Aslan and Lumel walked. Their steps, as they wandered through the dim tomb, were not particularly heavy. In fact, one of them seemed light-hearted for some reason, while the other moved so silently that it almost seemed weightless.
Thus, the sound of footsteps echoed as if there was only one person walking, and the tomb, despite its oppressive silence, occasionally resounded with a dull “boom, boom” sound.
Between these echoing sounds, torches flared up. As the man and woman passed by, the torches extinguished.
The scene was peculiar.
When they passed, the light faded; when they approached, the light ignited again. Clearly, though they appeared to be torches externally, their form and mechanism were not those of ordinary torches.
Moreover, the cleanliness of the tomb diverged from that of typical graves.
The tomb was excessively clean.
Not a speck of dust remained.
Even though it had likely been abandoned for close to a thousand years, there was no trace of time’s passage.
Lumel found this point strange. Clutching the white steel spear once wielded by Thor Mull and following Aslan, he pondered this peculiarity.
Lumel was a mercenary.
Though his mercenary career wasn’t long, his one year differed in quality from others’. Having engaged in near-daily battles without rest, he even had experience exploring ancient imperial ruins.
To him, this ruin was oddly abnormal.
“Aslan… sir.”
“Yes.”
“This ruin… something feels off. It gives the impression of having been maintained until just moments ago.”
As the woman spoke while trailing behind, Aslan nodded in agreement as he led the way ahead.
“It’s because it actually is being maintained.”
“…Is that so?”
Lumel’s tone carried a note of puzzlement. When Aslan turned to look at Lumel, what he saw was unexpected.
Lumel’s eyes burned not with anticipation or curiosity but with something else entirely—different from Angie’s kind of curiosity.
“Could there be some sort of conspiracy going on?”
Ah, so that’s what it was. Aslan suppressed an inward sigh and tilted his head, while Lumel’s lips curved upward in some sort of expectation.
“If there’s internal strife within the Ashld family… or if magical research has taken a wrong turn… perhaps this conspiracy continues within these walls.”
“That won’t be the case.”
Aslan cut in sharply with a faint smile, causing Lumel’s expression of anticipation to falter into disappointment.
“It’s simply because… the master of this tomb still maintains it.”
“Huh?”
And with that, the thick sense of disappointment transformed instantly. Her furrowed brow now conveyed confusion rather than mere perplexity. The implication that the tomb’s owner still survived didn’t quite fit.
Aslan read her expression and explained.
“The world believes the master of this tomb to be ‘the Erased One,’ a deceased individual whose records have been wiped out completely. But… that isn’t true.”
As Aslan’s soft voice reverberated, the woman blinked her night-colored eyes.
“The master of this tomb is Boren. Boren Ashld, a male wizard who was the second head of the Ashld noble house and the founder of the Ashld Tower. He was also the first master of magic.”
“The first.” The woman swallowed at the ancient epithet, and Aslan smiled seeing her reaction.
“That man, well-versed in both restoration and mutation schools, created his own school. There are differing opinions about its name, and little is known about what it could do.”
“So…”
“Yes, most believe he failed in his later years, was executed by the emperor, and interred here, but that isn’t the truth.”
As Aslan turned around to face the long corridor stretching before them, wind began to blow from its far end.
A wind pulling Aslan and Lumel inward.
A wind flowing in from the passage connected to the outside.
As Aslan thought of the figure who must have created that wind, he spoke, his profile calm as he faced away from Lumel.
“He discovered the afterlife, learned how to use its power, and figured out how to erase his name from the afterlife. He is truly an immortal who has grasped something beyond death.”
The words spoken with such nonchalance lacked any sense of reality. In a typical fantasy world, they might have been believable, and in modern society, they could have been dismissed as part of a game.
But not in Gelladridion.
Because this wizard was the only one to have ever pinpointed the exact location of the afterlife.
“Soul itself cannot be destroyed; thus, Boren cannot fall. No one has been able to fell him, and eventually, the wizards of the Ashld Tower sealed him in this tomb after creating many sacrifices.”
As Aslan finished speaking and turned around, Lumel blinked her eyes, looking confused.
“Now… this tomb itself serves as both his stronghold and workshop. It moves according to his will, which is why it remains so clean.”
“Because he has obsessive-compulsive tendencies,” Aslan added, and Lumel’s consciousness slowly returned. She stared blankly at Aslan for a moment before asking,
“How did you know all this?”
To Lumel, all that information seemed too old for someone like Aslan to know. Even she, being of noble birth, had never heard any tales related to this tomb.
Despite her love for novels and reading numerous books, she had no knowledge of it.
How thoroughly silenced, how swiftly forgotten this information must have been, yet Aslan knew it.
She wondered about it.
Looking at Aslan’s melancholy expression and the slight tilt of his head, she felt confident enough to piece together her own answer.
There seemed to be some deep reason, some hidden backstory reflected in that expression.
Even if the truth lay in the world guidebook obtained as a special perk for game sponsors, Lumel had no way of knowing that.
Her extensive reading of novels and adventure tales only led her astray with incorrect assumptions.
Unaware that Aslan’s melancholic demeanor was simply due to his natural disposition and a touch of nostalgia from his life in the modern world, Lumel bit her lip apologetically.
“I’m sorry.”
Aslan’s melancholy transformed into curiosity, and Lumel looked at him with her night-colored eyes full of apology.
“I’ve committed a discourtesy. You must have your reasons.”
“…What do you mean…”
“Although I am neither a knight nor a gentleman, I will follow Aslan sir’s instructions. After all, my life was saved by you. Here, at least, I will serve as your spear.”
And as Lumel missed noticing Aslan’s situation, Aslan similarly overlooked her misunderstanding. He blinked momentarily in surprise before nodding.
Good things come to good people, and since she was offering help, there was no reason to refuse.
“Thank you.”
As Aslan smiled, Lumel reciprocated with a gentle smile. Her expression radiated benevolence, unlike the tough facade she maintained during her mercenary days. This softer side of hers came naturally.
As Aslan took the lead again, Lumel followed.
Though the tomb was spotless, its traps were intact.
Traps that unleashed arrows, spewed flames, and incorporated spells from the mutation school.
Traps that would normally require a specialized wizard to bypass were easily dismantled by Aslan.
Aslan seemed very familiar with exploring ruins. Before reaching a magical trap, he would place his hand on the wall or floor and channel mana through it.
The mana, flowing along the faintly glowing mana tattoos, activated the trap, causing the embedded spells to harmlessly dissipate into thin air.
For non-magical traps, he either triggered them by throwing daggers or activated and destroyed them in the process.
Broken and dismantled traps littered the path, leading Lumel to believe that Aslan had complete mastery over them.
Watching this, Lumel thought that Aslan must have been eagerly anticipating this visit to the tomb. What seemed like coincidence was, in reality, a premeditated plan to come here from the start.
‘Was saving me… an act of kindness? Or because he felt affection towards me?’
Though they hadn’t met face-to-face until he removed his helmet, the novels she had read often featured characters who fell in love at first sight and pledged eternal love.
Moreover, the whispered words of Aslan.
She had never heard anything like them before.
They sounded like something straight out of the romance novels she often read.
It would be a waste to die here.
He couldn’t let her die here.
She watched Aslan’s back as he dismantled traps, feeling her face grow warm.
He worried more about her injuries than his own.
Even when a sword was held to his neck, he asked about her safety without raising his voice and then fell unconscious.
Such a kind person must have had a reason to return to this tomb.
She briefly imagined what that reason might be, unknowingly opening her mouth wide.
Aslan’s melancholic expression while recounting the secrets of the tomb meant only one thing.
He was the adopted son and disciple of the tomb’s master.
Over countless eons, the teacher imprisoned within the tomb must have begged his student, now grown strong, to free him from his bindings before succumbing to madness.
She thought that Aslan was this disciple, returning to fulfill his master’s wish.
As her misunderstanding deepened, Aslan stood up after dismantling another trap.
This misunderstanding led her to further bewilderment.
At first glance, it seemed like a tragic story of a teacher and disciple. Yet, there seemed to be no place for a noble young lady seeking revenge in this tale.
In fact, Lumel couldn’t even figure out her purpose as they crossed the tomb.
Aslan dismantled the traps, explored the area, and led the way.
All she could do, despite being skilled with a spear, was wonder what exactly her role was.
Lost in thought, she glanced at Aslan curiously. When Aslan announced that he was done and turned around, their eyes met, and she asked,
“Would it be alright if I ask what I should be helping with?”
Upon hearing this, Aslan’s eyes widened in surprise, and Lumel added, her night-colored eyes reflecting the dim corridor,
“You asked for my help, but I don’t know what I should be doing. On the way here, there was nothing I could contribute…”
“Is this alright?” she queried.
Aslan chuckled awkwardly in response.
“I hadn’t mentioned it, had I? I got caught up in the moment and forgot to explain. My apologies.”
Lumel interpreted his mention of being caught up in the moment as being preoccupied with confronting his master, and she hesitated to offer comfort by extending her hand before withdrawing it.
Seeing this uncertain gesture, Aslan blinked, and Lumel gazed steadily at him with a gentle expression.
“What you need to do is simple. When I meet the master of this tomb, please protect me. We need to seize this stronghold to escape outside.”
Without pondering how they would seize the stronghold or what they needed to take, Lumel nodded.
Her gentle expression harbored a simple misconception.
A disciple incapable of ending his master’s life himself, entrusting the task to another.
*
Aslan and Lumel continued onward.
Occasionally stopping to lean against the walls and nap, sharing the dry rations they brought along, they pressed forward. By Aslan’s internal clock, about two more days passed before they finally reached the deepest part of the tomb.
A room made of dark blue steel. At its center stood a certain presence.
If there were humans composed only of bones and muscles, their form might resemble this. Abnormally elongated arms sprouted an extra limb from each forearm, resembling tree branches or fish bones.
A creature exposing its muscles and bones, holding double-edged longswords ablaze with gray winds in both the additional arms extending from the forearms and the original ones.
Former master of magic, Boren.
The wizard who defied even death.
Fearless Boren.
He stood in the center of the dim hall.
Boren, facing away, slowly turned to look at Aslan. Where his eyes should have been, long, slit-like openings gave his gaze a grotesque appearance.
The sole undead-like undead in Gelladridion, Boren, upon seeing Aslan, expressed surprise. The startled expression on his muscle-laden face delivered an unimaginable level of revulsion to Lumel.
Unable to imagine a beautiful relationship between a teacher and disciple from this monstrous figure, Lumel faltered but was soon captivated by the ensuing dialogue.
“Aah… So you’ve come.”
The tone carried a sense of longing. Aslan hesitated upon hearing it. While Lumel watched with an affectionate expression, Aslan frowned and questioned,
“Do you… remember me?”
Boren nodded. Lumel wore an expression of regret visible only to Boren, who ignored it and continued,
“Valerie told me about you…”
Before he could finish, Aslan moved. The attack was nearly instantaneous.
With a smooth extension of his hand, a feather-shaped dagger shot out in a straight line, without any rotation.
Retrieving his extended hand with a twist, he swung it again in a continuous motion.
This fluid rotation hurled six daggers in rapid succession, leaving almost only a coppery afterimage.
The sound of shattering bones and tearing flesh repeated six times.
Anyone listening might mistake it for the sound of a machine gun as Boren, now riddled with daggers, staggered.
Clanging and clattering, the daggers hit the ground. Aslan, his face rarely distorted by anger, glared beyond them.
Then, baring his teeth, he muttered under his breath,
“That damn bitch, where is she?”
