As Aslan departed, the empty space he left behind was filled with a crowd of formless beings. There was no longer any visible way out, surrounded by a dense blockade. Niell slowly rose to his feet, gingerly touching his wound.
“Too many.”
It was clear at a glance that their numbers were overwhelming. And it wasn’t just about quantity; the monsters in front differed from those in the rear, arranged like an army.
Those appearing capable of ranged attacks were positioned at the back, while the ones up front—obviously sturdy and difficult to kill—stood quietly waiting.
The monsters took a step closer, and with each step, Niell felt as if the ground itself was trembling.
“O Devourer of All Things…”
In this oppressive scene, Niell instinctively sought divine intervention. Realizing his faith and strength alone wouldn’t suffice against such an enemy, he drew the flail from his waist.
The flail, making a swishing sound, extended its heads. This unique mace with four heads glowed green, saturated with potent venom.
Niell lightly swung the flail and glanced around. The numbers were too vast, their formation too precise. Breaking through solely with brute force and poison would be impossible given the overwhelming disparity in forces.
If only there had been even one follower of the deity left, but there wasn’t.
“Niell! Priest Niell!”
As Niell prepared for what seemed like his final battle, despairing at the situation, he heard someone calling from behind. He merely flicked his eyes to see a magician seated there, deemed insignificant enough not to pose a threat to Aslan.
This magician operated within the domain of the Supreme Divinity and was somewhat renowned within the Calus Empire.
Though not exceptionally powerful, his magical abilities were respectable enough to earn him some fame. Had he not been under the command of the Supreme Divinity where magicians are poorly treated, he could have easily become a priest long ago.
Cornil Ashuld, once the hound of a fallen emperor, brightened his gaze as he addressed Niell.
“I’ll help. Let me fight alongside you!”
Niell cast a skeptical glance at this sudden offer.
“What’s your intention, Cornil Ashuld?”
And as he asked, he took a step backward. The monsters were advancing from the broken warehouse wall.
“Do I have any hidden agenda? Would releasing me now cause you any harm? If you let me go, I can assist you with my magic!”
“…What kind of magic can you use?”
“Almost all spells from the lightning school of Evocation, except the highest-tier ones—I can use most of them!”
Upon hearing this, Niell hesitated, narrowing his suspicious eyes. Releasing Cornil Ashuld wouldn’t clearly disadvantage him.
In fact, it might benefit him. Cornil Ashuld was a pure mage, physically frail and incapable of surviving the encirclement on his own.
The most apparent advantage of freeing him would be gaining support from his magic. Magic was no trivial matter—it was one of the most valuable legacies left by the ancient deities.
Moreover, magic proved effective against both priests, followers, and even the formless beings.
There wasn’t much time to weigh the pros and cons. Even if Cornil betrayed him after being freed, it would only mean dying sooner. Not freeing him wouldn’t change the current situation.
Deciding, Niell reached for the chains.
Clank, clink!
With the formidable strength characteristic of priests, he snapped the chains, which fell to the floor with a sound like rain. Cornil pointed to the collar around his neck.
“Hold your breath.”
Niell used a corrosive poison close to acid, coating his hands and rubbing it onto the collar. A pungent smell filled the air as the metal corroded, and the collar shattered, falling to the ground.
Clink!
“Hmph, now I might actually survive.”
Cornil massaged his neck as he stood up, while Niell kept a wary eye on him, spinning the flail.
“Don’t look at me like that. We’ll have to fight together anyway if we want to live.”
Cornil, noticing Niell’s distrustful gaze, feigned annoyance as he gathered mana.
Using gestures and incantations, streams of golden lightning began flowing between his hands.
As the dim warehouse lit up with the glow of golden lightning, Cornil spoke casually.
“Do you have a plan?”
“How could I? I don’t even know what you’re capable of. We’ll just have to face them head-on.”
As the flail emitted a whining sound while spinning, Cornil nodded.
The enemy’s numbers were vast, and all they had were an injured priest and a newly freed mage. Their chances of survival were slim, yet neither wanted to die without a fight.
“Well then… I’ll cover the flanks!”
As Niell charged forward, swinging the flail at the formless beings, bursts of lightning erupted from Cornil’s hands.
Striking down cultists with the electrified flail, Niell fought desperately. Cornil unleashed spell after spell until his mana was depleted, while Niell continued to claw and bite at the enemies despite his limbs being torn apart.
Their struggle lasted for about thirty minutes before ending.
They had fought to survive, and in doing so, they perished.
*
Outside the blood-soaked warehouse, soldiers stood tense, encircling the building with anxious eyes darting around.
Among the points of focus were Aslan and his traveling party. These soldiers and the duke had come here at Aslan’s request.
The tempting proposal—to eliminate the overwhelming force of the formless beings threatening the city—was irresistible, leaving them no choice but to respond.
After all, it was their city, and they couldn’t stay away.
But duty and unease were separate matters. The sounds of chaos, screams, and crackling lightning emanating from inside the warehouse were enough to make the soldiers nervous.
Several trembled in fear.
At the center of the blockade, Duke Helsing anxiously watched the warehouse before turning to Aslan, who had instructed his group to fetch something and remained alone.
“Are you sure those formless beings are truly inside?”
Aslan didn’t even turn to answer the uncertain voice.
“Yes, they’re in there. By now, the fight should be over, and we only need to deal with the remnants escaping outside. It’s simple.”
His tone was unwavering, devoid of doubt, giving an impression of overflowing confidence. The duke, gripping his sword handle nervously, exhaled deeply.
“…I’m not doubting you, but how can you be so certain?”
The duke was a cunning man, though his skills were limited to political maneuvers and estate management. He lacked tactical prowess.
Ultimately, he was a ruler who delegated tasks to subordinates and relied on finding the right person for the job. With the appropriate commander dead during the operation to exterminate the formless beings, he had to stand awkwardly among the encirclement, burdened with anxiety about unexpected scenarios.
“If things don’t go as expected and I die, what then?”
“Because we’ve always done it this way.”
On the other hand, Aslan appeared completely unfazed, answering calmly. His demeanor was akin to a woodsman heading out to chop trees or a farmer tending to his fields—nothing extraordinary.
Aslan was a veteran of combat. No one in the world surpassed his expertise in fighting and victory. Confident in his plan, he anticipated the emergence of a priest of the formless beings from inside.
And just as expected, the ground began to shake.
Rumble…
Amidst the trembling, faint cries and roars echoed.
Through the clamor, the sound of something breaking could be heard.
“Eh, eeeeh…!”
When one soldier pointed and shouted in panic, something burst out of the warehouse, smashing through the roof.
It was a pillar.
A towering pillar that seemed to reach the heavens.
Made of bones, muscles, and innards, this grotesque structure writhed and stretched skyward. Even if it had been smaller, it would have inspired no appetite.
“Aaaaah!”
Chunks of the warehouse roof were hurled into the air, landing everywhere. Soldiers gasped in terror as debris rained down, and screams filled the air, spreading fear rapidly.
Among the cacophony of beast-like human screams, Aslan observed the towering pillar emerging from above the warehouse.
‘As expected.’
Aslan was slightly surprised that the appearance of the priest of the formless beings matched exactly what he had been told.
Typically, the names and appearances of deities were arbitrarily assigned by the residents of Geladridion, often differing greatly from reality.
Descriptions of priests also varied, so Aslan hadn’t trusted the information he received about the priest of the formless beings.
However, the formless beings’ appearance matched perfectly.
While representations of other gods often diverged from reality, this one was accurate.
‘Maybe the information about the main entity is also correct.’
A planetary-scale lifeform. Recalling this image, Aslan drew the axe from his back.
“Er, how did this happen… Aslan! What do we do now…?”
Seeing this spectacle, the duke questioned Aslan, who gazed steadily at the warehouse and replied.
“This is what must be done. To root them out, this is the only way.”
“What…?”
As the duke demanded an explanation, Aslan recalled his thoughts while envisioning the battle in his mind.
The purpose of the formless beings was to expand their influence, requiring priests to achieve this.
Yet the priests of the formless beings were weak, easily handled by two priests. To compensate, they released countless followers to eliminate threatening priests and followers of other gods.
Despite countless sacrifices, the formless beings never abandoned their goal, repeatedly unleashing waves of followers.
Through these experiences, Aslan concluded that unless the formless beings themselves relinquished their purpose, nothing mattered.
He believed any attempt or battle would be meaningless against an almost infinite power. After all, they weren’t dealing with a mere mortal but a god whose strength approached infinity.
In a war of attrition against such limitless power, Aslan couldn’t guarantee victory.
Thus, Aslan sought a faster and more certain path.
Noticing that the formless beings cleared out Cardi to create priests, Aslan focused on this process.
Despite possessing infinite power, the formless beings didn’t endlessly produce priests.
Whatever the reason, there must be a limitation preventing this.
Therefore, the solution became clear: allow the creation of a priest and then destroy it.
If they persisted, repeat the destruction.
To ensure abandonment, Aslan decided to facilitate the formless beings’ plans.
All he needed were simple materials.
An individual already a priest or former priest wouldn’t work.
Neither could someone whose death as a priest would significantly impact others. They needed someone with either completed quests or irrelevant ones, who also had knowledge of the formless beings.
Fortunately, such a person was inside the warehouse.
Someone who was neither a priest nor a follower, with only two side quests remaining.
Cornil Ashuld.
Having worked under the Supreme Divinity and witnessed numerous priests, he likely wouldn’t succumb mentally to the “recruitment” attempts of the formless beings.
Fortunately, events unfolded according to Aslan’s plan. Cornil Ashuld became a priest of the formless beings.
Whether he achieved the form he desired was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Suppressing a slight smirk, Aslan drew his axe and grabbed the duke’s sword from his waist.
Startled by the loss of his weapon, the duke watched as Aslan spun the curved sword in his hand.
“A, you, …”
“I’ll borrow it.”
A finely crafted curved sword. Aslan stared at it for a moment before placing the blade against his forehead.
Only one task remained.
Killing the priest.
Something he had done countless times before.
“Purity.”
Muttering the word silently, he opened his eyes as the sword blazed white.
Through the glowing blade, shadows of countless formless beings crept toward him.
Unwavering, Aslan pointed the sword at them.
