds of combat were footsteps heading toward the alley where Aslan stood.
“If we can just escape this alley—!”
Eight men appeared in the narrow alley, stopping after the noise ceased.
Breathing heavily, perhaps from running, they held blood-soaked weapons and looked at Aslan.
They were disciples.
Disciples of the Poison-Spitting Dragon.
The scales flowing down the face of the one in front were a clear symbol.
“Here they come! Forward, forward!”
The one in front, noticing Aslan and stiffening, was pushed forward by the others. Aslan seized the axe that had flown past and caught it mid-air.
Behind them, a cluster of Formless Ones positioned themselves, while the other disciples shoved the one in front into the center of the alley.
The alley was blocked on both sides by Aslan and the Formless Ones, with the center filled with disciples of the Poison-Spitting Dragon. The disciple most affected by partial priesthood grimaced and groaned.
“Our luck is truly terrible…”
He recognized Aslan.
He knew who he was.
The high priest beside him also recognized the prophecy of the ancient deity.
Aslan realized this and thought:
Finally, the last puzzle piece has arrived.
“Don’t kill him; let him go.”
Aslan briefly instructed his companions, and upon recognizing Aslan, the disciple despaired and cried out.
“They’re coming!”
