Olpasbet
Olpasbet
The way Aslan stood there unshaken, utterly untroubled by the death bearing down on him, broke something in Rumel. It was a heartbreaking thing to witness. The tears spilled over before she could stop them. She turned away and covered her face. As she retreated, Angie pulled her into an embrace and patted her back.
Next was Ereta.
Ereta stood with her head bowed low, a storm of emotions warring across her face. All of this felt like her fault. Aslan's dwindling lifespan was the price of pushing himself past every limit for years — the accumulated toll of Equalization use catching up to him. But all she could see was that this time he had overexerted himself trying to protect her. Because of her, Aslan was going to die. Not the Aslan who had to kill evil gods and save the world — her Aslan. The one person she treasured in all existence. To Ereta, who had already lost her mother, this was unbearable. So she reached out and took his hand.
"Aslan."
"...Yeah."
Aslan. The Artist's white-iron shield on his back, a folded greatsword beside it, a white-iron mace riding his hip. Aslan, always ready to face any priest in combat. Aslan, brimming with fighting spirit. A man like that couldn't possibly die. Ereta clung to that thought.
"Aslan."
But nothing else would come. She could only manage to say his name. If he could just live a little longer — that one thought consumed her. Ereta let the tattoos along her spine blaze to life and poured her life force into him. It seemed to drain away the moment it entered him. Wearing a grief-stricken expression, Ereta pressed her forehead to his hand. No more words came, but her meaning reached him clearly.
Please don't die. I'm sorry. Tell me it's a lie.
"It's fine."
Aslan read all of it and answered. Pushing past the breaking point and paying the price — that was nothing new. So Aslan was fine. He ruffled Ereta's hair and turned his head to look at Fay. Fay met his eyes, her pupils trembling faintly, then spoke.
"You're all idiots. As if Aslan could ever die."
Hands on her hips, pupils quivering. Fay, who always lied so casually, who played the adorable elf. Fay was forcing herself to ignore the dread looming right in front of her. Dodging it with words.
"Aslan is Aslan. He wouldn't leave Fay behind. So he won't die. Right?"
Aslan smiled instead of answering, and Fay bit her lip and lowered her head. The mood sank into gloom. Weeping women, a girl and a Dragon-kin wearing stricken expressions. Watching all his companions drown in that melancholy, Aslan let out a sigh. Eyes wet with tears, eyes wet with despair, eyes wet with regret. Under the weight of their gazes, he forced a smile.
"There's a way."
There isn't.
"Maybe we'll find something at an Ancient God's temple."
He'd cleared Eternal Dominion hundreds of times. Aslan knew perfectly well there was nothing like that.
"Might find something among the priests' relics that can fix this. Those bastards can pull people back from death's door."
That only ever applied to those who became priests of the evil gods. No such miracle was waiting for Aslan. But he told the lie anyway. A lie they had no choice but to believe. A lie they wanted to believe. A lie even he found himself wanting to believe. Only then did the atmosphere begin to recover. Seeing Aslan speak like it was nothing, they clearly thought — maybe it really was nothing. Maybe Aslan had a plan. So he kept the forced smile in place. So they could believe.
Once Rumel stopped crying, Angie teased her for blubbering. Rumel pouted and told her to stop, and Angie answered with a bright laugh. Tiyamal cracked a half-ripened grin at the sight, and Fay began playing the innocent elf again. Ereta made a visible effort to unknot her throat, telling Aslan the mace and shield suited him well. Everyone straining to find hope. Not wanting to shatter that, Aslan forced the subject elsewhere.
"Alright, that's enough about me. You all know by now you can't break my stubborn streak. Let's focus on how we win the fights ahead."
His usual easy tone. Tiyamal, ready to play along, rubbed his chin and spoke. "The fights ahead... You've actually got something in mind?"
"Right. I mean, the Sword of the War God is strong, isn't he?" Ereta picked up Tiyamal's thread, and Rumel, still sniffling back tears, added her own thought. "So we're raising an army, aren't we? Together with an army..."
"The Sword of the War God isn't a Warrior Monk you can handle with an army. We'll need some kind of trump card." The group was conspicuously avoiding any mention of failure or death. Watching them wrestle with the aftershock, Aslan let a quiet laugh slip. Their eyes turned toward the sound, and he kept the smile on his face.
"Something in mind? Sure. While the alliance assembles, we're going to find the Master of Magic."
The Master of Magic. Fay furrowed her brow, some memory surfacing. "That person in their seventies who wears a mask, keeps cats, uses a crossbow, and specializes in Transmutation and Manifestation schools?"
"Yeah, that one."
Anton, the Master of Magic. A mage with surprisingly little information circulating about him. The party wore puzzled expressions at this sudden revelation.
"Seventies? You're sure this is going to help?" Angie in particular. She asked, clearly worried about his age.
"Yes. In fact... when it comes to taking down the Sword of the War God, Anton's role could be critical." Aslan answered smoothly. And this, at least, was no lie. An average Master of Magic would struggle to deal serious damage to the Sword of the War God, but Anton was different. "I'm acquainted with him, and my last visit was only two years ago, so he should... probably still remember me. Probably."
"...Is the old man senile?"
"A little?"
"Is this really going to help?" Tiyamal chuckled, his concern half a joke, half genuine. Aslan looked at him and shrugged in mock reply. He'd already calculated that a touch of senility wouldn't be an issue.
"The real problem is the location." At that, Rumel tilted her head, tear tracks still visible on her face.
"The location? Is it up in the sky or something?" A question full of Rumel's usual imagination. Spotting the faint gleam in her eyes as she secretly hoped for a sky-bound mage, Aslan shook his head with an awkward expression.
"I wish. The problem isn't that it's hard to approach."
"Then...?"
"The problem is what comes after we approach."
The party's faces grew baffled again. Feeling their stares, Aslan rolled his eyes. "Where do you think the War God's most vital territory is? His base of operations?" He turned it into a question. At the unexpected query, the party exchanged glances and took turns guessing.
"Um, the Kallus Empire, maybe? Since it's within his sphere of influence..."
"Wrong. Same continent, though."
"In that case, hmm, this old man's keen insight points to Count Warpol's domain."
"Admirable insight, but wrong."
"Tch."
"Then, um, the city in Count Warpol's domain. Warpol itself? If the domain's fallen —"
"Incorrect. The base hasn't moved."
A base that hadn't moved. The same continent as the Kallus Empire. The party's expressions grew blank, and Aslan supplied the answer. "It's the War God's Sanctuary. The temple where all Warrior Monks gather. Where the stone tablet listing every master the War God has chosen is kept. That's the War God's stronghold." Aslan added the words, but the party still looked confused. Angie, who had kept quiet since she knew nothing about the subject, raised a hand slightly.
"Why are you quizzing us on this all of a sudden?"
"...Because our destination is right near it."
"Huh?" Even Angie startled, catching the absurdity of what she'd just heard. A Master living right beside the War God's own stronghold. Under normal circumstances, that would be a quick way to get captured and beheaded. Now the party caught on that something was very strange and turned back to Aslan. Aslan spoke.
"Anton's residence. Anton's magic tower... is north of the War God's Sanctuary."
"...Is he actually alive? And he's actually on our side?"
"Yes. He hates the War God as much as I do."
"Well, that's... something."
Just as Tiyamal's appalled voice suggested, this was a situation that shouldn't work by any normal logic. A plan no one but a Master of Magic could have even attempted. Of course, part of it was that Aslan had taught Anton the proverb about the darkest place being under the candlestick, but Aslan didn't bother mentioning that. The reasons didn't matter. The War God truly had failed to find Anton all this time. Perhaps because of that, the party finally seemed to grasp why Aslan had called the location a problem. Aslan thought to himself. The hardest part of this whole Sword of the War God extermination plan would probably be the journey to reach Anton. Anton, hiding beneath the War God's Sanctuary like the darkness under a candle. Once they found him and recruited him — Warrior Monks charging out of the Sanctuary on their heels while they tried to escort him somewhere safe.