The Kobil hid within the vastness of the Gije City and gazed at Aslan. From the guard post overlooking the main gate, he watched as that traveling party walked silently.
The party approached the steel gate. That steel gate was the only entrance and exit to Kuramunz and the main gate of the city that had never fallen since its establishment.
‘What in the world is his scheme?’
The Kobil couldn’t read Aslan’s intentions. Of course, there were visible signs. At a glance, Aslan’s plan seemed typical.
It appeared as if, since the distance from here to Verssotov wasn’t far, Aslan was leading warriors to swallow up the Honor Tribe.
This made the Kobil conflicted.
Aslan already knew that the Kobil had dealt with the priest and had been informed about the assassination attempt on his brother.
Such an Aslan didn’t seem like someone who would merely concoct such a simple scheme.
Could there be something else?
Could even this thought be according to that man’s intention?
Could it have been prearranged with Dorel?
Unable to discern his true intentions, the Kobil was conflicted.
But that conflict didn’t last long. The steel gate opened, and the traveling party stepped outside.
An old woman with white hair, a girl with crimson locks, a tall red-scaled dragonkin, and Aslan himself emerged one by one beyond the gate, then the steel gate closed.
No matter what plans might exist, the Kobil thought there was no way to breach that steel gate.
Even if they realized something was wrong and tried to return inside or bring warriors, everything would already be over.
The Kobil, acting as the tribal representative, would likely become the new chief, and the Divine Power would have gone to the Poison-Spitting Dragon.
The Kobil forcibly ignored the creeping unease as he descended from the guard post. He had to save his tribe by any means necessary.
His steps left the guard post, and warriors followed behind him. Their destination was the Kobil’s residence. The warriors entered the house without hesitation.
Warriors poured out and led the Kobil deep into the most secluded part of the house.
When a group of warriors burst open what was once a study, Dorel was there.
“Khh…”
Dorel’s face was swollen from beatings, every bone seemingly broken as he groaned while sprawled on the floor. On either side stood warriors holding clubs.
The partially priestified warriors relentlessly swung their clubs without showing any sign of fatigue. They nodded to the Kobil through the corrupted, scale-covered skin, and the Kobil looked down at Dorel upon receiving their signal.
There was some emotional impact. After all, despite appearances, Dorel was still his blood brother. Internally, the Kobil felt troubled but believed there was nothing he could do.
He understood that for the survival of the tribe, Dorel needed to die or end up in a worse state. At least, that was his judgment.
Their gazes locked as Dorel glared up at him, breathing heavily in anger. Only then did the Kobil nod slightly.
“Let’s go.”
At the Kobil’s words, the warriors nodded, and the partially priestified warriors put away their clubs and drew their weapons. As they all exited the study, the sound of locking the door and stacking bookshelves inside could be heard.
The Kobil’s plan was simple: imprison Dorel and hunt the dwarves. Once that was accomplished, he wouldn’t need to worry about the aftermath.
There would likely be some resistance, perhaps challenges to the chieftain position or desertions among the warriors, but with Aslan absent from the city, he had to accept these risks to achieve anything.
That much was how terrifying the Veteran truly was. He had to finish everything before That Being could act.
Well-armed warriors, mostly those who had undergone partial priestification, quickly headed toward the mine tunnels.
Whenever warriors questioned or blocked their path along the way, the partially priestified warriors knocked them unconscious and hid them. Without hesitation, they advanced into the tunnels.
Their relentless advance showed no concern for flames.
As the Kobil moved forward, he thought.
No one had died from the dwarf’s flames, and both Dorel and the warriors who had faced the dwarf had returned alive. Moreover, the surviving warriors reported that the dwarf used flames only as a deterrent.
Of course, things might differ if the dwarf intended to kill, but he judged that they could win even at the cost of some sacrifices, given that the other dwarves lacked weapons and couldn’t use flames.
Thus, they charged at the dwarves as soon as they encountered them.
Whoosh!
Spewing flames—searing fire that seemed capable of burning flesh and bones alike. Though the warriors flinched at the massive flames, they swallowed their fear and charged forward.
Equipped with heavy armor, the Honor Tribe warriors were faster than the dwarf expected.
Warriors breaking through the flames; their imposing figures caused the dwarf Wild Wizard to flee hastily.
Led by that dwarf, the city’s dwarves began to escape. Although the dwarves, familiar with the city, fled effectively, the warriors’ relentless pursuit quickly cornered them.
In one corner of the Jije cave where the city was located, warriors rushed toward the gathered dwarves. Amidst the stifling air that irritated the nostrils, a dwarf with arms scorched by burns trembled in fear.
Fortunately, no dwarf had died yet, but doing nothing meant certain death for all of them.
The dwarf well understood this fact.
The lifetime scavengers of insects and rodents stood no chance against the heavily armored humans, let alone warriors. There was no way they could wrest even a single weapon from the emaciated strength of the dwarves.
The dwarf looked at his own burned arm.
Flames surged from that arm.
Despite seeing the flames rise, the warriors didn’t halt, but the dwarf realized something.
The dwarf realized that the warriors feared the flames. Few living beings are unafraid of fire.
If he unleashed and swung the flames, he could kill a few warriors. The dwarf thought that doing so might save a few of his kind.
For every life taken, another could be saved.
The dwarf understood this well.
Life inevitably leads to death.
Though unable to speak the Empire language fluently, the wild wizard dwarf was astute.
Seeing the flames rise from his arm, the warriors slowed down, and the dwarf hesitated.
To save fellow kin and kill humans—his primal instincts momentarily flared.
But it was brief.
The dwarf extinguished the flames.
The dwarf could feel the growing fear in the warriors’ eyes.
He didn’t want to fuel that fear.
He didn’t want to fight.
Death cannot be reversed, whether human or dwarf.
The dwarf stepped forward, spreading his burned arms.
“Friend…”
A hesitant, weak voice. Before the words could fully emerge, something flew through the air.
Thud!
It was a handaxe.
The flying axe embedded itself in the ground, having missed due to poor aim but deeply piercing the earth.
Yet, the moment the dwarf saw the axe, he realized. These warriors intended to kill them. All the dwarves would die without resistance.
Amid the loud clamor of charging warriors and stomping boots echoing through the cave, the dwarf stepped forward with desperation etched on his face.
Humans and dwarves are different. Different beings cannot coexist. The dwarf knew this well.
But doing nothing meant death. Opening his mouth, the dwarf decided to try to change something because not trying meant nothing would change.
“I… I am a dwarf!”
The dwarf’s vocal cords were ill-suited for human speech. A grating sound emerged, causing him pain.
“I don’t want to fight!”
Desperately, the dwarf uttered the Imperial language he had learned from Dorel. Straining his vocal cords, blood and pain spread in his throat and mouth.
Nevertheless, spitting blood, the dwarf shouted. His cries were drowned out by the sounds of the charging warriors.
“I desire peace!”
Again, it was drowned out. The warriors drew closer. It wasn’t too late to unleash the flames. Should he use the flames now? Suppressing the sudden violent impulse, the dwarf cried out earnestly.
“Dwarves are people!”
The expressions of the warriors became visible. There was no trace of emotion or goodwill in those faces.
Hope faded from the dwarf’s expression, replaced by despair. Desperately, the dwarf cried out.
“I am also a person!”
The warriors raised their weapons, pulling axes from their waists. Seeing the foremost warrior raise his arm, the dwarf’s face contorted with fear as he spoke.
“I am also…”
An axe flew toward the dwarf. The sharp edge gleamed menacingly, and the dwarf knew the outcome.
Now he would die. Helplessly, the dwarf would perish.
With tears brimming in his eyes, the dwarf closed them, regretfully reflecting on the impending death, failing to protect his kin, the futility of shouting to the warriors, and the inability of kindness to bloom in this barren land.
The dwarf despaired and accepted death.
In Geladridion, kindness does not prevail.
Only malice sustains Geladridion.
Change does not exist on this land.
Clang!
Therefore, only beings not born of this land can change it.
Only those with resolute will from another world can alter this land.
The ringing metallic clang. The clash of solid metal against metal. The dwarf opened his eyes and saw an axe and a dagger rolling on the ground.
That dagger resembled a feather.
The warriors halted as a man approached.
“…Aslan.”
When Gobil called the man’s name, the man stood between the dwarf and the warriors.
“How did you get in?”
Though disconcerted, Gobil asked calmly. Aslan remained silent in response to his calmness, but Gobil soon figured out the answer.
Beside Aslan stood a girl with red curly hair tied in two braids. She hadn’t been with Aslan’s group when they left.
The girl stared expressionlessly at them, holding two blood-soaked short swords.
Gobil instinctively realized that his warriors guarding the gate were dead.
Even his strong warriors who had undergone partial priestification.
Then Aslan spoke.
“No matter how weak, how unintelligent and beast-like they may be, unable to reach the level of humans.”
The growling sound accompanied the unsheathing of a longsword, glowing red.
“Even in Geladridion, where the weak cannot survive.”
A stone sword took its place in his left hand.
“They were good. They cried out that they didn’t want to fight.”
Holding two longswords, the man slowly lifted his gaze and looked at the warriors.
“How is irrelevant. What matters is…”
With a clink, the blood-stained sword embedded in the ground began to glow white. Its fuel was determination—the determination to protect.
In the light of the white flames illuminating the surroundings, Aslan spoke.
“That I am here to protect this kind and dim-witted friend.”
Only then did Gobil understand the situation.
Aslan had instilled the sense of urgency in his absence.
Following that sense, Gobil had acted accordingly, being led as if on display.
All his actions had been within Aslan’s control.
Realizing all this under the glow of the white flames, Gobil let out a cold laugh.
Swoosh!
With that cold smile, Gobil drew his weapon. Following the sound of his weapon being drawn, the warriors discarded their torches, revealing axes and shields in their left hands, baring their teeth.
Among the ringing metallic sounds, Aslan looked at the warriors.
Heavily armed warriors numbering over thirty.
Some of them were partially priestified warriors.
Fighting them on an open plain with no terrain advantage was overwhelmingly unfavorable.
On the other hand, there were only Aslan and Phey on this side.
The rest of the group were dealing with Gobil’s remnants throughout the city.
Protecting the dwarves with just Phey was far too numerically and geographically disadvantageous.
It was a hopeless situation that an ordinary human could never overcome, yet there was not a hint of crisis in Aslan’s expression.
Holding the blood-stained sword ablaze with purity, Aslan slung it over his shoulder and spoke.
“Phey, protect the dwarves.”
Phey nodded, and Aslan stepped forward. With each step bringing him closer to the warriors, the warriors armed with weapons approached, their armor creaking.
As Aslan observed the rapidly approaching warriors, he simply closed his eyes and whispered inwardly.
“Save.”
The world slowed down and turned monochrome. The strongest ability Aslan possessed—foresight. Within that foresight, Aslan’s life was repeatedly lived and ended hundreds of times.
And Aslan moved forward through death. Standing upon the deaths that occurred countless times, Aslan opened his eyes, and the monochrome world finally regained its color.
The moment his teal eyes revealed themselves to the world.
Slice!
The white-flaming longsword decapitated the foremost warrior rushing forward.
The severed head hit the ground before death settled in that spot.
