Rumel van Holne
Rumel van Holne
Thud. The heavy impact of a knee hitting the wooden deck rang out sharply, and Aslan turned.
Tiyamal was on the ground.
The solemn-faced Dragon-kin, twin horns cresting above each eye. The party's stalwart archer, bow slung over one shoulder and quiver angled at the small of his back. This same Tiyamal had dropped to one knee and was slowly folding forward. Aslan's eyes widened, but the Dragon-kin only managed a bitter smile as he fought his way upright again. Every step came with a sickening creak, and his body buckled. The second impact resounded louder than the first.
Fine tremors wracked his frame. The face that always radiated unshakable confidence was now faintly twisted.
Tiyamal was a Master of the Bow. His years as a warrior might not have been as long as some, but he had lived them fully. And a warrior understood his own limits intimately. Tiyamal knew his limit was here, right now.
"...I think this is as far as I go."
His voice held none of its customary iron. It was thin and quavering, like a man at death's door. Propped against the bulkhead, the Dragon-kin exhaled a ragged breath and looked up at Aslan.
Aslan said nothing. He turned to face Tiyamal fully, and the Dragon-kin caught the pity in his gaze. A faint snort of laughter escaped him.
"Just... a little worn out, I think."
"Tiyamal."
"Let me rest a while... then I'll follow. You go on. Go... first."
The Dragon-kin pressed a hand over his mouth, his body quivering. Aslan couldn't find the words to answer that grim resolve.
Shhh-aa. Shhh-aa. The surging waves hammered the hull. Tiyamal swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat, and Aslan squeezed his eyes shut.
"...Tiyamal."
"You've got things to do, don't you."
Aslan met those yellow Dragon-kin eyes and gave a slow nod. Beside him, Angie, swept up by the mood, watched Tiyamal with an unreadable expression. Fay's face was a cold, blank mask. Ereta's lips held a faint, inexplicable smirk, almost a sneer.
Only Aslan and Angie took it seriously. After a long look at Tiyamal, Aslan nodded again.
"...I'll be waiting for you."
Aslan turned and stepped out of the cabin. Tiyamal's face creased into a grimacing smile, and then his head dropped forward. The Dragon-kin's superhuman senses made seasickness an impossible foe.
The party left their Master of the Bow to his misery and emerged beneath a sprawling blue sky. The massive blue-iron paddlewheel churned, driving the ship onward, and a fierce wind seemed to howl over the deck in answer.
"Seasickness, of all things."
No one answered Aslan's muttered remark, but they all shared the thought. The most keenly perceptive member of their group, laid low by a queasy stomach. It was so very Tiyamal — and yet so very absurd. Each member of the party wore their own version of amusement or derision as they approached the woman standing near the bow.
Anna Heleminus, mistress of the city and captain of the vessel, turned at the sound of their footsteps and raised a hand in a light wave.
"Ah, there you are. And your Dragon-kin friend...?"
"He couldn't walk. Seasickness. I let him rest."
"Oh... oh my?"
A strange expression flickered across the woman's face. Aslan nodded in confirmation, and she tilted her head with a puzzled look. But there was no point in dwelling on riddles. There was nothing more to explain, so she simply gave a slight shrug, turned her gaze from the party, and looked out toward the horizon.
Beyond the sea line, a city was taking shape along the approaching coastline. Both Aslan and the woman knew its name.
The City of Pleasure, Asan. An imperial direct dominion, home to the largest slave market and every manner of decadent trade.
Under ordinary circumstances, there would have been no reason to go there. The city held no main quest, and the only sub-quests it offered were ones Aslan had completed years ago. But these were no longer ordinary circumstances.
The Veil of Compassion had descended. Priests had overrun the cities, and a high priest — the Curtain's Envoy, Ash — had appeared. The sea lanes to every other city and port were frozen solid, slaughtering anything that passed. Given the situation, a single viable route remained: the route to Asan.
Aslan glanced toward the corner of his vision, where a system window shimmered into prominence.
[Main Quest in Progress]
[Travel to the City of Mages and Interpret the Dream]
The quest that had appeared before his eyes the moment he first stepped into the City of Mages. He already had all the information it required to proceed, but he still needed to question Anna and receive her answer.
Fortunately, time was plentiful.
"So... Angie, was it? The dream you had was no ordinary dream. It was a kind of residual consciousness left behind by an Ancient God — a process by which a compatible divinity seeps into the dreamer. And—"
Aslan had already heard the details of the dream from Angie beforehand. He'd given Anna ample time to interpret it, with Angie present to explain everything herself. All that remained was to hear her conclusion, and even that required no special attention. The dream's content, its symbolism, the next steps of the quest — Aslan already knew it all.
While Angie absorbed Anna's explanation with a growing sense of indescribable destiny, Aslan watched the system window update and stroked his chin.
[Completed Main Quest]
[! Travel to the City of Mages and Interpret the Dream]
The problem wasn't this quest. It was the one that followed. From the next main quest onward, the protagonist — the Last Descendant of the Ancient God — was meant to wander the Northern Continent, gathering the divine powers of the Ancient Gods. The first was the God of Sorrow and Death, located in the Sanctuary of Sorrow. That was where the trouble began. Aslan had already met the God of Sorrow and Death, and had already infused her divinity into Purity. The God of Fire and Smithing's power was acquired at Belus Alpen as expected, fine — but the Sorrow divinity was a clear deviation from the original game storyline. Aslan had been fretting that the quest chain might glitch or break entirely, but the message that now surfaced drew a sigh of relief from him.
[Completed Main Quests]
[Travel to the City of Mages and Interpret the Dream]
[Investigate Belus Alpen]
[怨좎쐞 乙ъ젣 矣⑹솗 隣좊쾶]
[Form an Alliance with Baramunz]
[Defeat the Priests Who Attacked the Baramunz Mountain Kingdom]
[Pass the Trial of the God of Sorrow and Death]
......
...
The quest that was supposed to be unreadable broken text, the completed quest for welcoming the God of Sorrow and Death that had overwritten itself prematurely — it had finally restored its proper name. Reassured, Aslan leaned against the railing.
Anna, still in the middle of explaining Angie's dream, tilted her head at his reaction, but Aslan simply shook his head slightly. Her clear voice continued as a backdrop to his thoughts.
Five gods remained: the God of Law and Order, the God of Night and Eternity, the God of Nature and Creation, the God of Hunting and Prosperity, and the God of War and Knowledge. Among them, the most accessible was the God of Law and Order, located in Olpasbet, the closest city to Asan. True, its position in the heart of Count Sholukund's domain would make approach difficult. But it was still better than two gods who required crossing the entire continent, a god hidden somewhere in the ocean, or a god whose boss battle began the instant you set foot inside its territory.
Their next destination, then, was Olpasbet. He would claim the divinity of the God of Law and Order there, and unlock the functions of Purity that she had surely arranged.
Given what the God of Fire and Smithing and the God of Sorrow and Death prepared, Law and Order must have left something behind too. He couldn't imagine what kind of function it would be, but any addition was welcome. As a bonus, the divine spear once wielded by the God of Law and Order would make a fine trophy.
Noticing that Anna's explanation seemed to be wrapping up, Aslan turned to his companions.
"We'll depart as soon as we reach Asan."
"...Excuse me?"
It was Anna who spoke. She had clearly been hoping to spend some time with Fay. Her green eyes went wide, blinking several times as if trying to parse his words.
"You heard correctly. We intend to leave the city the moment we arrive."
"So soon? Why...?"
"We have a separate destination."
He answered with a gentle smile. Anna cast a mournful look toward Fay, who quietly stepped back under that gaze. Her expression sorrowful, Anna turned to Aslan again.
"What should I do?"
"For now... stay where you are, hold your position, and build up your forces. Until I call for you."
"Forces?"
"Mages, regular infantry, mercenaries — anything. Except priests."
"That's not difficult, but..." Anna trailed off, her face filled with questions. She didn't seem to understand why he needed an army or why he had to leave so soon.
But even if Anna couldn't comprehend it, Aslan had to go. That was how it had always been, and he felt no hesitation about it.
The trouble began only after they arrived.
*
"A lockdown?"
"Yes. Even as an acquaintance of Lady Anna's, I can't let you pass. The noble's murderer is still inside the city..."
The guard's voice faltered. Aslan found the answer troublesome. Of course, he could simply leave. Angie's physical abilities alone could clear the city walls with a good running start, and Aslan's lithe, resourceful body could slip past them with ease. The problem was that if their escape was discovered — or even exposed later — they'd be wanted. Considering how much territory the Kallus Empire held across the Northern Continent, having his movements restricted within the Empire was a terrible prospect. There was no telling how many innocents might come for his head with a bounty on it. Aslan disliked pointless fights and wanted to avoid that warrant.
On top of that...
"Why... why is the world spinning... urgh."
Tiyamal was still dazed and slumped, his seasickness only half-faded.
There was no method of sneaking past a lockdown with him in tow. That massive frame, those crimson scales, the conspicuous nature of a Dragon-kin — the chance of moving him in secret was infinitesimally small.
Noble murder.
Given that, Aslan decided it would be better to resolve the incident and leave openly. The case itself was irregular. Human life was dirt cheap in this world, worth less than a fly's, but even here, nobles rarely died without serious cause. That alone suggested to Aslan there was likely some scheme writhing behind the scenes. He preferred to settle it now. As his attention shifted to Tiyamal, the Dragon-kin — sharp as always — caught the meaning behind that look and forced a smile.
"Don't worry about this old-timer... I'm not so far gone I need you fretting over— blargh."
Vomit splattered onto the cobblestones. The guards grimaced at the sight of the Dragon-kin heaving into the corner, and Aslan knew he couldn't just leave Tiyamal like this.
It was then that Ereta tugged at his sleeve. She pulled him aside, drawing his attention, and leaned in to whisper by his ear. Her voice was soft, her breath ticklish.
"I'll keep an eye on him, so don't worry. Go do what you need to."
Ereta smiled faintly. There was an air of unhurried ease in it. At this close distance, Aslan pointedly averted his gaze, and Ereta turned her head smoothly toward Angie.
"Angie, a frail thing like me can't very well move someone as heavy as Tiyamal. Would you mind helping me with that heroic strength of yours?"
"...Heroic?"
"Yes."
"Well — sure, I'll help! It's what a hero does!"
Whether that was truly the case or not, Angie hoisted Tiyamal decisively. Ereta gave a sly smile, as if everything was going according to plan.
"Fay, would you guard us while Aslan takes care of business?"
"...Aslan."
"Do what Ereta says, Fay."
"Understood. Fay is a good Elf, after all."
Fay sighed and moved into position. Ereta winked at Aslan.
"While you're investigating, we'll find ourselves a place to stay and look into things on our end. Once we've secured lodgings, I'll send Fay back here."
"...Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me. This is all for you."
With a bright laugh, the white-haired woman moved off. Aslan watched her retreating back for a moment, then turned and walked in the opposite direction from the rest of the group.
Following the streets from memory — paths he'd walked in the game years ago — he soon found the alley adjacent to the guard post. Night was settling in, and the alley was so steeped in shadow that its interior was invisible from outside. He could hide there and observe the post unseen. Aslan stood still, watching the guard post while the alley filled with the stillness of night. At last, after a long vigil, he picked out a single clue. It was a corpse being carried into the guard post. A mercenary, most likely, or a noble's bodyguard or household soldier. The body was marked by gruesome wounds that were anything but ordinary. A spiral puncture, as if drilled through. The heart, lungs, entire ribcage, and spine had all been crushed and ground apart as though pulverized and scattered. The precision and power were on par with a master's work. Aslan studied the marks, his face hardening with a grim suspicion.
Should he approach the post? Examine the body more closely? He was still weighing the options, pulling his cloak tighter, when—
Something's there. A prickling sensation. The bizarre feeling of a finger trailing across the surface of his brain. Recognizing it as his Luck stat triggering a warning, Aslan moved without hesitation. His left eye was blind, but even with the blurred vision and Luck alone, he could target an enemy. The presence thickened directly behind him. In a fluid motion, he drew a feather-blade from his cloak, held it point-down, and slashed backward.
CLANG!
Whatever met his sword deflected it with brutal force. The dagger was wrenched from his grip and sent flying. The attack, aimed precisely at the blade's flat, was as accurate as it was devastating. A faint spiral twist resonated through his hand, a tingling pain bolting down his wrist as he reached for his axe—
"...Rumel...?"
He stopped. A woman was aiming a spear at him from the dark. She was a familiar figure, her generous bust covered by a thick breastplate, her brown hair braided over one shoulder. Her brown eyes blinked. Her name was Rumel van Holne.
"Lord Aslan...?"
Their eyes met, and the words slipped from her before she even realized she had spoken.