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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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What had triggered it?
The talk of marriage?
The grueling fight with the High Priest, pushing his injured body to its limits, resorting to Equalize?
The complete depletion of his mana?
The constant vigilance, the lack of proper rest?
Probably all of it.
Aslan, unable to meditate, had fallen asleep. And he had dreamt.
A world consumed by flames.
Everything he saw was burning, black smoke rising in thick plumes. The flames were so intensely red that it hurt to look at them. All he could see were charred corpses and swirling smoke.
And he was there, a sword in his hand.
Beyond the blade, a woman looked up at him, her eyes filled with sorrow.
She knelt on the ground, bleeding, but smiling.
Their eyes met, their expressions a stark contrast.
The woman, her face flushed, a happy smile gracing her lips.
And Aslan, his expression on the verge of collapse.
As their eyes locked, the woman spoke, her voice soft and gentle.
“I love you.”
Her violet eyes crinkled in a smile, and Aslan lowered his raised sword.
The severed head rolled across the ground.
It tumbled down a slope, its long hair trailing behind it.
A slope formed by the bodies she had piled up, the devastation she had wrought.
The head reached the bottom of the slope and bumped against someone’s feet.
White, pristine feet, untouched by the surrounding carnage, the flames and the blood.
The owner of the feet gently picked up the head and spoke, her voice clear and bright, uttering a horrifying truth that made Aslan gasp.
And then, the world, the nightmare, began to crumble.
Amidst the swirling fragments of the dream, a woman with goat horns smiled playfully.
“…Ah.”
Aslan woke up, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his expression filled with confusion.
“What’s wrong? Bad dream?”
Aslan, his mind still reeling from the nightmare, had closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them at the sound of the girl’s voice.
Angie stood before him, her fiery red hair framing her bright golden eyes.
Aslan rubbed his forehead, his mind slowly grounding itself in reality. He was in the Margravate, not in his nightmare.
“No, it was nothing.”
“Liar. You look like you saw a ghost.”
Angie nudged his shoulder and sat down beside him.
“I might not look it, but I was the boss of the Tail section for a while. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll listen.”
Of course, her “reign” as boss likely only extended to the other children. Aslan chuckled at her attempt to comfort him.
“Don’t laugh! I’m serious!”
Angie protested, and Aslan’s laughter subsided, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Angie didn’t press the issue.
“I’ll listen. Tell me. Talking about nightmares always helps.”
Aslan, seeing her slightly smug expression, was about to tell her it was nothing.
But he stopped himself.
She would find out eventually.
She wasn’t just a comrade. She was the protagonist.
And she needed to know, to be prepared.
Aslan sighed, a weary smile touching his lips. Angie tilted her head, confused.
He picked up the arrows and knife he had dropped when he fell asleep. Only then did he speak.
“…I was married once.”
He spoke as he carefully attached an arrowhead to a shaft, then fletched it.
“To a very bad woman. So bad that if I hadn’t stopped her, she would have caused… terrible things.”
Angie flinched at the word “married,” then, as if anticipating his next words, simply asked,
“And?”
“…For a while, she didn’t do anything bad, not while I was there. I was relieved, and she… she found a kind of peace. We lived together, for a time.”
Aslan continued to work, his hands moving deftly. The finished arrows were surprisingly well-crafted, even Angie was impressed.
He placed the finished arrows in a quiver at his feet.
As he worked, the image of a woman surfaced in his mind.
Beautiful black hair, long and flowing, and violet eyes that sparkled like jewels.
She had laughed, she had cried, she had whispered words of love.
Aslan felt a pang of sorrow and regret as he remembered her. The emotions flickered across his face.
Angie, seeing his expression, spoke softly.
“…You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard. I’m not… that curious.”
She had encouraged him to talk, to share his nightmare, but seeing his pain, she hesitated.
“It’s okay.”
But Aslan, knowing he had to tell her eventually, pressed on. He picked up another arrow shaft.
“We lived in a quiet little town on the western edge of the Southern Continent. We settled down, bought a house, got to know the local nobles. We lived there for about a year.”
It had been a period of unexpected stability, a time when he had almost considered giving up on returning to his own world.
“I thought everything would be alright. And for a while, it was. The priests didn’t find me, and there weren’t any dangerous monsters nearby.”
Even then, he had known it was too good to be true, but he hadn’t been able to resist the allure of peace.
“For a time… I think I was… happy.”
“…Hmm.”
Angie murmured, and Aslan sighed, looking down at the finished arrow in his hand.
The memories were painful, the emotions too raw, too potent. It felt like they were tearing him apart.
“It happened during winter, when even the sea breeze felt like ice.”
His voice, normally calm and detached, was now tinged with sadness. Angie realized that this was the nightmare.
“She wasn’t there, beside me, where she always slept. The window was wide open, and the winter wind… it carried a grim, ominous scent.”
Even now, he could still smell it, vividly.
The stench of burning flesh, the coppery tang of blood.
Aslan opened his eyes.
“I grabbed my old sword and went into the town. It was glowing red in the distance. That’s where I found her. All the monsters were bowing before her.”
“Don’t tell me…”
“The town of Beryl… she destroyed it. I had to kill her.”
Aslan exhaled, the weight of the memory heavy on his chest.
There was more to the story, details he deliberately omitted.
It would only confuse Angie.
He closed his mouth, a wry smile touching his lips.
“Her name was Rowena, the Black Witch. A priestess of the Twilight Flock. I… I killed her.”
It was another one of his failures.
Rowena, the Black Witch, was a chapter boss in the later stages of Eternal Dominion.
The nightmare, the memory he had just shared, was a remnant of his failed attempt to alter the game’s storyline.
Angie, seeing his pain, his sadness, looked at him, her face a mask of confusion.
“I thought a nightmare was… like, a dream where everyone dies or something…”
Aslan forced a smile at her innocent remark. Angie, however, was struggling.
“That makes it hard to comfort you… um, well…”
She scratched her head, muttering to herself. Aslan was about to tell her she didn’t need to comfort him when she spoke again.
“So, after you had that dream, what did you think?”
Aslan paused, then spoke, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
“…I thought… there must have been a better way. A better solution. Perhaps… I could have prevented it from happening in the first place.”
He closed his mouth abruptly.
“You regret it?”
“…Yes.”
Angie didn’t give him time to retract his words.
She considered his answer, stroking her chin thoughtfully.
“I’m not that smart. I don’t know a lot of things. So I’m not good with complicated words, and I don’t know if I can explain this properly…”
Angie’s bright golden eyes met Aslan’s.
“I don’t see how you could have done anything differently. But you seem to think you could have. Right?”
Aslan, unsure what she meant, hesitated, then replied,
“…No, I regret that I wasn’t strong enough.”
If he had been powerful enough to prevent it, maybe things would have turned out differently.
Angie murmured, “Strong enough…” Then she looked up at him, a grin spreading across her face.
“Then you don’t have to regret it anymore.”
Aslan looked at her, confused.
“You said I’m the vestige of the Old Gods. And that pretty girl in the big city said the vestige of the Old Gods is super powerful.”
While not entirely accurate, Aslan nodded in agreement.
Angie continued, her grin widening.
“And that super powerful thing is your comrade, watching your back, right? So you’re not lacking in power anymore. You can do all the things you regret not doing, right?”
Aslan stared at her, momentarily speechless.
Angie, seeing his reaction, nodded, as if confirming his thoughts. She spoke confidently,
“I know I haven’t been much help so far, but that’s going to change. I’m going to get stronger.”
It was a bold statement, but a true one. She would grow stronger every time he increased her stats.
She punched him lightly on the chest.
“We’re comrades, right?”
Aslan couldn’t help but smile.
“…Right. We’re comrades.”
He placed the finished arrows in the quiver.
Angie watched him, then asked,
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, much better. Thank you, Angie.”
Aslan added his thanks, and Angie scratched her head, looking embarrassed by his gratitude.
Silence fell between them as their conversation ended.
Aslan arranged the arrows in his quiver, and Angie watched him.
After a moment, she spoke.
“That crazy woman… she’s really coming here, isn’t she?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m preparing.”
Angie looked at the arrows, then took a deep breath.
Facing an opponent who had already defeated you required immense courage.
Especially an opponent you shouldn’t be able to defeat.
Ereta, in the game, was a mid-game chapter boss.
She shouldn’t be appearing this early.
Perhaps, like with Rowena, the storyline was going off the rails.
But Aslan believed that defeating her now, even though it was premature, wouldn’t drastically alter the course of the main quest.
He couldn’t simply run and hide, couldn’t give up the fight just because he wasn’t supposed to face her yet.
He had found a way to win, a single plan.
“…Are you sure about this plan? Not that I don’t trust you, but… I’m kinda scared.”
The plan, to anyone else, sounded insane.
Even to Angie, with her limited understanding.
Her gaze fell on the scrolls beside Aslan, and he smiled faintly.
“It’s the only way we can win. The only alternative is death.”
Angie still looked uneasy, but she trusted Aslan enough to remain silent.
He was right. There was no other option.
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Two weeks had passed since Ereta’s confrontation with the man who claimed to be both the Master of Battle and the vestige of the Old Gods in the capital.
It had taken her some time to return and retrace their steps, but she had finally reached Sangirus.
The Sangirus Margravate, bordering two kingdoms and with access to the sea, was the most likely place for Aslan to have gone.
Ereta believed she would find him here, or at least find some trace of him.
He had limited options, regardless of where he intended to go or hide.
So, she led her forces towards Sangirus, approaching through the forest to the west of the city.
She didn’t have many followers or monsters with her, but enough to conquer Sangirus.
Or rather, while her numbers were slightly lacking, the element of surprise, combined with her own considerable strength, would be enough.
Once she had control of the city, she would either find the vestige of the Old Gods and return to her order, or find a new lead to follow.
It was a sound plan, classic and without any obvious flaws. Unless she, a High Priest, was killed, which was unlikely.
Death, for a High Priest, was something she inflicted on others, not something she received.
As Ereta advanced, confident in her plan,
A sharp whistling sound reached her keen ears.
“Hmm?”
She reacted instantly, drawing the axe from her back and raising it to shield her face.
A volley of arrows rained down.
–Clang! Clang! Clang!
The arrows struck her axe, deflecting harmlessly, or pierced her followers and monsters, sending them tumbling to the ground.
While the arrows weren’t individually powerful, there were too many for her followers and the lesser monsters to withstand.
‘An ambush? Against me? Did they anticipate my arrival?’
Ereta had been careful to cover her tracks, taking an indirect route to avoid attracting attention. There was no way the Margrave could have predicted her path.
And yet, she had been ambushed.
She frowned, looking towards the source of the arrows.
“Aha.”
She saw him then.
A man standing among the archers, a figure that stood out from the rest.
A tall man with a longbow, his teal eyes gleaming.
The Master of Battle, the vestige of the Old Gods.
The moment she saw him, she remembered their encounter in the capital.
The man who had sensed her presence with uncanny accuracy, foiling her attempt at a surprise attack.
It made sense that he would be able to anticipate her arrival here as well.
‘As expected of the Master of Battle.’
A thrill of anticipation surged through her. She raised her axe.
This time, she would finish what she had started. She would defeat the Master of Battle, bring him to his knees.
The thought sent a wave of heat through her.
As she charged, eager to turn her fantasy into reality, the man calmly raised his bow.
He nocked an arrow, lifting the bow high, as if pushing against the sky, then slowly drew the string back.
The taut bowstring hummed ominously. Ereta raised her axe, shielding her face.
Aslan, watching the High Priest charge towards him, calmly aimed his arrow.
The arrow was black.
‘Dragonslayer.’
He released the arrow the moment the skill name echoed in his mind.
The arrow, propelled by the powerful longbow, flew through the air, a silent streak of darkness.
It passed straight through Ereta’s raised axe.
Or rather, it passed through as if the axe wasn’t even there.
“Huh?”
The moment Ereta’s eyes met the arrow that had pierced her weapon,
–Thwack!
The arrow sprouted from her forehead, her head snapping back with the force of the impact.
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System Notification 
Dope
Dis is Peak