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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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It had happened only recently.
Shortly after Aslan departed from his temporary employment with them, a War Monk arrived at the mercenary band’s encampment, seemingly in pursuit.
Nearly three meters tall, with six arms, each set of three wielding a massive shield and spear.
The War Monk, clad in gleaming chitinous armor befitting its massive frame, made an offer.
If the mercenaries helped capture Aslan and deliver him to the War Monk, they would be spared. One among them would be made a priest, and they would receive a handsome reward.
Refusal, however, meant death for all.
Yones Tail, the leader of the mercenaries, didn’t refuse.
Or rather, knowing the terrifying power of the War Monks, he couldn’t refuse.
If the War Monk so desired, it could easily wipe out his band of just over forty mercenaries.
Yones Tail realized the chilling truth of this as he lay among the corpses of his entire company.
“…Didn’t I say? You would live if you brought him to me.”
A towering figure spoke, its voice laced with an unsettling, inhuman undertone that filled the listener with a strange sense of unease.
But no one corrected it.
Or rather, no one could correct it.
No one could dare complain about a three-meter-tall, six-armed insectoid monster’s unpleasant voice.
Especially not when Yones Tail was the only one left alive.
The monstrous being gestured with three of its arms, the spear it held dripping with gore.
“You promised to bring him to me, and I’m sure you didn’t expect to fail. But think of it as a blessing. To be embraced by the War God, what an honor.”
The War Monk’s mandibles clacked as it spoke, but Yones Tail remained silent.
The War Monk’s words, the phrase “embraced by the War God,” had painted a grim picture, revealing the horrifying reality of what that meant.
Then, the War Monk’s spear moved.
“Time for your offering.”
The spear swung with terrifying speed and silence. Yones Tail’s head flew through the air. A moment later, his headless body collapsed.
Where the mercenary leader now lay dead, countless other headless corpses littered the ground.
Their heads, each and every one, were stuffed into the sack hanging from the War Monk’s waist.
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Aslan ran.
He fled the Frostwood Valley, the site of his bloody encounter with the mercenaries, and headed southeast.
The reason was simple.
He didn’t want to encounter a War Monk, a priest of the War God, unprepared.
The War Monks and the War God were no ordinary priests and deities.
Though, in this world of Gelladrion, most gods and their priests were far from ordinary.
There were two kinds of gods in this world.
The Old Gods. Defeated, dead deities, the original objects of worship in Gelladrion.
And the Transcendent Ones, the beings who had torn the Old Gods apart.
With the fall of the ancient empire that had worshipped the Old Gods and ruled the world, and the subsequent rise of the Transcendent Ones, people began to call these new beings gods.
The War Monks served the War God, one of these Transcendent Ones.
This monstrous deity, resembling a grotesque fusion of a giant insect and a many-eyed octopus, had originally been a being devoid of reason or desire.
Upon its arrival in Gelladrion, it had slain the God of War and Knowledge, king of the Old Gods.
The moment the Old God died, the Transcendent One devoured its skull and soul, becoming the War God.
The War God developed an insatiable hunger for human skill and knowledge.
It consumed masters who had reached the pinnacle of their craft, absorbing their knowledge, displaying their favored weapons in its armory.
The War Monks existed solely to serve this purpose, and they had received the War God’s blessings in return.
Durable, powerful bodies resembling insects, perfectly suited to their task, and equipped with skills and weapons optimized for their monstrous forms.
These monstrous beings, imbued with the skills of the masters they had slain, diligently hunted down other masters, severing their heads to offer to their god.
These masters were known as the Great Ones. However, even among those on the War God’s hit list, few knew the true reason for their persecution.
Aslan, one of the few who knew the truth, had no intention of facing a War Monk unprepared.
This was why he had fled without engaging the main mercenary force.
If he wasted time and energy fighting them, he couldn’t guarantee victory against the War Monk that might follow.
‘Of course, with luck, I might win. But I’m not willing to gamble with my life.’
Aslan wasn’t ready to face a War Monk.
He was low on supplies and needed to replenish his magic.
Unless he had a 100% chance of winning, he wouldn’t fight.
He wasn’t one to enjoy fighting in the first place.
He had two options for refuge.
Tegar, the city in Baron Tegar’s territory, located east of Frostwood Valley.
And the other, Olpasbet, a prison city nestled in the mountainous region to the southeast.
Tegar wasn’t a good option.
The route to Tegar was mostly through forests and well-maintained roads. Compared to the mountainous terrain surrounding Olpasbet, it would take less time to reach.
This meant the War Monk could easily predict that he would head for Tegar.
If he followed that predictable path, the War Monk would quickly catch up.
Facing a War Monk in the forest, or worse, encountering multiple War Monks, would drastically reduce his chances of survival.
Aslan wanted to eliminate that possibility entirely.
Even if it meant more effort, taking an unexpected route to Olpasbet seemed like the better choice.
So, traversing mountains and forests, a week after fleeing Frostwood Valley, Aslan arrived at the prison city of Olpasbet.
Olpasbet was a city carved into the heart of a mountain.
Hewn from the rock, the city was perpetually dim, illuminated by countless hanging lanterns, giving it a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere.
Olpasbet had many nicknames.
The City of Sin. The City of Decadence. The City of Pleasure.
Excessive titles for a city barely two centuries old.
But Olpasbet’s short history was steeped in darkness.
Aslan entered the city, bathed in a flickering crimson light, he could feel it.
It wasn’t long before he began to see the signs.
Women propositioning passersby.
Men gathered in alleyways, eyeing travelers with calculating gazes.
Children with wide, eager eyes fixated on the bags of travelers.
All of them wore faintly glowing restraints around their necks and were dressed in rags.
This was Olpasbet’s unique characteristic.
A city where the majority of the inhabitants were prisoners and slaves. A city built around a poisonous swamp, home to monsters and a mine rich in unique metals.
This was the prison city of Olpasbet.
Aslan sighed as he surveyed the city.
He hadn’t wanted to come here. But with the War Monk in pursuit and his supplies dwindling, he had no other choice.
He needed to replace the scrolls he had used, sell his spoils, and purchase necessary provisions.
He also needed to stock up on preserved food. He couldn’t risk venturing outside the city again.
He didn’t intend to stay long. Aslan adjusted his bag and pushed forward, ignoring the lingering gazes of the prisoners.
He planned to head to the blacksmith first, and with that in mind, he delved deeper into the city.
It wasn’t long before he stopped.
Several stalls were overturned, and a crowd had gathered. A commotion was unfolding beyond them.
Though there was nothing to be gained from getting involved in such disturbances, the crowd seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, laughing and shouting.
Hearing their cries, Aslan found himself drawn towards the commotion.
“Look at her! She moves like a rat!”
“They can’t even catch her! Put some effort into it, you idiots!”
There were other shouts, but they all carried the same sentiment. The men were mocking and cheering on those involved in the spectacle.
Aslan pushed his way through the crowd, his imposing physique parting the throng.
The prisoners, recognizing his size, weapons, and armor, readily stepped aside.
As he reached the front, he saw her.
–Thwack!
“Ugh…”
A girl with fiery red hair, the color of the city’s lights, kicked a man between the legs.
The man collapsed, clutching his groin and convulsing slightly. The girl promptly stomped on his bald head.
“You… you cowardly bitch! How dare you!”
Another man shouted in outrage. The girl grinned savagely.
“Cowardly? That’s rich coming from you!”
She pointed a finger at him, her voice dripping with scorn.
“Three of you ganging up on one? I’m the coward?”
As she said, the man whose groin she had just pulverized had two companions.
And among them was a distinctive figure.
“And with your noble Dragonkin self here in person? You have the nerve to call me a coward?”
A reptilian humanoid with crimson scales, a thick tail, powerful arms, and a towering, muscular physique. A Dragonkin.
The Dragonkin’s eyes narrowed at the insult. He gestured with his chin, and the girl, undeterred, picked up a rock from the ground.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, you shameless bastards!”
She snarled, clutching the rock. The man, presumably the Dragonkin’s subordinate, glared at her and slowly approached.
The girl remained defiant, raising the rock-filled hand.
She was more than just spirited; she was wild.
Watching the girl face off against multiple larger men, Aslan was reminded of a cornered animal.
But even her ferocity couldn’t overcome the sheer difference in size and numbers.
That was the general consensus of the crowd, Aslan included. Though, in Aslan’s mind, another thought surfaced.
‘Should I help her?’
Regardless of the circumstances, the sight of several men beating up a young girl was unsettling.
Aslan hesitated, momentarily conflicted by the realization that something he would find unacceptable back on Earth was about to happen.
As he hesitated, the distance between the girl and the men closed.
And the moment their fists and feet were within striking distance…
[Active Main Quests]
[ ! Escape with Angela Tail]
A quest window appeared before Aslan’s eyes.
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finally a main quest