Elves are a race favored by nature.
It wasn’t just an empty claim; they truly were a race blessed by the grace of nature.
As long as they touched the ground, they would never starve, receiving nourishment directly from the earth to sustain their activities. Moreover, monsters and wild animals living in nature did not harm them.
The most notable aspect of this natural grace was their stealth ability. Dense foliage and ancient trees erased their presence and movements, making it nearly impossible to find elves hidden within the forest.
Even Aslan found it difficult to locate a concealed elf when determined to do so. And Phey was no ordinary elf.
Phey was Aslan’s first disciple, the only elf in this world capable of fighting, and an elf unafraid of blood and death.
Aslan taught his first companion everything he could. It was only natural that an already skilled elf in stealth transformed into something undetectable.
This was why Aslan wanted to ostensibly join the slave merchants. Since even Aslan couldn’t find Phey if she chose to hide, joining the merchants seemed like a viable plan.
Time apart had been long—seven years wasn’t a short span, even for an immortal race. Perhaps Phey wouldn’t recognize Aslan, and even if she did, there was no guarantee she would reveal herself immediately.
Aslan wished to be confident but avoided overconfidence. Caution was a virtue of survivors, and Aslan was the greatest survivor in the world.
Thus, the plan flowed naturally in one direction. Anticipating Phey’s actions, Aslan decided to join the slave merchants initially.
Though he anticipated difficulties, when had anything ever been easy? Shaking off his thoughts, Aslan entered the edge of the abandoned village.
“Aslan, the guide is running away.”
“Huh, what… look at that?”
At that moment, the bandits who had been guiding them smoothly suddenly changed demeanor and rushed into the village. Despite Ereta and Angie reacting, Aslan barely moved a muscle, shaking his head slightly.
In fact, despite being able to throw a dagger to stop them immediately, Aslan didn’t intervene. He simply leaned with a sly posture.
That composure wasn’t exclusive to Aslan. An unnamed Elven Girl watched the fleeing figures while checking Aslan’s reactions, and Angie sneered with a wry expression.
Ereta already had two weapons spinning in her hands when people began flooding in from the direction the bandit had run.
They all looked disheveled. From those with bandaged heads to others missing arms, they were diverse in injuries, and regardless of these wounds, their clothes were stained with grime.
Among them, the man who appeared relatively decent and less dirty approached Aslan with a large hammer slung over his shoulder. Aslan observed him calmly.
Clearly, this man was the leader of the slave merchants. The leader spat thick saliva onto the ground and spoke.
“So, you’re looking for investment?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have money to invest?”
While saying this and rolling his eyes, the leader slowly scrutinized Aslan.
One arm was missing, and the quilted armor and clothing draped over his body were ragged. The deeply stained blood attested to many hard-fought battles and revealed Aslan’s fatigue.
“Looks like you don’t even have anything.”
The leader grinned. In response to that unpleasant gaze, Aslan pulled out a pouch of gold coins he had received as an advance payment from his waist.
Naturally, the man’s eyes followed the pouch.
The sound of clinking coins made the man’s expression stiffen momentarily before relaxing again, accompanied by a cunning smile. He must have realized that even if the pouch contained silver or copper coins, it would still represent a decent income.
“The coins are mixed with silver and copper, but are you unwilling to accept them?”
“Well… money is money. If you give it, I’ll take it.”
A subtle glance shifted. Aslan noticed the gaze sliding past Ereta toward Angie, where lust flickered. Angie frowned, and the man licked his lips as he spoke.
“Is there really a need to take it?”
As if using that statement as a signal, the slave merchants behind the man moved. They formed a circle and drew their weapons. Aslan glanced down, sighed, and returned the pouch to his waist.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just kill you and take it? We’re starving anyway. Several ways. Your corpse will hang outside as food for the monsters, and we’ll just take the woman and the money. What do you think about that, handsome?”
Aslan softly pleaded as he reached for his waist.
“Can’t we resolve this without fighting?”
“That might be possible. If you just die on your own.”
“Even if I’m known as a veteran warrior, would it matter?”
The title “Veteran Warrior” was unknown to no Geladridion. But despite the reputation, Aslan, marked with evident signs of injury, appeared to be an easy target.
The bandit hesitated for a moment before laughing.
“Then, if I kill you, does that make me a veteran warrior too? That sounds good.”
Aslan lowered his gaze solemnly. At that moment, he removed his hand from his waist and extended it backward. Ereta, who had been ready to throw the axe in her hand, stopped.
Without turning around, Aslan spoke.
“If you kill me, then yes. Fine, I understand. Do as you wish.”
Aslan softly declared and slowly moved forward as if taking a leisurely stroll. His hand moved toward his waist slowly.
Though the movement was clearly slow, there was something captivating in it. Something that made the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand up and instinctively caused a gulp.
The moment the realization struck that this was the killing intent harbored by the Veteran Warrior, Aslan crouched down.
Survival instincts triggered an alarm. The leader reflexively raised his weapon to block.
Aslan moved. The distance was 3 meters. There was certainly enough space, yet Aslan’s body moved faster than expected.
The acceleration was not something that could be associated with someone missing an arm.
By relaxing his knees to lower his stance and maintaining eye contact, he lunged forward, pushing off the ground. Amidst the rising dust, Aslan swung his flail diagonally upward.
The bandit leader felt death approaching. Four chunks of heavy metal painted deep green hurtled toward him at an invisible speed, feeling like unavoidable death. Unaware that he was already dead, his jaw to the crown of his head would soon be split open.
Had someone not intervened.
The sound of chains intertwining with metal echoed sharply. Aslan paused briefly upon realizing his flail had been blocked and turned to see who had done it.
A man with a somewhat sinister appearance, hollow eye sockets, a high nose bridge, scruffy beard, and short hair extending down to his neck.
He looked to be in his early forties.
Aslan recognized the man.
And the man also recognized Aslan.
Withdrawing his flail with a jingling sound, Aslan returned it to his waist.
“…Dimitri?”
“Aslan.”
And that sinister-looking man smiled eerily. This man, who at first glance seemed like a serial killer, was someone Aslan knew all too well.
The Former Master of Swords.
Someone who had fought alongside Aslan in the past and against him several times.
A renowned mercenary.
Dimitri.
Aslan recalled the words spoken by the captured bandits while observing the crowd.
“Skillful guards” undoubtedly referred to Dimitri.
“Dimitri! Why did you come so late? I thought I was going to die…”
“Aha, didn’t I save you just in time? Then shut up already.”
The leader of the bandit and slave merchant group yelled, and Dimitri pushed him away with an exasperated expression. The pushed man staggered backward.
“Besides, I was busy killing monsters until just now. How can you talk nonsense when without me, you wouldn’t survive a day in Randy Canyon?”
Dimitri chuckled subtly while delivering a veiled insult, causing the leader’s face to redden as he trembled silently, unable to retort.
“Moreover, if you picked a fight with the Veteran Warrior without recognizing him, dying would’ve been your fault. Right, Aslan?”
“Don’t act like we’re close.”
“Acting close? You know me well, don’t you?”
“…Right.”
Aslan knew Dimitri well.
Like the crimson longsword in Dimitri’s hand, he carried the nickname “Crimson Blade,” though it wasn’t merely because his sword was red.
“Then, are you here to beat me up?”
Dimitri was a battle maniac.
“It would be nice if I were.”
And a pretty serious one at that.
Aslan had fought Dimitri eight times, knocking him unconscious each time to avoid further conflict. Despite losing eight times, Dimitri challenged him again every time, citing the reason that Aslan hadn’t killed him.
Moreover, Dimitri’s blind challenge wasn’t directed solely at Aslan. Whenever he encountered someone remotely interesting, he would provoke a fight. Due to this, the number of people who died was not insignificant, earning him the name “Crimson Blade.”
Aslan glanced at the monster’s blood-soaked blade and said,
“No, I came here to invest.”
“Invest?”
“Yeah, I heard you’re transporting elven slaves and seem to be encountering some trouble.”
Dimitri remained silent with a lackadaisical expression, and Aslan continued, ignoring the expression.
“I’ll help resolve the issue, lend you funds and manpower, and in return, I’d like my share. Isn’t it a good deal?”
The middle-aged man scratched his beard absentmindedly and glanced backward.
“Hey, boss. Go away. Adults need to talk.”
“What, wha—”
“Don’t make me say it twice. Do you want to lose another arm like this guy?”
“…You, you damn bastard…”
With a clicking sound, the leader retreated under Dimitri’s watchful eye. Dimitri similarly intimidated the other bandits guarding the area, causing them to withdraw.
Watching the bandits disappear into the abandoned village, Dimitri spoke with a bored expression.
“Alright, now that everyone’s gone, tell me the truth.”
“Didn’t you just hear it?”
“Aslan, Aslan, my friend… You’re great at fighting and everything, but your tongue is too long… People who know you well know you’re not like that.”
The middle-aged man chuckled softly. Aslan stared at him with half-lidded eyes.
“Fine, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Knowing that I’ve noticed and that I expect something from you is enough. Right? If you didn’t want to say it, you wouldn’t have, right?”
Dimitri wiped the smirk off his face and spoke with an expression burning with malice and determination.
“There’s only one thing I want. To fight you this time until death.”
Aslan sighed.
Listening to those words, one might think he’s suicidal, but that wasn’t the case.
Perhaps sensing his confusion, Angie, who had been watching silently from behind Aslan, spoke up.
“Uncle, are you trying to die? You’ll definitely lose if you fight Aslan…”
“Who knows?! Maybe I’ll get lucky, and this guy will falter and get beaten! After that, I’ll become stronger.”
Dimitri’s warlike smile. Aslan frowned uncomfortably at the sight.
“You don’t care if it’s me or that arrogant elf who took my place. She’s nearby, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you think I’m stupid? Where else would such a beast fighter exist? This isn’t South Continent either, you know.”
Dimitri’s eerie smile spread across his face as he shook off the blood from his sword, splattering droplets onto the ground—definitely monster blood.
“Unless you learned from someone like Budonggong in Liam of the South Continent or similar types, there’s no way you could fight like that. Am I right?”
Aslan remained silent with a prickly expression, effectively agreeing. The fact that Aslan was Budonggong’s disciple was common knowledge among those who knew.
After observing Aslan silently for a while, Dimitri spoke.
“Considering your current condition doesn’t seem perfect and you seem to be after something, let me ask: Whatever it is you’re pursuing, wouldn’t it be simpler if I just kept quiet about it? The simplest solution would be to kill me in a duel, wouldn’t it? Though, of course, you might die instead…”
“This time, you’ll really die.”
Interrupting Dimitri’s aggressive speech, Aslan looked at him with an expression of reluctance. It was the look of someone who did not enjoy killing.
Dimitri marveled at how someone who detested killing could be so strong and considered it a mystery worth uncovering. He was a seeker of violence.
“If I die, that’s all there is to it. You were stronger. But you might lose and die too, right? Then I would be the stronger one.”
Aslan didn’t respond, and Dimitri met his eyes with bright brown ones.
“Win or lose doesn’t matter, my friend. I just want to see your sword. I just want to know how you became so strong.”
Feeling the intense killing intent, Aslan replied.
“I’ll consider it.”
“Consideration isn’t enough. Look at them, they’re already worn out and exhausted. Their patience has bottomed out. Whatever you’re planning, to minimize variables, it would be wise to accept before things escalate, wouldn’t it?”
Aslan thought the advice was sound. Since Aslan couldn’t go to Phey, the only method was to make Phey come to him.
And Aslan believed there was only one way to make Phey come.
For that single method, Aslan wasn’t sure if he should accept this request. A life-or-death duel until death—a meaningless and barbaric killing that Aslan didn’t particularly enjoy. Even during his 12 years of wandering, he couldn’t develop a fondness for fighting.
Swinging a weapon only to survive. Aslan didn’t see this as part of survival.
But the lack of options was undeniable. Just as Aslan was contemplating this, someone came running from the direction of the abandoned village.
The leader of the slave merchants and bandits.
“Dimitri! Dimitri!”
“Oh, what is it? Did something unexpected happen?”
“Yeah, you damn bastard! What else could it be! What else could you possibly need besides that! Hurry up and stop that damn monster kid!”
Dimitri licked his lips and grinned mockingly.
“We must heed our employer’s words. Let’s handle the job first… Aslan, are you coming along? You mentioned investing, didn’t you? We need to make a good impression on that fatso, right?”
Aslan looked at the smirking Dimitri and drew his flail from his waist.
“Let’s go.”
