Surviving the Evil Gods – Chapter 28

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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Ereta wasn’t a fool.

High Priests weren’t chosen for their lack of intelligence or empathy. They were the most capable individuals among a god’s followers, those who had proven their worth and abilities.

Ereta, while primarily known for her combat prowess, hadn’t achieved her position solely through brute force.

And that’s why, seeing the girl who had suddenly appeared and landed a decisive blow, she instantly understood.

The red-haired girl was undeniably stronger than she had been a few days ago.

Not just stronger, but the divine energy surrounding her was more potent, more substantial.

And yet, she wasn’t a hybrid, a mix of human and priest. She lacked the tell-tale physical characteristics of a hybrid. She was a normal human.

A normal human with that level of strength?

Impossible.

Ereta’s eyes narrowed as she realized the truth. She pointed at Angie.

“You’re the vestige of the Old Gods. Aren’t you?”

Her voice was cold, her usual gentle expression replaced by a chillingly impassive mask. Angie remained silent. Aslan, his expression mirroring Angie’s, replied,

“Does it change anything?”

“What do you mean?”

Aslan spun the swords in his hands, the air whistling around the blades.

“It doesn’t matter who you target first, or what clever plan you’ve concocted… Unless you can defeat both of us, you won’t achieve anything.”

Ereta’s eyes narrowed, a cold smile playing on her lips.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Honestly, this is becoming a nuisance. I only fight for enjoyment, you know?”

She grumbled. Aslan didn’t reply. He simply charged, Angie following close behind.

–Whoosh!

Aslan led the attack, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The dark blade sliced through the air. Ereta tilted her head back, dodging the blow, then…

“Haa!”

–Crack!

…Angie’s glaive slammed into her leg. The force of the blow sent her stumbling.

As Ereta grimaced, Aslan, his arms a blur of motion, brought his other sword up in a swift, upward slash.

Ereta, even as she fell, managed to plant her foot, stopping her descent. She twisted her body into a grotesque contortion, thrusting her forearm into the path of Aslan’s blade.

–Crack!

Her forearm, far tougher than that of an ordinary human, was able to withstand even Aslan’s enhanced strike.

Ignoring the blood welling up from the gash, Ereta swung her arm, striking Angie across the head.

“Oof…”

The backhand blow, delivered with monstrous strength, would have crushed an ordinary human’s skull.

But Angie wasn’t ordinary. She groaned, blood trickling from her nose, her face contorted in pain, but she didn’t fall.

Ereta’s eyes darted between Angie and Aslan. Aslan was pressing his attack, his sword flashing, while Angie, though momentarily stunned, would be back on her feet soon.

Ereta, the Saint of Slaughter, clicked her tongue and kicked off the ground with her planted foot.

–BOOM!

The earth cracked beneath her foot as she launched herself backward, creating distance in a way no ordinary human could. She faced the two figures standing before her.

“Damn… that hurts.”

The girl spat blood, rubbing her nose.

The man examined his bloodstained sword, then looked at Ereta.

Aslan sighed, seeing that the wound on Ereta’s arm had already closed.

There had never been a perfect plan.

Not against someone like Ereta, who had no obvious weaknesses.

All he could do was fight, to survive, to wear her down.

His plan for defeating Ereta had been meticulously crafted up to this point, but from here on, it was mostly improvisation.

He would keep attacking, cutting and slashing, until her regeneration faltered, and then he would kill her.

A reckless strategy, especially for him and Angie, who had only recently gained her powers.

But he had no other choice.

This was the only plan with even a sliver of a chance of success. Even with all his skills and experience, he couldn’t come up with anything better.

He had kept Angie, less experienced and more likely to attack recklessly, out of the fight until he leveled up.

He had saved his Regeneration spell for later.

He had started the fight with a ranged attack, using his bow to inflict an initial wound.

He couldn’t have asked for a better starting point.

Now, he needed only two things.

Focus and Fighting Spirit.

Fortunately, he had both.

Aslan and Angie charged.

Aslan’s twin swords flashed, a blur of motion, while Angie swung her glaive wildly. Ereta parried their attacks, then counterattacked, her movements fueled by annoyance.

–Clang!

Angie’s glaive snapped, and her arm was sliced open, spraying blood.

But she didn’t retreat. Gritting her teeth, she charged again, lowering her stance. Ereta raised her knee, striking Angie in the head.

“Oof…!”

Angie’s head snapped back. Another blow that would have killed an ordinary human. But she merely stumbled, then lunged forward again.

As Ereta swung her axe at the charging girl, Aslan’s sword descended.

–Clang!

Aslan’s downward strike clashed against Ereta’s hastily raised axe.

–Thwack!

Angie’s fist connected with Ereta’s stomach, sending her reeling.

Aslan twisted his body, following through with his attack, his sword slicing across Ereta’s throat. The shallow cut bled profusely, then closed.

Ereta grimaced, reversing her grip on the axe and swinging. Aslan deflected the powerful blow with his sword, blood welling up from his arm and hand.

The fight continued, a relentless exchange of blows. Aslan attacked, Ereta defended. Ereta attacked, Aslan parried.

A blow from the axe handle struck Aslan’s side, but he didn’t falter. He coughed up blood, but he kept fighting.

The exchange ended when Aslan’s sword snapped.

–Snap!

The blade broke near the hilt. As Ereta raised her axe, seeing the opportunity,

–Thwack!

Angie’s fist slammed into her stomach. Ereta gasped, blood spraying from her mouth.

Aslan kicked the broken blade.

It flew through the air, embedding itself in Ereta’s chest. She roared in fury.

She lashed out with a kick, sending Angie flying.

Aslan, filling the gap left by Angie, swung his remaining sword.

The diagonal upward slash tore another gash in Ereta’s throat.

She stumbled, momentarily stunned. Even a High Priest, with their enhanced regeneration, couldn’t ignore repeated blows to vital points.

Especially one who still retained a human form.

As Ereta regained her balance, Aslan, blood dripping from his mouth, charged again.

The axe swung horizontally. Aslan angled his sword, deflecting the blow.

The axe glanced off his blade, and before Ereta could recover, Angie charged from behind.

She drew her arm back, then swung, a wild, untrained punch, a telegraphed blow, but Ereta, caught off guard, couldn’t dodge.

–Thud!

Angie’s fist connected with Ereta’s back, her spine bending under the force of the blow. Aslan’s sword sliced across her throat again.

Blood spurted from the wound. Her regeneration was slowing.

“Ugh… Aaagh!”

Ereta, growing desperate, swung her arm again, striking Angie across the face, sending her tumbling to the ground.

She frantically parried Aslan’s relentless attacks.

While Aslan held the technical advantage, Ereta was physically stronger. She should have been able to crush him easily.

But Aslan kept deflecting her blows, enduring her attacks, counterattacking relentlessly. Ereta felt her regenerative abilities failing, her body weakening with each blow.

Even blocking his attacks was taking its toll, her bones cracking, her flesh tearing. Aslan’s body was covered in blood.

And yet, he wouldn’t fall.

‘How…?!’

And Angie, despite being knocked down repeatedly, kept getting back up, rejoining the fight.

The brief openings she created allowed Aslan to continue his relentless assault, chipping away at Ereta’s regeneration.

Ereta’s annoyance turned to panic.

This wasn’t how humans fought.

She desperately parried another blow from Aslan’s sword with her forearm. Her arm, weakened by her failing regeneration, was severed, but the force of the blow was spent. She twisted her body and kicked Aslan, sending him flying.

She then brought the handle of her axe down on Angie’s head, knocking her unconscious.

Angie’s eyes rolled back as she collapsed. Aslan lay on the ground, unmoving.

Ereta looked at him, a silent plea echoing in her mind.

‘Don’t get up. Please, don’t get up…’

But he did. Blood trickled from his mouth, his body battered and bruised, but he stood.

He would keep getting up, as long as he was still in one piece.

Ereta suddenly realized she couldn’t even imagine defeating him.

“Why…?”

He stood there, his broken swords pointed at her.

Ereta, unable to comprehend his resilience, shouted,

“Why won’t you stay down?! Just die already!”

She was exhausted. Her regeneration was faltering, her wounds festering. She prioritized healing the major injuries, leaving the smaller cuts unattended.

Aslan, his eyes narrowed, answered her desperate plea.

“Because… I’m the only one… who can…”

He raised his head, meeting her gaze. His eyes were devoid of fear.

Unlike hers.

‘Am I… afraid?’

Frustration welled up inside her.

She was enraged by his resilience, his ability to withstand her attacks and counter so effectively.

She was growing desperate as her regeneration faltered.

And she was panicking, seeing them both rise again and again, no matter how many times she knocked them down.

And then, she felt it. Fear.

A chilling fear of this unending fight, of their relentless determination to kill her.

Fear of an ordinary human, the Master of Battle, and a novice fighter, Angie.

She felt humiliated.

Shame and humiliation burned within her.

She, a High Priest, a champion of a god destined to burn the universe and build empires from its ashes, was afraid of two humans.

Driven by the need to erase that fear, to destroy the source of her humiliation, she charged, her axe whistling through the air, aiming for Aslan’s head.

Aslan, seeing the axe hurtling towards him, smiled.

A Great One was a master among masters.

A human who had reached the pinnacle of skill, the epitome of human ingenuity, coveted even by the gods.

And that skill shone brightest in moments of calm, in the stillness of a focused mind.

There was no skill in a blow driven by rage.

This was the opportunity Aslan had been waiting for.

His eyes narrowed, focusing, as he dropped his broken sword.

‘Finally lost your cool, have you?’

He charged towards Ereta, his battered legs protesting with every step.

His aim wasn’t just to wear down her regeneration and kill her.

It was to break her, to shatter her technique.

Her rage made her movements predictable. Aslan read her trajectory, angling his remaining sword to meet her axe.

–CLANG!

He reinforced his arm with wild magic at the moment of impact, deflecting the blow. He didn’t pull back. He pressed forward, closing the distance.

–Crack! Clang!

His sword snapped. But he didn’t stop. He discarded the broken blade and, anticipating Ereta’s desperate punch, swung his arm.

–Crack!

His arm broke. But he had wild magic.

He channeled his remaining mana, reinforcing his muscles, realigning his bones, dispersing the impact.

Blood welled up in his throat, but he smiled.

He used his broken arm to deflect Ereta’s wrist, then, in a fluid motion, grabbed her arm and twisted it, seizing her axe. The seemingly simple movements were imbued with the honed skill of a master.

With his maxed-out martial arts skill, he executed a flawless technique.

“Wha…?”

He wrenched the axe from her grasp. It was heavy, even for him.

Aslan held the axe in one hand, watching Ereta reach for it, her face a mask of shock and disbelief.

Aslan’s lips moved.

“Shadow Flip.”

His shadow, stretched long by the setting sun, vanished.

–SLASH!

Ereta’s hand and arm exploded.

The blunt force trauma was unmistakable.

Ereta, the Master of the Mace, recognized the wound.

It was the mark of an axe.

Her axe. The axe she had wielded countless times, the axe that had taken countless lives.

The axe now held in Aslan’s hand, as he stood poised to strike, as if he had just swung it.

She understood.

Her eyes widened in terror as she recognized the technique, her own technique, used against her.

Two blows, delivered with blinding speed.

Shadow Flip, the ultimate Mace skill perk.

Aslan lowered the axe, his voice low.

“This won’t be over quickly.”

He unleashed the full force of his remaining Fighting Spirit.

‘Shadow Flip.’

His Fighting Spirit was at 7.

3 gained from leveling up, 1 used on the way here, 1 used just now.

5 remaining.

Soon to be 0.

Ten blows, too fast for the eye to follow, rained down on Ereta.

Her arms, legs, and torso were mangled, the attacks coming so fast they seemed almost simultaneous.

Her spine shattered, her ribcage caved in, her arms severed, her legs crushed. Ereta screamed, her voice filled with terror.

Her depleted regeneration could no longer keep up. Death beckoned, a finality she had never truly faced before.

As Ereta’s fear became undeniable, Aslan spoke, his voice quiet.

“It’s over.”

His Fighting Spirit depleted, his body battered and broken,

The Master of Battle swung the axe.

–Crack.

The blade bit deep, cleaving through bone and flesh.

As death approached, Ereta tried to scream, but…

–Thud.

…her neck snapped, and the world went dark.

Ereta’s head flew through the air.

It landed on the ground, rolling, her white hair stained with dirt, before coming to a stop.

Her body collapsed. Aslan, looking at the lifeless head and the still body, knelt.

His mana and Fighting Spirit were completely depleted. His body was barely holding itself together.

He had been pushed to his absolute limit.

A hellish ordeal.

An impossibly powerful opponent.

Even in the game, with the best equipment and optimal stats, a level five character couldn’t defeat the Saint of Slaughter.

[LEVEL UP]

[Completed Main Quests]

[ ! Defend the Margravate or Flee]

But he had done it.

Against all odds, he had won.

Aslan looked at the system window, confirming his victory, and let out a shaky breath, collapsing to the ground.

‘I’m exhausted.’

It was no surprise. He had lost a significant amount of blood, pushed his body past its limits, and used every last drop of his Fighting Spirit.

But the exhaustion, the overwhelming drowsiness, felt good. He had earned a good night’s sleep.

He leaned against the axe, closing his eyes,

And then he saw it.

[H?dd?n Qu?st Cl??r]

[!!G?d’s Bl??d!! ?bt??n?d]

Unintelligible characters appeared before his eyes. And at the same time,

–FWOOOSH!

The axe in his hand burst into white flames.

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