The rising neck. Flying chains. Through the gaps, a sword blade emerges. The blade, dyed red, restores its broken edge as it consumes blood and fills in the engraved scratches.
The blood-drinking sword, Bloodthirsty Sword Rutile.
Dimitri’s crimson blade greedily consumed the blood that day, which marked the beginning of its name.
It was only natural that not much blood flowed from the severed surface.
Before the headless body even collapsed, the warriors’ eyes widened.
For before them, death burned white.
Aslan moved, and the warriors charged at Aslan.
Finally, they clashed.
Clang!
The first collision ended with the sound of clashing iron.
Swinging axes met with opposing swings. A gray-toned stone sword struck the axe, and the hilt entangled with the axe handle.
Before the warrior could disengage the locked blades, the weapon was deflected. Pulled along by the axe, the warrior’s body flipped over.
Bang!
The heavy body of the warrior slammed into the ground. Before the warrior could regain their breath after being pinned by their own weight, Aslan passed over them.
While passing, Aslan swung the bloodthirsty sword low. It pierced through the eye socket, tearing apart the helmet and emerging on the other side. Brain fluid mixed with blood splattered onto the ankles.
Warriors swarmed to fill the empty space, shouting at Aslan.
The Kobil watched this from a short distance away.
Aslan lowered their gaze, looking nowhere. Even in that downward glance, there was a sense of sublimity.
“What… is this?”
Kobil couldn’t understand what was happening, merely watching dumbfounded.
Then Aslan moved their arm, twisted their waist, and thrust the sword point.
“Grgh…!”
The warrior whose throat was pierced tried to grab the blade, but Aslan twisted the sword faster, crushing the fingers and pulling it out.
Kicking the falling warrior aside, another charging warrior stumbled and rolled on the ground. Taking advantage of the created space, Aslan gracefully wielded two long swords.
The two blades moved as fluidly as a swimming creature underwater. Their trajectories never intersected or hindered each other as they swept through, grazing the ankles of the surrounding warriors. Blood spurted from the ankles, causing the warriors to stagger.
Before the staggering warriors could take a single breath, Aslan scattered death. There was white-burning death present in that place.
The sword, rising from the ankle, split the calf, thigh, ribcage, upper arm, forearm, and finally reached the neck.
Aslan cut off the head, spun their body like flipping it, and swung their elbow, striking the face of a warrior approaching from behind.
Pushing the tilting head with the hilt while kneeing the warrior. The crushed helmet let out the warrior’s last breath as Aslan stepped back and thrust the sword.
Because of the punctured neck, the warrior who was about to fall held onto the blade as Aslan took a deep breath and threw the body. The body fluttered, knocking down other warriors.
Tangled together, the warriors rolled around, though unhurt due to their heavy armor, they were disoriented.
Throughout all these movements, Aslan didn’t spare a glance.
It seemed as if Aslan already knew everything beforehand.
Crash, slash!
Parrying an axe aimed at their head with the sword’s flat surface, Aslan rotated. The cutting motion with rotational force tore through the armor and ripped the warrior’s neck, causing them to stagger.
The warrior’s comrade shouted and charged, raising their sword high to aim at Aslan’s head.
“Damn it, Alon!”
Using the staggering warrior as a shield, Aslan swung, causing sparks to fly as the solid armor and blade collided. In the gap, Aslan extended their palm.
“Flash.”
A flash blinded the warrior’s sight before they could scream. Aslan stepped on the warrior’s foot and shoved them with their shoulder. The warrior rolled on the ground as Aslan thrust the bloodthirsty sword towards them.
The sound of boiling blood bubbles. The heavy scent of blood. Amidst it all, there was no trace of Aslan’s blood—only the warriors’.
“Surround him! Attack all at once!”
They must attack organically. Kobil was a warrior skilled in finding ways out. Though the command came late, it was appropriate.
Upon hearing this, Aslan turned their gaze briefly toward Kobil without any sign of crisis.
Warriors surrounding Aslan approached. Hand axes were drawn from their waists and swung. Among the deaths scattered by the warriors, Aslan turned their body.
Clang!
The feather cloak, resembling floating brass feathers, rose like inflating. Axes colliding with the cloak bounced off. Amid the bouncing axes, Aslan extended their hand and grasped one.
The bloodthirsty sword remained embedded in the corpse, while Aslan wielded the Shengsheng in the left hand and the hand axe in the right, charging toward the warrior.
The moment the axe swung shattered the heavy armor.
“Aaargh…?!”
The wide-eyed warrior’s expression of shock appeared as fragments of the shattered armor flew.
With increased weight through mana, enhanced brute strength, and ignoring defensive skills, the powerful strike shattered the plate armor. Aslan remained expressionless and silent, yet the warriors hesitated for a moment.
Trusting in their armor, rushing in to attack was the basic tactic of less honorable warriors. However, Aslan’s offensive power now surpassed that armor.
A tactical revision was inevitable. Continuing this way would lead to a meaningless death. Before such thoughts could arise, Aslan approached.
Giving no time for such thoughts, Aslan attacked.
Chopping the helmet and splitting the head with the axe, then throwing the broken axe at another warrior’s face. As the warrior flinched, the stone sword pierced the neck accurately, accompanied by a swift withdrawal.
“Kill! Kill…!”
Following closely, another charging warrior raised a shield, but Aslan’s blade swept across the leg first. Losing balance, the warrior fell just as Aslan’s knee struck their head.
Squishing sounds as brain fluid sprayed. As Aslan wiped their cloak, a dagger resembling both a feather and a spearhead appeared in their hand.
The dagger moved. Accurately piercing through the gap in the helmet, it pierced through and cleanly withdrew from the nape. Without waiting for the person to fall, it was thrown into the eye socket of another helmet.
Watching the rapidly dying warriors, Kobil finally noticed the unease.
Aslan’s movements occurred as if foreseen. At the moment the warriors were about to act, Aslan had already finished countering.
Attacks received in an unprotected state happened without any preparation, effortlessly killing even warriors partially priestified.
By the time the pile of bodies and sorrowful metal shards rolled across the floor, Aslan charged at Kobil.
There were few living beings left in this space.
Dwarves and Pheys, Aslan and Kobil.
Who would die and who would survive was as clear as fire.
As Aslan lifted their previously lowered gaze to look at Kobil, Kobil felt a chill run down their spine. In Aslan’s hands were already two daggers, lightly spinning in their grasp.
“Priest slaughterer…”
Kobil understood why Aslan was called the Priest Slaughterer. This was the true nature of the Priest Slaughterer: a ruthless veteran of combat who spared no means, a symbol of victory recognized by the Supreme Divinity.
Kobil was afraid of Aslan.
The emotionlessly gleaming gaze directed at them was terrifying.
Even a brilliant warrior can simultaneously fight only 2-3 opponents in an open space; it was impossible to face dozens.
That was the limit of humans, the limit of veterans.
What was unfolding before Kobil’s eyes was directly contradicting that common sense.
35 dead warriors. Warriors who shared Kobil’s ideals. Talented and respected warriors concerned about the future of the tribe.
All were dead. Plunged into an eternal sleep without leaving a single mark on the executioner.
Kobil was afraid.
Afraid that they might die without leaving anything behind.
But soon, something else surfaced above that fear: responsibility.
“I am… the acting chief.”
Aslan stopped advancing.
“I need to save my people. No matter what happens, I must protect the honor of the tribe. Even if this world perishes.”
The calm words tinged with fear sounded dull. Aslan tilted their head while listening.
“Do you know why they became like that?”
Kobil indicated with a nod toward the direction where the dwarves were. Terrified, fearful monsters, creatures indistinguishable from beasts who had lost language and reason, scavenging insects to survive.
Kobil spoke.
“These failed creations became like this after fighting against the Evil Deity. After battling the Evil Deity, they lost their language and reason, reduced to living by scavenging insects.”
Recalling Dorel’s words, Aslan silently observed as Kobil gripped the hilt of their sword with a grimace that was neither laughter nor anger.
“I couldn’t bear to see my people, innocent members of my tribe, become like that. Was that truly wrong?”
Aslan glanced at the dwarves and then gave a sidelong look at Kobil. Kobil’s expression was already severely distorted.
“Is kneeling to the gods, admitting defeat, and abandoning humanity truly wrong? Is discarding honor for life truly wrong?”
Amid emotions of fear, responsibility, anger, and despair, Kobil shouted.
Through the heartfelt emotion in that shout, Kobil approached, gripping the shield.
“If abandoning humanity means choosing monsters over beasts to ensure the survival of my tribe in this tumultuous world… I will do anything.”
The calm declaration of intent. Aslan sensed this resolve and twirled the daggers in their hands, holding them in reverse grip. They settled into a stance that resembled more of a fighting stance than a fencing posture.
In a pose similar to a boxing cross guard, Aslan positioned the two daggers high, targeting Kobil.
On the other hand, Kobil stood low, ready to rush in and apply grappling techniques at any moment.
But would it work? Doubt crept into Kobil’s mind upon observing the previous battle. Aslan was a seasoned warrior who excelled in nearly every aspect.
Without any lapses in attention, Aslan was flawless in swordsmanship, martial arts, and striking techniques. The disparity was evident not only in skill but also in the equipment worn.
The chances of winning were slim.
Almost nonexistent.
Chewing his lips anxiously, Kobil suddenly lunged forward.
Opening his mouth wide, he shouted loudly, swinging his weapon with rapid horizontal slashes to mask his fear. Aslan moved before the incoming blade even reached him.
The dagger, a weapon with low base damage influenced by both martial arts and swordsmanship skills, was ineffective unless wielded by someone highly skilled. But Aslan wasn’t worried.
Years ago, Aslan had reached the pinnacle in both martial arts and swordsmanship.
In Aslan’s hands, the dagger became a formidable weapon.
The small dagger easily blocked the long sword. The halted long sword prompted Kobil to extend his shield without surprise.
The green-scaled shield spread toxic miasma, but Aslan avoided it without even glancing at it. Evading the shield’s range, Aslan swung the dagger used to block the long sword.
Whack!
The dagger slashed across the cheek. As the cheek was split and the dagger pulled out, Kobil’s mouth filled with blood. Despite the confusion, Kobil quickly retreated and thrust the long sword.
Dodging the thrust by leaning sideways, Aslan immediately kicked out with a leg sweep. Kobil wobbled as his knees were accurately struck.
Before Kobil could steady himself, Aslan’s dagger charged forward. The wind-cutting dagger sliced through the wrist. Losing the long sword, Kobil barely managed to raise his shield before Aslan’s fist struck his face.
Crunch!
“Graaah…”
Though seemingly light, the punch was powerful. Several teeth flew out and Kobil staggered. Spitting out the blood-filled mouth, Kobil swung the shield.
The shield cleaved through the air, but Aslan ignored the attack, reversing the dagger grip and thrusting downward. The feather-like dagger pierced through the thigh.
“Krrrhhhaaaaak!”
Kobil, shedding tears from his eyes and blood from his mouth, swung his broken-fisted hand. The attack was blocked by Aslan’s arm. Grabbing the arm, Aslan spun around.
Bang!
Kobil landed beautifully, drawing an arc on the ground. His head shook violently, making nausea rise in his throat.
“Uuuh, ugh!”
Even in his confused state and blurred vision, he could see it. Death was approaching. Forcing himself, Kobil bit his tongue to regain focus and rolled. As his boots dug into the dirt, kicking up dust, Kobil stopped and panted.
Whack!
A dagger pierced Kobil’s shoulder. Released from Aslan’s hand, the dagger plunged straight into the shoulder.
“Kh, kh…”
Kobil pulled out the dagger embedded in his shoulder and dropped it. The clattering sound echoed as the dagger soaked in blood hit the ground. It was saturated with the dark blood of someone near death.
His body was in shambles. Just standing was a feat. Each of Aslan’s attacks inflicted fatal wounds.
After just a few hits, Kobil could feel death beckoning nearby. He realized this faintly in his dazed mind.
Kobil understood.
If he relaxed even a little now, he would die.
Covered in flowing blood, his body felt heavy. His complexion turned deathly pale, as if he would die any moment.
Still, Kobil stood up.
The crimson-stained ground and flickering torchlight framed Kobil’s labored breathing.
Aslan drew a new dagger while observing Kobil.
“…Why didn’t you try to avoid fighting me?”
Holding two daggers, Aslan spoke.
Compassion shimmered in their eyes.
Because they understood.
Kobil and themselves were the same, just differing in direction.
Struggling disgracefully, fighting, striving to survive while facing death for one’s beliefs.
Just like Aslan.
Therefore, Aslan genuinely regretted it.
Thinking how wonderful it would have been if that direction had been used against the Evil Deity, feeling sorrow that they must kill because of the difference in direction.
Kobil also dimly understood this and mocked himself.
“The world, how do you fight it, damn bastard…”
Words spoken at the brink of death were raw. Rude. But no one cared. No one criticized those facing death.
Realizing this, Kobil smiled through his blood-soaked blond hair and azure eyes. The hollow laugh made blood drip from his mouth.
The god was akin to the world.
Its mass and power equaled an entire universe.
Fighting such an entity was akin to wrestling with the cosmos.
Only the man standing before him thought of challenging such an existence.
Kobil couldn’t comprehend that man.
He believed no one could understand.
“You’re insane.”
So he laughed, laughing as he spoke. Seeing that smile, Aslan chuckled bitterly.
“Yeah.”
Listening to the calm reply, Kobil dropped his shield and took a step forward.
Aslan murmured while observing Kobil.
“Therefore… it’s probably something only I can do.”
The two daggers spun in their hands, assuming a reverse grip. The two brass feather-like daggers pointed at Kobil, signifying death.
Kobil blinked his cloudy eyes at them and assumed an awkward stance.
“May the mountains decide… who is more honorable…”
The two men stared at each other in their stances, colliding one final time.
And in that spot, death bloomed.
