The veterans were buried alive.
It didn’t take long for this news to spread to the forces of the Supreme Divinity and the Count Warpol’s territory.
There were several martial monks watching the graves immediately, and soldiers of Count Warpol also observed the scene from afar.
The veterans were buried alongside the Spear Veteran, Count Scherlukunde, and the tomb collapsed.
Whether there was a way to retrieve them remained uncertain, but no method was visible.
Even if there were a way, they wouldn’t leave it undisturbed.
The martial monks realized this was their chance and acted immediately upon recognizing it.
Thus, the civil war continued. Though it lasted merely two days, the front lines were ceaselessly pushed back.
What should have been the front near the grave of Boren the Wordless was dismantled by the efforts and aggressive attacks of the martial monks.
When the front line collapsed, they retreated, and with each retreat, the martial monks launched more aggressive offensives.
Despite the utterly gloomy battle situation, those in command did not give up easily.
This was entirely thanks to the veterans brought by Aslan.
Boom!
Flying arrows shattered several large trees as they surged forward, only to slide along the slanted shields and crash into the ground.
Dust rose with a rumble. Through it, the martial monks advanced while holding their shields.
“Advance! Avenge our compatriots!”
As the largest among the martial monks shouted from within the shield formation, the others responded by striking their shields in unison.
While observing this scene and drawing an arrow, Tiamat shook her head disapprovingly.
It had been only two days since Aslan disappeared into the tomb.
And yet, in just these two days, the battle situation was far from favorable.
Tiamat struggled under the overwhelming number of approaching martial monks, forcing her to recklessly fire arrows. Ereta and Phey were injured.
Now, all that remained on the battlefield were Tiamat, who couldn’t shoot properly due to exhaustion, and Angie alone.
While Tiamat painfully adjusted her sore shoulder and numb arm to prepare the next arrow, Angie fought elsewhere on the battlefield.
“…Gasp.”
Rolling across the ground, Angie barely came to a stop amidst rising dust clouds, noticing a blade aimed at her head. She raised her arm instinctively.
Crack!
Ordinarily, one would dodge a weapon aimed at their head, but Angie’s health was at 10.
Her skin, muscles, and bones were extraordinarily tough, making her body akin to armor.
With the ability to regenerate, Angie blocked attacks with her body instead of dodging lethal ones.
Indeed, Angie’s judgment proved correct as the sword pierced her forearm before stopping. The martial monk wielding it hesitated, pulling the weapon out while kicking her.
A high level of axe-handling skill combined with proficient martial arts. Angie blocked the sharp kick, causing her small frame to soar through the air and slam against a tree.
Boom…
“…”
The tree cracked and fell, spilling a mouthful of blood from Angie’s lips.
The girl’s appearance was far from intact.
Soaked in blood, her clothes were torn and shredded. Her boots, now reduced to mere scraps around her ankles, resembled rags. Her eyes were sunken from fatigue, and her hair was unkempt.
Despite her high health, she looked utterly exhausted, and this wasn’t just happening to Angie.
No matter how strong the veterans and Angie were, fighting against waves of martial monks was unrealistic.
Without Aslan’s precise knowledge of the martial monks’ weaknesses, it was difficult to fully utilize the veterans’ strengths.
After all, martial monks were stronger than ordinary humans. Their possession of martial skills naturally made them formidable.
Until now, it had seemed easy because of Aslan’s guidance and personal support. But even if the veterans could hold out together, a problem remained: the numbers of martial monks never diminished.
Under relentless assault by these superhuman warriors, the veterans’ strength gradually dwindled, dispersing across various locations where martial monks emerged. Such situations required the veterans rather than regular troops.
Ereta was injured after overextending herself in battle, and Phey was hurt while extracting her.
Tiamat was still holding on, but it was unclear when her arrows would run out or when she might faint.
Even Angie was no exception.
Despite her high health, her fatigue was evident. She had been slashed countless times, her senses dulled. And she couldn’t hide her condition.
Panting heavily, she barely stood up. Her recently healed arm still throbbed, her vision blurred, and her fists trembled slightly as she took a stance.
The martial monk who had swung the sword and kicked her earlier watched this scene with sympathy.
“…Do you intend to continue, ancient deity’s rider?”
Angie didn’t respond, only gripping her fists tightly while breathing heavily. Though her expression was blank, it was clear she was exhausted.
The martial monk recalled his family from before he became a monk. If his daughter had survived, she might have been about Angie’s age. With this thought, he silently observed the girl.
“The veterans are buried in that tomb. There’s no way out. Even if there were, five martial monks are guarding it now. Why won’t you give up?”
Of course, killing her was not impossible. He could do so if the Supreme Divinity wished it. This was merely a final whim before acting.
“Surrender… then…”
The sound of saliva hitting the ground silenced him. The spit was red with blood.
The girl spat out blood-tinged saliva, ignited her fighting spirit, and raised her fist. The sound of her clenched fist sent shivers down the spine.
“Hmm…”
Persuasion was futile. Nor did he want to cut her down forcibly. The martial monk sighed after staring at her with bug-like compound eyes.
He’d rather provoke her into anger, make her charge, spare himself the mental anguish, and strike her down.
So he tried persuasion with words meant to incite.
If despair was sufficient, he’d convince her to surrender; if not, he’d make her charge.
But the girl neither charged nor surrendered. She simply maintained a calm posture.
The martial monk carefully observed her before taking his own stance. Extending his round shield forward and placing his one-handed sword above his neck, he twisted his body, gathering strength to slice through her extraordinary toughness.
The girl, with her raised fist, faced off against the martial monk who guarded himself with a sword and shield, despite being much smaller.
Their standoff continued unexpectedly longer, giving the martial monk time to think.
‘Wait.’
Suddenly sensing something amiss, the martial monk scrutinized the girl closely.
That calmness wasn’t forced. It was the struggle of someone who still held hope.
“What is this? How can you remain so calm?”
The martial monk was puzzled, guessing the cause of her calmness.
The situation was desperate.
Yet the girl stared at him calmly without any sign of resignation.
“My comrades and soldiers are surrounded by my compatriots. They’re slowly pressing forward, pushing the front lines. There’s no way to turn this around.”
Upon hearing this, the girl smiled slightly—a reaction unexpected from someone in dire straits.
Was she delirious? The martial monk wondered as he continued speaking.
“The leader of your veterans has been buried alive. There’s no way out. So why do you keep fighting? Are you not afraid?”
The girl closed her dim eyes after what seemed like a moment of vulnerability.
“I’m afraid.”
Thinking she might exploit this perceived weakness, the martial monk paused at her words. Opening her eyes again, she spoke.
“All the adventures we shared, the stories we exchanged, everything I’ve seen and heard—all that I’ve experienced with Aslan—am I afraid it was all a dream?”
Her gaze passed over the martial monk, looking toward the sky. What entered her blurred vision was a familiar landscape.
The slums of Belus Alphen, where she grew up.
“I’m afraid that even now, if I wake up, I’ll find myself back in that damp, dirty tail sector… That the power I gained will be gone, the wrongs in this world I’ve seen and felt will remain unchanged, and I’ll be powerless to do anything but watch. I’m afraid.”
Realizing too late that her words weren’t an answer, the martial monk understood the sincerity behind her rambling.
Understanding this, the martial monk shifted his stance further.
“But I also realize, in proportion to my fear, how incredible Aslan truly is. Despite all this pain, Aslan continues to fight. I think I understand how remarkable Aslan is.”
She looked at the ground. Blood, including what she had spat out earlier, stained the earth red. Geladridion was blood-red, unlike the world Aslan had come from and lived in.
The girl could only imagine how painful it must have been for Aslan to fight for a world that wasn’t his own.
“And just seeing the expectations Aslan places on me—that I can change the world—makes my heart race.”
The girl saw two worlds.
She was the only one among the inhabitants of Geladridion to do so.
Though she was merely a fragment of Aslan’s past, she saw an entirely different world.
Even though Aslan called this world imperfect, the girl didn’t see it that way.
To someone from Geladridion, where survival itself wasn’t guaranteed, Earth was perfect.
Witnessing firsthand the numerous sufferings prevalent in Geladridion, the girl thought.
“I will change the world.”
Thus, Aslan’s goal became the girl’s dream.
“I am Angela Tail.”
The girl’s eyes gradually regained their vitality, burning with determination. It was the look of someone resolved to fight until the end, grasping beyond death.
At the moment the martial monk spat and charged, the girl murmured.
“If Aslan is the head, I am the tail. I’ll cover Aslan’s back.”
In Aslan’s absence, the task of the tail—the girl—was simple.
Whatever happens, she must protect Aslan’s vacancy.
For this reason, the girl fought without reservation. Charging forward, swinging her fists, pounding shields, receiving slashing blades on her shoulder, and kicking back.
Pummeling the martial monk until he spat blood, she kneed him, forcing him to kneel, then struck his face with her fist.
An offensive so fierce that even the martial monk, unable to retaliate effectively due to thoughts of his daughter, began counterattacking earnestly. Angie’s wild flurry of punches was perilous, like the last flicker of a flame before it extinguishes.
The martial monk’s massive fist battered the girl’s body, while her tiny fists shattered his carapace. They battered each other mercilessly, shouting as they clashed. The girl’s assault finally ceased moments later.
Crash!
The martial monk’s insect-like body expanded. His folded legs unfolded and shot out, shaking the girl’s head.
A blow that would have crushed the skull of another human. Even the girl, boasting superhuman durability with her health maxed out at 10, couldn’t withstand it.
As the girl’s body fell backward, someone caught her.
On the verge of collapsing, the girl could feel the arm supporting her back. Despite her blurred vision, she recognized the warmth.
“You… how…?!”
Stammering in confusion and fear, the martial monk watched as Angie gazed at emerald green eyes through her haze.
“Why now… I waited…”
“Sorry for being late.”
A gentle voice. An apology delivered in that tone. Even through blurred vision and dulled senses, it was vivid enough to make Angie smile.
Crying or saying girlish things wasn’t like her.
Because Angie was Angie, not Angela.
Thus, there was only one thing Angie could say.
“Go… crush them for me too.”
In her blurred vision, Aslan nodded, and the girl felt herself gently laid down on the ground before closing her eyes.
Before losing consciousness, the last thing Angie saw was the ancient deity’s white flames.
It was the hope she had waited for.
