Warrior Monk
Warrior Monk
"How did you know?"
Aslan asked. The girl folded her arms and cocked her hip, her posture openly defiant.
Her expression soured, likely because his question was as good as a confirmation.
A protagonist through and through, Aslan mused.
Even if someone witnessed the gesture, connecting it to the physical transformations happening inside her was far from obvious. Without the leap of imagination to even consider the possibility, it would look like nothing more than meaningless hand-waving.
For her to suspect him at all, she had to already be certain.
And from that suspicion, Aslan could read her core nature: a fierce wildness and intuition reminiscent of a beast. The kind of raw instinct found in wild animals.
Whether it had been sharpened by survival in the slums, was something she'd been born with, or was granted to her as the protagonist, he couldn't be sure.
Sensing that razor-sharp edge, Aslan decided there was no point in outright lies. Better to smooth over the hard-to-explain parts and offer a truth laced with a few omissions.
His approach settled, he began his explanation.
"You've probably guessed, and felt it yourself. You're stronger now. Faster. Tougher."
The girl gave a sharp sniff. Aslan extended a finger toward the Dragon-kin leaning against a distant tree.
"Right now, you could match Harod Claw in a direct contest of strength. You'd be outclassed in technique, but at least your raw power would be on equal footing."
Her gaze flicked toward the Dragon-kin and back. The wariness in her eyes had receded.
"Which means your role is the most critical part of dealing with the Warrior Monk when it shows up."
"...Fine, let's say that's true. So what did you actually do to me?"
Aslan lowered his hand and weighed his answer. Telling her he'd boosted her stats through a system window would mean nothing to a native of Geladrion. So he kept it vague.
"I used magic to stimulate your potential. Drew out your innate strength and accelerated its growth."
The workings of the system window looked magical enough to pass as such, and since she was the protagonist, the potential was genuinely hers. Not a lie.
He added one more thought.
"I didn't just extract it. I took the experience you gained fighting trolls in the mine tunnels — everything you saw, everything you did — and fused it into your body and spirit. Without that real combat experience, it wouldn't have worked."
Also not a lie. He couldn't have raised her stats without the experience points she'd accumulated to level up.
Angie looked less than convinced.
"...What's any of that supposed to mean?"
The follow-up question proved she hadn't understood a word.
Aslan boiled it down.
"Every change in your body comes from your own power. I just... gave it a little push."
It was close enough to the truth.
The protagonist of Eternal Dominion wielded superhuman strength and abilities whose origins traced back to the power of the Ancient Gods — but ultimately, that power was hers by right. As the protagonist, her body's strengthening was undeniably her own latent potential.
"This power is mine?"
The idea seemed to unsettle her. She stared down at her hands and scowled. Understandable. Her body had changed, yet outwardly she looked exactly the same.
Though, in this world, such a thing wasn't as strange as it sounded. There were beings who granted power while leaving almost no outward mark. People called them gods, and their chosen were called priests.
The girl was, in a sense, a priest who served no god.
"To be precise, it's the power of an Ancient God."
"...What?"
Angie's expression turned odd — a look that went beyond confusion into outright bewilderment.
The power the protagonist of Eternal Dominion wielded was the result of absorbing fragments of the power left behind by the Ancient Gods. So Aslan's explanation was, in fact, accurate.
"Exactly what I said. Those changes in your body... they're the result of absorbing an Ancient God's power."
Angie still couldn't shake her baffled expression, but Aslan pressed on.
"That's also why I took you on as a companion."
He continued.
"And it's exactly why the Warrior Monk is coming for us. The gods are after the power you now carry."
The power of the Ancient Gods. And the protagonist. Those two elements were the center and the origin point of everything in Eternal Dominion.
As Aslan lowered his eyes, Angie's face grew grave.
"I doubt you ever had any intention of running from this fight... but even if you did, you couldn't. This fight is yours."
Aslan held part of the protagonist's mantle. He had the system window. And yet the system had never recognized him as the protagonist. The Warrior Monk was unmistakably hunting Angie, not him.
"I told Harod Claw I'd give him his freedom. But I can't offer you that kind of reward. This isn't my fight, and you don't need anything I have."
He lifted his gaze. Angie's face was oddly flushed — tense, but also strangely exhilarated.
Aslan studied her expression and spoke quietly.
"There's only one thing I can give you. A plan to survive."
"A plan?"
"Yes. A plan you must follow to the letter if you want to live through this."
Angie hesitated for a moment before asking, "What do you want in return?"
That was as good as consent. Aslan offered an easy smile and laid out the strategy.
The confusion that flooded Angie's face as she listened was unmistakable, but Aslan saw no need to persuade her further. He already knew she would follow through.
*
Standing firm, Aslan sensed the enormous presence cutting through the forest toward them. It made no effort to conceal itself — it advanced with brazen confidence, and every animal in its path turned tail and fled.
Birds blackened the sky; deer hooves pounded the earth in panicked retreat. Amidst the cacophony, Aslan and Harod Claw awaited the intruder, each in their own stance.
"...Mm, so you're here."
The newcomer's appearance was as singular as its presence. It swept the area with its gaze, its shell glistening between the gaps in the trees.
A hulking frame nearly three meters tall, six arms, black carapace. A spear slightly longer than its own body and a square shield vast enough to cover it completely. Both were forged from solid metal and gave off a faint, coppery reek of old blood — a stench so potent it was impossible to ignore.
At that odor, Harod Claw visibly tensed and drew his greatsword.
Aslan, by contrast, appeared utterly at ease. One hand rested casually on the pommel of the longsword at his hip.
The Warrior Monk — Collector — observed this and lifted a second hand from the haft of its spear in a loose salute.
"It has been some time, Master of Combat. Not since the Sanctuary of Eternal Night, I believe?"
At those words, Aslan's composure flickered. Displeasure twisted his features.
"We've met?"
"Indeed we have. I was there as well."
A memory surged — a landscape Aslan would have preferred to forget — and his grip tightened on the sword hilt.
The Sanctuary of Eternal Night. The last refuge of the faithful who worshipped the God of Eternity and Night, the chief deity among the Ancient Gods. A location tied to the mid-game main questline. Now utterly destroyed. And also the place that symbolized Aslan's defeat.
The Warrior Monk seemed to relish his visible disgust, grinding its lower mandibles together with a grating click-click-click.
"I must admit I was disappointed not to capture you back then. But when I saw the vermin you'd slaughtered on your way out, my regrets waned."
Through the chitinous scraping, the Warrior Monk spoke on.
"Your sword aura has sharpened. You've grown stronger. I can scarcely imagine how overjoyed the War God would be to have your head as an offering. Losing you that day was surely the War God's guidance — leading us to this very moment."
For a heartbeat, Aslan's face betrayed raw displeasure at the mention of one of his few defeats. He smoothed the expression into a wry, humorless smile and collected himself.
"You didn't come all this way just to reminisce."
He recalled how Collector had been scanning the area the instant it appeared — clearly tracking the power of the Ancient God. And upon arriving, finding no immediate sign of the one carrying that power, it had tried to needle Aslan for clues.
'A pathetic ploy.'
Aslan dismissed the attempt with a mental scoff. He drew his sword and pulled an axe free.
The weapons in both hands gleamed with a hard, sharp light. He extended the longsword and aimed its point squarely at the Warrior Monk.
"I'm the one you're after. So stop wasting time and come at me. I intend to spend tonight resting comfortably in town."
The assumption that the creature would fall was woven into every word.
The Warrior Monk's compound eyes glittered. It tilted its head, adjusting its weapons.
Arrogance. But it was a rational arrogance. Collector considered the Master of Combat more than entitled to it.
With cold deliberation, the Warrior Monk leveled its long spear at Aslan and answered.
"We shall see if you can."
Aslan let his weapons hang low. The Warrior Monk extended its shield forward and raised its spear high, point angled down in a poised guard. Their gazes locked across the clearing.
A razor chill threaded through the killing intent that thickened the air. Harod Claw swallowed hard.
The Master and the Warrior Monk studied each other. Then, with no further signal, they lunged.
*
A distant, rolling thunder shook the forest.
At the sound, Angie flinched and shifted her eyes from her hiding place in the undergrowth. There was little to see — only scattered acorns, fallen leaves, and birds exploding from the treetops. But the direction of their flight was enough to confirm the battle had begun.
She crouched low and turned Aslan's plan over in her mind.
'No matter what happens from this moment on, do not intervene. Stay hidden in the undergrowth. Keep some distance.'
'What? Why?'
'Don't ask. Stay completely out of sight.'
He'd given that instruction, and before she could press for more, he'd moved on to the next step of the scheme.
It was an insane plan. The kind of plan that should, by every sane measure, be rejected outright.
But she couldn't refuse. Because of the guarantee Aslan had added at the end.
'If this works, we can kill the Warrior Monk with almost no losses.'
She couldn't tell how convincing that really was, but their brief time together had already demonstrated how methodical he could be. In the mine tunnels, every fight had unfolded exactly as he'd predicted. Even before that, almost everything had gone as he'd said it would.
The pattern itself was persuasive enough to hold her in place despite her misgivings.
She aimed her most sullen scowl toward the source of the booming sounds.
A deafening crash — something splintering — mixed with the shriek of riven air. Watching the ancient trees of the forest groan and writhe, Angie pursed her lips.