Crack!
The sound of flesh and bone being torn apart echoes. The perpetrator of that sound is nonchalant, while the person who first heard the sound can no longer perceive anything.
The axe embedded in the head quivers slightly as the devotee rolls their eyes back and collapses to the floor.
The spreading pool of blood soaks the ground as the man standing before it takes a shaky breath.
The alley’s scene had changed drastically compared to just a few minutes ago.
The followers of the Formless One were either dead, sprawled on the ground, or lightly convulsing after being impaled against the walls.
Most of the bodies stuck densely into the gray walls were Angie’s doing, and the ones on the ground that appeared to have been finely sliced were mostly Ereta’s work.
Among the scattered and broken corpses, there were also occasional bodies of followers of the Poison-Spitting Dragon.
From the start, their numbers were absolutely small, so the arrangement of the fallen followers seemed almost deliberate.
Amidst all the death and injury with not a single person moving, only four individuals still stood.
Ereta, wielding an axe and a mace in both hands, grinned with her face splattered in blood.
Angie, with blood-soaked arms, blocked the opposite end of the alley from Ereta.
Aslan, who had just slammed an axe into the head of what would have been the fifth follower and pushed them down, now silently stared at the fourth individual—a devotee who was nearly a priest.
In the silence, only their gazes intertwined chaotically, especially between Aslan and the devotee.
“Shit…”
Aslan showed little reaction to the muttered curse, merely staring coldly. The devotee, having unconsciously let out a profanity, glanced around while contemplating an escape route.
Running away wasn’t realistic; the devotee had clearly seen what Angie did earlier when she blocked the escape path behind him during the chaotic fight.
With her staff, she split the Formless One in two and caught flying tentacles, pulling them down forcefully to pin them to the ground—she possessed immense strength and quick reflexes.
Even if he tried to flee, the devotee believed Angie would catch up instantly.
On the other hand, heading toward Aslan was equally impossible. The devotee thought it was unfeasible to take on both the famed veteran warrior and Ereta simultaneously.
How could he escape alive?
While pondering this, nervously pointing his longsword, Aslan shifted his stance.
Without drawing his axe, he clenched his fists and raised them slightly above eye level—an unmistakable fighting stance.
The devotee frowned upon seeing this.
Despite being known as a combat veteran, the devotee, who was nearly a priest, possessed significant power through partial priestly transformation.
Not quite as strong as a full priest, but far beyond what a normal human could overpower physically.
Moreover, priests of the Poison-Spitting Dragon gain defensive capabilities and the ability to wield poison as they ascend in rank. The devotee undergoing partial transformation shared these abilities.
Yet here was Aslan, ready to fight with bare fists against someone covered in impenetrable scales.
It was arrogance.
Seeing Aslan’s relaxed and tension-free expression, the devotee gritted his teeth and raised his sword.
“You bastard!”
Twisted pride drove him forward as the devotee charged at Aslan.
Like a moth diving straight into fire, he swung his sword downward without any regard for self-preservation.
Crack!
The superhuman strength behind the sword swing created a streak visible even to the naked eye, but it missed entirely as Aslan sidestepped.
The devotee sharply swung diagonally upward, assuming Aslan couldn’t evade given the nearby wall. He planned to strike as Aslan attempted to dodge.
But Aslan didn’t dodge. Instead, he extended a sharp front kick.
Before the devotee’s leg could fully extend, Aslan’s foot struck his knee, destabilizing him.
Within less than half a breath, Aslan pressed further. Grabbing the sword with one hand while pressing his shoulder into the devotee, he closed the distance.
“Guh…!”
The sword slipped from the devotee’s grasp as his breath was cut off, forcing him to step back. Before he could comprehend the situation, Aslan spun around.
A swift spinning kick followed, striking the devotee’s head.
Crack!
His head snapped to the side as the devotee felt a searing pain coursing through it, bewildered.
‘Not ordinary strength. He must be using some trick!’
That was his thought until he saw Aslan’s advancing foot.
Aslan’s spinning back kick shoved the devotee’s face backward, adding a gush of nosebleed. Clutching his nose, the devotee was met with another wave of violence.
Bam!
A turning elbow strike hammered into his cheek as Aslan pivoted.
“Ugh!”
Grabbing the back of the neck, Aslan delivered a knee strike, causing the devotee to vomit.
Aslan stepped back briefly, seemingly to avoid the vomit, then swept low with his leg. The targeted knee buckled, forcing the devotee to kneel.
Struggling to rise on his bent knee, the devotee thought:
‘It’s not human strength!’
This was the same devotee who had sacrificed many humans to reach his current position, defeating countless resisters and engaging in physical struggles with humans.
To him, Aslan’s punches clearly surpassed human capability.
And his analysis was correct.
Through wild magic permanently enhancing his strength and temporary boosts from mana, Aslan was currently exerting a power level equivalent to three.
Combined with the effect of “All Things Impermanent,” doubling his attack power, Aslan’s punches were beyond what the devotee could endure.
As if to demonstrate this fact, both of Aslan’s fists connected with the kneeling devotee’s face.
Bang, Bam!
“Ugh… Cough…”
A hook punch from below followed by an uppercut left the devotee disoriented. As his head swayed, Aslan grabbed a fistful of hair and delivered a right hook.
Pulling the tilted head down by the hair, another knee strike followed. The relentless barrage of violence made the devotee cry out in supplication.
“Spare me, spare me, please!”
Before his plea could finish, another punch landed. With the devotee falling over from the blow, Aslan drew a dagger and plunged it into the devotee’s shoulder.
“Heat Metal.”
Upon uttering the spell previously infused into his tattoo by a duke, the dagger glowed red hot.
“Aaaahhh!”
The glowing blade seared the devotee’s shoulder, eliciting a scream as he thrashed about.
Aslan silently observed the entire spectacle and spoke.
“Tell me everything you know about the Formless One and all related information. Don’t withhold anything.”
As he twisted the dagger, the devotee spilled every piece of information he knew.
*
The emperor of the Calus Empire changed twice within a short period.
Considering both deaths were at the hands of the same man, it was certainly unusual, but Geladridion was always such a place.
Those with power can transcend existing order.
The man admired this overwhelming freedom, and it was why he sought strength.
He wanted more than just wielding magic—he desired the power to control the world.
So he abandoned his passion for magic and turned to faith.
He worked under the name of the Supreme Divinity.
Even as emperors changed, he maintained his influence and dedicated himself to the Supreme Divinity.
Though ostracized from the Ashuld family, he gained a position affecting the entire emperor’s direct territory and the title of the emperor’s inspector.
Granted by the emperor’s permission, he spread, maintained, and managed the influence of the Supreme Divinity across the empire.
Believing he would eventually become a martial adept and the first to combine magic with martial arts, he acted accordingly.
But those plans collapsed before they could come to fruition.
When the emperor changed and Ilyena ascended to the throne, she expelled and exiled all those associated with the Supreme Divinity.
Officially, the excuse was their failure to adequately protect the previous emperor, but no one truly believed that.
Clearly, Ilyena was systematically excluding the Supreme Divinity from the Calus Empire.
It was hard to believe how powerless and weak Ilyena seemed before, as the young girl aggressively maneuvered politically and isolated all believers of the Supreme Divinity.
Despite the insufficient time of mere weeks to overthrow a political faction, she successfully expelled them completely through aggressive and bold actions.
Certainly, when he entered the emperor’s direct territory bearing the title of imperial inspector, he never imagined leaving branded as a traitor.
So he fled, only to be captured near the border.
It was a simple story.
At least he wasn’t captured by the notorious Saint of Slaughter, which brought some relief amidst his self-deprecation.
The priest of the Poison-Spitting Dragon who held him seemed to have some sense of moderation.
However, even this moderate priest was reaching the limits of patience.
“Why isn’t anyone coming back?”
Attacked by the Formless One without understanding the cause, they were driven back.
All operatives and informants within Cardi were wiped out, and their established base was completely overrun.
The priest narrowly escaped, while others unfortunate enough to remain were torn apart by the incoming monsters.
Recalling the overwhelming invasion of their base, the priest realized he hadn’t sensed any intelligence guiding the horde.
Thus, he assumed finding refuge elsewhere would buy some time.
Consequently, the warehouse purchased in the slums near Cardi’s outer wall became his final stronghold, offering an underground passage to escape beyond Cardi’s borders.
Before dispersing, the priest instructed his followers to regroup here.
Yet now, only he and a prisoner remained in this old warehouse. The prisoner was only present because the priest carried them along.
Long past the expected return time, with no sign of anyone, the priest clenched his jaw in frustration.
Having lost all forces, the situation was dire. Still, he couldn’t leave Cardi. There was still a mission to accomplish—to capture the divine horse of the ancient deity and summon his gods to this land.
Bound by this mission, he couldn’t depart.
Finally suppressing his frustration, he prayed to the inevitability of the universe that at least a few lucky followers would arrive.
Perhaps the prayer reached its target, as sounds of approaching footsteps echoed toward the warehouse. Three sets of hurried steps approached chaotically.
“Ah, finally….”
The priest looked expectantly toward the warehouse door as the approaching figures knocked.
“Finally, you’ve arrived, my brethren! Thank you for your effort. Now, let me…”
Approaching the iron door with anticipation, the priest placed his hand on the lock to open it.
Something pierced through the iron door before he could.
It was a sword blade.
The glowing blue blade pierced through the iron door and grazed the priest’s neck.
“Guuh….”
Blood flowed, pooling on the floor as the priest stumbled backward.
The blade effortlessly cut through the iron door like butter, slicing the lock, and the door creaked open.
Beyond it stood a familiar face.
A face the priest should have recognized immediately.
Clutching his neck, the priest gasped.
“The Combat Veteran…!”
To the excited exclamation, Aslan entered the warehouse without changing his expression.
Inside, Aslan’s gaze mechanically scanned the surroundings, checking if the gathered information matched reality.
Then his eyes stopped on a certain point.
They furrowed in a frown.
“Ascorn Ashuld…?”
At the mention of the name, the prisoner, Cornil Ashuld, flinched.
