Rumel van Holne
Rumel van Holne
Aslan had a general sense of why Rumel and Ereta were acting this way.
Even just recalling how Ereta had behaved back in the City of Mages made the situation easy enough to read.
It had ended in failure—catastrophic failure that had left not only Aslan's happiness in ruins but an entire city scoured to ash. Still, Aslan was a man who had once managed something resembling a married life.
He recognized Ereta's behavior for what it was: jealousy.
So he understood why she was acting out now. He understood it, and he thought it was entirely in character for her.
He could let it go precisely because it was Ereta. What he could not understand was why Rumel was doing this.
Was her chest simply so large that she lacked a sense of personal distance?
No, that couldn't be it. It was still a body part—one that could carry sexual connotations—and not something people normally press against another person so freely.
And right now, Rumel was very deliberately pressing her chest against Aslan's arm.
He hadn't known her that long, and he couldn't recall doing anything that might have sparked romantic interest. At least, not by his measure.
Every cause and catalyst had unfolded entirely inside Rumel's own mind, which left Aslan with no way to deduce them. He glanced at Rumel and Ereta in turn, his expression troubled, intending to clarify to Ereta that there was nothing of that sort between them—
"Lord Aslan."
Rumel, still holding his arm close to her chest, quietly slipped her hand down and interlaced her fingers with his. Aslan flinched and froze.
"...Yes?"
When he turned his head, he found Rumel wearing a soft smile edged with something almost teasing. She kept that playful smile in place as her fingers lazily traced the spaces between his knuckles.
The faint scent of a woman's skin, the unexpected roughness of calluses against his fingers—Aslan blinked several times, caught off guard.
He had no idea what was happening.
At a glance, it looked like Rumel was deliberately stoking Ereta's jealousy, but the reason behind it was invisible to him.
The whole thing was so abrupt that he wondered if it might be something else entirely.
That train of thought snapped the moment he heard Ereta grind her teeth.
When Aslan turned, Ereta's hand was on the haft of her axe, her lips twisted.
The urge to kill had clearly overtaken any impulse to talk things out.
Ereta had never been one for exchanging words with others, and she would always rather kill than argue. Considering the woman she was, this reaction was utterly typical.
Tiyamal...!
The situation was nearly impossible to parse. Aslan found himself adrift between the relationship Rumel seemed to have fabricated in her own head and Ereta's simmering fury. Eventually, he threw a look toward the one Dragon-kin he could rely on.
The moment their eyes met, the Dragon-kin took a few steps back and shook his head lightly.
The attitude practically said: You chose these relationships. Handle them yourself.
"Wh-what...? What's going on...?"
Angie, who clearly had no grasp of the situation, was reacting much the same way Aslan was, while Fay watched the scene with a perfectly blank face.
Never mind Angie or Tiyamal—even Fay's mood had gone sour. Aslan wiped cold sweat from his brow with his free hand and thought.
I have to do something. I can't just let this fester.
He didn't understand the situation? Had no idea what was going on?
That didn't matter. Aslan had spent years hunting monsters whose natures were opaque.
What mattered was observation and analysis. He started with Ereta, who was staring at Rumel and gripping her axe-haft as though she hadn't even noticed him watching her.
Killing intent radiated from her in waves, the kind that conjured a snarling beast to mind, and she spoke.
"Why don't you put away that vulgar display and let go of Aslan? He's clearly uncomfortable."
A courteous tone, utterly at odds with the murderous intent smoldering beneath it. But the courtesy was only in her voice.
Her posture was high, ready to swing the two-handed axe slung across her back at any moment. The axe was positioned low, ready to cut upward from a diagonal angle. In this narrow prison corridor, it would be a nearly impossible attack to evade.
And if anyone tried to block it, Ereta's strength—bolstered by the Valor of the Flying Bird—would cleave them in half. Aslan felt his arm suddenly freed just as he registered the spike in Ereta's bloodlust.
Rumel had released his fingers and pulled her chest away from where she'd been practically rubbing it against him.
If she'd let go and stepped back, that would have been the end of it. But Rumel had no intention of doing that. Instead, she planted herself facing Ereta with the same fierce expression she'd worn when she first met Aslan.
There was maybe ten centimeters' difference in height between them. Ereta tilted her head up to look at Rumel, and Rumel looked down at her in turn, just slightly.
When Ereta ground her teeth at the contempt and derision in that downward gaze, Rumel spoke.
"From where I stand, it seems Your Grace is the one making Lord Aslan uncomfortable. And more to the point, what standing does Your Grace have to comment on what passes between Lord Aslan and myself...?"
"Hold on. Everyone just—calm down."
Aslan hastily rose and tried to cover Rumel's mouth, but it had the opposite effect.
Having Aslan physically muzzle her was itself a reward in Ereta's eyes, and she only bristled more fiercely at the sight, glaring at Rumel. Rumel, for her part, was resentful that Aslan would do such a thing to her.
The standoff escalated sharply.
Ereta's killing intent rolled toward Rumel like a snowball, and Rumel's killing intent came rolling back, the mutual desire to kill swelling between them as they faced off.
Rumel gently took Aslan's hand and moved it aside, her eyes locked on Ereta. Ereta stared back, readying her attack.
If either of them had been an ordinary woman, this might have stayed at the level of harsh words. But the two women trading gazes were a Master of Blunt Weapons and a Master of the Spear.
Each read the other's stance, calculating weaknesses: the angle that would prove most effective, where the incoming strike would land, what techniques would be used, how to feint.
In an atmosphere that promised death at any moment, Rumel wordlessly took hold of the chair she'd been sitting in moments before, and Ereta's fingers curled lightly around her axe-haft.
A fight was about to start. Once it started, there would be no stopping it. No one knew that better than Aslan and Tiyamal.
Things having reached this point, Tiyamal—perhaps now convinced his initial assessment had been wrong—moved to intervene, but he stopped dead the instant Ereta flicked a glance his way before refocusing on Rumel.
Ereta's axe technique outclassed Tiyamal's barehanded combat by several degrees. Realizing he had no means of stopping her, he looked at Aslan. Aslan, catching that look, bit his lip.
"Hold it!"
He still wasn't sure if this was the best approach, but he had no intention of letting things continue as they were.
Aslan rarely raised his voice. When he did, Ereta's eyes went wide, and she turned to stare at him.
"I didn't gather this group so we could fight each other. Not in the long term, and not right now. Ereta—you know what I'm aiming for."
As he spoke, looking directly at her, Ereta's grip on the axe-haft loosened slightly. Her lips relaxed, but her gaze kept flicking toward him.
"Lady Rumel, please stand down as well. If not for my sake, then for the look on my face."
The moment those words left his mouth, Aslan noticed that the light in both women's eyes had turned unsettling.
Ereta had always held a position of dominance among the companions.
Ever since her days as a priest, she had seized whatever she desired and never let go until it was hers.
Even the favor of the god she served had belonged entirely to her alone.
But now she was experiencing a kind of loss she had never known in her entire life. That god had abandoned her and died, and Aslan could not yet be called hers.
And into this moment walked a rival. Ereta could not endure it.
Rumel's situation was much the same.
She had already lost her family. Lost her land. Lost even the life of privilege that her noble birth had promised her. Cast out into the world overnight, she had developed an abnormally fierce attachment to whatever she considered hers.
A rival appearing in the midst of that? Rumel would not tolerate it.
Neither woman could back down. Not even when they saw the look on Aslan's face.
The realization that he'd said the wrong thing was still settling into his mind when the two women squared off again. The killing intent in their mutual stares intensified, and Aslan, after a quick glance around, let out a sigh.
If a fight broke out, he could use what tools he had to block one exchange, maybe two.
But they were both Masters. He couldn't hold them back for long—especially not barehanded.
If he had a weapon and the goal was to kill, it might be possible. But killing a companion was outside the bounds of anything Aslan was willing to contemplate.
He couldn't even conceive of it. So he stepped between them once more.
"Please—just wait. You too, Ereta. I know what this is about, so..."
"You know?"
At his attempt to de-escalate, Ereta let out a bleak laugh.
When that bleakness made Aslan falter, she slowly smoothed the laugh into something sorrowful.
"If you know, then say it clearly."
A thread of open hostility surfaced through the sorrow as she spoke, still looking at Rumel.
"Otherwise other people might get confused."
Rumel snorted at that.
"I can't claim to know what sort of person Your Grace is, but I can see that you're rude enough to make Lord Aslan uncomfortable."
"...Excuse me?"
"If you insist on volunteering yourself for disappointment, I won't stop you."
The implication was unmistakable: it was obvious whom Aslan would choose, and that choice would be her victory. Ereta caught the insinuation and began tapping the axe-haft with the tips of her fingers.
Rumel laughed at even that.
"How utterly barbaric. The moment something displeases you, you try to kill it? I'm sure Lord Aslan adores such savagery."
At Rumel's sneer, Ereta could only grind her teeth—the accusation wasn't entirely false, and she had no rebuttal. Both women's gazes turned simultaneously toward Aslan.
Ereta's eyes were imploring and anxious, while Rumel watched him with quiet confidence.
Aslan swallowed, taking in both expressions.
He understood how things had reached this point. He understood what they wanted.
And that was precisely the problem.
He had no intention of choosing anyone.
Having already lost Rowena once, Aslan knew with quiet certainty that the next time he lost a lover would be the end of him. Even his formidable mental fortitude would not survive a second parting.
So he gave no answer to anyone's feelings. He barely responded even to Ereta's aggressive advances.
But he also couldn't pretend to accept one side over the other.
Both Ereta and Rumel were companions who would share the road ahead.
Aslan had no desire to toy with a companion's heart.
Whether the choice was real or feigned, it would produce consequences, and Aslan had neither the skill to endure them nor the means to evade them.
For a man who feared loss, neither path was acceptable. He closed his eyes and brooded.
Cold sweat formed as he wondered whether he should tap into his precognition and test every possible answer to find the least damaging one.
While he was still lost in that thought, an abrupt surge of Luck snapped his eyes open.
He turned his head in the direction Luck pulled him, and Fay and Tiyamal—the two with the keenest senses in the party—turned at almost the same instant.
When three heads swiveled toward the same spot, the others followed.
And there, in the direction they all now looked, something was waiting.
Through the prison's low, slit-like window—through the slanting brilliance of the pre-dawn sky—something hunched against the glass, casting a long shadow.
Something strange.
A creature with skin like black crystal. Or perhaps bone.
Aslan and Rumel stared at the shape for a long moment before realizing, with a strange jolt, that it was familiar.
Aslan alone guessed its identity.
"Found you."
A voice hoarse and unnatural. Aslan recognized it.
"Tormule...?"
The being that until just recently had worn the form of a Warrior Monk no longer resembled anything human.
Crack! Snap!
Its strangely transformed body squeezed through the small window—limbs threading between the iron bars. In its hand it carried a black spear, and the strange orbs that passed for its eyes rolled with a clicking sound.
"Found youuu."
The orbs stopped, fixed on Rumel, and Tormule lunged.
The target was obvious. The spearhead swept toward Rumel in a shivering line of black light. She flared her eyes wide and retreated.
Crunch!
She grabbed the chair and hurled it. Wood met spearhead, and the chair burst into a spray of sawdust and splinters.
Through the scattering wreckage, Tormule drew the spear back—
And Ereta swung her axe.
The axe traced a smooth arc as it caught Tormule full across the body, and the creature's spindly frame went flying into the prison wall.
A heavy boom, fragments of stone raining down. Tormule scrabbled briefly amid the dust, and then Ereta's axe painted the air again.
Crunch!
The blade's path bisected Tormule cleanly. Split in two, the creature stopped moving. No twitching, no convulsions—just a slow dissolution into black liquid. A clear anomaly, yet Ereta remained utterly composed.
When the fully melted corpse had become nothing more than a dark, shimmering pool, she turned her head slightly and looked at Rumel.
Then she smiled.
The meaning behind that smile was clear enough that even Aslan could read it.
You may be useless, but unlike you, I am useful to Aslan.
Rumel saw it too. Her jaw tightened, and she bit her lip—just as chaos erupted in the guard post above them.
Even from the prison level below, the sounds of confusion and agony rang out clearly. It was unmistakably a surprise attack.
Aslan recognized the opportunity.
"This isn't the time for us to fight one another. That attack was clearly aimed at Lady Rumel. More of them will be swarming this way any moment now."
Rumel turned to look at him. Aslan composed his expression into something resolute.
"We need to help the guards and hold them off at the guard post. That's exactly why I summoned my party."
Rumel looked ready to object, but Aslan turned away before she could speak.
"Fay!"
He had only called her name, but Fay was already moving as if she'd been waiting for it, setting down Aslan's weapons, Rumel's weapons, and a set of armor.
"I figured you'd need these, so I brought them."
"Well done!"
Fay grinned with confidence, and Aslan nodded in satisfaction.
Praise, and a pleased expression from Aslan. Seeing him so relieved, as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders, Fay added casually:
"Mm. Fay didn't waste Aslan's energy on nonsense, and she did exactly what needed doing. Fay's the best, right?"
Her intent could not have been more transparent. Ereta's and Rumel's faces hardened, and Angie, watching all three of them, blinked in bewilderment.
With an expression that said she had absolutely no idea what was happening, Angie jabbed Tiyamal in the ribs.
"Are they... why are they all fighting?"
At Angie's innocent question, Tiyamal looked at her with something approaching pity, then let out a long sigh.