—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Aslan, his face etched with weariness, showed clear signs of exhaustion.
His muscles were flushed, his hair damp with sweat, and his pale face was streaked with blood.
He looked as though he might collapse, yet he remained standing, catching his breath.
“Mother…”
The demigod, its spine shattered, lay on the ground, whimpering, its life ebbing away.
Aslan’s hand, still gripping Purity, the blade of white divine energy, was pointed at the demigod’s throat.
The wraiths had vanished the moment the demigod fell. It was the only one left. Aslan considered his next move.
‘Should I end its suffering?’
The deformed Giant, its spine broken, was clearly unable to move, let alone fight.
He closed his eyes, his Fighting Spirit fading.
Purity dissipated, its white light vanishing, and the blade, which had withstood the demigod’s monstrous strength throughout the fight, crumbled into dust.
The sword, no longer sustained by Aslan’s fighting spirit, shattered under the strain, unable to withstand the accumulated damage.
“Not… Mother…”
With the divine energy fading, its vision shifted to the spiritual realm.
It saw Aslan’s soul, shining with a light it had never seen before, a beautiful, radiant energy.
Its hand trembled as it reached out, a silent plea for connection.
Aslan didn’t move, didn’t recoil from the touch.
The demigod’s trembling fingers brushed against his chest, over his heart.
“Pretty… color…”
And then, it went still.
Aslan had killed the evil god.
He felt a profound sadness, rather than a sense of accomplishment.
He had been forced to kill a minor deity, a being driven mad by its own understanding of souls, trapped in the body of a Giant, twisted into a monstrous parody of its former self.
The hilt of the sword slipped from his numb fingers. With a sigh, he picked up Ereta’s axe and returned it to the straps on her back, his face a mask of weariness.
It was a necessary act, one he didn’t regret, but it still weighed heavily on him.
As he walked away, his exhausted body dragging, Ereta asked quietly,
“…Why did you kill it?”
Aslan’s teal eyes, gleaming faintly, met hers.
“Why did you talk to it? You could have ambushed it.”
Ereta still couldn’t understand his actions.
He could have easily killed the demigod with a single arrow, a swift, silent execution.
A surprise attack would have been far more efficient.
Even without the bow, an ambush would have given him a clear advantage.
There had been no need for conversation, no need to provoke it.
“I wanted to know… if it was truly an evil god. I wanted to avoid fighting if possible. But it was an evil god. It would have killed others, maybe it already had. So… I killed it.”
Aslan’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. Ereta didn’t understand.
She still couldn’t grasp his distinction between an evil god and a villain, his willingness to spare one and kill the other.
“Why… why didn’t you kill me? I’ve killed people too. I’ll probably kill again. Why spare me, but kill that Old God?”
A flicker of anxiety crossed her face as Aslan remained silent.
“If you’re keeping me alive to help you kill the evil gods… why not spare that Old God as well? It could have been a powerful ally, a valuable asset in the fight against the other gods.”
“I know.”
“Then why…? What’s the difference between me… and that Old God?”
Ereta couldn’t understand.
She didn’t want to die. She simply couldn’t comprehend his reasoning.
His moral compass was so different from hers, his actions so unpredictable, that she had to ask.
Aslan didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on her, his teal eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions.
“You are a villain. And that Old God… was an evil god.”
He finally spoke, his voice quiet, his words measured.
“A villain… can’t change the world. They’re only human. Even I haven’t been able to change the world, not in twelve years. It’s almost impossible for a single human to change the world. It’s too vast, too many people. One person can’t change everyone.”
His gaze drifted towards the horizon, a faint longing in his teal eyes.
“This world, this Gelladrion… it’s broken. People have no hope, no future. They can’t even dream of tomorrow. They accept being exploited by the gods, they think survival is a privilege, not a right. They surrender to their fate, like… like trees bending in the wind, offering no resistance.”
“…Isn’t that… natural?”
Aslan shook his head, a firm, decisive movement. He raised his head, the fatigue fading from his eyes, replaced by a bright, almost luminous, intensity.
“The ones who created this world, the ones who stole hope and a future from those who deserve to live… are the evil gods.”
“That’s not an answer. I…”
“You’re a villain.”
He interrupted her. Ereta opened her mouth to argue, but the intensity in Aslan’s gaze silenced her.
“Villains have consequences. They can be punished, they can atone, they can face retribution. There’s an end to their sins. They have a choice.”
“But you’re not punishing me.”
“I don’t have that right. If you try to kill me, I’ll fight to survive. If you commit an evil act right before my eyes, I’ll stop you. But… I’m just one person. I don’t have the right to judge you.”
Aslan stood up, adjusting the axe strapped to his back, then stepped closer to Ereta.
“My duty… ended when I killed the Saint of Slaughter, the High Priest of an evil god.”
Ereta’s eyes flickered as he approached, his gaze fixed on her. She couldn’t understand him. He was more enigmatic than any god.
“Why… why are you doing this? No one does this. You’re… strange. You’re insane. You’re… different.”
His incomprehensibility was terrifying. She didn’t understand him, and that lack of understanding fueled her fear. And that fear, she realized, was twisting into something else, something… unfamiliar.
“Because if I don’t, no one will. They won’t even know what’s wrong.”
A faint smile touched Aslan’s lips.
“I’m the only one… who knows this world is broken.”
Ereta, hearing his simple words, his gentle smile, felt the immensity of his purpose, the weight of his conviction. She stared at him, speechless, her mind reeling.
“I’m going to kill the gods, and I’m going to change the world. And this… is something only I can do.”
The scale of his ambition was overwhelming. It was too grand, too vast, for her to comprehend. She stammered,
“Why…?”
Aslan, as if considering the question for the first time, smiled.
“Do you know what I love?”
“…What?”
Ereta blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic.
“I love fields of golden wheat.”
He spoke, painting a picture with his words.
Children playing in the fields, their small hands and feet brushing against the stalks, the wheat swaying gently in the breeze, a dance of innocent joy.
Children, seeing the smoke rising from chimneys, smelling the aroma of food, running towards home.
And their parents, returning home as well, their thoughts filled with the promise of tomorrow.
He finished his story, his voice soft with longing.
“I love people who live with hope, with the promise of tomorrow. I cherish the peace they have. I long for that peace… the peace that doesn’t exist in this world.”
Aslan’s smile faded, and he looked at her, his eyes gleaming.
“If I were them… I would pray for someone to give that back to me. And that… is what I’m trying to do.”
His eyes shone with a fierce intensity.
“For that… I can put aside right and wrong, good and evil. If you want to punish me when this is all over… you can. Do as you please.”
“You…”
“Help me now. If you have a wish, a desire, as long as it’s not… evil… I’ll grant it. Help me change this world.”
Ereta’s incomprehension crumbled, Aslan’s words and the images he had painted filling the cracks, reshaping her understanding.
‘He… he doesn’t intend to punish me. Not really.’
She thought, the realization dawning on her slowly.
She looked at him, his eyes so bright they seemed to shine, and she felt a strange pull, an inexplicable urge, a mix of fear, fascination, and a deep, almost primal, desire.
A possessiveness, a need to… have him.
She stepped closer, her hand reaching out, her fingers brushing against his blood-and sweat-soaked armor.
And then, she embraced him.
‘Why… why am I doing this?’
She didn’t understand her own actions, her body moving on its own, her face buried against his chest, the difference in their height making it impossible to reach his face.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.
She inhaled deeply, the scent of his blood and sweat mingled with the musk of his skin, filling her senses, a strange warmth spreading through her.
It felt right, like an itch finally scratched, a deep, primal need fulfilled. The possessiveness, the sense of ownership, confused her.
‘This… is human warmth.’
She thought, marveling at the sensation.
It was comforting. His body, warm against hers, felt good, the unfamiliar heat a welcome sensation.
A strange tingling in her lower abdomen made her smile.
“So… you won’t kill me… even now?”
She asked, her voice soft, a hint of amusement in her tone.
Aslan was equally confused. He didn’t understand her sudden change in behavior.
The most he had expected was a request, a plea for mercy, based on the information he had gleaned from the game’s dummy data.
He hadn’t anticipated this. He remained silent, and Ereta continued, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Your ideals… they’re fascinating. So strange… and exciting. There’s no one else like you in this world.”
Just as he had said, what he wanted to achieve could only be done by him.
Even if he needed help, ultimately, it was his burden to bear.
He was unique.
And Ereta was intrigued by his uniqueness.
“Let me see… how you live. Let me… do this… and don’t push me away. That’s all I ask.”
Aslan hesitated for a moment, then replied,
“…Alright. If that’s all you want.”
Ereta closed her eyes, her face pressed against his chest.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
By the time they buried the God of Burial and turned back towards the Giant’s Fortress Village, the sky had darkened.
The thin crescent moon was obscured by thick clouds, casting little light.
While they weren’t traveling slowly, the distance was considerable.
The long journey had been tiring, and Aslan, his body exhausted, trudged across the desert with Ereta.
As they approached the village, he noticed a growing commotion.
‘What’s going on?’
It wasn’t the usual sounds of Giants.
It sounded more like a large crowd. He saw banners fluttering near the entrance to the village, their designs barely visible in the dim light.
Three hill symbols arranged in a triangle, with a horn-shaped symbol above them.
The banners of House Helsingor.
Aslan’s eyes widened in realization.
‘They’ve come for me.’
The next main quest was simple. In the Vida Kingdom, within the Helsingor Duchy, the protagonist would meet the Duke and be offered an alliance.
The Duke, based on rumors and the unusual circumstances surrounding the recent events, would already be aware of the vestige of the Old Gods, the one being hunted by the gods.
He was a shrewd man, capable of piecing together the truth from whispers and rumors, from the frantic movements of the priests, from ancient texts and a bit of questioning.
That was Duke Helsingor.
He didn’t know how the Duke had found him, how he had known they had fled to the Giant’s Fortress Village, but it wasn’t good.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
Tired of having the main quest chase him down, Aslan gritted his teeth. Ereta, unable to see clearly in the darkness, squinted towards the village, but she couldn’t make out anything specific.
Only Aslan understood the situation, his anxiety growing. As if mocking his predicament, a system window appeared.
He expected to see the next main quest, a sign of further complications, but…
[Active Main Quests]
[ ! Pr?t??t th? ???nts ?r ?sc???]
‘What is this?’
The same garbled text he had seen with Purity’s effect. He frowned, seeing the jumbled characters beneath the quest title.
A main quest he couldn’t understand, its objective unclear. As Ereta, sensing his confusion, whispered,
“Aslan, someone…”
“Found you at last.”
A deep voice, a man’s voice, boomed from behind them, cutting Ereta off. Aslan slowly turned.
A man, his long blond hair striking even in the dim light, stood there, watching them, his gaze fixed on Ereta, who had instinctively reached for her weapons.
His cloak, adorned with gold embroidery, and his armor, were clearly of high quality.
A nobleman, undoubtedly. He wore a sword at his hip and a shield strapped to his back.
Aslan recognized him.
He had seen his face in the game.
“…Duke Helsingor.”
The man nodded, acknowledging Aslan’s words. Aslan looked at him, his heart sinking. This was bad.
If the Duke offered him an alliance now, it would derail his plans, throwing everything into chaos.
As he struggled to decide what to do, the Duke spoke, his voice surprisingly desperate.
“Help me, Master of Battle.”
“…What?”
“You’re the only one who can save Kardi.”
Aslan, still trying to understand the situation, realized one thing.
This wasn’t the main quest he remembered.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
