It grows dim. The surroundings darken, spreading an impenetrable blackness where nothing can be seen. Aslan senses familiarity within this darkness.
A depth of consciousness so profound that even dreams cannot reach. A shadowy human undercurrent brushing against the soul, a vague and obscure inner world.
Aslan was sinking into it. But there was no suffocation, no panic despite the inability to see even a hand before his face.
Because it was familiar.
Aslan looked around and sighed at the sight of something nearby.
An endless horizon. Countless weapons floated in the vast sea of darkness, stretching as far as human vision could perceive.
There were no winding paths or landscapes suited for martial arts, but Aslan could guess.
And indeed, his guess was correct.
[Ar―Slll―Anrgggg]
The sound forced out by a being without human oral structure.
Beyond that sound, it existed.
An unfathomable darkness. Within it, bubbles and colossal tentacles drift. Its form is nebulous like mist, refusing to come into clear view even when directly observed. Only faint traces of its silhouette could be discerned.
This was because human cognitive abilities rejected recognizing it.
Yet, it was understandable.
It held weapons.
With countless tentacles sprawling across the universe, it clutched an infinite number of weapons forged by humanity.
The overwhelming number of weapons felt like they would fill every corner of vision, making consciousness blur. Beyond them, Aslan saw the lurking entity.
Its true name is known to none.
From the chaos emerged this ancient predator, fattening itself on devoured souls and growing in knowledge.
What it craved was the technology built by life.
Technology for survival and killing.
That deity was obsessed with the cycle of life and death.
Thus, people called it the Supreme Divinity.
Aslan perceived it with a body not truly physical and felt an unbearable tedium.
One reason Aslan tried not to sleep was due to this. Falling into such a deep slumber that not even dreams came meant gods would find him first.
Their blatant advances filled him with discomfort.
It was embarrassing how these enormous beings invaded his soul, waving their metaphorical hands.
“Grrrrgh, Arhghaaaaaa!”
Its will reached toward Aslan’s soul. The creeping shadows and darkness, the bubbles and mists carried a simple meaning.
Offer tribute.
As if mocking this intent, Aslan flung himself backward and closed his eyes.
It was time to awaken.
Shaking his body beyond unconsciousness with heightened energy, the world collapsed.
Beyond the collapsing world, the Supreme Divinity shrank and the darkness dissipated.
Surfacing faster than stillness could contain, Aslan shot up through the water and opened his eyes. Somehow, he had already reached land from the ocean surface.
“…Damn Supreme Divinity.”
Opening his eyes and muttering under his breath, a faint light became visible amidst the dimness. Aslan rose upon noticing the light.
In the place where the light resided stood a magic lantern and a woman.
A woman who had fallen asleep hugging her spear.
Upon seeing the woman, Aslan immediately checked his condition. Though not entirely unscathed – he could feel bones and joints creaking from the impact of the fall – he considered himself fortunate to still have ample mana remaining.
Aslan summoned mana to envelop his body while inspecting his equipment: Steamfalos’ wings, the bloodthirsty sword Rutile, twin spears, and the green-scaled shield – all intact without a single piece missing.
The hammer he had been holding seemed to have flown off during the descent, now lying some distance away along with a few Steamfalos feathers.
‘This isn’t carelessness or vigilance. It’s… mysterious.’
Surprisingly untouched, Aslan turned his gaze to the woman. She hadn’t completely let her guard down – given that she hugged her spear – yet she wasn’t fully alert either, evidenced by her sleeping state.
‘No injuries, right? Let’s see…’
Staring silently at the woman, Aslan approached. Even the sound of his steps didn’t wake her. Her serene expression suggested deep slumber.
Examining her closely, Aslan confirmed she had no wounds, much to his relief. Having thrown himself to save her, finding any injury would have been disheartening.
While checking, Aslan noticed a book lying at the woman’s feet.
Beside the lantern lay a novel. Aslan picked it up, entranced, and flipped through it.
It was a romance-centered adventure novel. Clearly an adventure, though sparing on explicit content, focusing primarily on the love stories between main characters and their surroundings.
Consequently, the intensity of the adventure was mild. Life-or-death battles were scarcely found upon skimming through.
Such books were rare in Geladridion, yet this one bore signs of frequent reading. Well-preserved but noticeably worn from extensive use.
Pages soaked in romantic or suggestive passages showed heavy handling. Noticing this, Aslan skimmed through them. The pages rustled softly.
“…Ah…”
At the sound of the rustling pages, the woman slowly opened her eyes, her voice groggy with sleep. Her dark irises gradually lifted, meeting Aslan’s emerald gaze.
Her half-open eyes widened slightly as she realized what she saw – Aslan’s hand gripping the book she cherished.
Alarm quickly spread across her face, and her lips moved. Swallowing, her Adam’s apple bobbed.
She seemed uncertain whether to ask for the book back or not.
Before she could decide, Aslan extended the book towards her.
“I apologize for reading it without permission.”
His apology was accompanied by a light bow. However, the apology only increased her confusion.
“That, uh, no, it’s not mine… someone left it here…”
Her excuse lacked credibility. Who would leave a recent romance adventure novel in a tomb sealed for a thousand years? Smiling lightly, Aslan watched as the woman bit her lip and took the book.
Her ears burned red, clearly visible even in the dim light. Watching her, Aslan decided to keep an appropriate distance and sat beside her.
“You seem fond of novels.”
“No, I’m not.”
Clearly a lie.
Aslan chose not to point it out and said instead,
“I enjoy stories too.”
Caught off guard by the unexpected comment, the woman glanced at Aslan as he continued, looking down,
“I used to prefer… darker tales. I thought they offered more entertainment, more material for stories. But… not anymore.”
Confused by his disjointed words, the woman hesitated to respond. Aslan glanced at her briefly before finishing his thought.
“Now, I prefer happy stories. Tales of people finding happiness.”
Listening silently, the woman’s gaze held both suspicion and curiosity about why he was telling her this.
After a pause, Aslan spoke again,
“Do you enjoy romance novels?”
The direct question made her visibly hesitate before nodding. Her tightly pursed lips indicated embarrassment.
“What kind of love stories do you like?”
“Why do you ask that?”
Adjusting the mana swirling around his body, Aslan replied. The mana aiding in his recovery flowed smoothly.
“To pass the time while we can’t move much. A light conversation might help.”
The spear expert glanced at Aslan’s body then bit her lip again.
“Must I answer?”
Embarrassment. Understandable, given they were practically strangers. Smiling faintly upwards, Aslan responded,
“If you don’t wish to answer, you don’t have to.”
“…Then I won’t say.”
Her reply carried a hint of concealed embarrassment. Aslan nodded.
“Would you tell me your name then?”
This suggestion made the woman look up at Aslan.
Tilting his head slightly, Aslan asked,
“And please tell me why you had to kill Thor Mull.”
The noblewoman bit her lip again, seemingly her way of expressing unease. Lifting her eyes while keeping her lips clenched, her previously gentle gaze transformed into something fierce.
“Is this to judge my sins?”
A reasonable assumption. Normally, asking why someone did such a deed would precede condemnation.
But not for Aslan. Shaking his head, Aslan replied,
“Had I known Thor Mull conspired with priests, I would’ve killed him myself. I have no regrets. We weren’t particularly close either.”
Perhaps expecting criticism, the woman looked surprised as Aslan leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
“I have no right to judge others.”
Realizing her assumptions were incorrect, the woman stared at Aslan, confused. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to hear her story. After all, today was their first conversation.
“So… why do you want to hear it?”
With no other option but to ask, she did.
Without answering, Aslan kept his eyes closed for a moment before opening them and looking at her. His profile appeared unusually melancholic. With a compassionate smile, his emerald eyes conveyed gentleness.
The woman involuntarily flinched as he spoke.
“Because your eyes ask me to listen.”
The woman’s dark eyes trembled violently. Without realizing it, her mouth opened.
*
The woman’s name was Lumel von Holrn.
As appearances suggested, she was a noble.
She was the eldest daughter of Baron Holrn, the Marquis of Bornsin’s vassal.
She was a typical noble young lady with no particular distinctions. Though she knew how to swim and enjoyed rowing small boats on lakes.
She grew up comfortably in Gerné, the town of the House of Holrn.
She had never handled weapons nor expected to ever need to. The heir was supposed to be her younger brother, and she anticipated marrying into another noble family someday.
Therefore, she lived contentedly in Gerné, satisfied with her aristocratic life.
It was pastoral.
Until one day, the Baron of Aira, whose territory bordered Baron Holrn’s, visited.
Baron Aira infiltrated Gerné with mercenaries and launched a surprise attack. The walls fell easily, and people died.
Even Baron Holrn, initially planning to pay ransom and be released, met his end.
Her mother, younger brother, even the servants—all were killed.
The loyal warriors who pledged allegiance to their lord fought to protect him or seek revenge, only to be brutally slaughtered.
Everyone perished.
Gerné burned, and Lumel narrowly escaped being violated.
Had fortune not favored her, she too would have died. During her escape, she seized a mercenary’s spear, killing him before fleeing across the lake in her beloved rowboat.
Armed with just the spear, her own body, and a favorite book.
The one who razed Gerné, conquered Baron Holrn’s territory, and indiscriminately slaughtered her family was Thor Mull—Thor Mull employed by Baron Aira, accompanied by warrior monks.
Lumel witnessed Thor Mull brutally murder her family.
Her father’s chest shredded by the Spiral Spear technique, her younger brother’s face pierced through, her mother slowly bleeding out with her throat slit.
Lumel vowed revenge.
Escaping the lake, she survived by crawling on the ground during the day and hiding in tree stumps at night. Eventually, she reached the city of leisure, Ashan.
There, she sold all her jewelry and dresses at low prices, bought armor and shabby clothes to conceal her face and chest, and became a mercenary.
Driven solely by the determination to one day take revenge.
A year passed.
To survive, she had to hide her identity and become stronger. At any cost, she had to grow powerful. She desperately wielded her spear, learning and mimicking techniques over others’ shoulders.
Through this process, she discovered her talent.
Using this talent and relentless training, she fought fiercely at the crossroads of life and death, growing stronger.
Eventually, she caught Thor Mull’s eye and joined his mercenary group.
Surviving numerous missions and battles, she earned Thor Mull’s favor and became his adjutant—all to one day pierce his heart with a spear.
When Lumel finished speaking and hugged her knees, burying her face in them, Aslan rested his head against the wall again, organizing his thoughts.
“Were they warrior monks?”
“Yes, warrior monks.”
Her voice carried vivid hatred. Aslan sighed inwardly, having been unaware that Thor Mull had associated with warrior monks for so long.
“That bastard was always like that. He’d do anything for money. A human trash who’d work for priests or bandits alike—that was Thor Mull.”
Acknowledging the insult with a nod, Aslan felt this description differed from the Thor Mull he had known. It seemed unnecessarily excessive, considering it could be a plot to deceive him.
After some thought, Aslan concluded that Thor Mull’s greed exceeded his expectations. For money, he could fight evil to the death, but for money, he could also fight for an evil deity.
Hearing this story, Aslan understood that morality meant nothing to Thor Mull.
So he must have been quite famous as a mercenary. Aslan exhaled deeply and looked at Lumel.
The important thing was not Thor Mull but this noble young lady. Barely handling a spear for a year, no matter how consumed by vengeance and obsession, it wasn’t normal for a noble lady inexperienced with weapons to become a spear master in just a year.
This was innate talent.
The same overwhelming talent Aslan had sensed in Phey.
The greatness achieved through this natural talent, luck, circumstances, and madness-driven obsession was Lumel. Such talent and motivation were rare.
A perfect candidate for a companion.
Thinking about how to console her, Aslan realized comforting words wouldn’t work, closed his eyes tightly, then reopened them.
“Did it feel cathartic?”
What she needed wasn’t comfort. Lumel understood this well, muttering from between her drawn-up knees,
“A little, yes.”
A story no one would hear, a tale untold to anyone. A confession extracted under confusing circumstances—a narrative unlikely to emerge under normal conditions.
Aslan considered himself fortunate for the serendipitous situation while processing the story she shared.
“I understand now why you think there’s no reason to live.”
Lumel’s gaze turned to Aslan.
“No place to return to, no goals, and an uncertain future ahead. I know that feeling well.”
Her head turned. The dark irises facing Aslan appeared powerless.
“Because I’ve been there too. Though our situations differ.”
As powerlessness mingled with curiosity, Aslan gave an awkward smile. He had a place to return to but couldn’t. He had goals but they were too vague. His future was not just uncertain—it was filled with malice.
The world sought to devour Aslan.
Survival itself was exhausting.
Aslan stood up. As Lumel’s gaze followed him, he retrieved the daggers he dropped during the fall and tucked them into his cloak.
Seeing the hammer on the floor, he flicked it up lightly, grasped it, and slung it over his shoulder. With the hammer resting on his shoulder, Aslan tilted his body slightly and looked toward the depths of the tomb.
Beyond the looming darkness, wind-like wails echoed, and Aslan’s hair fluttered gently in the breeze.
The entrance was sealed.
Thus, the tomb should have been airtight.
But it wasn’t, since breathing was possible.
Aslan realized the tomb was offering a path and recalled its information while approaching Lumel.
Extending his hand as he drew near, Lumel looked at it while hugging her knees.
“I have a goal. To change this world.”
Lumel’s expression turned curious.
“To change the world, all evil deities must be destroyed. That’s my purpose in living.”
Curiosity turned to shock.
“I have no intention of rotting here. For my goal… I must leave here. Would you kindly help me, Lady?”
Shock blended with other emotions, taking on a different form.
Aslan knelt on one knee like knights in adventure tales, extending his hand. Seeing it, Lumel’s eyes trembled faintly.
Her gaze shifted from his hand to Aslan’s face. Meeting her gaze, Aslan smiled gently.
As Lumel’s hesitation faded, she reached out and took Aslan’s hand. Helping her stand, Aslan smiled brightly.
The novel Lumel possessed was about adventure and love.
And she wouldn’t refuse this adventure.
