Burning flames. As the red-hot iron glowed in the brazier made of iron, the woman sitting in front of it picked it up.
Chi-i-ik
She pushed the glowing hot iron into a metal jar placed right next to the brazier. Steam rose with smoke as the overheated iron cooled rapidly, and the rising steam turned green.
When the green steam filled the room, the woman silently pulled out the iron. The iron that was originally supposed to be red-hot and emitting heat was now dyed green.
What had soaked the iron in green was a metal called blue iron.
A metal with extremely high mana conductivity and not particularly harmful to the human body. A metal created by one of the ancient gods that once existed.
It was also the main material for magic tattoos and a metal that only came from the Varmanz Mountain Kingdom in the northern continent.
The woman carefully spread the melted green metal onto a metal plate. The pattern spreading widely on the plate resembled both burning flames and the roots of some tree.
Waiting for the blue iron spread on the metal to cool, the woman pressed the plate firmly onto the back of a man lying face down.
With a chi-ik sound, the smell of boiling and cooking flesh spread. Clenching his teeth and enduring the pain, the man finally sighed in relief when the metal plate was removed.
A strange tattoo that conducts mana had appeared on the man’s back.
“Thank you, Great Chief.”
“Hmm.”
The man whose tattoo was completed adjusted his breathing, stood up, wrapped himself in a wide-open coat, and went outside.
The woman watching his figure was a female covered in tattoos.
Tattoos climbed from both wrists up to her shoulders, and there were more tattoos hidden under her clothes on her chest and back.
Even around her blind right eye, a tattoo encircled it as if embracing it, making it clear that her entire body was densely covered in tattoos.
Yet, she had a wild charm despite the dense tattoos. Even though she appeared young, she carried an unusual dignity.
Her name was Frida.
Chief of the Crown Tribe and mistress of the Mountain Kingdom.
People called her the Queen of the Mountains.
Alone in the workshop, the Queen of the Mountains extinguished the fire in the brazier and pushed the remaining blue iron back into the jar.
While tidying up, the curtain was drawn aside, and someone entered.
“Your Majesty, a visitor has come.”
This person was dressed in a way uncommon in the mountain kingdom.
Clad in blue armor from head to toe, with a blue longsword at his waist, he looked more like someone from the empire than from the mountain kingdom.
After seeing the queen push the extinguished iron back into the brazier, the man spoke.
“This is a visitor Your Majesty knows.”
Frida’s unblinded left eye blinked as she turned it towards the foreign subordinate. Her eyes gleamed blue.
“Who?”
“The Veteran of Combat.”
As the knight answered, Frida frowned.
It was a familiar name, and also an unwelcome one. She decisively said,
“Tell him to go away.”
She tied a jacket loosely around her shirt, let down her bound hair, and clearly indicated she didn’t want to speak further.
But then the knight continued cautiously, “It seems… difficult to do so. The warriors reported that they received help with transferring the Desecrator of the Sacred Mountain.”
At the mention of the desecrator, Frida recalled the thunderous noise and destruction that occurred recently on the mountaintop. Her expression soured even more, and the knight waited respectfully for her response.
“Speak clearly.”
“They say the Desecrator of the Sacred Mountain is the Archer. Thus, our warriors sought help from the Veteran of Combat and promised an audience with Your Majesty…”
Seeing the knight’s seemingly cautious attitude, Frida sighed unhappily.
Since there was a promise, rejection was impossible. As the chief, she needed to honor the commitment of her kin. Moreover, it wasn’t an unreasonable pledge, so Frida nodded.
“Bring them in.”
*
Not long after entering Vershotov, Aslan met the warriors.
The warriors said the king commanded them to bring Aslan, and Aslan readily agreed without hesitation.
“It’s really all mountains here.”
During their deeper journey into Vershotov, Angie blurted out in response to the warrior’s guidance.
“That’s because it’s surrounded by mountains. They try to maintain its original form as much as possible since it’s considered sacred.”
Ereta responded to Angie while still rubbing her slightly reddened face.
“That’s correct. We built Vershotov while avoiding any harm to the Sacred Mountain. We depend on the mountain’s grace but avoid angering it.”
Leading this group from the front was a knight clad in blue armor.
His face was hidden behind a lowered visor, but all the metal covering his body gleamed blue.
Aslan quietly observed the knight’s armor and weapons before speaking.
“You don’t seem entirely native to these mountains. Are you from the city of wizards?”
At Aslan’s question, the knight walking ahead hesitated momentarily.
“Haha… You truly are the Veteran of Combat. Yes, I am from the city of wizards. I’m an outsider.”
“Outsider.”
That’s what the people living in the mountains called those from outside the Varmanz Mountain Kingdom.
“But how did you know?”
“If you’re wearing armor made of blue iron, it’s obvious—you’re either a Greenkin or a wizard.”
“It’s both, actually.”
The knight chuckled awkwardly, lifting his visor, revealing green-tinged skin and unusually long ears.
Though his skin hinted at the typical fantasy orc with green undertones, he exuded an intellectual rather than barbaric aura.
In reality, there was no other way.
From Aslan’s knowledge, among all the Ain races, the Greenskins achieved the highest cultural development.
During the time of the ancient gods, the Greenskins were the masters of the ancient empire and rulers of the world.
Even now, in the southern continent, they claim to be descendants of that empire, maintaining their status even after the fall of the ancient gods.
Their most notable feature was the increased lifespan and enhanced physical abilities stemming from their high mana capacity.
Only then did Aslan understand the extreme impracticality of crafting armor from blue iron—it was made because it could be used.
“Green! How fascinating!”
As Pay laughed cheerfully, Angie stared wide-eyed at the Greenskin for the first time, while Ereta simply observed Aslan’s expression without much reaction.
Among the various reactions, the Greenskin knight smiled kindly at Pay.
To them, the term “green” was not derogatory.
It was the last cry of those who feared the ancient empire.
So, he smiled faintly and lowered his visor again.
“…However, you didn’t come to talk to someone like me, did you? His Majesty awaits you. Please, come inside.”
The knight, with an aristocratic demeanor, bowed as he opened the door. Aslan stepped inside, imprinting the Greenskin in his mind. The varied strides and footfalls of the group following him echoed differently.
As Aslan entered the grand hall, the wind swept through as the doors closed behind him, fluttering his cloak.
Beyond the fluttering cloak edges, a woman sat on a throne.
The throne, made of beast bones and hides, featured what seemed like the skull of a colossal monster adorning the top of the backrest.
Upon seeing the woman, Aslan immediately knelt briefly on one knee in greeting.
“It’s been a while.”
“Hmm.”
While the rest of the group stood dumbfounded, Aslan abruptly stood up after paying his respects. Though it might have seemed disrespectful, Frida did not scold him, nor did Aslan expect her to.
“Why have you come to see me?”
The casual toss of words. Along with the seeming disinterest in Aslan, a beast emerged from behind the woman’s throne.
Resembling a bear but with a wolf-like long tail and large body, the beast bared its teeth upon seeing Aslan.
It wasn’t a welcoming gesture. It seemed more like it had been brought out reluctantly and strongly disliked Aslan. Even the question of why he had come felt less like an inquiry and more like a reprimand.
This atmosphere was incomprehensible to Angie.
Aslan was the Veteran of Combat, highly regarded even by priests. Such treatment seemed odd.
And it wasn’t just Angie who thought so; Ereta also watched Aslan with pink eyes tinged with suspicion.
Frida was evidently not friendly toward Aslan. That much was clear to anyone.
The group didn’t know the reason, but Aslan and Frida did.
Thus, Aslan accepted the animosity as something unavoidable.
Confused about the situation, the group exchanged glances until Angie scratched her head and asked,
“Ah, geez, what’s going on here? Do you two know each other? Why is she acting like this?”
At Angie’s question, Frida gestured to the beast. The creature resembling a mix between a bear and a wolf settled beside the throne and growled softly at her command.
“I’ll tell you.”
As Frida stroked the beast’s fur, the group finally turned their attention to her.
“That guy over there was chosen by my father to be the successor, bypassing me. But he threw away that opportunity and ran away. He even refused my duel challenge.”
Aslan merely smiled without comment, and Frida crossed her legs before continuing.
“I needed to defeat him to reclaim my rightful place. Even if I lost, I was prepared to accept it gracefully. But that damn coward ignored the Great Chief’s order and fled.”
“Great Chief? Is this not about being the Great Chief?”
Ereta interrupted, puzzled by the statement, prompting a derisive laugh from Frida.
“The position of Great Chief is passed down through bloodlines. Could an outsider like him ever become the Great Chief? Of course not. What I’m talking about isn’t the position of Great Chief.”
A position so significant that even a king of a nation would pale in comparison. Sensing this implication, Ereta frowned, while Aslan smiled faintly and responded.
“I have no interest in such a position.”
“Is that your answer, disregarding the lessons of courtesy, manners, fighting techniques, and survival taught by the master who raised you?”
“Yes, even Master approved of my decision.”
Frida snorted and gripped the armrest of her throne, while Ereta frowned at the sight.
Something about Frida’s expression seemed oddly familiar to Ereta.
This familiarity didn’t stem from having seen her before but rather from having seen someone similar.
After some contemplation, Ereta suddenly widened her eyes as she recalled someone.
‘The Immovable Warrior.’
The previous generation’s Veteran of Combat and currently one of the few standing against the Abyss in the southern continent—Astak.
He was the former king of Varmanz and Frida’s father.
Recalling this, Ereta looked at Aslan.
‘Master.’
Thinking of this title, Aslan’s posture caught her attention again.
Holding two weapons and standing firmly, his stance mirrored that of the one-legged Immovable Warrior. This unique balance suited wielding two weapons simultaneously.
‘Why didn’t I realize sooner?’
Just as Ereta thought this, Frida rose from her throne.
Frida’s body, slowly approaching, was densely covered in magical tattoos.
Ereta had already deduced the matter of succession being discussed.
The successor mentioned now referred to the successor of the Immovable Warrior.
At the time of the fall of the ancient empire, the ones guarding against the Abyss were the ancestors of the Varmanz Mountain Kingdom.
There was a tradition rooted in their origins: after passing on the kingship, the most outstanding warrior or the king himself would assume the role of the Immovable Warrior to guard against the Abyss.
What Frida bitterly resented losing was precisely this qualification.
The qualification to be the Immovable Warrior.
This was why Frida wore a nonchalant expression masking sharp anger as she stood before Aslan.
They were a people who lived by tradition.
“Well then, enlighten me. Is there a reason I should set aside all my feelings and converse with you?”
Aslan heard Frida’s sharp words, smiled, then dropped his lips. A faint emotion stirred beneath his eyes.
The sense of moving forward became tangible.
Aslan took another step forward.
“The world is about to end.”
“…What?”
An unexpected declaration. At this proclamation, Frida furrowed her brow.
“You must know that the number of priests is increasing. Divine activities are likely intensifying, and monsters are starting to rise across the lands, aren’t they? Right?”
Frida didn’t respond, but Aslan wasn’t asking for a reply.
He had witnessed the transformation of the world countless times before; it wouldn’t differ now.
“The reason the gods do this is because they are searching for something. They aim to break down the barrier blocking them and consume Geladridion, using small ingredients to achieve it.”
“Ingredients…?”
It wasn’t Frida who responded but Angie.
Instinctively, Angie realized the ingredient referred to herself.
As if on cue, Aslan gestured to Angie, who scratched her cheek, seemingly embarrassed, and stepped forward.
“The ancient god relic that the gods seek is Angela Tail.”
Aslan assumed Frida already knew this.
Though inferior to Duke Helsing in terms of intelligence warfare, she possessed comparable capabilities.
Indeed, anyone leading people in Geladridion couldn’t be incompetent. If they were, they’d have perished long ago.
Sure enough, knowing this, Frida nodded slightly.
Aslan continued upon seeing the nod.
“Angela serves as the key the gods desire but can also be one of the individuals capable of saving Geladridion. If she is taken, the world will surely perish, but if she remains until the end, there’s a chance to repel the gods.”
Frida crossed her arms and looked at Angie. The emotions flickering in her eyes were almost imperceptible but close to curiosity.
She quickly assessed the situation. With the recent surge in priests and unsettling movements of the gods, she had sensed something was happening.
Historically, the gods had never moved so urgently. The world was undoubtedly changing.
Realizing that the central figure was standing before her, she exhaled softly.
“Frida, you are the Great Chief. Protecting the tribes is your duty. If you stand idly by, everyone will die, including your own tribe.”
“Hmm.”
Muttering, Frida turned her body toward the throne. Sitting back down, the beast circled around the base of the throne.
Frida silently fixed her gaze on Aslan’s group. Her single-eyed stare was sharp.
“I know you’ve spoken to Duke Helsing. You could have made the same proposal to him, yet you came to me, someone who harbors resentment toward you. Why?”
Aslan smirked slightly, and upon seeing the smile, Frida leaned back against the throne.
“What’s your reason?”
Why had he chosen Varmanz over Duke Helsing, who possessed broader territories, greater wealth, and superior information-gathering abilities?
Frida asked Aslan this.
“I’m not content with just Varmanz.”
“…What?”
“What do you think my goal is?”
At this, Frida frowned.
Though not completely estranged from Aslan, she had always found it impossible to grasp his intentions.
He never revealed his inner thoughts, leaving her unable to discern them.
His actions were consistent, but his purpose was too vast to be visible.
Unable to answer, Frida remained silent, and Aslan provided the answer.
“I intend to kill all the gods.”
A goal already known to Angie, Ereta, and Pay. Unsurprising to them, they remained silent, while Frida was astonished twice—first by the enormity of the goal and second by the fact that his companions already knew.
Before her astonishment faded, Aslan continued.
“To achieve this, I need both the military forces you possess and the capabilities of Duke Helsing.”
As Aslan took a step closer, the beast sitting at Frida’s feet growled lowly. Aslan approached without sparing the beast a glance, his eyes blazing brightly.
“This isn’t the time to divide sides based on mere nations or ideologies. The world is heading toward destruction. Compared to what’s coming, human thoughts hold no value.”
Unrealistic as it might sound, given the scope of what was to come, this unrealistic statement carried more weight.
“I will request help from every nation and alliance. I will ask them to stand by my side and fight against the gods alongside me—from the Calus Empire in the northern continent to the descendants of the old empire at the southernmost tip… I plan to involve everyone.”
But because what lies ahead is unimaginable, this story of the unimaginable gained a certain realism.
“The End Times have come, and the abyssal beings are approaching. Their target is this world, and there will be no compromise or agreement with them. They will mercilessly devour this world and tear apart humanity.”
With a voice tinged with apparent madness, Aslan’s emerald eyes shone as he spoke.
“To survive, we must unite. Your Majesty, Frida.”
Standing before Frida within arm’s reach, Aslan presented her with an extreme ultimatum—fight or die.
Frowning as she gazed upward at Aslan, Frida asked,
“What do we gain from this? What do we get by supporting you?”
Aslan replied.
“Freedom, survival, dignity, glory, destiny… Choose whichever you wish.”
Frida scoffed, and Aslan lifted the corners of his mouth.
“When all the abyssal beings are defeated, even fate will fall into human hands. Please join us.”
Looking into Aslan’s bright, vivid eyes, Frida laughed.
She had never understood this intense and pure madness since the beginning.
People call such beings who envision incomprehensible futures either lunatics or prophets.
“Crazy bastard.”
Frida laughed as if amused and Aslan reciprocated with a smile.
