Tut-tut-tut!
Feathers sharp and sturdy as steel embroider the empty air. Though Aslan’s eyes could not discern their trajectory, his heightened senses compensated for the lack of sight, reading the path clearly. At the end of that path was Tiya Mal Clo, who had gone off course.
Thus, Aslan moved without hesitation. The extended purity forms a white crescent, adorning the storm of steel.
Kagang!
Three feathers are deflected. Each feather is thick and long, comparable in size to an ordinary dagger. From the start, they only resembled a bird’s feather in shape; they were not actual feathers.
A priest in human form grasped the feathers pushed back into the air. He swung two daggers held in reverse and regular grips in a crossing motion.
As the white flames and sparks from the stone sword sequentially stained the surroundings, the priest Steamfalos frowned and threw away the feather daggers he had been holding.
Throwing without any preparatory motions makes prediction or avoidance impossible under normal circumstances. Normally, that is.
But Aslan is a master of combat. He has killed hundreds of priests. With his heightened senses added to the equation, Aslan deflected an attack that should have impacted a less critical area with the hilt of his sword.
With a clang, the feather is pushed back into the air. Beyond it, Aslan’s emerald-green eyes gleamed vividly.
What lay beyond was even more incomprehensible.
Though Steamfalos has a small body, its strength was undoubtedly worthy of a priest.
The hydraulic-enhanced strength was at a level where an average human could crush objects bare-handed, and the feathers forming the mantle were made of a robust alloy capable of easily shattering an ordinary steel sword.
Yet, Aslan parried those alloy feathers with his blade and blocked them with the hilt. It was unusual but not surprising.
The opponent was a master of combat.
Steamfalos was an old priest who had lived for quite some time. Easily over 200 years old, by age alone, he was on par with current high-ranking priests. Thus, Steamfalos possessed his own philosophy and knowledge about survival and victory.
According to that philosophy and knowledge, Steamfalos did not let his guard down.
Whether it was merely being human or lacking special powers was irrelevant.
Steamfalos spread his mantle wide, gathering the feather blades, which then appeared like a single-edged sword.
Wheeeeee!
Gagagagagak!
That “single-edged sword” began to rotate. The feathers left their original positions, rubbing against each other violently, moving in a manner that could shred any metal or flesh it touched indiscriminately.
It resembled a chainsaw. But this was no ordinary chainsaw.
Rather than just a chain rotating, feathers of considerable dagger length were in motion. Their interlocking mechanism could not be countered simply by durability or technique.
Even if blocked by a blood-soaked sword wrapped in purity, they would bounce off. Even using techniques synchronized with such violent movement would make timely defense impossible.
So instead of blocking, Aslan pushes. Firmly gripping purity, Aslan inhales deeply.
“Summon Thunder.”
Under the white flames, faint thunder gathers, and the sword surges forward. It collides with the rotating feathers resembling a chainsaw.
Kwarrrrrrr!
An instantaneous roar echoes. The chainsaw is deflected. His wrist tingles; even the slightest jolt was potentially fatal.
But deflecting was enough. Aslan gripped both long swords crosswise and thrust diagonally upward. The target was the chest. To his knowledge, Steamfalos’s weak point was the chest where the core was located.
Kaang!
Steamfalos protected himself from the sword strike aimed at his chest by gathering the feather mantle he had wielded as a chainsaw. The alloy feathers lightly deflected the sword strike.
‘He trusts in his defensive capabilities to withstand and counterattack.’
Aslan clicked his tongue lowly and retracted his sword, sweeping away the crossed pair of swords. If Steamfalos had received the blow, Aslan would have followed up with a fatal Heart Pierce.
‘Not for nothing has he survived for 200 years. He’s cautious.’
Steamfalos was originally a scholar turned priest. Not naturally inclined to fighting, he remained prudent throughout his 200 years of battles.
Thus, he didn’t take desperate gambits in combat.
Therefore, he was difficult to deal with. While pushing steadily with his abilities, he avoided arrogance. Aslan thought confronting Steamfalos was more arduous than facing Ereta.
In terms of difficulty, Ereta was definitely higher, but Steamfalos was more troublesome.
Having concluded his judgment, Aslan raised both crossed long swords forward. At the end of that thrusting trajectory was the priest calmly analyzing Aslan’s full power.
Steamfalos thought.
‘His strength surpasses that of an ordinary human. Even after rigorous training, it seems implausible. Is it magic?’
And something beyond mere strength. The technique Aslan used when receiving blows with his sword was something Steamfalos couldn’t understand. Aslan’s wild magic-enhanced strength was something Steamfalos couldn’t fully grasp but could predict.
The standoff between the two ended abruptly amidst silence. Aslan charged forward with two tightly gripped long swords while Steamfalos responded by firing feathers.
Clang, kaang…
While Aslan fought Steamfalos to buy time, Tiya Mal Clo had withdrawn from the battlefield.
The first action Tiya Mal Clo chose upon leaving her position was to create distance.
Creating distance, erasing traces, and heading towards a location perfectly suited for sniping.
As she traversed the forest, the terrain gradually rose, and the higher it got, the desolate wind brushing past the trees emitted mournful cries.
Even in a forest so dense that one couldn’t see a foot ahead, amid pervasive fog, howling winds, and wailing sounds, Tiya Mal advanced resolutely.
Neither vision, smell, nor hearing provided much help to him.
Tiya Mal excelled in tactile sense because he was born with it.
Through the texture of tree trunks caressed by his fingertips, he read the forest, and through the wind touching his body, he perceived his surroundings.
It was a transcendent sensation that no one could imitate.
Based on this transcendent sensation, he performed sniping.
Vision was merely auxiliary, and neither his sense of smell nor hearing was particularly remarkable.
Thus, Tiya Mal could snipe even in a forest densely populated with ancient trees or amidst rocky mountains and harsh winds.
He could pierce what he aimed at.
When combined with the innate strength and exceptional tactile sense of dragons along with his genius in archery, it created bowmanship even the Supreme Divinity coveted.
Even if the Supreme Divinity were to steal it, it wouldn’t be easily replicated.
Finally, Tiya Mal stopped.
While the fierce wind brushed against his scales, he closed his eyes serenely. Through the wind brushing his scales, he felt.
“…Damn monster kid. He fights like that.”
Through the wind blowing from the battlefield, Tiya Mal’s tactile sense revealed Aslan’s figure.
Aslan’s combat style had reached a level that even another human couldn’t replicate.
“Huh, dodging like that.”
Aslan sharply swung his sword, gathered momentum by drawing it back, and spun lightly. With the spin, he leaped lightly, evading an attack aimed at his ankles.
Flipping in mid-air, the blade aimed at Aslan’s ankles missed, allowing a counterattack.
The sound of clashing blades grazed joints, yet the priest continued the assault nonchalantly. Amidst those attacks, Aslan steadfastly defended with his sword.
There was undoubtedly a purpose beyond just buying time. Tiya Mal understood.
He too was a master.
“Well, shall I get to work?”
At least a kilometer away. Relieved of worry, Tiya Mal opened his eyes and began stripping off his clothes.
Casually hanging the discarded clothes on a tree, the naked Tiya Mal felt the wind blowing across his entire body, especially the breeze hitting his groin.
He always shot arrows using his tactile sense. Therefore, his accuracy was proportional to his tactile perception.
Tiya Mal’s most precise shooting moments were when he faced the wind completely naked.
Even when semi-clothed, accuracy might falter, but when fully nude, Tiya Mal’s arrows never missed.
Timing was crucial. For the most effective shot, Tiya Mal inverted his bow.
Pointing the claw-like spike resembling a dragon’s talon at the ground, he then drew an arrow.
Handcrafted arrows, carefully carved and polished akin to short swords or ballistas, unleashed from Tiya Mal’s massive bow possessed siege weapon-level destructive power.
Placing the long arrow on the string woven from metal wires, he adjusted the bow.
Determining the direction with his eyes and making fine adjustments with his tactile sense, Tiya Mal became a master archer within his superhuman perception.
Raising the bow high, like overturning a mountain, he lifted it high with a great stretch of his arms.
Drawing the bowstring downward as he lowered the high-raised bow, tension built in the taut metal strings. As the strained metal groaned, Tiya Mal’s muscles swelled and heated up.
With his bulging muscles, Tiya Mal seemed twice his usual size. In reality, it was around 1.25 times larger, but the sheer presence made it appear so.
Harnessing that presence, Tiya Mal twisted his head-sized biceps. Twisting the string caused the arrow to spin as well.
For the final step, he firmly drove the claw-like spike resembling a dragon’s talon deep into the ground. The deeply embedded bow ceased vibrating and stood firm.
Breathing out deeply from his heated body, Tiya Mal closed his eyes one last time. The incoming wind guided his bow.
Tiya Mal smirked, waiting for the optimal moment.
Zing!
The clash of metal against metal. Amidst it, Aslan moved without flinching.
He deflected, dodged, and redirected every attack aimed at his head, sides, legs, ankles, and wrists.
Allowing even a single hit would end the fight. Aslan did not welcome injuries without Equalization.
Without both hands and feet, there would be no defeating Steamfalos.
Inhaling deeply, Aslan gripped his sword diagonally.
In the glow of white flames, the sword darkened and traced a long arc.
‘Knight Slayer.’
A metallic sound rang out. Aslan’s Knight Slayer ignored physical forms and cut through to the other side—a technique that bypasses the heavy armor of knights to pierce their hearts. Its countermeasures were simple: twisting the cutting trajectory to avoid fatal wounds or inserting obstacles into the swinging path to nullify penetration.
Steamfalos executed accordingly. At the moment Knight Slayer struck, he thrust his feather cloak to neutralize the technique and absorbed the impact with his body, blocking it with his elbow in a metallic clang.
Dding-ae-aek!
Receiving the blow, he gripped the sword and slashed with the dagger in his other hand. Aslan evaded the attack by crouching low with a springy body. The slash that missed curved back toward Aslan.
Kaang!
Barely deflecting the charging blade, Aslan gritted his teeth as he was pushed back.
Remaining vigor was down to 1.x times after consuming several Knight Slayers and Heart Pierces, revealing its depletion.
Mana was below half. Merely throwing random attacks could not leave a scratch on Steamfalos.
Swinging casually wouldn’t inflict sufficient damage, and strong attacks were blocked by the sufficiently defensive cloak.
Aslan’s offensive power couldn’t defeat Steamfalos.
Aslan was well aware of this fact.
He knew it before the fight began.
If it were otherwise, he would have come armed with different means, weapons, and magic.
As Aslan panted, Steamfalos remarked with regret.
“This… doesn’t seem like a good match-up. Master of Combat. Your attacks don’t seem to be working.”
Aslan didn’t respond, panting and shaking his sword-gripping wrist.
“Will you continue? The Devourer has set you as the primary elimination target, but if you switch sides, he promised excellent treatment. Well, despite your refusal of 127 contract offers so far.”
Steamfalos was already confident in victory. During the battle with Aslan, he confirmed that Aslan’s offensive power lacked winning chances.
Thus, Steamfalos was persuading Aslan to switch sides.
Aslan recalled while observing him.
The number of special skills used was six.
None of them missed.
All six strikes hit as intended.
From the beginning, Aslan had no intention of defeating this highly defensive priest himself.
Use all available means.
That was Aslan’s creed.
Listening to the ongoing persuasion, Aslan stopped mid-sentence and sheathed his sword.
“Hmm?”
Even Steamfalos paused his persuasion, puzzled.
Completely returning the sword to his back and withdrawing the purity of the blood sword to his waist gave the impression of abandoning the fight.
‘Surrender… It’s not surrender.’
But it wasn’t surrender. Steamfalos saw Aslan casually sheathing his sword. If it were surrender, he should feel disgraced or wary of unexpected attacks, but Aslan showed none of that.
‘Something’s off.’
Many things were strange.
The fact that he stopped attacking when it wasn’t working.
The disappearance of the companion who initially fled.
Aslan standing still and staring intently at Steamfalos.
The wind blowing towards Aslan’s back at this moment, among other things.
Amidst all these suspicions, Steamfalos attempted to act normally.
First, he tried to retreat and reassess the situation.
“…Uh?!”
Had his body moved, Steamfalos would have noticed all his joints and internal skeleton misaligning, preventing movement.
The joints and skeletal parts grinding together emitted creaking sounds, reminding Steamfalos that all these parts were precisely where Aslan’s sword had grazed.
Six joints and skeletal points had been sliced, causing grinding noises.
“I am the Master of Combat.”
To the bewildered Steamfalos struggling to move his body, Aslan declared softly.
It sounded like a vivid proclamation or a subtle death sentence.
Regardless of his personal emotions, Steamfalos felt an overwhelming sense of crisis, as if nonexistent hair on his head stood up.
“Do you understand what this means?”
Aslan’s voice carried the confidence of someone certain of victory, a confidence Steamfalos himself had felt just seconds ago.
“You bastard…!”
To the panicked Steamfalos shouting, Aslan coldly replied.
“You’ve already lost, you damn fool.”
Kwaahaaa!
As Aslan fell silent and sidestepped, a massive arrow flew from behind him.
The arrow surged with the momentum of condensed storms.
Its force pierced through the gap in Steamfalos’s open cloak, straight into his chest.
Uji-jijijik!
Metal crumpled, tore, split, and shattered. Between the torn metals, the core was pierced. The glowing energy sphere fractured and scattered.
“Guh…!”
Staggering backward, Steamfalos moved toward death as Aslan stepped forward.
With his leg dyed white, Aslan delivered his final kick with determination.
The beautiful curve of the spinning roundhouse kick contained thunder.
“Summon Thunder.”
Kwarrrrrrr!
The quiet words accompanied the kick striking the arrow.
Hooking onto the metal fletching and embedding into the arrow shaft, Steamfalos felt his entire world condense into that singular point.
His compressed life exploded backward.
“A.”
Kwaji-jijijik,
“Slaaaaaan!”
Purrrk!
Moments later, Steamfalos’s chest burst open, separating his upper and lower halves.
As the severed torso flew through the air and plunged into the ground, Aslan retracted his extended leg.
Stepping on the shattered metallic corpse of the priest, Aslan turned his head.
Far away, in the direction the arrow came from, stood Tiya Mal Clo in the nude. A tiny red dot in the distance.
Aslan chuckled amusedly.
Thinking that killing a priest in the nude was likely Tiya Mal Clo’s first.
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