Velus Ma'kel
Velus Ma'kel
The knights had certainly been dispatched by the Emperor. He had ordered them to escort the group — that much was beyond doubt.
Whose will lay behind the order remained unknowable, but whose instructions had been conveyed was clear enough.
Aslan met the old knight's gaze. The veteran glared back with all the fury that remained in his one good eye.
The old knight had served the Imperial household since the previous Emperor's reign. He was captain of the Imperial Guard and bore the title Dark Spear.
His presence alone said a great deal.
It suggested, for instance, that the Warrior Monks had not yet reached the Imperial Capital.
And if the Warrior Monks could not send reinforcements to the capital, it meant other divinities were actively obstructing and interfering.
When other gods meddled, achieving one's objective became difficult — and courting disaster all too easy.
The Emperor wanted to eliminate an unforeseen variable.
That unforeseen variable was Aslan.
In the chaos, Aslan had claimed to be the last remnant of the Ancient Gods.
Any other ruler would have laughed it off, relieved that the matter had untangled itself so conveniently. But Aslan was no ordinary man.
He was the Master of Combat, a figure who drew the attention and hatred of every god simultaneously.
One of the very few humans who truly understood the gods.
And that same human had agreed to accompany Kornil Ashuld without resistance.
His motives would be unfathomable — he could only appear an unpredictable variable.
The old knight standing before him now was the proof of that reasoning.
The plan was to neutralize Aslan in advance, to ensure he could make no move at all.
Aslan saw through it, and a mocking smile crossed his lips.
The idea that they had sent only a single old knight and some cavalry to subdue him was laughable.
So Aslan said no, flatly and without hesitation.
The old knight's anger meant nothing to him.
No matter how murderous the knight's glare, no matter how complete his armament might be.
Aslan had already beaten this same knight during the imperial regicide.
A man he had already beaten once had no claim on his fear.
Even if the knight before him seemed nearly consumed with thoughts of vengeance, Aslan had his mana now. He saw no scenario in which he would lose.
He stood at ease among twenty cavalrymen.
"Is that a refusal?"
At Aslan's arrogance and unhurried poise, the old knight raised his dark spear a fraction.
Instead of answering, Aslan reached for his waist.
He gripped the noticeably thick sheath and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the long knife. He had no real intention of drawing it.
Just as Aslan was dropping his stance to feint, someone stepped forward.
"Hold a moment, Sir Reynald."
It was a knight.
The same knight who had accompanied Kornil Ashuld from the very beginning — shield on one arm, longsword at his hip.
He looked to be a little past thirty. When he stepped between them, the old knight's face twisted into a scowl.
"Do you intend to obstruct His Majesty's command, Sir Milton?"
The old knight spat the words at Milton without shifting his glare from Aslan. The killing intent in that remark made Sir Milton glance briefly at Aslan.
"...You know perfectly well I am not. His Majesty never ordered you to kill Lord Aslan."
The old knight did not answer, and Sir Milton spoke in Aslan's defense.
"I am well aware you were bested by Lord Aslan once. I understand your desire to settle that score. But at present Lord Aslan is a guest who came to cooperate with the investigation."
Aslan's eyes widened — genuinely startled.
He had not expected this knight to step up and defend him.
His efforts to build goodwill and demonstrate good conduct had been limited to the rank-and-file soldiers.
A knight he had never even exchanged words with, let alone cultivated, speaking on his behalf — this was a result he had not anticipated.
He sincerely welcomed the unexpected result — but he could not ignore the soldiers watching him with uneasy eyes.
Aslan stepped forward, brushing past Sir Milton, and addressed the old knight.
"It's a refusal — but I'll accompany you regardless."
"...What?"
The old knight half-echoed the word, but Aslan did not repeat himself. As if dismissing the man entirely, he extended a finger toward the cavalrymen.
"I do expect to be treated as a guest, however. Dismount some of your men, let us ride their horses to the Imperial Palace, and I will come along quietly."
The old knight's face contorted with transparent displeasure.
Aslan saw it and let his mockery show.
"That offends you, Sir Reynald? Then allow me to point out — we are rather more offended."
Before the old knight could respond, Aslan laid out his logic.
"I am no prisoner. I am a guest who has agreed to cooperate and accompany you. There is no reason I should be dragged around like one. Yet you offered not a single explanation and made an immediate show of force. How could I not be offended?"
As he spoke, Aslan glanced at the soldiers.
They said nothing, but their expressions suggested they found his argument reasonable.
Aslan opened his mouth to drive the wedge deeper.
"On top of that, you surrounded and threatened us outside the capital. Do you have something to hide?"
Suspicion began to flicker in the soldiers' eyes.
From atop his horse, Reynald scanned their faces and grimaced.
"What do you want?"
"What I said. Treat me and my companions as guests. Then I will come."
"And if I refuse?"
Reynald's grip tightened on his spear as he asked. When the dark spear lifted slightly, Aslan watched it and let his hand drift back to his waist.
"Then we see blood."
Reynald stared at Aslan with open loathing. Several emotions warred in that stare.
Murderous fury. Hatred. Resignation.
Resignation won.
"...Imul, Ronan — dismount."
The three heavy cavalrymen climbed off their horses with poorly concealed reluctance. Aslan smiled faintly.
*
The Imperial Capital, Velus Ma'kel.
The seat of the Kallus Empire, whose territory was the most expansive in the Northern Continent — and an ancient fortress dating back to the era when worship of the Ancient Gods still held sway.
The Kallus Empire had bloomed in the void left by the collapse of that old faith, flourishing under the sturdy defenses of Velus Ma'kel.
The city's most defining feature was its walls.
They soared to a height of perhaps thirty meters — massive fortifications that had stood flawless and unblemished since the age when the Ancient Gods still walked the world.
Walls no present-day human civilization could hope to replicate. Structures touched by the hand of the divine.
People called such god-wrought fortresses by an old dead-word: Belus.
Within one such god-fortress, following the inner wall along the mountain's flank, stood the Imperial Palace.
Aslan was inside it.
More precisely, he was in one of the palace's guest chambers.
He reclined in a chair and let his thoughts drift.
The soldiers — originally gate guards — would have returned to their posts by now, spreading what they had witnessed of the infamous Emperor-Slayer among their comrades.
Rumors that the Emperor-Slayer did not seem such a bad man after all. That he was, perhaps, more decent than the stories painted him.
If events flowed as Aslan intended, those rumors would by now include the detail that the Emperor's own cavalry had appeared under suspicious circumstances and dragged the Emperor-Slayer away.
Everything was proceeding as planned. So Aslan rested, shaking off the fatigue of the journey without a trace of impatience.
Only Angie and Harod were uneasy.
Their weapons had not been confiscated. No one had threatened them. Yet Harod still fretted over the hostility of the cavalrymen and the old knight.
Angie, perhaps acting on pure instinct, wore a frown she had not smoothed away for some time.
After a long while of fidgeting with his shield and weapon, Harod glanced at Angie and approached Aslan.
"My lord, I must ask — I cannot simply let this pass. Why did you agree to accompany them willingly? This was a situation you could have escaped, was it not?"
Instead of answering, Aslan turned his gaze toward Angie, who was walking over. She shrugged.
"Yeah. Couldn't we have just gone?"
The situation was not so simple, but Angie and Harod were not entirely wrong.
If Aslan had wished it, he could have brushed aside that level of threat as if it were nothing. He could have escaped.
When Kornil Ashuld had first come to find him, he could have refused to cooperate and slaughtered them all.
He had not.
He had let Kornil Ashuld live and agreed to accompany him.
He had complied when the old knight Reynald threatened him and walked straight into the Imperial Palace.
By normal standards this was a bad situation. There were Warrior Monks stationed inside the palace, and the garrison outnumbered them many times over.
He was deep in the belly of the beast — and entirely unbothered.
He looked comfortably at ease.
Aslan propped his chin on his hand and smiled faintly.
"There's nothing to worry about. Even if things go wrong, I have a plan for that too. And so far, everything has gone according to plan."
Harod's expression twisted into something so strange that even his draconic features could not hide it.
"A plan...? I would very much like to hear what it is."
Perhaps the terror Aslan had instilled in Harod was wearing thin — his face showed pure disbelief. To be fair, the situation was hard to credit no matter how much faith or fear one had.
Aslan sank back into the chair.
"I can't give you the details. But... if things continue according to this plan, we won't be hunted by priests for quite some time."
Harod wore a complicated expression as he rubbed the scales on his neck. Aslan read it and spoke.
"I understand you're unhappy about being dragged along without the freedom to act. But if we split up now, the priests will still pursue you. Bear with it, at least until we're safer."
Harod was still hesitating, his expression troubled, when it happened.
Knock, knock, knock.
A rapping at the well-crafted wooden door.
Before Aslan could call out, the door swung open and someone slipped inside.
The intruder peered back into the corridor, shut the door, and let out a long, shaky breath.
It was a girl.
Shorter than Angie.
She wore an elegant sky-blue dress, and her eyes shone the same pale blue as the fabric.
Young-faced, yet she carried a cool, distant presence. Even Angie's eyes went wide at the beauty she radiated.
The girl's shimmering platinum-blonde hair fluttered as she caught her breath. She closed her eyes and steadied herself.
"I won't speak at length. Please — flee. Now."
The words were so utterly unexpected, so bewildering, that Harod and Angie could only blink.
Only Aslan let the corner of his mouth curl upward.
When no response came, the girl who had been steadying her breath with closed eyes slowly opened them.
"I know this is confusing, but you must run. You've fallen into a trap—"
She had begun with her sky-blue eyes only half-open, but she broke off with a startled twitch when she saw the man watching her.
"...Th-the Emperor-Slayer?"
Aslan rose from his chair at the familiar title. The girl's eyes flickered with panic.
He betrayed no reaction to her alarm. He simply bent his knee and bowed respectfully.
The girl made a flustered, stammering sound. Aslan straightened, a gentle smile on his face.
"I am honored to meet you."
"...Wh-why are you...?"
The girl stumbled over her words, still in shock. Aslan kept his expression warm.
"I have been waiting. This is not something you could simply ignore."
The girl could not find her answer. That was fine.
Aslan was simply satisfied that the last piece of his plan had finally fallen into place.
The girl's name was Ileina of Ma'kel.
The Emperor's younger sister — and the daughter of the previous Emperor whom Aslan had killed.
He stepped closer to Ileina.
"Will you help us?"