Warrior Monk
Warrior Monk
"Then let's split up here."
Aslan brought his hands together with a sharp clap and spoke, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. The statement drew a different reaction from each of Harod's companions.
"Now?"
"Yes. Now."
The bald Karlsen spoke first, bewilderment plain on his face. When Aslan answered without hesitation, Karlsen scratched the back of his neck and glanced at the others.
"Might I at least ask why..."
"I said we'd stick together until the escape. I never said we'd stay together after."
When Ekul pressed him, with the others' eyes on him, Aslan answered lightly, hooking his thumbs into his belt and cocking his hip.
"Thanks to you, we got out easily enough by hunting trolls, but wasn't that the plan from the start? You got the freedom you wanted, and I got what I wanted. I don't see any loose ends."
His blunt tone held no feeling.
He jerked his chin toward one side of the forest.
"Go. There's a crystal village nearby. If you keep heading south, you'll reach Kandlibur."
They hesitated after hearing him, though their train of thought was obvious. Aslan exhaled and added,
"Sell what you have there, find a place to live, become mercenaries—I don't care."
They were escaped prisoners, after all. The restraint collars were gone, and their clothes no longer looked like prison rags but like a mercenary's worn gear. Still, they were fugitives.
So they only moved after Aslan's assurance. None of them wanted to be caught again.
The two men vanished through the forest in the direction Aslan had indicated. Harod Claw, a single cloak draped over his large red scales, shifted his stance as if to stay.
Aslan regarded the dragon-kin with his impassive teal eyes. He had anticipated that Harod wouldn't leave, yet the sight of him holding his ground still piqued his curiosity enough to raise an eyebrow.
"Why aren't you going with them? Weren't they your subordinates?"
"They were my subordinates inside Olpasbet. They are not my kin, and I have no duty to protect them."
The dragon-kin slung his greatsword through a crude belt and added,
"Besides, they'd have no wish to travel with a conspicuous warrior like me. They'd be found out as escaped prisoners."
His point about duty was whatever, but the part about being conspicuous was true. Harod Claw was a towering dragon-kin, nearly two meters tall, and his red scales made him plainly visible even in the forest. No dense greenery could hide that frame.
"So is there a reason you're staying? If you just don't need to go with them... Kandlibur is that way."
Aslan pointed past the dragon-kin's back, toward the forest path stretching behind him. But Harod neither turned nor shifted his gaze, staring steadily at Aslan instead.
"As you have heard, my name is Harod Claw. A Claw of Belus Alpen."
The dragon-kin let the words hang, then flicked his gaze toward Angie. She stood with her arms crossed, radiating undisguised irritation.
"Perhaps not from birth, but I was raised and lived as a warrior. I bear the duty to protect the others of Belus Alpen and to fight Belus Alpen's enemies."
Aslan already knew where this was going, but he didn't stop him.
"And as a Claw, I know a battlefield when I see one. You lied."
The dragon-kin pointed a scaled finger at Aslan. The fighting in the mine tunnels had not been particularly grueling, and that was entirely because of Aslan. The Master of Combat was every bit the monster the rumors described, shielding the group from the swarming trolls and cutting them down.
Watching that, Harod had thought,
"You had no need of us. Not Karlsen, not Ekul, not me, not even Tail."
Angie's expression soured at the surname, but the dragon-kin paid it no mind and kept talking.
"If anything, without us you would have drawn less attention from the native monsters and moved faster. So I couldn't fathom your intent. You didn't strike me as someone breaking people out of the goodness of your heart."
"You had another motive, didn't you?" When that question came, Aslan held his silence. Seeing that, Harod fell quiet as well and simply looked at the Master of Combat.
The stare that passed between them held little hostility. It was more of an appraisal. After a long exchange of searching looks, Aslan spoke.
"That's right. Harod Claw."
Harod let out a breath and nodded faintly.
"Ekul and Karlsen didn't matter either way. But I needed them to split the pursuit and stop my objective from being seen through too quickly. That's why I brought them."
"I thought as much."
"I also aimed to scatter the pursuers' attention, delay the chase, and make it harder for anyone to follow our trail."
At that, Harod Claw lifted his head a little. Rainwater dripped steadily, making his scales glisten and soaking the linen cloak draped over his shoulders.
Aslan swept his wet bangs aside, and Harod said,
"In these mountains, with rain on top of it, I doubt anyone will find our trail. I don't think the guards of Olpasbet have the skill to track in terrain this rough."
Aslan agreed.
"Right. The guards don't have that skill."
Harod heard his ready agreement and understood it meant he was wary of something other than the guards.
What in the world? Harod narrowed his eyes, and Aslan stepped closer. He stopped just within arm's reach—close enough to throw a punch—and lifted his head to meet the dragon-kin's eyes.
"What I'm on guard against is a priest. Specifically, a Warrior Monk."
Harod Claw's eyes went wide, and Aslan added,
"I told you before. Let's do just one thing."
"...You did."
"In exchange for giving you your freedom, I only want one thing."
Aslan extended his hand.
"Help me kill the Warrior Monk."
Harod drew a sharp breath, and in the corner of his vision, Aslan saw something rise.
[LEVEL UP]
[Main Quest in Progress]
[ ! Defeat the Priest and Survive (12 hours remaining)]
[Completed Main Quest]
[Escape with Angela Tail]
It was the second main quest.
*
Priests were humans who had surpassed humanity.
The inhabitants of Geladrion—demi-humans and humans who had once been the same species—were granted power that varied in degree according to the god they served. That power went beyond mere physical might. They wielded strength that transcended human limits, vitality that matched it, and divine authorities bestowed by their gods; they lacked nothing to be called apostles of the divine. A single priest accustomed to that power could shift the tide of a battlefield. A high priest, of whom only one existed beneath a god, could change the world.
However weak, every priest held power that easily exceeded the human measure. Such priests were not beings a human could simply overcome. An unprepared person could not fight a priest. Even preparation did not guarantee victory. What was needed was the resolve to die, a measure of preparation, and a great deal of experience.
Fortunately, Aslan possessed all of those.
To make his preparations, he called up the system window. He watched the translucent panel appear and brought his finger to it. He tapped the folded text, and it expanded to show the main quest.
[Main Quest in Progress]
[Defeat the Priest and Survive (5 hours remaining)]
The objective was simple: in five hours, a priest would come for him; fight, win, and survive. He had spent seven of the remaining twelve hours resting, which left five hours to prepare and face the fight.
That preparation included understanding the enemy.
The enemy was a priest. The type was easy to guess. No matter how sudden a main quest might be, nothing appeared without cause. The ground beneath Aslan's feet was Crystal Hill, southwest of Olpasbet. It was the War God's domain. Naturally, the priest who would come could only be a Warrior Monk.
Looking at the time left, Aslan mentally listed what he knew about Warrior Monks. A Warrior Monk was a priest who ranked at the top in physical ability. By emulating an insect's body, they possessed both high defense and monstrous strength, and at times even sprouted additional limbs. That powerful, efficient body housed the martial arts bestowed by the War God, and they wielded weapons the War God had granted. A monstrously strong body paired with human intellect made them not only troublesome but downright vicious to face.
The one mercy was that they lacked other notable abilities. Having catalogued that information, Aslan thought, 'Every Warrior Monk has a different type or pattern. So a generic tactic is useless.' What he needed was the flexibility to handle any situation. Fortunately, that was something Aslan had. But he still required additional material.
'To handle whatever kind of Warrior Monk shows up flexibly... I'll need more tools.'
The material he had in mind was stats. He opened the system window and distributed points among the attributes below his name: mana, fighting spirit, and luck. As mana rose, the sensation of magic flowing through his body deepened; fighting spirit eased the fatigue spreading through his limbs. Luck was not immediately felt, but once combat began, he would sense it and be able to use it. He clenched and unclenched his fist, checking his body, then pressed firmly on the girl's name floating beside his own.
Behind it lay Angie's stats. He distributed one point each into strength, agility, and health. The seated girl flinched. She rose, stalked over, and stopped in front of him.
This had happened before. The girl had sensed the stat allocation almost as soon as it happened. So Aslan understood why she was approaching now.
"Hey."
The girl spoke. Aslan closed the system window and looked at her. Her face was full of discontent, and golden eyes shone through her disheveled scarlet bangs. In those eyes were a faint wariness and a question. Exactly the kind of question Aslan wanted.
Just as he had intended, she opened her mouth and voiced it.
"Let's talk."
"About what?"
He asked as if he had no idea. The girl scowled fiercely, then spoke.
"What did you do to me?"
To kill a Warrior Monk, he needed a flexible approach that could handle any situation, and the foundation to make it work. Aslan felt the final ingredient of that foundation had just arrived, and the corner of his mouth lifted.