“Please don’t hurt me.”
A soft-spoken voice. Aslan met the speaker’s pink eyes, reading the flicker of emotion within them. As the emotion in those eyes gradually shifted in hue, it became clear—it was anticipation.
The blatant expectation and the gentle satisfaction that came from their gaze meeting. As Ereta perceived these things, she smiled faintly.
“Heartless words.”
“Hmm? I don’t like pain.”
“There’s no way that’s true.”
Despite her apparent denial, Ereta couldn’t hide her anticipation. In fact, her face was slightly flushed with what seemed like excitement.
Instead of concealing it, Ereta looked at Aslan’s left hand.
“Will you be okay using just your left hand?”
“Is there any reason I wouldn’t be? If I do it, it’ll work. Why ask?”
“You seem right-handed.”
“I am right-handed. Still… stitching up a wound isn’t impossible if I put some effort into it.”
Aslan said this while lightly tracing the exposed abdomen of Ereta with his left hand.
It was soft, untoned skin and muscle, much like a human’s.
“If you were a priest or Angie, it would’ve been too much, but since you’re just human, it shouldn’t be difficult.”
At the sound of her name being called, Angie, who was sleeping soundly by the campfire, muttered something in her sleep.
Aslan glanced briefly at Angie, and Ereta followed his gaze before speaking.
“A priest or Angie wouldn’t have needed stitches in the first place.”
“That’s correct.”
Since Aslan readily agreed, Ereta closed her mouth but began to breathe unevenly as his touch lingered on her skin.
There was an odd sense of excitement.
“It feels strange when you touch me.”
“Does it?”
“Yes, a little… it tickles inside.”
Saying this, Ereta pressed her thighs together. Aslan observed her movements silently before looking at her.
He wondered if she was trying to provoke him, but there was no such intention in Ereta’s demeanor. Rather, she appeared confused about why she was reacting this way.
If she wasn’t provoking him, did she really not know?
Aslan realized how close his hand was to her lower abdomen.
She wasn’t provoking him; she truly didn’t know. If someone else had acted this way, he might have suspected mischief, but Aslan believed it was possible with Ereta.
Ereta, who had lived her whole life in the church and served as a priestess, likely never received education about human reproduction or sexuality.
While pondering this, Aslan locked eyes with Ereta and noticed her perplexed expression.
‘She really doesn’t know.’
In a way, it was for the best. Aslan had grown tired of complications in relationships and didn’t want emotional entanglements clouding his judgment.
What he sought was victory and the foundation for more victories, so he decided to gloss over the moment.
“It’s a natural bodily reaction. There’s no need to worry too much. Skin contact often causes such sensations.”
“Is that so…? The human body is fascinating.”
There was a peculiar quality to the statement coming from a woman who had only recently become human. Aslan silently withdrew his hand and picked up the needle.
“I’ll try my best not to cause you pain, but it will hurt. It might help if you bite down on something.”
Ereta hesitated for a moment, then accepted the makeshift gag made from Aslan tearing her clothes and held it quietly.
Aslan wiped his hand, dampened by Ereta’s saliva, and threaded the needle.
“Don’t move.”
After that, the only sounds were stifled groans and cries echoing through the night. Aslan worked diligently, and despite having only one hand, he sewed the wound with incredible precision.
Tearing off bandages and threading the needle through the tear in her habit, he stitched up the wound. During this process, cold sweat trickled down Ereta’s forehead and cheeks, occasionally causing her to squirm under the wave of pain.
“Hmm.”
Seeing Ereta struggling to remain still, Aslan climbed on top of her.
Pressing her down with his body, their skin touched through their clothing, making Ereta shiver and flush strangely.
Aslan continued stitching the wound while maintaining this position. The long, careful stitching of the gash on the left side of her lower abdomen eventually concluded after several minutes.
Once finished, Ereta removed the gag from her mouth, panting heavily as she rubbed her thighs together.
During this motion, a wet, sticky sound could be heard, but Aslan deliberately ignored it.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, so I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but it went well. You’ve suffered enough.”
“Nngh…”
Ereta, breathing heavily, let out a sigh.
“By the way, I’ll remove the stitches in two weeks.”
“Will it hurt then?”
“No.”
Ereta openly expressed her regret, and Aslan stepped back with a bitter smile.
“Just rest for now. Once you’ve recovered a bit, we’ll move.”
“Okay…”
Ereta lay down peacefully in response, and Aslan stood up. Rising, he covered her exposed legs with a cloak. Not long after, Ereta fell asleep.
Ereta’s habit was barely holding together, and Aslan himself wore a quilted armor that was scorched and tattered.
His leather cuirass and plate armor were severely damaged during the fight and were no longer usable.
Thus, they both resembled beggars draped in rags.
Angie was in slightly better condition, but not by much. Even though she had fewer injuries and less damaged clothing, she too was clad in rags.
They had to leave Cardi hastily, leaving Aslan with lingering regret.
A modern habit hard to erase even after twelve years of wandering—his preference for decent clothing.
Aslan threw a few branches into the lit campfire and watched the swaying grasses in the wind.
They were in the Lordship of Werbeid, not far from Cardi.
More precisely, at the boundary between the desert and Randy Canyon, where sparse trees dotted the landscape.
The abundance of grass meant this area was teeming with wildlife.
This location had no specific name, and there were no nearby villages.
Only herbivores roamed freely.
There were no pursuers, and no trace of priests. However, they couldn’t let their guard down.
Aslan knew Randy Canyon well. Once home to several villages, it had become a wasteland due to the rampant monsters and ferocious beasts.
Smelling the stench carried by the wind, Aslan recalled rumors about Randy Canyon.
Stories of a king of monsters lurking behind the creatures, or the vengeance of a hunter unjustly driven out of a village. These tales were too implausible to take seriously, but he had gathered some useful information.
At the very least, the presence of many monsters was a fact.
Listening to the eerie wailing-like wind beyond the shifting shadows, ‘Qi’ warned Aslan. Someone was beyond that.
Aslan didn’t ignore this warning. He raised his otherwise relaxed left arm and drew the flail from his waist.
The four-headed green flail emitted a metallic sound as it extended.
Something emerged from the bushes farther away.
The thing that burst forth was small, roughly the size of a child. Its silhouette was obscured by the shadows, but its outline wasn’t large.
“Dwarf…? No, not quite. What is it?”
It wasn’t a dwarf. The mountain-dwelling, primitive, and unintelligent ainu race known as dwarves weren’t likely. Dwarves, as typically depicted in fantasy games, were stout, hostile, and tended to travel in groups.
Had it been a dwarf, they would have already unleashed a volley of slingshots from the bushes before showing themselves.
This solitary figure was thin and didn’t appear hostile. Their hands were empty.
There were monsters that took the form of children, but most were found in the southern continent. Unsure of what to make of it, Aslan kept his weapon drawn as the figure approached from the shadows.
“Wow, people! Hi!”
And greeted them innocently.
As the moon, hidden by clouds, peeked through, the shadow dissipated, revealing the person who had greeted them.
It appeared to be a child.
Even more ragged than Aslan, Angie, or Ereta, the child was wrapped in tattered rags.
The child’s body exhibited subtle curves, suggesting it identified as female.
Its eyes glowed green, and its hair was a brown bob cut haphazardly around shoulder length, looking greasy.
The most noticeable feature was at the bottom.
Broken shackles adorned bare feet.
Even with an innocent expression, the unmistakable symbol of slavery was evident.
Aslan realized what this barefoot, childlike figure with an indefinite lifespan and near-immortal body represented.
There was only one such race in the world.
The offspring of the god of nature and creation, both the most harmless and the least trustworthy race.
The race most frequently sold into slavery.
Elves.
But Aslan didn’t lower his weapon.
His ‘qi’ was reacting—not to the elf but to the bushes and shadows behind her.
Aslan understood the situation, and the elven girl smiled and spoke.
“My friends are watching and asked me to invite you over. Is that okay?”
“Friends.” At the mention of this word, the bushes behind her stirred slightly. An amateurish reaction.
Whoever had given the elf this task clearly wasn’t skilled.
So, subdue her and extract information.
Initially, Aslan intended to eliminate whoever emerged, but he changed his approach.
“Yeah, can you tell them to come out?”
Saying this, Aslan returned the flail to his waist.
The elf cheerfully nodded and turned around to shout.
“Come out!”
With a cheerful call, the bushes rustled, and two men stepped out.
They were clad in furs and carried crude weapons.
Walking out, they kicked the elf, who yelped weakly and rolled on the ground.
Watching them, Aslan anticipated what they were about to say.
“Shit… alright. I’m the fool for trusting an elf. Hey, one-armed cripple, just…”
“Hand over everything you have, leave the women, and get lost. Right?”
“Sharp kid. If you do that…”
“You’ll kill us afterward, won’t you?”
“…Hey, have you been robbed before? Or are you a partner?”
The man chuckled, and his companion was a bandit.
Taking advantage of the collapse of villages and the proliferation of monsters in Randy Canyon, they had established themselves in the void.
Aslan understood the situation immediately.
Even with an elf present, there was no need for further speculation.
“Say, I’ve never been a slave merchant.”
Aslan said coldly, and their faces broke into smirks.
“Ho ho, look at this one. Sharp as a tack but fearless.”
“Maybe he’s a partner. Bad luck for him, huh? Just come quietly. Then…”
“We’ll knock you out since you’re missing an arm anyway. Worthless piece of trash.”
As Aslan responded, the smirk faded from the bandit’s face. It bothered him that Aslan knew too much, so he forced himself to suppress his discomfort and moved aggressively.
“Hey, kid, stop cutting me off with all your smart talk. Are you desperate to die? Should I kill you right now?”
Approaching loudly to intimidate, he rested an axe on his shoulder, ready to swing it at any moment.
Seeing the axe positioned on his shoulder, Aslan sighed.
If only the man had pointed his weapon directly at him, they might have exchanged a proper blow.
“This is what I wanted to say.”
“What? Wha…”
Crack!
The bandit felt his vision shake momentarily.
Not only that, but his stomach churned, his eyes rolled back, and consciousness blurred. A beat later, excruciating pain hit him.
The sound of the collapsing bandit and part-time slave trader echoed as his companion’s eyes widened.
“Shit!”
That was a spinning kick.
A kick so fast it was hard to follow with the eyes.
The kick struck the bandit squarely on the jaw, and he crumpled to the ground.
The entire process was vividly visible to the other bandit, who sweated and thought.
He had messed with the wrong person.
But regret came too late, and the result was clear. When the unconscious bandits woke up, they found themselves tied up.
