“…Yeah, is that place over there?”
The gently spoken words. Aslan nodded in response.
Bathed in sparse moonlight, they could barely discern what lay a single pace ahead, enveloped in darkness.
Two veterans were observing the ruins.
“What was the name again?”
“The Tomb of the Erased. Or also known as the Tomb with No Name.”
“…If it’s the Tomb of the Erased, doesn’t that mean it has a name?”
A remark that sounded like mockery at first glance. However, without any such intent, a cheerful-looking young man leaning his spear against his shoulder lifted the corner of his mouth and spoke.
“Hey, miss, can you explain?”
“Hmph, is it my turn to step in?”
The upward curling corner of the lips. The girl who had previously visited the tomb answered in a tone clearly influenced by Tiamat.
Realizing this fact, Thor Mull, the spear-bearing man, chuckled slightly.
“That’s said to be the grave of an extraordinary magician. Originally, he had a name and was incredibly famous, but after his death, the wretched deeds he committed were discovered, so the Emperor and his family erased his name and sealed the tomb.”
“Wretched deeds?”
“Something about… something he tried to do.”
The girl Angie, while messing with her hair and scratching her head, subtly turned her eyes away. Aslan smiled and responded.
“He used both Restoration and Mutation schools of magic to alter souls for observation and attempted to locate the exact position of the underworld by determining the direction human souls traveled towards.”
At these words, Thor Mull’s expression stiffened. Altering souls and making them observable meant killing humans and tampering with their souls directly.
Together with such clues, the designation of “Erased” attached to the tomb.
How many lives must have been taken, disregarding the value of life even in Geladridion, until they faced record-erasure punishment?
Thor Mull guessed and frowned.
“Terrible stuff.”
“Yeah. How terrifying can a dead guy be, though?”
It was Tiamat chiming in. Already having removed her jacket and draped it over her shoulders, Tiamat laughed.
“There’s no one inside. Probably… seems like the tomb is sealed, just as this kid said.”
“They haven’t arrived yet, I guess.”
At Aslan’s words, Tiamat nodded, and those standing behind moved out from the bushes.
Weapons clinked as they rose, and newly lit torches sparked flames. The light and sounds filled the forest, indicating quite a number of people.
They were here to end the civil war.
To negotiate an end to the civil war with Count Scherlukunde.
Aslan played a key role in this. When Aslan stood up and closed his cloak, those behind him immediately followed. They approached the tomb.
Cutting through the silent night, living beings drifted above the centuries-old slumbering tomb. The sleeping spirits couldn’t utter a single complaint. Aslan signaled to Tiamat as he approached.
“Tiamat, keep watch outside. If anything feels off, act accordingly. Whether you break the wall or intercept intruders.”
“Aye, leave it to me, old man.”
With a low voice, Tiamat laughed while plucking the string of the large bow resting on her shoulder.
From behind Tiamat, a woman appeared and leaned toward Aslan, asking with a moist gaze looking up.
“What should I do?”
“Ereta… does the tattoo suit your body?”
“Yes, thanks to Aslan’s care.”
Though it didn’t seem exactly right, Aslan accepted the compliment with a slight smile. The hammer resting on his shoulder gleamed under the moonlight.
“Then come with me. We need a veteran skilled in close combat for battles within the tomb.”
“Yes.”
Ereta grinned, and Phey, with a blank face, glanced at Ereta before approaching Aslan. Soldiers and mercenaries moved chaotically toward the increasingly closer tomb.
“As for Phey?”
“Phey… external guard. It would be awkward for Phey to fully utilize their abilities inside.”
According to Angie, who had earlier ventured into the tomb, it wasn’t overly narrow. Whether because it belonged to someone who once lived there, or due to its construction before certain events were uncovered, or if it was used as a personal workshop by the ‘Erased,’ it was unclear.
At least, it seemed difficult for Phey to exert their power inside.
Phey’s strength lies in leaping and stealth. Even if their swordsmanship might prove useful, assigning them to external guard seemed better.
Apparently aware of this fact, Phey, who could be described as a ‘performance machine’ in Aslan’s words, silently pursed their lips without voicing complaints.
That too disappeared when Aslan lightly pressed their lips with his index finger, causing Phey to retract it and smile brightly.
Having finished giving instructions, Aslan leaned the hammer received from Phey against his shoulder and stopped in front of the ruin.
“Angie, Ereta, me, Thor Mull, along with that officer and a few mercenaries will go inside. Sir Grimel will wait at the entrance and join us when reinforcements are needed.”
At this, the knight holding a large glaive nodded slightly and lowered his helmet visor. Behind the firmly masked knight stood several heavy infantrymen.
As Phey and Tiamat distanced themselves and vanished into the forest, and mercenaries looked around to secure safety, Aslan stood still with his hammer planted in the ground, glancing sideways.
Thor Mull was either waiting for his mercenaries to finish their tasks, idly fiddling with his spear shaft.
A trace of uneasiness in his hand movements.
Even a veteran could not help but feel anxious when facing potential martial monks.
At some point, Thor Mull glanced around and asked.
“Will Count Scherlukunde appear?”
“I think we should expect him. If he doesn’t, we’ll just keep losing martial monks endlessly.”
Of course, humans don’t always judge rationally. Perhaps a martial monk might show up. Well-aware of this, Thor Mull gripped his spear tightly with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Huh, if this job involved lots of martial monks, I wouldn’t have taken it in the first place. But the pay was too good.”
Pay so high that Thor Mull couldn’t refuse.
Considering Thor Mull’s basic nature driven by monetary gain, Aslan understood.
“You’d do most things for money, wouldn’t you? A coward, still.”
“Well, yeah. With money, what can’t you do?”
Thor Mull chuckled softly. Watching this spear-wielding veteran, Aslan picked up his hammer and rested it on his shoulder.
That was Thor Mull. Though genuinely timid and cautious about his own safety, once paid, he delivered results reliably.
Thor Mull was the kind of man who had fought dragons despite knowing they were nearly impossible to defeat.
Titles like ‘Spiral Spear’ or ‘Spear Master’ merely followed as secondary achievements.
“Shouldn’t we deliver results proportionate to what we’ve been paid?”
“That’s true.”
Thus, Aslan was confident. Considering the glory and wealth to be gained from capturing priests and securing divine favor, hiring Thor Mull temporarily as an ally seemed feasible.
The conversation paused, thoughts interrupted, when Thor Mull’s subordinates who had explored the interior of the tomb emerged.
“Commander, the inside is clear. It seems safe to proceed. There are no traps.”
One of the subordinates, a mage, spoke, prompting Thor Mull to nod and signal Aslan.
Receiving the signal, Aslan grabbed the hammer and held it with both hands before stepping inside. As the few footsteps following entered the quiet tomb, the wind blowing from outside sounded eerily like ghostly cries.
“Feels different coming at night… why does it make such strange noises?”
“Could it be the sound of the magician buried beneath begging for help? ‘Save me, save me.'”
“…Lame.”
While Angie muttered, Ereta teased her. Only Aslan could answer, but now wasn’t the time to enlighten them.
Angie, perhaps suddenly feeling scared, slightly hunched her shoulders.
On the opposite side of the entrance where Aslan’s group had entered, something was walking toward them.
The figure, draped in lavish robes, accompanied by heavily armed soldiers, was approaching.
Once inside, the soldiers thoroughly searched the surroundings, and the lavishly robed figure surveyed the area.
“…Though I’ve never visited before… it’s excessively eerie. Indeed, it’s a tomb.”
A middle-aged voice. The owner of this somewhat cunning-sounding voice revealed himself by shaking off his luxurious robes.
A middle-aged man with black hair streaked with brown, tied low.
His youthful features, which might have once earned compliments, now lacked aesthetic appeal due to middle age and appeared deceitful.
Even considering his actual character may not be so treacherous, he’d likely feel aggrieved if he knew how he appeared.
Twelve years ago, when Aslan had just arrived in Geladridion, this man ruled the Scherlukunde county.
Count Scherlukunde was present in this tomb with his cunning appearance.
The nobleman elegantly dressed in fine leather adjusted his chin and looked at Aslan.
“It’s been a while. Mr. Aslan.”
“I’m honored to meet you.”
“We’re done with formalities. You probably thought I look like a rat or appear sly, didn’t you?”
“…That…”
Aslan’s troubled expression made Count Scherlukunde smirk.
Ereta widened her eyes in surprise at Aslan’s flustered demeanor.
Once invited by Count Scherlukunde to a banquet, Aslan, drunk and urged to speak frankly, had let slip such remarks.
Though Aslan hadn’t cared much about it then, and it hadn’t caused adverse effects, Count Scherlukunde liked to tease Aslan every time they met.
Even if Aslan actually thought he looked cunning, it was rude to say it outright.
“It was a slip of the tongue.”
“I know, and teasing is enough now… let’s talk business. We don’t know how long we can deceive the Supreme Divinity.”
The count, who had just been wearing a playful expression, reverted to seriousness and continued.
“Firstly, your presence here indicates His Majesty the Emperor intends to end this tiresome civil war, correct?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good. You must know that if I support you, this civil war will end surprisingly quickly.”
“Of course.”
Aslan’s immediate response pleased the count, who stroked his beard satisfactorily.
“My condition is simple. Give me half of the Ashuld barony… the land up to this ruin. Then I’ll stand on the Emperor’s side.”
Hearing this condition, Thor Mull frowned, but Aslan nodded.
“Agreed.”
“Aslan… is that wise?”
“Yes. This is the right choice.”
Though Thor Mull didn’t understand Aslan’s decision, Aslan believed this was optimal.
The Ashuld barony had already lost much of its power. Its original family’s monstrous servants and magical forces were mostly depleted, and internal conflicts had intensified.
Could such a weakened Ashuld family continue to fulfill its duties?
Aslan thought not.
Though politically inexperienced, Aslan judged that trading the Faiya Jungle and Talia River for peace and pulling Scherlukunde onto their side was a good deal.
Perhaps the count knew this and proposed it as a trade condition. Familiar with Aslan’s strength and integrity, he straightforwardly stated his needs without unnecessary posturing.
“Excellent. Thus, in this place, the Scherlukunde county opposes this foolish civil war and pledges loyalty to Her Majesty Empress Ilyena.”
This proposal was well-received. Aslan agreed without hesitation, and no one present opposed it.
Satisfied, the count extended his hand. Handshakes, a gesture symbolizing peace even in Geladridion.
“Then let’s shake on it…”
Just as Aslan moved to shake hands, a red mark spread across the count’s chest.
The elaborate leather garment adorned with gold leaf and embroidery tore, and a long blade pierced through, emerging from his chest.
“…Guh…”
Before the count realized and reached for his waist, the blade slashed across his chest and withdrew to the side.
BOOM!
The splitting ribs. Blood spewed from his mouth due to the punctured lung as the count collapsed, twitching.
Aslan drew a dagger from his cloak and threw it.
KLANG!
The thrown dagger was deflected by tilting a sword. The smooth trajectory rebounded. Ignoring the metallic clang echoing on the floor, Aslan gripped his hammer firmly.
There stood a martial monk.
More precisely, an armored martial monk.
Those assumed to be the count’s aides or guards transformed into insect-like forms and drew blades.
“Aslan…”
“When did you set up such a scheme…”
Listening to Ereta and Angie, Aslan took his stance.
He had anticipated a trap but hadn’t expected this kind.
Count Scherlukunde wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t exceptionally virtuous, but among Geladridion’s standards, he was relatively moderate.
Though greedy for land and overly calculating, such traits were necessary for leadership in Geladridion.
Certainly, he wasn’t someone who deserved to die here.
Aslan pondered the source of this betrayal.
In reality, the conclusion was obvious.
Count Worfol.
And when Aslan’s gaze flickered, the heavily armored spear wielder moved.
Maintaining a low posture, they accelerated. Their sliding trajectory aimed straight for Aslan.
Their intention was clear.
Since the moment Aslan noticed hostility from Thor Mull’s lieutenant, he hadn’t relaxed his vigilance for a second.
If attacked, knock it away with the hammer, push it back hard, and break the arm. Then use a reverse shadow technique to disable the leg and capture them, forcing them to divulge information.
Thoughts formed swiftly, and Aslan moved. Preparing to insert the hammer into the spear’s trajectory, he locked eyes with the heavily armored spear wielder.
But the spear wielder passed by Aslan.
Without a hint of attack, stopping their slippery footwork mid-motion, they bypassed Aslan like performing a long jump with a spear.
Aslan’s eyes widened. Having passed Aslan, the spear wielder exhaled sharply.
EEEEEK!
And charged forward.
Their target wasn’t Aslan.
Aslan might have obstructed, appearing to aim at Aslan to mislead.
A clever strategy. The real target wasn’t Aslan.
“Thor Mull!”
The spear master, Thor Mull.
At Aslan’s shout, Thor Mull took his stance. Widening his stance, gripping the spear widely tucked under his arm, he spun his body.
The thrust wasn’t an ordinary stab.
It was a technique capable of destroying and piercing plate armor, embodying the lifelong expertise of spear handling by Thor Mull.
The technique that made Thor Mull the world’s best spear user.
Spiral Spear.
Despite the rotation, the attack was astonishingly precise, targeting the center of the plate armor, where the heart lay.
Thor Mull was undoubtedly the strongest spear user in the world.
None who handled spears could match Thor Mull’s technical prowess.
KAGAGAGAJIK!
Aslan thought this, and so did Thor Mull.
Until the spear was blocked.
The spear tips clashed, generating sparks, halting at the gap between them. Thor Mull’s eyes widened.
‘The spear was rotated in the opposite direction…?’
Both Thor Mull and Aslan were astonished. What they witnessed was an abnormal sight.
When Thor Mull’s spear surged forward with a spin, the spear thrust by the armored opponent countered it by rotating in the opposite direction, nullifying the force.
An extraordinary level of precision and skill beyond common sense. Just as Aslan prepared to charge upon seeing this technique,
“Ugh…!”
Thor Mull and the spear user moved simultaneously.
The hand gripping the spear shaft moved agilely, withdrawing the spear and spinning forcefully.
Stopping the spin, they rushed toward each other. Opposite rotations imbued the spear tips.
A thrust capable of tearing through plate armor and easily piercing the thick hide of monsters.
That thrust pierced Thor Mull’s chest, while Thor Mull’s spear grazed past the opponent’s helmet.
KAAANG! BOOM!
The helmet breaking and Thor Mull’s chest being split happened almost simultaneously, but the armored opponent’s attack was slightly faster.
Realizing this, Thor Mull spat blood and widened his eyes.
“You…guh…!”
A paragon is generally someone possessing talents or skills coveted by the Supreme Divinity.
Thus, a change in paragons only occurs when the current paragon dies or someone with superior skills and talents emerges.
Therefore, Aslan realized.
“The title of Spear Master has changed!”
The synchronized shouts from the martial monks. Amidst these shouts, the helmet of the spear user shattered completely and fell to the ground.
Among the scattered fragments of metal, the spear user revealed herself—a woman.
Her long braided brown hair trailed down her back, her gentle eyes forcibly pulled down to appear fierce, her large dark pupils, and doll-like facial features.
At first glance, she resembled a noble lady, yet she gripped her spear with hatred blazing in her eyes toward Thor Mull.
The deep hatred caused Thor Mull to gasp in shock as he recognized her.
“Do you remember me?”
Thor Mull’s eyes, fixing on the woman, trembled in astonishment.
