Margrave Saenggirus

What had set it off?

Hearing talk of marriage?

The Equalization he'd forced himself to use, dragging his exhausted body into a fight against a high priest?

Burning through every last drop of his mana?

The lack of proper rest because he'd been on guard the entire time?

All of it, most likely.

Aslan had fallen asleep without meditating, and he dreamed.

The dream was burning.

Everything he could see was consumed by black flames.

The fire burned so red it was hard to keep his eyes open, and what he could see between the flames was nothing but charred corpses and roiling smoke.

At the center of it, Aslan held Kal in his hands.

He looked down the blade, and there she was — a woman staring up at him through the steel, her expression hollow with grief.

She was on her knees, bleeding, smiling.

Their eyes met, and their faces told two different stories.

She was smiling, flushed and happy. He looked moments from collapse.

Those two expressions locked together, and the woman spoke in a voice like a song.

"I love you."

Her violet eyes disappeared into a smiling crescent, and Aslan brought the blade down.

The severed head rolled across the ground.

Her long hair trailed through the blood as the head tumbled down a slope made of corpses — a calamity she had called down, a mountain she had built herself.

The head reached the bottom and knocked against a pair of feet.

Pristine, spotless feet. Untouched by the fire and blood and ruin swirling all around them.

Their owner bent down, picked up the head, and spoke.

Aslan drew a ragged breath at the horrible truth spoken in that bright, ringing voice.

Then the world — the nightmare — crumbled.

Among the fragments of the dream falling away, only a woman wearing the horns of a mountain goat remained, smiling with wicked satisfaction.

"...Ah."

Aslan opened his eyes on the last edge of the nightmare.

He was breathing hard. He wiped cold sweat from his face with the back of his hand and grimaced.

"What, you have a nightmare or something?"

He'd shut his eyes to shake off the exhaustion, but the girl's voice brought him fully awake. He opened them again.

There she was. Scarlet hair and bright gold eyes.

Aslan pressed a hand to his forehead and swallowed down the dregs of the dream. He was in the Margrave's territory. Not in the nightmare.

"No. It's nothing."

"Yeah, that's a lie. Anyone could see it's not nothing."

The girl thumped him on the shoulder and sat down.

"In case you forgot, I used to run the Tail District. You know how many times I was top dog? Spill it. I'll listen."

Her "top dog" days had probably only impressed other children her age. Aslan let out a tired laugh at her attempt to comfort him.

"Don't laugh! I mean it!"

When she protested, he let the amusement fade. A faint smile lingered, but she didn't call him on it.

"I'll listen to every word, so talk. If you have a nightmare, you've gotta get it out. That's how it works."

She looked oddly proud of herself. Aslan almost told her he was fine.

He closed his mouth.

She was going to learn about it eventually.

The girl wasn't just a companion. She was a protagonist.

If he wanted to prepare her, she needed to know.

He let out a weary laugh at the realization that he had to volunteer this. The girl tilted her head.

He picked up the arrow and knife he'd dropped when he fell asleep. Only then did he begin to speak.

"...I was married once."

He said it while fitting a sharp arrowhead to the shaft, then setting the fletching.

"I met a very bad woman. Married her. She was so bad that if I didn't stop her, she'd do terrible things."

Angie flinched at the word married, but she'd half-expected something like this.

"So?"

"...For a while, she stayed within my reach. Didn't do anything bad. I let myself believe it, and she seemed to find her own peace. We lived together like that."

He kept his hands moving as he spoke. The finished arrow was so well-made that Angie's eyes were drawn to it despite herself.

He slipped it into the quiver at his feet.

As his hands worked on the next arrow, his mind was on a woman.

Long, beautiful black hair. Purple eyes that gleamed like jewels.

She had laughed. She had cried. She had whispered love.

Aslan felt bitterness and pain as he remembered her. It showed on his face.

Angie saw it.

"...You don't have to tell me if it's hard. It's not like I'm dying to know."

She'd only wanted him to get the nightmare off his chest. She was worried about him.

"It's fine."

He refused. He had to talk about it.

She would find out someday, and hiding it wouldn't help then. He picked up another arrow shaft and kept going.

"The bad woman and I lived in a quiet little city in the western corner of the Southern Continent. We settled down, found a house, got to know the local nobles, and lived there for about a year."

Settling down. He hadn't expected it either. It had almost made him think that giving up on ever returning might be okay.

"I thought everything was going to work out. That's how it looked. No priests came looking for me. Hardly any monsters in the area."

He'd known even then that something was off, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He had no choice but to be happy.

"I think... for a little while, I actually was."

"...Hmm."

Angie made a noise of acknowledgment. Aslan held up the newly finished arrow, lowered his gaze, and let out a breath.

The memory was painful to dig up. The swollen emotions scraped at his mind on their way out.

"It happened on a winter day. The kind where even the sea wind feels like it's frozen solid."

A shadow crept into his voice as he went on, and Angie understood that the nightmare was about to begin.

"The bad woman who should have been sleeping beside me wasn't there. The window was wide open, and winter was pouring through it. Cold air carrying something dark ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and foul."

He could still smell it if he closed his eyes.

The stench of burning flesh and scattered blood.

He opened his eyes.

"I grabbed my old blade. I went out into the city. The city that glowed red from a distance. That's where I found her."

He had called her a bad woman. He let out an empty laugh.

"The city was covered in bodies. Shattered. Taken apart piece by piece. I found her at the center. Every monster in that place was bowing its head to her."

"Don't tell me...."

"The city of Beryl fell by her hand. It's gone. I had to kill my own wife."

He exhaled slowly.

There was more to the aftermath. Other pieces of the nightmare and the memory.

He kept those to himself.

Those details would only confuse things.

Aslan closed his mouth and smiled a bitter smile.

"Her name was Rowena. The Black Witch. A priest of the Twilight Flock. I cut off her head."

Another of his failures.

The Black Witch Rowena was a chapter boss from the late game of Eternal Dominion.

The nightmare and the memory he'd just spoken aloud — they were the scars of Aslan's failed attempt to interfere with the game's story.

Angie couldn't hide her stunned expression at the grim memory and the darkness in his voice.

"I thought your nightmare was gonna be... I don't know, everyone dying. Something like that."

Aslan managed a weak laugh at her innocent reaction. Angie squirmed, thinking hard.

"That kind of dream is a little tough to, uh... hmm, well...."

She groaned and scratched her head. Aslan was about to tell her she didn't need to comfort him.

"When you had the dream again, what did you think about?"

Her question caught him off guard.

"...I don't know. That there might have been a better way. A better solution. Maybe... I could have stopped things before they went that far. That's what I thought."

The words had come out reflexively.

"You regret it?"

"...Yeah."

Angie didn't give him time to take it back.

She sat with the answer, rubbing her chin. After a moment, she spoke.

"I'm not very smart, and I don't know a lot of things. So I'm not good with fancy words, and I dunno if this is gonna... come out right."

Her bright gold eyes met his.

"The way I see it, I don't see how you could've done any better. But it seems like you're still hoping you could have. Right?"

Aslan couldn't tell what she meant by the question. He paused.

"...No. I regret that I wasn't strong enough."

If he had been strong enough to stop it before it started, none of it would have happened.

Angie murmured the word "strong enough" to herself.

"Then I guess you won't have to regret that anymore."

Aslan looked up, confused.

She was grinning.

"You told me I'm one of the last remnants of an Ancient God. And you said that pretty girl from the big city told you Ancient God remnants are a really big deal."

That wasn't exactly how it had gone, but Aslan nodded.

She kept grinning.

"And that really big deal has got your back now, right? So you won't be short on strength. You can do all the things you used to regret not being able to do."

Aslan forgot what he was going to say and stared at the girl.

She felt the stare and nodded to herself, as if she'd found the flaw in his thinking.

"Sure, up 'til now I've been too weak to really help. But that's gonna change. I'm gonna get stronger and stronger."

She said it with total confidence. It was the truth. Every time Aslan raised her stats, she would grow stronger.

She thumped him on the chest.

"We're companions, aren't we?"

Aslan could only manage a faint smile.

"...Yeah. Companions. You're right."

He answered and slid the finished arrow into the quiver.

Angie watched him.

"You feel any better?"

"Yeah. I do."

Thanks, Angie. When he added that, she scratched her head and looked embarrassed, like she didn't know what to do with gratitude.

They fell silent.

Aslan gave the quiver a light shake to align the arrows. Angie watched him in the quiet.

After a while, she spoke again.

"That crazy bitch is really coming here, isn't she."

"Yeah. That's why I'm making these."

Angie looked at the arrows and took a steadying breath.

Challenging an enemy who'd already beaten you took more courage than anyone could imagine.

And this enemy was out of their league. Someone they should have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no business beating.

Ereta was a chapter boss. The kind you weren't supposed to face until the mid-game.

This wasn't when she was supposed to appear.

Maybe it would all go wrong, the way it had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with Rowena, the story twisting itself into a catastrophe.

But Aslan believed that taking down a boss now, ahead of schedule, wouldn't break the main quest's flow. Not enough to matter.

He couldn't run from her just because she wasn't meant to be fought yet. He couldn't surrender.

When he'd looked for a path to Victory, only one had presented itself.

One plan.

"...You're sure this plan is okay? I'm not saying I don't trust you, but honestly, I'm a little freaked out."

To anyone else, the plan sounded insane.

Angie, who hadn't spent much time around books, thought so too.

Her eyes drifted to the scroll beside Aslan. He smiled faintly.

"There's no other way to beat her. We'd just die."

Angie still looked uncomfortable, but she trusted him. She said nothing more.

There was no other plan, just as he'd said.

*

Two weeks had passed since Ereta fought the last remnant of the Ancient God — the Master of Combat — in the Imperial Capital.

The journey had taken time, but she had finally reached Saingirus.

The Margrave's territory, bordered by two nations and open to the sea, was the only place Aslan could have gone.

She expected to find him here. Or at least his trail.

Whatever direction he'd fled, wherever he'd tried to hide, Saingirus was the only door.

So she led her force through the forest west of the territory.

The partially priestified faithful and the monsters at her back were not vast in number. But they were enough to sack Saingirus.

A little short, perhaps — but with the advantage of surprise and her own overwhelming strength, the city would fall easily.

After that, she'd find the remnant, return to her order, or follow the next lead wherever it pointed.

A sound plan. Nothing seemed wrong with it. Its only vulnerability was if the high priest — if she — were killed. But that was no concern at all.

A high priest did not fear death. Death was simply a gift they gave to others.

Ereta advanced with confidence.

Then her sharp ears caught the sound of something cutting the air.

"Hm?"

The question left her lips as her hand blurred to the axe on her back. She whipped it around to shield her face.

The arrows came in a storm.

Clang, clang-clang!

Arrows hammered her axe and ricocheted away. Others punched through the monsters and faithful, dropping them to the ground.

None of the individual shots were overwhelmingly powerful, but there were too many. Too many for regular followers and beasts to endure.

'Ambushed? Turned around on me? He knew I was coming?'

She had covered her tracks. She had circled around carefully, drawing no attention. There was no way the Margrave could have predicted her route.

Yet here she was, ambushed.

Ereta puzzled over it, then looked toward the source of the arrows.

"Ah."

Then she understood.

A man stood among the archers. He was hard to miss.

A longbow in his hands. Teal eyes gleaming.

The last remnant of the Ancient God. The Master of Combat.

The moment she saw him, she remembered the instant their eyes had met in the Imperial Capital — the way his sharp instincts had caught her, the way her ambush had crumbled before it could begin. Of course a man like that could pull this off.

'Master of Combat indeed.'

Ereta's anticipation swelled. She raised her axe.

She would finish what had been interrupted. She would bring down the Master of Combat. She would make him kneel.

The fantasy alone sent heat coiling through her belly.

The moment she charged to make it real, the man calmly lifted his bow.

He set an arrow to the string, raised it as if pushing aside the sky, then slowly drew it down, pulling the bow taut.

The bow groaned with tension, a sound like a threat. Ereta raised her axe to cover her face.

Aslan watched the high priest charge with her face hidden, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and he aimed without haste.

The arrow was stained black.

'Knight Slayer.'

Thrum!

He released the string. He fired.

The arrow from the heavy longbow slipped through the air, skimming across empty space.

It flew, and it pierced her axe.

Passed through it like the weapon wasn't there.

"Huh."

Ereta stared at the arrow that had just gone through her axe.

Thwock!

The shaft sprouted from her head. Her skull snapped backward.