The human with vivid red hair, unlike the shade called ginger on Earth, stood in a bright crimson dress. Contrasting her striking appearance, dozens of dismembered corpses lay scattered at her feet.
The mine tunnel grew damp with spilling blood, spreading across the ground. Aslan’s boots were soaked in the widening pool of blood.
The scene was a thorough massacre, and Aslan merely glanced at it before turning his gaze to Phey, who remained spotless despite the carnage around them.
Certainly, Phey had been hunting down over dozens of bandits even before entering this tunnel. They would have fought through the forest, perhaps launching ambushes when they could corner their targets.
Despite all that combat, not a speck of dirt marred the elf standing before Aslan.
There was a reason for this cleanliness, though Aslan found himself newly intrigued by the peculiarity of his companion after seven years apart.
Elves’ clothing rarely ever got dirty.
If it did, it wasn’t due to anything the elf had done.
In fact, if an elf’s clothes became soiled, it was always because of someone else’s actions.
Sleep and food were unnecessary for elves.
They didn’t sweat or excrete waste, as there was no need for such bodily functions.
Elves were indeed living beings, belonging to the human species but were uniquely blessed by the ancient deity. By simply touching the earth with bare feet, they could draw upon its natural energy to sustain themselves. This allowed them to remain active indefinitely as long as they stood on solid ground.
This was also why elves preferred going barefoot.
For these reasons, Aslan wasn’t particularly surprised that Phey still wore the outfit he had last given her seven years ago. Though unusual, it wasn’t extraordinary enough to warrant surprise.
Even in battle, clothes could tear or get damaged, but Phey was Aslan’s disciple. Combining the stealth techniques taught by Aslan with her innate subtlety, Phey could fight without taking damage. Hence, her attire remained pristine.
As Aslan looked at Phey, memories of eight years ago surfaced—when he happened upon the Vida Kingdom’s territory, subdued a slave merchant, and rescued Phey.
At that time, Phey’s eyes were mechanical, devoid of emotion.
Intrigued by Phey’s seemingly detached demeanor, Aslan decided to take her under his wing to cultivate a warrior elf.
Within a year, Phey had regained her elven qualities while concealing a sharp edge beneath.
Holding a blood-drenched sword, Phey stared blankly at Aslan, who had been gazing at her absently. With a flick of her wrist, she shook off the blood.
Thick droplets splattered the ground.
“Aslan?”
“Ah, yeah. I’ve missed seeing you too.”
“Hehehe, me too! It’s so nice to see you again!”
The elf girl smiled brightly, her cheerful expression reminiscent of a young child’s innocence. Angie, standing behind, felt a sense of unease.
“So, how have you been?”
“Not great. There was no Aslan to share meals with when I found something delicious!”
Swinging her arms animatedly, Phey spoke with pure sincerity. Aslan, touched by her candor, softly apologized. Smiling faintly, Phey returned her twin short swords to their sheaths at the back of her dress.
“It’s okay! I forgive you!”
“Thank you.”
“If you’re thankful, tell me how you’ve been!”
Aslan chuckled at her request and began recounting trivial tales: which cities he visited, what foods he ate. Most of it was casual chatter about mundane things like discovering tasty crabs in the city of mages or finding decent alcohol in Hatun despite the mediocre food.
As they exchanged stories, Angie caught Ereta’s eye, who tilted her head slightly and shrugged.
“Did you attack the Briar Thorns Mercenary Group and rescue the elves?”
“Yes, it was me! I told my friends to return home through the forest!”
“That’s good. Likely, there won’t be any more slavers nearby, so they should be safe.”
Aslan asked Phey, who responded affirmatively. Aslan deduced that every slaver in the vicinity must have already fallen to Phey and her bloodthirsty sword.
“That’s right! I waited until I could kill them all to prevent my friends from being captured again. Did I do well?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Then praise me and pat me!”
Her whining sounded childlike. Aslan smiled and beckoned her forward. Phey approached through the bloody trail and embraced him tightly. Her cheek rested gently against his chest, her hair swaying softly.
Aslan tenderly stroked her hair, recalling their past. Satisfied with the moment, Phey smiled.
After receiving a prolonged pat, Phey lifted her face from Aslan’s chest and leaned closer. Her head tilted dramatically, causing her hair to drape to one side, leaving only her face visible above her shoulder.
Though seemingly cute, her eyes were desolate.
“Who are they?”
More than desolate, her gaze was chilling. No emotion stirred in her azure eyes, and her unwavering stare was eerily lifeless.
The instant Angie saw those eyes, she realized something.
Elves were known as a pure race, yet for an elf to fight, they must possess an intensity akin to this.
Ereta seemed to share similar thoughts, muttering something about mastery of the blade. When Angie tried to glance at her, Ereta spoke up.
“My name is Ereta. I’m a master of blunt weapons and Aslan’s comrade.”
It took Angie a moment to realize it was her turn to introduce herself.
“I’m… Angie. Just call me Angie. I’m a rider of the Ancient Deity. Uh… You might understand what that means. If not, ask Aslan. I’m terrible at explaining things.”
Scratching her head awkwardly, Angie’s introduction was closer to a mere exchange of names rather than a proper self-presentation. Yet, Phey’s emotionless gaze softened as it turned to them and then pivoted back to Aslan.
“A friend?”
“Yes, a friend. And valuable allies who will fight for me.”
“Is that so?”
When Phey’s gaze swung back to Angie and Ereta, it carried a warm sense of goodwill.
“So, you’re Eri!”
“Huh?”
“And you’re Angge!”
“What?”
“Nicknames! Since you’re Aslan’s friend, you’re my friend too, so let’s be friends!”
Caught off guard by the sudden nicknames, Angie and Ereta watched as Phey emerged from behind Aslan and approached them with light, bouncy steps. She grabbed their hands and shook them enthusiastically.
“Heehee, nice to meet you!”
Angie, shaking hands involuntarily, noticed the coldness in Phey’s eyes from earlier was gone.
That unsettling and piercing gaze was oddly familiar to Angie. After some thought, she realized it resembled Aslan’s expression when he glanced down with malice.
But they weren’t quite the same.
Like an animal sensing danger and instinctively avoiding it, Angie’s intuition pinpointed the difference.
The origin of the malice differed.
Aslan’s malice was forced, artificial, and somewhat disdained by himself, whereas Phey’s was innate—like a small predator born with it.
And she didn’t seem overly concerned about it.
‘Another crazy woman? Damn.’
Tensed from pretending to be strong, Angie recalled her recent battle with Dimitri.
A fight where Angie couldn’t discern the exchange of skills.
Even the former Swordmaster Dimitri was formidable, so an elf who surpassed him to become a Swordmaster could behave this way.
‘Are all masters just lunatics?’
Both Ereta and Phey seemed odd, and even Dimitri fit the pattern. Angie thought none of them were entirely sane.
Aslan, observing his comrades exchanging pleasantries, turned away. He rummaged through the dead body of Torek, retrieving the heavy money pouch he had once given him. Clutching the pouch, Aslan raised his eyes to follow the long trail of blood leading to Dimitri’s corpse.
Unlike Torek, whose death was clean, Dimitri’s body was missing everything above the jawline, cleanly severed.
Though there was no other choice, Aslan felt a twinge of regret and guilt upon seeing the remains.
Dimitri had been a farmer.
An ordinary farmer among grateful villagers after Aslan had defeated a priest and saved them. Dimitri had expressed a desire to grow stronger and asked to be taken along, but Aslan refused. Still, Dimitri followed, learning swordsmanship by watching over Aslan’s shoulder.
Despite learning passively, Dimitri wielded impressive sword skills, a testament to his overwhelming talent.
Such a talented individual would have been invaluable in the impending battle against the evil deity. But with infection by bloodthirsty parasites, there was no other option but death.
Regretful and weary, Aslan felt a growing sense of futility with each familiar face lost. His repeated use of equalization and exhaustion of spirit left him physically drained. Despite the muscle fatigue, Aslan made no outward sign of it.
“Are you tired, Aslan?”
It wasn’t strange for Aslan to emit a soft hum in response to the unexpected voice. He hadn’t revealed much, but apparently, he had.
With a faint hint of surprise, Aslan turned to find Phey tilting her head, her curly red hair cascading down.
Neither Ereta nor Angie seemed to notice anything amiss. Thus, it was clear Aslan hadn’t betrayed any signs of fatigue.
Therefore, he could dismiss it. Shaking his head, Aslan replied.
“No, just…”
“Liar!”
Phey grinned and approached. Aslan resisted half-heartedly as Phey grabbed his hand and pulled him along. He wasn’t cruel enough to shake off a comrade’s concern.
Emerging outside, sunlight filtered through the scattered bodies, most infected by bloodthirsty parasites, though some were not.
Passing by the corpses, they stopped beneath a tree. Phey halted Aslan there and smiled.
“Rest here! I’ll handle the rest!”
Aslan couldn’t fault her care. He wasn’t twisted enough to scold someone worried about him.
“How did you know?”
Upon Aslan’s question, Phey tilted her head first one way, then the other. She didn’t appear deep in thought. Rather, it was the action of an elf aware of her own charm.
“You look more tired than seven years ago, and your complexion isn’t good either?”
Aslan’s lips curled slightly at the straightforward answer, out of curiosity rather than offense.
“Do you remember seven years ago? Just from expressions?”
“Isn’t it strange to forget?”
Phey tapped her finger against her lips, eyes wide with apparent confusion.
“I haven’t forgotten anything about Aslan!”
She smiled sweetly. That purity, the feigned innocence shown solely to Aslan, was a rare treat.
Angie and Ereta, observing this, realized the unsettling and emotionless Phey acted differently only around Aslan.
Clearly, Phey opened up exclusively to Aslan, feigning behavior to please him. Cunning though it seemed, her intentions appeared genuine.
“Rest if you’re tired! I’ll give you a prize for working hard. Knee pillow!”
“Knee pillow…?”
Though Aslan internally deemed it fetishistic, Phey insisted stubbornly on offering her knee as a pillow. He figured she must have picked it up from a tavern somewhere.
Still, the offer wasn’t bad. Rest was genuinely needed, and the knee pillow was merely an additional element. So, he didn’t mind. One shouldn’t spit on kindness.
The problem was the size difference between Phey and Aslan.
Pey was excessively ‘elfin,’ lacking sufficient surface area. Her legs were too thin and short to support Aslan’s head comfortably.
Realizing this belatedly, Phey displayed a rare look of confusion before averting her gaze. Spotting a suitable candidate, she turned.
“Eri, can you substitute for me and offer Aslan your knee pillow?”
“Uh? It’s fine, but is it alright?”
The question was directed at Aslan, who thought there was nothing inherently wrong with it. Though feeling somewhat awkward, it was better to just rest quietly since Phey wouldn’t listen anyway.
“I’ll protect you, so relax and rest deeply!”
Before Aslan could respond, Phey declared it settled. Looking to Ereta for confirmation, Aslan quietly shifted his gaze when she spoke.
“Phey is right, Aslan. You need rest. Your scars are admirable, and you’re most captivating when injured, but rest is still necessary. Even when I was a priest, I wasn’t as reckless.”
Following Ereta’s words, her delicate fingers lightly grazed Aslan’s eye, causing him to flinch. Pushing him down gently, Ereta ensured there was no hostility or lewdness in her actions, so Aslan didn’t resist.
Lying down, Aslan felt the softness of Ereta’s thighs beneath his head. Their eyes met briefly as he rested there.
“Aslan’s scars are impressive, and you’re most alluring when injured, but rest is essential. Even when I was a priest, I wasn’t as reckless.”
Aslan agreed, acknowledging that fighting priests sometimes required sacrifices for the goal.
Though agreeing, Ereta didn’t harshly criticize but instead gently stroked Aslan’s forehead, insisting he rest.
The touch was unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and Aslan didn’t push her hand away.
Instead, he glanced around uncomfortably. The area was littered with corpses, including Dimitri’s remains.
“Thank you for worrying, but it might be better to bury my old friend first before resting.”
Rising from Ereta’s thigh, Aslan added,
“Meditation will suffice. Still, thanks for worrying.”
Smiling faintly, he brushed himself off and stood, intending to bury Dimitri.
The final obstacle came from Angie, who had already hoisted the corpse onto her shoulders.
Carrying the body to a corner and piling it aside, Angie dusted her hands and said,
“I can move and bury the bodies alone. You rest. I’ll make sure the rest are buried properly.”
Impressed by her determination, Aslan involuntarily conceded,
“…Alright, I’ll leave it to you.”
Satisfied with his response, Angie nodded and glanced around. Her eyes lingered on something in the corner, and her face reddened.
“Still, lying on Ereta’s thigh seems a bit indecent. She’s not wearing anything underneath, and her stamina is weak; she probably can’t support someone for long.”
“That’s unfair~”
Ignoring Ereta’s protest, Angie bit her lip and continued,
“Rest until I return from burying the bodies. Then, I’ll offer you my knee pillow.”
“Meditation is enough…”
Regardless of whether knee pillows had become essential for rest, Aslan sheepishly smiled, indicating it wasn’t necessary.
“Aah, stop being difficult! If I say I’ll do it, just accept it!”
Flustered, Angie shouted and stomped off toward the mine tunnel filled with corpses.
Watching her retreating figure, Aslan wore a bewildered expression. Meanwhile, Phey squatted and observed the group for a while before laughing.
“Super popular!”
Aslan chuckled bitterly.
*
Aslan woke up without experiencing nightmares, a rare occurrence. Perhaps it was due to the complete depletion of his spirit.
Sleeping without nightmares was special for Aslan, allowing him to regain clarity immediately upon waking.
“Hello.”
Aslan was resting his head on Angie’s knees under an already darkened sky. Nearby, Phey crouched silently watching him, while Ereta and Angie were wrapped in blankets, leaning against a tree and sleeping soundly.
Aslan sat up, covering the still-sleeping Angie with a blanket, and asked,
“How long was I asleep?”
Since elves don’t require sleep, Phey must have been keeping watch. In this forest, no beast or monster could sneak past Phey’s vigilance, especially with all the bloodthirsty creatures either killed or driven away.
Thus, Aslan retrieved Dimtri’s cherished bloodthirsty sword, Rutile, and a dagger from the ground, attaching them to his waist without any tension.
“About half a day?”
“Hmm, half a day.”
Phey tilted her head in thought while answering, and Aslan repeated it, marveling at the rarity of such a long, dreamless sleep. It wasn’t unpleasant.
Aslan sighed, lightly brushing Angie’s hair as she muttered something in her sleep and buried her nose deeper into the blanket.
Phey observed Aslan’s actions for a while before asking,
“Do you two get along well?”
Aslan answered slowly,
“Yes.”
Phey tilted her head slightly, looking up at Aslan with a hint of indifference in her azure eyes.
“Better than me?”
Aslan hesitated to answer, needing to deliberate. After pondering, he responded,
“Angie and I have known each other for less than half a year. On the other hand, Phey, you and I traveled together for a whole year, overcoming countless dangers side by side.”
“Uh-huh, that’s right.”
“The bond as comrades is deeper with you.”
“Hehe.”
Phey smiled brightly. Aslan added,
“But that doesn’t mean the bonds formed with Ereta and Angie are insufficient.”
Phey continued to smile as Aslan went on,
“Angie clearly admires and respects me. I consider her part of our shared destiny moving forward. Perhaps Angie sees me as a fatherly figure.”
His gaze landed on Angie, who slept peacefully, breathing evenly.
“Ereta finds me very unique and intriguing, despite her own masochistic tendencies. That interest resembles trust, and I trust her interest.”
At this, Phey snorted, commenting on Ereta’s discernment before falling silent. She didn’t press for conclusions, understanding that although their camaraderie was deeper with Phey, Aslan didn’t intend to rank them.
Thus, they enjoyed a brief, comfortable silence. The intended quiet was peaceful rather than uncomfortable. Aslan gazed up at the sky in tranquil repose.
The colors of the universe flowed like streams. Somewhere beyond, perhaps the evil deity lurked.
Aslan had left Phey behind partly because he doubted he could endure losing her. In truth, he had abandoned her, despite knowing how much she cared for him.
The guilt prompted him to speak.
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone all this time.”
Phey smiled broadly and replied,
“It’s fine!”
Her immediate response was followed by the sight of her wiggling her toes playfully. After playing with her feet for a while, Phey reached out and firmly grasped Aslan’s hand.
“I waited, and I found that I liked it even more, so it’s all fine!”
Her smiling face, the slightly upward glance, the trust and goodwill in her azure eyes moved Aslan, stirring a faint pang of guilt. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—was he using his friends for victory?
On the other hand, watching the transformed Phey brought a mix of emotions. The initially calm and emotionless Phey was gone. Aslan hoped that if he could change one broken elf, perhaps he could change the world too.
“Thank you.”
Thus, Aslan expressed his gratitude. Phey accepted it quietly, smiling without further questions. Chuckling softly, she fidgeted with Aslan’s hand and asked,
“What are we doing next? I heard a little from Eri and Angge—are we returning to the Helsing Earldom?”
“And what about you and the duke?”
Shaking his head, Aslan replied,
“No.”
“Huh?”
“To the Mountain Kingdom.”
Phey tilted her head in confusion.
“Are you lying to me?”
Aslan shook his head again.
“I just… didn’t mention it. It wasn’t planned from the start.”
Aslan believed traveling to the Mountain Kingdom was better than performing the main quest in the Helsing Earldom. The earldom couldn’t withstand another priest attack. Therefore, he changed his plans, known only to Aslan and Phey for now.
“Oh, so only Phey knows?”
Realizing this, Phey covered her mouth and giggled mischievously, her laughter carrying a playful naughtiness.
“So, Phey is the best, right?”
“Yeah, Phey is the best.”
Aslan answered, stroking her head. Phey seemed delighted by the gesture and kept smiling.
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