Surviving the Evil Gods – Chapter 27

—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
—————————————————————–

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

The final perk of the Combat skill.

It hadn’t existed in the game.

In Eternal Dominion, Combat was simply a stat-boosting skill, not one with unique perks.

But here in Gelladrion, a new perk had emerged.

Its name was Anicca – impermanence.

An unusual choice of name, a Buddhist term rarely seen in Eternal Dominion.

Its effects were simple, yet powerful.

First, it doubled weapon damage at the cost of doubling weapon durability.

Second, it allowed the user to freely utilize all learned skill perks, regardless of their original form or limitations.

With this perk, Aslan could use Call Lightning, an Archery perk, with his fists, and Dragonslayer, a Swordsmanship perk, with his bow.

Unbound by the original form of the skills, it was a technique that guaranteed victory against an unprepared opponent.

Even those aware of its existence couldn’t fully defend against it. Their attempts to anticipate and counter it only divided their attention, making them more vulnerable.

It was the Master of Battle’s most potent weapon.

‘…Just as I thought.’

Despite the seemingly fatal blow, Aslan didn’t believe Ereta was dead.

High Priests were far more resilient than ordinary priests.

While their vital points remained the same, they often survived even grievous injuries.

The gods granted their High Priests regenerative abilities, even resurrection. The Weaver of Fire was no exception.

Aslan watched Ereta’s head slowly rise, a wry smile touching his lips.

The arrow, perfectly placed, protruded from the back of her head, but Ereta simply smiled, as if unfazed, and straightened up.

‘Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.’

Aslan thought, pulling another arrow from the quiver at his back and nocking it to his bowstring. Draw, aim, release – his movements were fluid, economical.

–Thwang!

The smooth, practiced movements resulted in a perfect shot, the arrow a blur as it flew towards Ereta.

–Clang!

Ereta deflected the arrow with her axe. One of her eyes, pierced by the previous arrow, oozed blood and viscous fluid, but her movements were still precise.

Aslan, anticipating her deflection, loosed another arrow without hesitation. Ereta continued to deflect, dodge, and even catch the incoming arrows. One of the arrows, clutched in her hand, vibrated faintly.

‘Here it comes!’

She threw the captured arrow back at him. Aslan, seeing the projectile hurtling towards him, channeled his mana, focusing it into his eyes.

His enhanced vision tracked the arrow’s trajectory, allowing him to snatch it from the air. He quickly nocked the captured arrow and fired.

–Thwack!

This arrow wasn’t aimed at Ereta.

It pierced the head of one of her followers who, having recovered from the initial confusion, was charging towards Aslan.

Despite the follower’s enhanced regeneration from Partial Priestification, the head wound was fatal. He collapsed, lifeless.

The moment the follower fell, Aslan shouted,

“Retreat!”

At his command, the archers moved as one.

They lowered their bows, turned, and ran. Aslan, joining the retreat, pulled several arrows from his quiver, nocking and firing them in rapid succession.

–Thwang! Thwang! Thwang!

Each arrow found its mark, killing a monster or a follower. Ereta, impressed by his accuracy, pulled the arrow from her eye.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

She shouted, throwing the arrow back at Aslan like a dart, aiming for his head.

The arrow, propelled by her superhuman strength, was a deadly projectile, but Aslan calmly shifted his aim.

–Thwang!

–Thwack!

His arrow intercepted the incoming projectile. The two arrows collided mid-air, spinning and falling to the ground.

“Retreat! Retreat!”

Aslan shouted again, his eyes fixed on Ereta, and the soldiers, obeying his command, continued their organized retreat.

They fired arrows as they ran. While not as accurate or deadly as Aslan’s shots, the constant barrage forced the monsters and followers to slow down, disrupting their pursuit.

Even Ereta, trying to close the distance, was hampered by Aslan’s arrows, unable to advance quickly.

Aslan and the archers disappeared back into the forest, just as quickly as they had emerged. Ereta and her remaining followers and monsters gave chase, caught in an unexpected pursuit.

‘What’s his plan? Cavalry support? Or mages?’

Ereta followed Aslan and the archers deeper into the forest, trying to anticipate their next move.

Cavalry support was unlikely in this terrain. Perhaps an ambush, but the trees weren’t dense enough for an effective ambush.

Whatever his plan, good or bad, Ereta was ready.

Or so she thought.

Aslan and the archers suddenly split up, moving in different directions. Ereta, still in pursuit, hesitated.

Her target was Aslan, the vestige of the Old Gods. And he was now alone, heading off on his own.

It was likely a trap, but Ereta wasn’t concerned.

She believed she was more than capable of handling him alone. In fact, she considered the archers to be the greater threat.

Despite his titles, the Master of Battle and vestige of the Old Gods, he hadn’t seemed that powerful during their brief encounter in the capital.

The coordinated volley of arrows from the well-trained soldiers was far more dangerous.

She had miscalculated.

And she acted on that miscalculation.

Wanting to keep the pressure on the archers, she sent her remaining followers and monsters after them, while she pursued Aslan alone.

Aslan ran, weaving between trees, using his agility and knowledge of the terrain to his advantage. He climbed and jumped, his movements fluid and practiced, but not enough to shake off a High Priest.

The distance between them closed. Aslan didn’t look back, and Ereta, confident in her pursuit, didn’t rush.

They reached a clearing.

A wide-open space, devoid of trees. Aslan stopped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He dropped his bow.

“…Giving up already?”

Ereta asked, a smug smile on her face. Aslan didn’t reply.

Instead, he discarded his bow and quiver and drew the executioner’s sword, leaving the scabbard attached to his belt.

He spun the heavy sword, the scabbard clattering to the ground.

Ereta smiled.

“Resigned to your fate?”

There was no reason to discard the scabbard. He would need it to sheathe his sword after the fight. It was a clear sign that he wasn’t expecting to win.

“The sword won’t be usable after this. And the axe doesn’t need a scabbard.”

Aslan replied calmly.

Despite his seemingly desperate actions – discarding his scabbard, his bow and arrows – his demeanor was relaxed, almost serene. He even spoke as if he had already won, claiming he would take her axe as a trophy.

Ereta found his confidence unsettling.

“You seem confident. You ran away last time, didn’t you?”

She taunted him. Aslan didn’t react with anger, or contempt, or even denial.

He simply nodded, his eyes flickering closed, then open, as if acknowledging the truth in her words.

Ereta frowned, irritated by his calmness.

Just as she was about to speak, the tattoos on Aslan’s hand glowed brightly.

“Haste.”

He whispered. The magic stored within his tattoos surged through him, enhancing his speed. He exhaled, his warm breath forming a cloud in the cool air.

As the magic coursed through him, he adjusted his stance, gripping the executioner’s sword with both hands, his eyes gleaming.

“You’ll see.”

With those words, he charged.

He raised the executioner’s sword and lunged forward.

His first attack was a powerful overhead swing, putting his entire weight behind the blow.

Ereta, caught off guard, raised her axe to block.

–CLANG!

The sound of metal against metal echoed through the clearing. A jolt of pain shot up Aslan’s arm, but Ereta remained unfazed. The difference in their strength was significant.

Just as Ereta considered pressing her advantage, Aslan pulled his sword back, then swung it towards her throat in a horizontal slash.

–Whoosh!

Ereta, remembering Dragonslayer, hesitated.

The blade grazed her throat, then, guided by Aslan’s grip on the blade, arced upwards, aiming for her temple.

–Screech!

She deflected the blow with the shaft of her axe, using the recoil to swing upwards.

Aslan, with a speed far exceeding his usual movements, twisted his body, dodging the blow. The axe, wreathed in flames, sliced through the air where he had been a moment before.

Aslan instantly counterattacked, his sword slicing across Ereta’s forearm. The flesh parted with a sickening crack, spraying blood, then knitted itself back together.

Before the pain even registered, Ereta smiled, the earlier irritation replaced by genuine excitement.

‘This is what a fight between Great Ones should be like.’

A clash of skill, a test of honed technique and instinct. Aslan continued to press his attack, unfazed by her regeneration. Ereta was impressed.

She parried his blows, searching for an opening to counterattack, but each time she tried, Aslan countered her counter, his movements fluid and precise.

–Thwack!

A downward swing, an upward swing, a thrust, then an upward swing of the hilt. At the end of the exchange, the hilt struck Ereta’s jaw, snapping her head back. Aslan seized the opportunity, bringing the executioner’s sword down.

He aimed for her head.

But Ereta, her eyes crinkling in amusement, turned her head at the last moment, taking the blow on her shoulder.

The five-kilogram blade bit deep, crushing bone and tearing flesh. She grabbed the blade with her injured shoulder.

“Got you!”

Her shoulder regenerated rapidly, tightening her grip on the blade. Aslan froze, momentarily stunned by the feat, something only a High Priest could accomplish.

Barely a second, but an eternity in a fight between Great Ones.

Ereta lashed out with a swift kick.

–THUD!

“Gah…!”

Her foot slammed into Aslan’s stomach, sending him flying backwards. The executioner’s sword, still embedded in her shoulder, snapped, spraying fragments of metal as he was thrown back.

Aslan twisted his body mid-air, landing in a roll. He came to a stop beside a drainage ditch, blood and shards of metal scattering around him.

Ereta, watching him land, widened her eyes in surprise.

“Wow! I put everything into that kick! That’s the first time anyone’s survived a direct hit.”

Aslan wiped the blood from his mouth, ignoring her casual remark.

“Is it because you’re the vestige of the Old Gods? You’re incredibly tough. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Despite Ereta’s cheerful tone, Aslan was in agony. He had used wild magic to reinforce his skin and muscles, and he had deliberately thrown himself back to lessen the impact.

But even with all that, the blow had nearly ruptured his internal organs. He chuckled inwardly.

At least his plan was working.

He wiped the blood from his mouth with his forearm and smiled faintly.

“Actually… I’m not the vestige of the Old Gods.”

“…What?”

As Ereta stared at him, confused, Aslan glanced at the corner of his vision.

He could only level up during main quests. That’s why he had been stuck at level one for so long.

But during a main quest, he could level up regardless of who defeated the enemies.

Whether it was his companions, temporary allies, or even the enemies killing each other,

Every enemy death granted him experience.

This fight with Ereta was nothing but a stalling tactic.

A way to buy time for the Margrave’s soldiers to fight and defeat the monsters, earning him the experience he needed to level up.

A smile spread across Aslan’s face as he saw it appear in the corner of his vision.

[LEVEL UP]

[Active Main Quests]

[ ! Defend the Margravate or Flee]

While Ereta hesitated, her confusion preventing her from attacking, Aslan quickly opened the system menu, selecting the character screen and tapping Angie’s name.

He instantly allocated three points to Strength, then selected his own name and allocated three points to Fighting Spirit.

It was a prearranged signal.

A signal Angie would recognize, no matter how far away she was.

A signal to join the fight the moment she felt the change in her body.

The trees around them suddenly began to shed their leaves.

Ereta, finally sensing something amiss, moved to attack, raising her weapons, ready to strike Aslan down.

“Took you long enough!”

But Angie was faster. She dropped from a tall tree, landing gracefully, and swung her glaive, her legs tingling from the impact.

Her descent wasn’t particularly fast, her trajectory predictable.

But Ereta didn’t move.

She had already experienced the girl’s strength, the force of her blows.

‘A ridiculous tactic.’

Ereta watched the girl descend, her glaive whistling through the air, a smirk playing on her lips.

Human growth wasn’t that dramatic. She could withstand it.

She chose to take the hit and counterattack, instead of dodging or blocking.

She would take the blow, then swing her axe, aiming for the girl’s neck.

She would dismantle the Master of Battle’s plan, humiliate him.

A typical thought for someone with her sadistic tendencies.

She was already considering her taunts as she braced herself for the impact of the glaive.

But the moment the weapon connected, she realized the force behind the blow was completely different.

And she realized it too late.

–THUD!

The glaive, swung like a club, slammed into her side, sending her flying.

Trees cracked and splintered as she crashed through them, falling to the ground in a heap.

Angie, unfazed, cracked her neck.

Aslan, watching her, discarded the broken executioner’s sword and drew the twin swords.

“Regeneration.”

He whispered. The tattoos on his body glowed faintly, and restorative magic flowed through him, mending torn flesh and shattered bone.

Ereta, seeing Aslan’s rapid healing, emerged from the wreckage of the fallen trees, her face contorted in annoyance.

He hadn’t used his healing magic during the fight, waiting until now.

It proved that he had been holding back, that everything had been a calculated ploy.

He had anticipated her decision to take the hit and planned accordingly.

Realizing this, Ereta pushed aside the fallen trees and raised her axe, her annoyance growing.

Aslan, seeing her frustration, smiled.

“Let’s finish this.”

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇