Aslan approached the mechanical corpse that had fallen lifeless. The machine was still twitching, but it wasn’t due to any lingering life force.
It was merely the residual electrical signals causing its body to spasm.
The priests of the predator possess high defense, yet attacks aimed at their “weak points” tend to deal exceptionally higher damage.
With its core shattered, the priest of the predator had no escape from death.
Steamfalos was dead. Aslan stared at the priest he had finished off with his own hands and forcibly suppressed the rising sense of discomfort. The feeling of taking something was unpleasant no matter how many times he experienced it.
He sighed, thinking to himself that he wasn’t someone who suited fighting.
And yet, it had to be done—because if not him, then no one else could. Aslan moved toward the remains of Steamfalos and picked up the feather cloak.
The metallic feathers emitted a soft shhh sound as they rubbed against each other, producing a clear tone that was almost pleasant to hear.
Aslan picked up the cloak and draped it around himself.
The mantle was made of brass alloy feathers. Though it only covered the lower half of the towering priest whose height exceeded two meters, it reached Aslan’s knees, making it a long cloak for him.
The name of the cloak was Steamfalos’ Wings.
It was armor obtainable only by fully defeating the priest ‘Steamfalos,’ modeled after one of Hercules’ Twelve Labors—the monstrous birds of Steamfalos.
One of the reasons Aslan had prioritized the alliance with the mountain kingdom and gone out of his way to hunt Steamfalos alongside Tiamat was also because of this cloak.
Indeed, Steamfalos’ Wings were an excellent item.
With its high defense, wide coverage over the entire body, compatibility with wearing additional armor underneath due to being a cloak, and the ability to use the feathers as daggers when needed, it was something too valuable to pass up.
In another game, it would have been called a unique piece of armor.
“Got a good item here. Right on schedule.”
Aslan wrapped the cloak tightly around his body and turned his head at the approaching footsteps.
“Well done. That was impressive.”
“Eh, it’s nothing… thanks to you…”
Aslan began modestly, but Tiamat rolled her eyes and smirked.
Aslan’s monstrous appearance and the inexplicable atmosphere around him made him feel modest, but he decided it just didn’t suit him.
“I must say, I’m quite exceptional. There’s probably no one else who could hit so accurately from that distance.”
Thus, Tiamat resumed her usual boasting, and Aslan glanced at her with a faint, immature smile.
Kuuuung…!
A distant explosion echoed. The roar from the city reached them, and Tiamat raised her scales, closing her eyes.
Through the wind carrying the sound, she sensed what was happening in the city.
There were two priests.
Something very large and powerful was fighting in the city.
Realizing this, Tiamat opened her eyes and spoke seriously to Aslan.
“Hey, there seems to be another priest in the city…”
“I know.”
“Huh? You do? Then we should go help…”
“There’s no need.”
Aslan shook his head quietly. Tiamat frowned at his calm demeanor.
Perplexed, Aslan noticed Tiamat swishing her tail against the ground and exclaimed softly.
“Didn’t I mention it?”
Looking at Tiamat’s wrinkled nose, Aslan briefly turned his gaze towards the direction of the city.
The thudding sounds coming from there were too frequent and continuous to be caused by a single entity.
“There’s no need to help. There’s already overwhelming firepower.”
In the city, Angie, Phey, Ereta, and Frida were present.
Compared to them, the priest was merely ‘one.’
Still confused about the situation, Tiamat received a nod from Aslan.
“Let’s go take a look.”
*
Jjaak!
Phey leaped off the rock, spinning mid-air and slashing with two sharp daggers. An immense power, disproportionate to her size, was packed into her blades.
Because the cuts were precisely at the joints, even the self-repairing priest paused momentarily.
That brief opening was all Angie needed, despite being merely a novice archer. With superhuman agility and strength, Angie charged forward.
Kuuuung, kwa-jijjik!
Crossing her arms to shield her body, she rammed into the bull-like priest with a thunderous impact, sending him flying.
Kung, ku-gugung!
The massive figure tumbled several times, kicking up dust and carving deep trenches in the ground.
As the bull attempted to rise again, Phey lunged once more. Her leap and strike were nearly simultaneous.
Kaang!
Phey, the veteran swordsman, drove her blade through the gap in the knight’s helmet during her jump. Her sword pierced cleanly between the gauntlets.
She flipped in mid-air, pulling her blades free, scattering fragments of the gauntlet like confetti.
Ka-aaang!
Exposed beneath the torn gauntlets was the artificial muscle tissue.
“Throw—now!”
Tribesmen hurled their javelins at the exposed muscles. These javelins carried far more destructive force than ordinary ones.
Ka-ga-ga-gang, kwaang!
Though some javelins missed, others struck true, embedding themselves between the exposed gauntlets. The bull-like priest stumbled under the impacts.
“Exceeds expected strategy levels. Recalculating countermeasures.”
The bull’s voice crackled as his body heated up, glowing red with intense heat. Phey somersaulted away, disappearing into the shadows, while Angie retreated. The javelins melted into molten metal.
Just as the molten javelins dripped onto the ground, someone else struck through the gap.
It was Frida and her beast companion.
The wolf-blooded cub of a bear.
An unmistakably strange hybrid wielding two curved swords charged forward, swinging both her swords and claws.
“Graaaaah!”
Frida let out a sharp roar, striking the bull’s hind legs with her crossed swords as her beast followed up, clawing upward at the bull. A thunderous sound echoed as the bull was knocked back.
Frida’s dual swords rained down on the overturned bull, causing its gauntlets to fall off in pieces. The heated armor offered little defense.
The bull could do nothing. All its previous strategies had been dismantled, overwhelmed by the variety of foes.
A different approach was needed. In a move akin to a desperate gambit, the bull lifted one of its intact legs. Flames gathered at the raised hoof.
Its temperature rose so high that the surrounding area began to melt. Though it might not be able to fire flames again until repairs, breaking the current deadlock was far more important.
The priest’s judgment was correct. No one present could withstand that flame except perhaps Aslan.
But non-human intervention was possible. As Ereta darted forward, the mace in her hand flew out.
Kwang!
A minor clang. Barely a noticeable attack. Yet this precise throw was exactly that—a thrown mace.
The mace blocked the flame’s nozzle.
“Do you have a splinter in your leg, dear?”
The mocking tone was followed by the joyful laughter of a woman who had unknowingly enjoyed pain all her life.
Ereta’s axe swung around, striking the mace harder, driving it deeper.
“Ta-da.”
Then she stepped back. The bull could do nothing with its targeted leg as it exploded.
Kwaaaaaang!
Flames surged, scorching everything around, and amidst the blaze, the bull emitted a metallic groan that couldn’t form words.
—
The bull let out a turbine-like roar, the only sound it could make. As it roared, Angie charged in.
Ddang!
She delivered a powerful punch. The bull was sent flying, rolling grotesquely across the ground.
Tiyamal watched the one-sided battle with his mouth slightly agape.
“What is this… It’s the first time I’ve ever felt sorry for a priest.”
Indeed, as Tiyamal said, the sight of the bull failing to accomplish anything while rolling on the ground was an exceedingly rare scene.
Even with human technology reaching its limits, combined with warriors of peak human strength and the addition of an ancient deity’s prowess, the demigod was being pummeled like a punching bag.
Aslan observed the spectacle and remarked casually.
“I’m not someone who spouts grand ambitions without a chance of success. I only commit when I’m certain I can achieve my goals.”
Listening to these words, Tiyamal roughly understood their meaning.
The goal of slaying the evil deity was too grandiose to determine its feasibility, but at least the immediate task of defeating the priest was achievable.
Effortlessly so, with minimal waste.
Watching the dying priest, Tiyamal was bewildered. Amidst this confusion, Aslan continued speaking.
“I will gather veterans and unite people to stand against the evil deity.”
Would it succeed? That remained unknown. No one had ever seen or fought against the evil deity before. The odds were uncertain.
But judging by the scene before them, it seemed possible.
If they could fight so overwhelmingly…
Kwang, jjjeeng!
Angie’s consecutive punches landed on the bull, which staggered back. Its full-body armor was shattered and scattered, leaving it seemingly unable to continue fighting, yet it tried something.
The heated armor glowed red as the bull planted three legs into the ground.
Its final move. The last desperate attempt to turn the tide. When everyone present realized this, Tiyamal noticed Aslan silently watching him.
“D.”
That single quiet word from Aslan. Tiyamal understood it as Aslan’s calculated move.
To avoid execution, Tiyamal had to achieve a feat no one could deny. And Aslan had prepared the stage for it—for Tiyamal to display his heroic potential.
Tiyamal chuckled, shedding his upper garment. The cloth swept away in the gale, but he paid it no mind, raising his bow.
Drawing an arrow and placing it on the string, he pulled it taut. The steel string groaned with tension.
At such close range, Tiyamal wouldn’t miss even without removing his shirt entirely.
Lifting his arm as though lifting Mount Tai, he drew the arrow and released it. The arrow took flight with a resounding thud.
Jji-jijjik!
The arrow pierced through the bull. It penetrated the unscathed armor, tearing through the body. Emerging from the bull’s neck, it splattered molten metal like blood across the ground.
The bull stopped moving. Emitting a grinding sound, it died. As Aslan pushed Tiyamal from behind, Tiyamal ran forward.
“Uoooh!”
He shouted. For Tiyamal, wielding a weapon against an enemy was a truly unfamiliar act.
It wasn’t something he enjoyed, but now what was needed was ‘showmanship.’ Instinctively, Tiyamal grasped this.
The tip of his bow gleamed sharply as it carved through the bull’s wound. The inserted bow emitted a roaring turbine-like sound.
His crimson-scaled muscles bulged massively as Tiyamal let out a roar closer to a bestial scream, raising his bow high. Along with it, the bull impaled on the bow.
Gggaahaaaang!
He threw it aside. The bull, skewered by the bow, plunged into the ground, crumpling like softened metal as it rolled. Amidst the scattering metal shards, Tiyamal raised his bow high.
“Behold! Lord Tiyamal has slain the priest!”
And thus concluded his showmanship. His loud proclamation froze the warriors and Frida in shock.
“Desecrator of the Sacred Mountain…!”
“Seize him.”
One of the warriors recognized Tiyamal, pointing and shouting, while others moved to apprehend him following Frida’s orders—but they halted.
Thanks to Aslan’s clear interjection. His sudden, relaxed smile caught the warriors off guard, and before they could react, Aslan preempted them.
Detecting and acting ahead of others was his forte as a veteran of battles.
“Is he truly the desecrator of the Sacred Mountain?”
A soft question. The warriors furrowed their brows, and Frida narrowed her eyes as Aslan blatantly surveyed the surroundings.
Following his scanning gesture, the warriors involuntarily looked around and finally noticed.
People hidden in houses or hiding spots were watching Tiyamal, drawn by his theatrical actions and cries.
Frida frowned upon realizing this, prompting Aslan to smile.
“To me, he appears to be a hero who has felled two priests. Is he truly the desecrator of the Sacred Mountain?”
With a clank, Aslan dropped the priest’s corpse he had been carrying. The metallic torso rolled on the ground, and Frida seemed to grasp his intent, her frown deepening.
“You’re still an annoying brat.”
Her voice bristled with irritation. Aslan chuckled awkwardly.
“Can’t you consider it a younger brother’s prank, Sister?”
“When does it become ‘Sister’? Damn brat.”
Frida’s glance swept over the warriors. Their reactions were less than favorable—they couldn’t accept the claim that the desecrator of the Sacred Mountain was a hero.
On the other hand, the crowd reacted positively. The expressions of those hiding clearly favored Tiyamal.
Few people knew about the desecration of the Sacred Mountain.
It hadn’t been widely publicized, intended for announcement only on the day of execution.
Besides, the damaged part was the peak, which no human could see with the naked eye except on rare clear days.
So, the people viewed Tiyamal as nothing less than a hero.
Frida clicked her tongue after assessing the situation.
With a deeply annoyed expression, she calmly addressed Tiyamal.
“Thank you for your help, Archer.”
The warriors’ expressions soured at her quiet words, but Tiyamal, in contrast, looked pleased, chuckling as he tapped the ground with his tail.
“Not at all. It’s only natural for a veteran.”
Smirking, Tiyamal provoked another growl from Frida, who redirected her annoyed glare at Aslan.
Frida had no recourse. She disliked it, but there was nothing she could do about Tiyamal becoming a hero.
Nor was the offense against the Sacred Mountain severe enough to retaliate against Tiyamal.
Accepting her defeat, Frida ordered,
“…Let’s go. Send the injured to the healers and patrol the outskirts of the city.”
“Yes.”
As the warriors dispersed and Frida withdrew, Tiyamal approached Aslan.
“You’re crafty, aren’t you?”
Tiyamal chuckled and lightly tapped Aslan’s shoulder, prompting a slight smile from Aslan.
“We’re close friends. I figured this extent would be okay.”
Glancing at the retreating Frida’s irritated eyes, Aslan hoped she didn’t think he favored only him.
