Lumel and Aslan hadn’t known each other for very long. In fact, Lumel had only just recently heard about Aslan.
Of course, Aslan wasn’t exactly unknown. Aslan was a well-known figure across the Northern Continent, recognized by almost everyone. She had at least heard his name or titles.
She just didn’t know who Aslan was, what he looked like, or what he did.
Even with such shallow knowledge, she could tell that the anger Aslan was emanating now was anything but ordinary.
She had only been with Aslan for a few days, but during those few days, she had come to understand his character.
He was considerate to his comrades and approachable to people. He would play with someone’s hunting dog and was kind even to an elderly supply officer who acted rudely towards him.
He always wore a smiling or calm expression, so this current surge of passion was unexpected.
If it were simple anger, it wouldn’t have been like this. The thick aura filling the space was not mere anger.
The oppressive killing intent was suffocating. It was beyond well-trained; it reached a superhuman level of a seasoned veteran emitting genuine killing intent.
Aslan’s indirect killing intent affected Lumel, and even Boren, who faced it directly, froze in place.
Boren froze from the killing intent and then opened his mouth as if realizing it was a sign of weakness.
Smack!
At the moment he opened his mouth, a dagger flew toward his neck. It embedded itself accurately, slicing through flesh.
The force behind the dagger was extraordinary. There was even a faint trace of mana lingering on it.
A type of mana that augmented weight. Was it wild magic? Boren thought as he staggered and then noticed the incoming violence, grabbing his sword.
Kwooo!
Swinging it released a gray wind that could slice through anything it touched. A powerful gust of wind surged toward Aslan, who ran toward Boren.
As they approached each other in a deadly clash, Aslan quickly crouched down and placed his palm on the ground.
The passing gray wind tore through the space with a loud noise, surprising Boren. With a great crouch, Aslan was now standing upside down, as if doing a handstand.
As he descended from the handstand position, he aimed at Boren.
Puh-ehk, Creak!
A kick pushed off from the handstand stance. A flexible and fierce kick, reminiscent of a savage beast, struck Boren’s neck precisely.
The embedded dagger was pushed out as the fractured cervical vertebrae rattled.
Before Boren could think of his next move, Aslan moved again. Twisting his inverted body sideways, he returned to a standing position, using his waist strength to deliver a spinning back kick.
Crack! The head detached. The brutal damage from just one kick was excessive. Boren felt his head collide with and shatter against the wall, causing him significant confusion.
Boren couldn’t keep up with Aslan’s movements. Even at the peak of combat skills, Boren wasn’t adept enough in martial arts to catch up to Aslan.
Thus, he lost the initiative. The moment Boren began gathering mana, Aslan’s fist struck his abdomen. The mana dispersed as Aslan’s punch disrupted it, and two quick punches followed, striking his side and making his body wobble.
He pushed Boren aside with a sidekick. Cornering Boren against the wall, Aslan drew two daggers and charged forward.
A simultaneous sound of tearing flesh. Boren noticed his limbs pinned to the wall while simultaneously being struck.
Bang, Crack!
A swift punch to the ribs, followed by a left hook as he retracted his extended right hand. This punch struck the newly regenerated head, bending his body significantly.
The sound of muscle pounding echoed. Boren couldn’t regain his senses. Something was happening.
Continuous strikes bent his body forward and then backward. Relentless beatings pummeled Boren mercilessly.
His sides, head, abdomen, chest, jaw, temples, forehead, nape, groin—all were struck by fists, knife edges, elbows, and knees. Despite his inability to fully grasp the situation, Boren understood one thing:
He needed to escape this predicament.
Desperately gathering mana, Boren, capable of incantation without opening his mouth, remained fearless.
In the midst of fear, he blindly constructed a spell.
Before the spell could manifest, Aslan’s hand pressed against his chest. The mana flowing through his palm disrupted and scattered the spell. While Boren was confused by this technique, another punch came flying.
Bang!
The head struck by the punch rebounded off the wall. Aslan’s punch struck again, causing the newly regenerated teeth to fall out inside his mouth.
“Gggk…”
Boren was helplessly beaten.
There was no way to resist, nor any willpower to fight back. The situation was unclear. He didn’t even know what was happening.
As Boren barely maintained his confused state, Aslan’s hand moved.
By the time Boren realized that the sword he was holding had been taken from his grip, it was already too late for many things.
Creak!
“Kuaaaah!”
The storm caller. Boren’s magical sword, crafted by sacrificing several souls, pierced into his chest. What should have been wrapped in gray winds instead emitted white flames.
Flames of purity that could sever and cut through even souls. As the ancient deity’s power penetrated Boren’s chest and tore apart his soul, Boren screamed in unbearable pain.
“Kk… Kkeuuuuk…”
Only then did the beating stop. His hands and feet were pinned to the wall with daggers, a sword embedded in his chest, but the seemingly endless violence ceased.
As Boren started to comprehend the situation, the first thing he did was check Aslan’s expression.
He had to understand what kind of mindset led to such merciless beatings.
The Aslan that entered Boren’s sight was expressionless.
However, it wasn’t devoid of emotion. The horrifying rage had consumed all other feelings, leaving an expressionless face.
Gripping the hilt of the sword with one hand and grabbing the back of Boren’s neck with the other, Aslan spoke coldly with his emerald-green eyes glaring at Boren.
“Don’t ask questions.”
The hand gripping his neck tightened.
“Don’t think.”
The hand holding the hilt also tightened. White flames erupted from the wound and blade.
“Just answer.”
The icy gaze pierced through Boren.
“If you don’t want your unearned immortality shattered, listen.”
Fearless Boren, for the first time, felt fear.
A possibility he thought wouldn’t exist after overcoming death was now present, sending chills down his spine.
The most terrifying fact was that somehow, Aslan knew Boren’s secret.
Terrified, Boren unknowingly opened his mouth.
“How did you… Guaaaaah!”
Aslan did not permit that question. Twisting the sword hilt caused Boren to scream in agony as his soul was torn apart.
Breathing heavily after the scream, Boren realized that the hand gripping his neck would repeatedly interfere with his spellcasting, instilling fear.
“That damn woman, where is she?”
Boren stiffened at the chilling voice.
“Answer me!”
Startled by Aslan’s voice filled with anger, Boren involuntarily shouted.
“I… I don’t know! That person never told me where we were going! They only informed me of the Great One’s will!”
Shaken with fear, Boren answered through clenched teeth. His wide, torn eyes contracted with terror as they focused on Aslan. Beyond human, having grasped immortality, Boren was now afraid of a mere human.
As their eyes met—Boren trembling and Aslan icy—Boren drew a breath, frightened by the cool gaze.
They stared at each other for a long moment. The cold eyes searched for truth in the fearful ones. Finally, Aslan realized that Boren truly knew nothing and contorted his face.
The emotion mixed in that distorted face was irritation.
Pulling out the sword, Aslan threw Boren to the floor.
“Krk…!”
Boren fell with a thud into his own blood, trembling with fear.
“Hmph.”
On the other hand, Aslan clicked his tongue irritably and ruffled his hair.
Aslan’s plan was to seize this stronghold and tomb.
Simply killing wouldn’t suffice. First, he needed to make Boren control the tomb.
Observing while analyzing and deconstructing the magic would allow understanding its structure, enabling the seizure of the stronghold.
But now, Boren had completely lost his fighting spirit.
After enduring Aslan’s brutal beatings and torture, Boren was terrified and had no intention of fighting even when Aslan turned his back.
It was impossible to ask Boren to open the way to the surface.
If Boren regained his fighting spirit mid-way or decided to quickly retreat because he couldn’t fight, Aslan would be crushed without resistance.
Too impulsive. Uncharacteristically excited.
But there was no helping it. The name Boren mentioned was the name Aslan had been searching for.
The figure who appeared during the moment Aslan had no choice but to kill his wife Rowena and was wracked with grief.
The unidentified woman who informed him of the 8-story drop and disappeared with Rowena’s corpse.
The horned human who shouldn’t exist in this world.
She introduced herself as follows:
The daughter of the goat, Valerie.
Aslan suspected she was related to or was the entity that dropped him into Geladridion, leading to his excitement and uncharacteristic explosion.
‘I should have been more cautious.’
When a clue to return appeared, he unconsciously became anxious.
Seeing Bolren lying on the floor trembling, Aslan turned around.
Dropping the hammer he had thrown while throwing daggers, he thought.
Now, he didn’t know what to do.
The only way out of this tomb for now was to seize the stronghold from Bolren and clear the path.
Since he couldn’t execute that plan, Aslan gritted his teeth audibly and unknowingly looked up.
There stood Lumel.
Lumel looked at Aslan with pity.
Frowning in confusion at Lumel’s expression, Aslan saw deep sympathy and compassion revealed.
Hearing the name Valerie in the recent conversation, Lumel imagined on his own.
Valerie was the main character who drove his master mad.
Aslan must have been enraged by the sight of his master reduced to something without a trace by that woman.
And he must have been saddened by the fact that his master recognized him but didn’t remember him.
Lumel mistakenly thought Aslan was experiencing tragic anger upon realizing that his master, existing in fleeting memories and emerging recollections, had completely disappeared, leaving behind only a hideous monster.
Although Lumel had also experienced tragedy, he didn’t know how to approach this epic tragedy.
So, with a pitying look, Lumel tried to console Aslan.
“This isn’t going to work.”
At the strange tone, both Aslan and Lumel turned their heads.
Bolren stood in an odd posture.
The voice wasn’t Bolren’s.
It sounded like an old man with a hoarse throat, yet also resembled the cry of some creature.
When Bolren tilted his neck, it snapped sharply.
Aslan, looking at Bolren, sensed a peculiar wave-like presence.
It was a very familiar sensation.
Ten instances of luck conveyed every detail of that sensation to Aslan, allowing him to quickly deduce that it was something he had encountered before.
Upon deducing, Aslan immediately moved. Gripping the storm-infused magical sword, he infused it with mana to intensify the wind.
He swung it forcefully, releasing a wind that could tear apart even souls. The wind glowed white while swirling gray, surging forth.
Before the wind could reach Bolren, his eyes turned pitch black.
“Here… I come.”
With the bizarre voice, the tomb shook violently. Simultaneously transforming, a wall rose in front of Bolren, blocking the wind.
The dispersing wind roared, rustling Aslan’s hair.
This scene reminded Aslan of an ancient deity’s words.
The deity had warned Aslan that measures would be taken if the situation unraveled.
Currently, without taking away Bolren’s magic, Aslan had no conventional way to leave this tomb.
If there’s no way out, the quest cannot proceed.
If Aslan surviving this world and completing the quest is what that entity desires, it would intervene to ensure the quest progresses.
Exactly like this.
Realizing instantly, Aslan hesitated for just a moment. A brief hesitation shorter than an instant.
At the end of his hesitation, Aslan called out.
“Lumel-sama!”
“Yes, yes?!”
“Please protect me!”
Understanding that this was an agreement with the will of the entity that brought him here, Aslan couldn’t find another method besides utilizing this opportunity.
Immediately pressing his palm to the ground, Aslan closed his eyes.
Aslan’s magic tattoos glowed blue, and mana surged through the tomb.
While Lumel wielded her spear, accepting the sudden change in circumstances, Aslan’s consciousness sank deeper.
Within the spreading mana, Aslan thought.
Originally, the Mutation School alters physical forms.
The Transformation School can change objects.
Therefore, it should use Transformation magic to manipulate structures underground, creating thorns and walls.
However, the magic enveloping this stronghold and tomb was clearly from the Mutation School. Aslan could distinguish this amidst the torrent of mana.
Following the Mutation School magic was precise Restoration School magic.
But it wasn’t merely following; the two magics were inseparable, flowing as one. Together, they transformed and maintained the tomb.
Why?
Aslan considered, concentrating even as fragments flew toward his head and rocks darted past.
Ordinary Transformation School magic can’t be this unpredictable.
The Mutation School affects only the physical body.
The Restoration School focuses on repairing physical damage.
The answer wasn’t far off.
Keen intuition, provided by Luck 10, hinted at the answer to Aslan.
The tomb’s secret was in the soul.
The tomb itself was operating as a single living organism with a soul.
It coated itself with fresh souls fetched from the underworld, morphed them using Mutation School magic, and continuously restored itself with Restoration School magic.
The moment Aslan realized this, Lumel’s spear spun.
Clang!
Lumel twirled her spear, deflecting and lightly tapping Bolren’s attacks. She shattered incoming rock projectiles with a spiraling thrust and deflected high-speed stone shards with her spear shaft.
In this manner, Lumel defended Aslan, parrying, deflecting, and counterattacking.
Since Aslan was fully concentrated, he had no time to observe his surroundings.
Unaware of this, Lumel twirled her spear, glanced at Aslan, and bit her lip.
Aslan wasn’t even blocking the fragments heading toward his head. He remained steadfast despite death approaching at close range.
Did he trust that Lumel would block it?
Or did he not consider the possibility of Lumel making a mistake or betraying him?
Aslan simply kept his eyes tightly shut, muttering.
Throughout her mercenary life, Lumel had been betrayed countless times, hardening her resolve.
She knew trust wasn’t easily given.
Yet, what about Aslan? He trusted Lumel entirely and focused.
Without a trace of distrust. If it were Lumel, she would have flinched or stepped back, fearing mistakes or betrayal, but Aslan remained motionless and focused.
Complete trust. Feeling warmth in her chest, Lumel swung her spear faster.
The white steel spear momentarily left trails as it executed three thrusts, withdrawing afterward. Three spikes rushing toward Aslan’s head shattered simultaneously.
Lumel moved to repay that trust.
Meanwhile, Aslan was analyzing the magic.
Flow, intensity, composition – observing and analyzing the mana flowing through the entire tomb to gradually gain control by reconstructing it.
This was a method that even a master magician couldn’t achieve normally.
Even Aslan typically couldn’t do it.
The sole reason it was possible was due to one special trait: Rooting.
The ultimate proficiency trait of magical tools and mana tattoos.
The emblem and symbol of the ancient empire’s legion commander.
Obtaining this trait and inscribing the root-like mana tattoo meant losing the ability to use magic independently.
Only wild magic, bypassing the mana tattoo, could be used.
Ordinarily, magic could only be cast through scrolls or magical tools, regardless of familiarity.
An exception existed for minor spells.
Though much was lost by obtaining this trait, those who possessed it gained powerful functions in exchange.
Specifically, unconditional success in activating magical tools, doubling their effects, and suppressing side effects by 99%.
And at the end of analysis, Aslan understood.
This stronghold was practically a magical tool.
If it were a magical tool, it was practically Aslan’s possession already.
Aslan’s tattoo, resembling roots, glowed blue.
Mana surged from the tattoo like blue veins, covering the tomb. The rapidly spreading mana enveloped the tomb, halting the surging and rushing spikes and walls.
In this scenery, as if time itself froze, Aslan closed his eyes and perceived beyond.
Beyond controlling the stronghold, he sought to glimpse the entity manipulating Bolren to forcibly use magic.
The tomb trembled violently as the attack ceased and subsided. During this pause, Aslan’s closed eyes twitched slightly.
Threads of mana stretched outward. Connections that should have been unreachable were guided by “Rooting” and heightened perception from luck.
A sensation akin to being sucked into a void accompanied Aslan’s blurred vision. Illusions rippled beyond the blurred vision.
A dimly glowing illusion.
There lay a plain.
Neither the sun rose nor set, shadows filled the space yet it remained strangely bright.
The grasses lacked luster as if dead but writhed with life.
Plants extended in various directions across the gentle plains.
Countless beasts roamed across the plain and field.
They were black-eyed sheep.
Quietly gazing at Aslan, an innumerable number of sheep.
These sheep, scattered across the plains, watched Aslan together.
Their pupils weren’t those of sheep.
They resembled human eyes.
Their legs were thin, and their skin peeled off, revealing black bones.
Upon closer inspection, their entire bodies were made of black bones.
Their pupils contained only suffering and emptiness, causing Aslan to feel a chill run down his spine.
The countless beings that seemed to be watching Aslan.
They weren’t sheep.
They were something shaped and molded into the form of sheep.
Despite their suffering, they silently watched Aslan.
Perhaps from the start.
Perhaps even before.
The moment Aslan realized this, a name slipped from his lips.
The Dark Ram Herd.
Then the illusion dissipated. It vanished. After the illusion cleared, what appeared before Aslan’s eyes was nothing grand.
A darkened and twisted skeleton.
A completely soulless Boren.
