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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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Aslan watched Cornil Ashuld stride ahead, his gait a mixture of arrogance and self-importance.
Glancing to the side, Aslan saw Ileana trailing behind them at a distance.
She had come to warn them, those who seemed to have willingly walked into a trap.
It was predictable, and Cornil Ashuld must have realized it too.
Yet, he hadn’t stopped her. He hadn’t even told her to leave. He was clearly aware of her presence, having glanced back at her once, but he continued forward without acknowledging her further.
It spoke volumes about Ileana’s precarious position within the Imperial Palace.
She likely held less influence than even Cornil, despite being the previous Emperor’s daughter and the current Emperor’s sister.
‘Perfect.’
Aslan saw this as an advantage.
An opportunity to make a good impression on the future Empress.
He let his smile fade as he looked at the large door at the end of the long, dimly lit corridor.
The massive doors, seemingly designed for beings far larger than humans, swung open smoothly as Cornil Ashuld and Aslan approached.
“We’ve arrived. Welcome to the audience chamber of Belus Ma’kel.”
Cornil Ashuld announced with a smug smile, stepping inside. Aslan followed.
The first thing he noticed was a large terrace that ran along the wall, extending from above the entrance to just beside the throne.
Like a mezzanine level, the terrace was built into the wall, its stone balustrade a solid, imposing presence.
A faint presence, and a sense of foreboding, emanated from the terrace. Aslan, unsure if it was the effect of his Luck stat or just a hunch, was certain archers were positioned there.
‘If it were me, I would position archers up there for an ambush.’
Aslan, judging the situation based on his own tactical instincts, made a mental note of the terrace’s location and continued forward.
Beyond the terrace, he saw the soldiers.
Armed with spears, swords, maces, and shields. They wore full armor, their faces hidden behind helmets.
His gaze swept past the faceless soldiers to the throne.
“Hmm, so you’re the infamous Emperor’s assassin.”
The figure seated on the throne resembled Ileana, but there were subtle differences.
While they shared the same eye and hair color, the Emperor’s face, unlike his sister’s innocent features, held a cruel, almost sinister, expression.
His thin, wiry frame accentuated this impression, and the presence of a War Monk standing beside him solidified it.
“You look… more presentable than I expected. I imagined someone more rugged, more… masculine. You have a melancholic air about you. I bet you’ve broken a few hearts.”
The Emperor sneered, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
Aslan narrowed his eyes.
“Your Majesty is also different from what I expected.”
“Different how?”
“I imagined someone… more dignified.”
Aslan replied with a slight smile. The Emperor’s smile twisted into a grimace, as if trying to hide his displeasure.
“Is that so? I suppose I am rather slight.”
The Emperor’s lips twitched as he settled deeper into his throne. A faint rustling sound, like insects crawling, reached Aslan’s ears.
Aslan closed his eyes, a pungent odor assaulting his nostrils.
He recognized the smell. The smell of a place infested with insects.
Harod, his tail twitching nervously, shifted his weight. Angie frowned, her face contorted in disgust. Only Aslan remained impassive.
“Now, before we get down to business… let’s take care of a little family matter. Ileana.”
Ileana, who had been standing near the entrance, stepped forward at the sound of her name.
She stood before the Emperor, her eyes closed, her lips pressed together. The Emperor, seemingly accustomed to her silence, waved his hand dismissively.
“Tch.”
–Slap!
The sound of a hand striking flesh echoed through the chamber. The Emperor, a look of satisfaction on his face, smoothed his hair back as Ileana, without a word, moved to stand beside the throne.
“Now that that’s taken care of, let’s discuss why you’re here. Do you know why you were summoned?”
The Emperor spoke as if the previous incident was trivial, inconsequential.
Aslan stared at him for a moment, then replied,
“Because of the power I possess.”
“Hmm, indeed. My loyal hound tells me… that you’re the vestige of the Old Gods. Is that true?”
“Yes, I am the vestige of the Old Gods.”
The Emperor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at Aslan’s immediate reply.
“So confident. I like that. Now, let me ask you again. Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
Aslan deliberately let his gaze wander, scanning the soldiers. The Emperor chuckled, pleased by his apparent wariness.
“Ah, there’s no need to be so cautious. I don’t intend to harm you. Not yet, anyway.”
“…That’s good to hear.”
Aslan feigned relief. The Emperor smiled, his pleasure evident.
“I have a proposition for you. The War God values you highly. Being both the vestige of the Old Gods and the Master of Battle, it’s only natural.”
A hint of resentment laced his voice. Aslan noticed, but pretended not to. The more complacent the Emperor became, the better.
“Get to the point.”
“Hmph, I don’t appreciate your tone, but considering the glory the War God bestows upon us, I’ll let it slide. Now, the War God’s offer is this: Pledge your loyalty to him, become his Sword, and your life will be spared.”
Aslan smirked inwardly. The Emperor was acting as if the offer was his own, when it clearly came from the War God. It was amusing.
“With your talent, you could even become the War God’s Sword, perhaps even more.”
“…Is that so?”
“Indeed. The War God himself guaranteed it.”
The War God’s Sword. Aslan smiled at the familiar title.
It was the title given to the War God’s High Priest.
A giant centipede-like creature wielding countless swords. A formidable opponent, even in the game.
And if the offer was to become something even greater than that, the implications were terrifying.
Aslan had no intention of becoming a monster.
That was the source of his amusement, but the Emperor mistook it for a smile of tempted interest.
Aslan’s eyes flickered closed, then opened, now burning with rage.
“Is it that appealing? To become…”
“Does the War God truly say this?”
The Emperor’s eyebrows twitched at Aslan’s sudden interruption, his tone completely different from before.
“Does that… god… really think I’m that stupid? That I’d actually be tempted by the promise of becoming a monster?”
Aslan’s face twisted in disgust, the Emperor speechless before him.
Aslan loathed the gods.
He loathed their casual disregard for human life, their ruthless plundering of the world.
That loathing now resonated in his voice.
“Disgusting.”
Harod flinched at the raw anger in Aslan’s voice, an emotion he had never seen before. Angie stared, her eyes wide.
The Emperor stared at Aslan for a moment, then burst out laughing.
His laughter slowly subsided, morphing into rage. He gripped the arms of his throne, his voice tight.
“…Do you have a death wish?”
“I’d rather die than serve that god.”
“Oh, is that so? What a shame. Then…”
“One more thing.”
Aslan interrupted him again. The Emperor’s hand, raised as if to give an order, froze.
The soldiers, poised to draw their weapons, stopped. The War Monk, his hands resting on the twin swords at his hips, watched Aslan intently.
Aslan, aware that all eyes were on him, glanced at Ileana.
Seeing her confusion, he smiled.
“Tell the War God to go to hell.”
“…Kill him.”
The Emperor lowered his hand.
Archers appeared on the terrace, their bows drawn, just as the tattoos on Aslan’s right hand, extending from his hand to his shoulder, began to glow.
The tattoos, capable of storing and activating five spells, pulsed with light, releasing a surge of mana.
“Shield.”
[Remaining Spells]
[Equalize] [Heat Metal] [Haste]
The tattoos glowed brightly, a system window flickering briefly in the corner of his vision.
The light emanating from the tattoos intensified, swirling and coalescing.
The swirling blue mana took shape, forming a large, translucent shield.
Just as the shield solidified in midair, the arrows rained down.
–Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!
The shield, rotating and shifting, deflected the incoming arrows, which clattered harmlessly to the ground.
“…What?”
The Emperor’s plan to kill all three of them in a volley of arrows had failed.
Aslan, watching the Emperor’s astonishment, gripped the executioner’s sword and twisted his body.
The sword flashed, drawn in a blur of motion. The War Monk, wielding twin swords, stepped forward.
‘No shield.’
That made things easier. The War Monk, perhaps underestimating Aslan, hadn’t even adopted a defensive stance.
Before he could even properly grip the executioner’s sword with both hands, Aslan reinforced his legs with wild magic.
He felt the drain on his mana as the muscles in his legs tightened and coiled, granting him a burst of strength.
The enhancement wouldn’t last more than a second, but it was enough.
‘Call Lightning.’
He only needed to endure for a moment.
–Crackle!
Call Lightning was a skill that imparted a powerful recoil to whatever it struck, capable of repelling even larger opponents.
But Aslan had discovered a unique property of this skill after arriving in Gelladrion.
If used against an immovable object, the force would be redirected to the user.
And the most immovable of objects was the ground itself.
Aslan channeled Call Lightning into his enhanced legs and slammed them into the floor of the audience chamber.
–Crack!
The floor cracked, sending shards of marble flying. Time seemed to slow as Aslan adjusted his grip on the executioner’s sword and aimed.
And then he accelerated.
–Crack!
–Thud!
Aslan moved with a speed beyond his own comprehension. All he had to do was aim.
“Gah…!”
The executioner’s sword sliced through the War Monk’s side, a spray of blood and gore erupting from the wound.
The War Monk, its spine severed, collapsed to its knees.
“Wh-what the…?!”
The soldiers scrambled to draw their weapons. The archers hesitated, unsure whether to target Angie and Harod, who were protected by the mana shield, or Aslan.
Aslan adjusted his grip on the executioner’s sword.
War Monks, like all priests, were powerful, superhuman beings.
But they weren’t invincible, and their vital points were still the same as when they were human.
And a five-kilogram executioner’s sword, wielded by the Master of Battle, was not something a wounded War Monk could block or dodge.
–Swish!
The sword descended, cleaving through the War Monk’s neck, sending its head flying. The severed insect head rolled across the floor.
Aslan watched the rolling head and muttered,
“You shouldn’t have let your guard down.”
If the War Monk had adopted a defensive stance, even with the boost from Call Lightning, Aslan wouldn’t have been able to inflict a fatal blow.
But they had underestimated him, based on his earlier behavior.
And the consequences were brutal.
Aslan, seeing the archers’ drawn bows and the soldiers approaching with superhuman speed, grabbed the Emperor by the back of his neck.
The Emperor gasped as he was yanked forward, becoming a human shield.
Aslan glanced at Ileana, then shouted,
“Unless you want to add ‘killed by the same man twice’ to the Empire’s history books, drop your weapons!”
Normally, they would comply.
The Emperor’s life was in Aslan’s hands, and any arrows aimed at him would hit the Emperor instead.
But the soldiers continued to advance. The archers kept their bows trained on Aslan.
Aslan sighed.
“I knew it.”
He felt the insectoid carapace beneath his fingers, at the back of the Emperor’s neck, and smirked.
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Great chappie!!!