The Pija Jungle. Once a place with fortifications and strongholds, teeming with numerous mage troops, it had now become a lush haven for trees and the occasional wildlife.
Through this dense jungle marched a group of soldiers and martial monks. The sound of their footsteps rose amidst thick clouds of dust, gradually fading into the jungle.
Among the soldiers approached an officer to speak, and a martial monk wielding two spears responded.
The conversation was straightforward: how they would move, when they would attack, how much further they should go, or that they would charge from one direction for ease of distinction.
Listening in on this conversation, a martial monk let out a thoughtful hum and slung a hammer over their shoulder. It wasn’t just this monk who had been listening; other martial monks revealed themselves subtly, gathering near the one with dual spears.
“We’ll breach the gates first, then you come in after.”
As the monk scratched their chin and spoke, the figure seemingly in command nodded lightly and glanced at the martial monks.
A monk with four arms holding two bows.
A monk wielding dual spears.
A monk using fists, clad in some kind of robe.
And a monk wielding a hammer.
These diverse martial monks were each experts in battlefields.
From skirmishes to large-scale battles, to sieges—these monks were impossible to defeat no matter how hard one tried.
Yet, even as the commander observed these capable individuals, a trace of unease lingered in his gaze.
Before the monks could notice this unease, he turned his head, ensuring no one caught on. He simply led the soldiers forward, while the monks blended in among them to advance.
The sound of their advancing steps echoed through the dim jungle, their warmth wafting gently with the breeze, when—
“Hahahaha!”
A booming laugh erupted, surpassing the vocal range of an average human.
From between the trees emerged the source of that laughter—an entirely nude dragonkin.
Baring red scales under the moonlight, this towering dragonkin wielded a massive bow befitting its immense stature and bore black horns.
It was only natural that those who saw this froze in shock. No one expected to encounter such a colossal naked dragonkin while sneaking through the jungle to ambush the enemy.
“What… is that…?”
As the startled commander locked eyes with the dragonkin, the latter opened its previously closed eyes and laughed again.
The thunderous laughter filled the space as the monk with two bows blinked rapidly and aimed, saying,
“If you don’t know what it is, shoot first—it’s the best course of action. So—”
He aimed his bows and swiftly drew them, preparing to fire multiple arrows with his four arms in rapid succession.
Had it not been for the sudden sound piercing the air…
Unbeknownst to the monk, a glance upward revealed an arrow nearly the length of a shortsword piercing straight through him.
Crack!
It crushed and pinned him to the ground.
Kraaak!
In a grotesque display, the monk’s body was pierced from head to crotch, his arms stretched unnaturally. Instead of blood or bodily fluids, something else spurted violently from his body.
“Guess I shouldn’t have given away how inexperienced you are by needing to see your target before shooting, huh?”
With a mocking laugh, the dragonkin adjusted its jovial tone and loaded a new arrow onto its bow—a projectile nearly the size of a siege weapon.
“Remember this: top-tier sharpshooters can find holes in the dark!”
Twang!
The steel bowstring snapped, accelerating the steel arrow. A shot so fast that even the monks barely noticed it in time—it charged forward before anyone could react.
It tore open the commander’s stomach, scattering internal organs, pierced through the soldier behind him, and finally stopped after severing the arm of a monk wielding dual spears.
BOOM!
“Ugh…!”
The steel arrow struck and shattered a giant tree before stopping. Panic and fear spread among the soldiers as the dragonkin loaded another arrow onto its bow.
The commander was dead. One monk was already gone. The most senior monk quickly shouted commands, insight gained from once being a general.
“Disperse! Disperse! Brothers, protect the soldiers!”
Following this insight, the monk with spears charged toward the dragonkin. Soldiers scattered chaotically around the area, and the monks quickly dispersed as well. Retreat was the correct decision upon realizing they’d been discovered.
The monk with a hammer understood this much and followed the retreating soldiers. Driven by the instinct for survival, the soldiers scattered wildly, and the monk recognized this desire. He intended to let them live.
“ROAR!”
“Mercy!”
“Aaaagh!”
Suddenly, the fleeing soldiers halted and split apart, grabbing at their severed necks as they fell. Corpses rolled on the ground, stabbed through the heart. In mere moments, the dead outnumbered the living.
With wide eyes, the monk with the hammer rushed toward them.
“Wait! We’re coming! Hold on just a little longer!”
Lowering the hammer from his shoulder and gripping it firmly with both hands, he charged forward with heavy footsteps. Just as the monk reached the soldiers, something shot out of the darkness at high speed.
Completely silent until it accelerated, it spun rapidly. The spinning motion emitted a red glow interspersed with hints of cyan, cutting through the night with merciless precision as it swung its blade.
The monk, rushing to the soldiers, twisted his body mid-step.
Realizing the flashing swordblade aimed for his neck, he inserted his arm to block.
Deflecting it with his armored gauntlet, he retaliated. His response to the ambush was perfect—normally.
Sliiiice!
“Guh!”
Exerting force beyond that of an ordinary adult male, the powerful slash cut through the monk’s arm and exited cleanly.
Whooosh!
The monk swung his hammer with one hand, but it only met empty air, producing a hollow wind sound. The attacker had swiftly retreated back into the forest’s shadows after merely slicing his arm. Then, from another direction, streaks of light emerged.
Clang! Sparks flew as the monk blocked a charging elf from the darkness with his weapon. The steel handle of the hammer deflected the sword strike and pushed it aside. Without hesitation, the elf leaped backward, somersaulted through the air, and vanished back into the forest’s darkness.
Only then did the monk realize:
The soldiers hadn’t been killed indiscriminately—it was a calculated move targeting him.
They’d set a trap after overhearing the order to protect the soldiers.
Seeing the horrifying deaths of every remaining soldier, the monk contorted the few facial muscles he possessed.
Raising his hammer to shoulder height and crouching slightly, he braced himself against potential aerial attacks. As if mocking his preparedness, the elf threw its weapon.
“Guuh…!”
The thrown dagger spun and pierced the throat of a still-living soldier. As the dying soldier coughed up blood, the monk involuntarily turned to look.
Compassion.
That was his downfall.
At the moment the monk turned his head, the Fey burst forth from the darkness, red hair flowing like blood as it lunged forward and swung its blade. A leaping, spinning slash grazed the monk’s arm and withdrew.
Smash!
The hammer-wielding arm split and fell to the ground. As the monk attempted to turn and counterattack, the dagger moved again, striking his lower back.
“Graaah!”
Having lost both his leg and his weapon, the monk collapsed to his knees. Passing by, the Fey pulled its dagger from the neck of a dying soldier.
“Do you really think you have a shred of humanity left…?”
The battlefield was drenched in the blood spilled by dying soldiers. The Fey crossed the gore-streaked field and approached the monk.
Though recognizing the elf late, the monk identified it clearly now.
The master of blades, the Fey.
A fighting elf.
And yet, this fighting elf lacked the usual innocent cheer expected of elves, instead wearing a chillingly blank expression.
The Fey plunged two daggers into the monk’s neck in an X-shape, slowly slicing through it. Like scissors cutting through flesh, the Fey spoke as it severed the monk’s neck.
“No.”
The monk spat blood at the sight of the emotionless face.
“Because Aslan has it, I don’t need it.”
Crackkk, Splatter!
As the monk screamed in agony, his severed head flew upward and crashed down. Amid rising dust, the decapitated giant fell to the ground.
The Fey briefly glanced at the corpses of the soldiers and picked up the fallen hammer by its handle.
Dragging the hammer along the ground, the Fey walked.
“I wonder if Aslan will like this?”
*
“…Hmm.”
A low voice. An irritating sound of armor plating. Amid this noise, a figure roughly three meters tall blinked its eyes.
Eyes resembling compound eyes yet also somewhat human, with dozens of pupils scanning the surroundings before settling forward. Above lay the sky. The monk lay prone.
‘My consciousness… was it interrupted?’
The monk recalled.
While protecting the retreating soldiers, he had suddenly been stopped by a flying log, causing the soldiers to distance themselves.
And immediately after losing sight of the soldiers, two figures appeared—two recognizable ones.
The ancient deity’s rider and the former saintess of slaughter, expert in maces.
There had been a chance of victory.
Confident, the monk charged forward.
Though his combat style was brawling, his exoskeleton, harder than plate armor, and six arms should’ve been enough to secure victory.
But things didn’t go as planned.
The young girl, half the size of the monk swinging six fists, managed to block all of them.
Not only blocking but countering as well.
Every time the girl’s fists struck his body, his exoskeleton vibrated, and blood spurted from his mouth.
And that wasn’t all.
From the moment the white-haired woman twirled gracefully and brought her axe down, the monk began to falter.
Her double-handed axe shattered his exoskeleton and severed his arms.
One by one, he lost his arms.
With fewer arms, the monk was pushed back further, slashed more, and hit harder.
There was no time to retreat or catch his breath.
The crimson-haired girl continued clinging to him, nose bleeding and spitting blood but relentlessly punching him without any defense.
This chaotic brawl ended with the monk’s defeat.
The woman’s fluid axe swing carved through his chestplate, and the girl tore it open.
After finishing his recollection, the monk finally realized—he was dying.
Spitting out something neither blood nor bodily fluid, he spoke. The girl and the woman still stared down at him.
“There’s… one more left. That one will finish you and offer tribute.”
“What’s this guy talking about?”
“He seems delirious.”
“That confidence won’t last long. This person is far superior to either of us.”
His words sounded more like a curse than a plea. The girl wiped her nosebleed and mocked him, while the woman chuckled softly.
“That person is the dragon hunter, wielding twin spears that emit lightning and having mastered the art of dual spear techniques. Though I may fail here, that person will complete the mission. So, accept your impending death quietly…”
“Hmm, you were stronger than expected.”
Interrupting the monk’s confident muttering, the bored expressions of the girl and the woman shifted as they turned their heads. The monk couldn’t help but follow their gaze.
A soft yet charismatic voice capturing everyone’s attention. Blinking his multi-faceted eyes, the monk saw someone approaching.
Two spears strapped to his back, a large head held in one hand, and a man walking forward.
Cold green eyes and pitch-black hair visible even under the moonlight.
The master of combat, Aslan.
Recognizing the head in Aslan’s hand, the monk identified the familiar face.
It was the dragon hunter.
Pierced by a giant arrow nearly the size of a shortsword, with a severed neck.
“A… Ahh…”
The monk, whose trusted ally had just died, gasped in horror as Aslan approached and dropped the head.
When the rolling head met the monk’s eyes, the monk’s face contorted with terror, shock, and anguish.
Aslan looked down at the monk with a cold stare before drawing one of the dual spears strapped to his back.
Crackle!
Electricity coursed through the spear, scorching the ground as it sparked. The monk involuntarily turned his eyes to look at Aslan.
“But you weren’t as strong as I expected.”
Holding the spear in reverse grip, it descended upon the monk’s head. Before terror and shock could fully spread, it pierced through. Flesh exploded, charred black by the lightning.
With his head pierced, the monk died. An unexpected death, followed by a contract.
The monk was no longer a monk—just prey. His anguished cries went unheard by anyone except the Supreme Divinity.
Unaware of such matters, Aslan pulled the deeply embedded spear back and returned it to his back.
Behind him, the clash of weapons signaled the rising sun. The sounds of soldiers fighting mixed with shouts and incomprehensible screams.
The failed ambush and ensuing battle. Even with his eyes closed, Aslan knew the outcome.
There was no need to help, nor any intention to do so. His role in killing the monks was already fulfilled.
“Let’s go back.”
Still curious, Angie hesitated but eventually nodded, while Ereta silently approached and linked her arm with Aslan’s.
As though it weren’t their war, they returned to base.
One week since Aslan’s arrival.
Up to today, eleven monks had fallen to the master of combat.
The monks faced an unprecedented calamity.
The calamity known as the Priest Slaughterer.
