Rumel van Holne
Rumel van Holne
Rumel van Holne. Master of the Spear. Aslan regarded the woman who had once been the cherished daughter and heir of Baron Holne, calling up what he knew.
As far as he could recall, the Holne family was supposed to remain intact until the game's ending.
There had been no notable problems or incidents. Their relationship with the priesthood was neither hostile nor particularly close.
By all logic, House Holne should never have fallen.
'But it did.'
And the collapse had been swift, a recent disaster. Aslan recalled news from about a year ago: House Holne had been crushed in a territorial war against Baron Aira, meeting a brutal end.
He hadn't paid much attention at the time.
Such divergences between the game and reality were too frequent to count, and Aslan had found no reason to fixate on each one.
But now, things were different.
Rumel van Holne was a companion he needed to recruit. Her circumstances had become his own.
Viewed from that perspective, finding her here was not surprising in the least.
The land House Holne once held, Gerne, was not far from Asan.
Given that Baron Aira now ruled Gerne, Rumel's presence in this city was likely a form of vengeance.
Aslan studied her worn attire and her spear, processing the information with a subtle nod.
Rumel was here to exact revenge upon her mortal enemy, Baron Aira.
The dead noble was probably one of Aira's men, too. The logical conclusion pointed directly to Rumel as the culprit.
And Aslan had no intention of obstructing her revenge.
Revenge was not always righteous, but Rumel herself had attested that Baron Aira was a devotee of the God of War.
Knowing that, he had even less reason to intervene.
'If anything, I might as well help.'
It would slow his plans to leave the city, but otherwise, the established course remained largely unchanged.
His thoughts concluded, Aslan withdrew the dagger he had been holding at Rumel's throat, returning it to his cloak. Her trembling eyes followed the motion.
At the unexpected gesture, Rumel's eyes went wide. Aslan pushed the spear tip aimed at his neck aside with his gauntlet and smiled.
"It's been a while."
The casual greeting and soft tone flustered her. Her eyes widened further before she finally lowered her weapon.
"Yes, it has."
Yet even as she disengaged, Aslan sensed the lingering awkwardness drifting in her voice.
He noted the wariness but forced a smile nonetheless.
"You look like you've been well."
"Yes, thanks to you. And you, Lord Aslan, you've also been...."
She had been responding with practiced ease but suddenly faltered. Her gaze settled on his left eye.
Seeing a faint tremor there, Aslan felt a flicker of surprise at her perception.
"It seems you haven't been quite as well. Lord Aslan."
"...So it goes."
The vision in his left eye was blurred. Its reaction was slower. It was a gap only a first-rate warrior could detect, yet she had noticed.
As Aslan was still turning over how easily she'd read him, Rumel stared at him, thinking. Emotions shifted rapidly across her face until she reached out, seemingly without realizing it.
Though her hand stopped just short of touching him.
She withdrew it with a sigh.
'What's going on in her head?'
He couldn't tell what she was thinking. Aslan simply blinked.
Oblivious to her thoughts, he endured the heavy silence that had settled over the dark alley. Unable to bear it any longer, he changed the subject.
"How goes the revenge?"
"...Ah, pardon?"
"Revenge. Aren't you here in this city to take revenge on Baron Aira?"
At his smiling question, Rumel snapped back to reality, her mouth opening and closing.
"How do you...?"
Her voice was a blend of shock and confusion. Faced with her faint wariness, Aslan held out a hand.
"Just now, a mercenary you dealt with was carried into the guard post. There were distinctive wounds from a Spiral Spear. I noticed."
Of course, there had been other clues, but mentioning them wouldn't help convince her. Whether the omission was intentional or not, the reason he gave was enough. Her reaction was immediate.
"I... I haven't killed anyone in this city."
And that reaction wasn't what Aslan had expected.
He'd expected her to ask how he knew, or to confirm he was right.
Just as he was about to question her odd reply, a chilling sensation crawled up Aslan's spine.
A crawling dread. The skin on his scalp prickled. He turned his head toward the source of the presence that accompanied the feeling.
Both Aslan and Rumel looked in the same direction—behind Rumel. From the shadowy depths of the alley, something emerged.
It was a Warrior Monk, spear in one hand.
Its entire body was covered in the characteristic carapace of a Bug, though a scar remained visible on its neck.
Its clothes and armor were tattered, and one peculiar detail stood out: the carapace on its spear-arm was so thickly layered it was considerably larger than the other.
Aslan thought the figure looked terribly familiar. Rumel, on the other hand, simply gripped her spear with open disgust and fury.
"You...!"
The woman's voice dripped with venom. Hearing it, Aslan looked at the Warrior Monk once more and recognized exactly who it was.
It was Tormule.
The other spearman who could wield the Spiral Spear. A former Master of the Spear who had betrayed his vows and sold himself to the God of War.
Aslan recalled that Rumel had attacked him the moment she saw his back, and that she had claimed to have killed no one. The truth was simple enough to guess.
It was only a guess, but it was enough. He was the Priest Slayer, and the man standing before him was a priest.
Aslan moved first. Whipping the Storm Sword from his back, he reversed his grip, his hand resting on the unsharpened ricasso. He held the greatsword like a short spear, leveling it diagonally as he settled into a stance.
"I'll join you. You can explain later."
Rumel flinched at his words and actions, but Aslan merely smiled at her reaction.
The situation was obvious anyway.
It was either a plot by the God of War to frame Rumel for murder and claim her head as a swift offering, or a personal vendetta from Tormule. There was no need to grasp the specific reasons; Aslan understood the new stakes.
Rumel needed trust. The kind of unconditional trust from a stranger.
Thankfully, that was his specialty.
As if his guess had struck true, Rumel's eyes reddened. Steadying herself, she raised her spear and leveled it at Tormule.
"Thank you."
Aslan answered with only a nod. Soon after, another Warrior Monk stepped into the alley from the exit behind them.
There was only one, but that one was a former Master. Aslan made a snap judgment and stepped forward.
"I'll handle Tormule. Lady Rumel, you take the one behind us."
Rumel didn't answer, but that was enough. Aslan lunged in low, and Rumel pivoted behind him, her spear thrusting backward.
The alley echoed with the sound of metal on wood, metal on metal, as Aslan thrust the greatsword upward.
Clang!
The space was cramped. The alley was barely a meter wide.
Ordinarily, swinging a greatsword here would be nearly impossible. Such limitations didn't apply to Aslan.
Without room, you simply gripped the ricasso and swung. If a proper slashing trajectory was impossible, you moved your body within its limits.
With those limited motions, he thrust, slashed upward, and bashed with the pommel. Four spear-strikes in a single breath, viciously fast.
A seamless weave of technique and physical ability answered with a flurry of thrusts at Aslan, stitching toward his vital points.
Clang-clang-clang—clang!
But none landed. A single step and one swing from Aslan intercepted the positions of three spear thrusts. He shifted his grip, and the pommel parried the spear shaft.
With its rotation blocked, the spear bounced back. The moment sword-tip and spear-tip crossed, Aslan's gaze hardened. He recited inwardly.
'Thunder Call.'
A thunderous rumble!
The ricasso he had used to deflect the spear shimmered, then hammered against the wall, gaining speed. At the peak of its violent acceleration, the tip of the sword was nearly invisible.
Thwack!
The accelerating pommel punched through a palm, and the Warrior Monk that was Tormule let out a grating, Bug-like screech, trembling. The following spear thrust was a crude attempt to shove Aslan back.
Aslan wasn't about to let that opening slip.
Twisting his body to the side to evade, he kicked off the ground and lunged.
'Heart Piercing.'
The greatsword's blade trembled, a hazy aura igniting as it scraped violently into the wall.
Grind—screech, clang!
Stone fragments sprayed as the blade swung. A horizontal slash from a sudden angle. Tormule tried to retreat, but it was too late.
Crunch!
The heavy greatsword cleaved his arm. Tormule let out a Bug's shriek and thrust his spear forward, but Aslan simply reversed his hands and shoved the shaft aside with his pommel. The spear tore through empty air.
There was centrifugal force behind it, but once that rotation was complete, it was easily suppressed.
With his spear knocked wide, Tormule had only one attack left. As he raised the weapon high with a shriek, Aslan smiled.
Clang!
In a confined space with a broken body, the thrust was pitifully flawed.
Having predicted it all, Aslan caught the spear tip with a gauntlet crafted from Dragon-king's Scales, halting it. He then drew his sword arm back.
In the next instant, the shadow flickering at his feet vanished.
'Shadow Flip.'
Slaaash!
What followed was a two-strike feint. A near-perfect combination impossible for even a Warrior Monk's eyes to track. The dual diagonal slashes from both directions carved cleanly through Tormule's neck, and the severed head lifted into the air before dropping.
Pathetically weak. The thought was fleeting; Aslan moved instantly. He released the spear and gripped the Storm Sword with both hands. Mana surged, and he was about to unleash the wind—
"Lord Aslan, the spear...!"
As Rumel shouted, another Warrior Monk materialized. A seemingly ordinary Monk with no weapon of his own, now picking up Tormule's fallen spear.
Taking it as a warning, Aslan redirected his intended slash into a thrust.
The Monk raised the stolen spear to meet the Storm Sword. Blade clashed against blade amid ringing iron and sparks.
And then Aslan felt the rotation.
It wasn't just the natural twist of a wrist during a thrust. This was the Spiral Spear.
'How?'
The technique crashed into him when he hadn't expected it. His blade was pushed back helplessly, leaving a gaping opening.
Watching the Spiral Spear rush toward his chest, Aslan threw the Wings of Stymphalos into its path.
Clang-clang-clang—clang!
Yet the spear's fully rotated thrust blasted through the wings, shoving Aslan backward. With no way to resist, he was flung away.
"Lord Aslan!"
Aslan hurtled toward the alley's exit. Rumel caught him, and they tumbled out together, hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs.
He swallowed the urge to vomit as they rolled, forced down the surging pain, and finally came to a halt. Aslan's hand immediately went for his cloak.
"...Gone?"
The alley was empty. Even the corpse of Tormule, who Aslan had just killed, had vanished without a trace. Only the splattered Bug fluids on the ground proved there had been a fight.
Bewilderment. As he frowned, the frantic sound of running footsteps rang out.
"Halt! Stop right there! You two, drop your weapons and surrender!"
It was the city guard. Drawn by the commotion right next to the guard post.
They leveled spears and halberds, and Aslan surveyed the scene with chagrin.
No traces of the Warrior Monks remained. He and Rumel were heavily armed. They looked like nothing but suspicious characters. A soft sigh escaped him.
He couldn't grasp how the situation was unfolding. Why had the Warrior Monks suddenly vanished? How had a regular Monk—not Tormule—used the Spiral Spear?
It was a complete mess, but even so, a few certainties emerged from the confusion.
This was no ordinary incident, no garden-variety priest's scheme.
And this arrest was exactly what the Warrior Monks had intended.
Aslan let the Storm Sword fall. Pinned beneath him, Rumel's face fell, and she released her spear as well.
The surrounding guards closed in then, ropes ready in their hands.