The Saintess of Slaughter
The Saintess of Slaughter
"Yes. The Kingdom of Bida."
The Margrave dragged a bare hand down his face at Aslan's matter-of-fact reply.
"Do you fully understand what you're saying? You've also said you'd take the Saint with you."
"I did."
Aslan's expression remained unhurried. Looking at that face, the Margrave concluded that talking him out of it would genuinely be the only way he could repay his benefactor.
He spelled out what would come next, as if Aslan hadn't already thought it through.
"If you march into the Kingdom of Bida with a Saint in tow, you will encounter the Cult of Cosmic Inevitability. Possibly even a high priest."
Not possibly. Inevitably.
Ereta, however she looked now, had once been the most infamous high priest in the Cult of Cosmic Inevitability under the name Saintess of Slaughter.
The Poison-spitting Dragon's high priest, the Artist, was a figure few even remembered anymore, and the Giant's high priest kept out of sight, leaving only scattered rumors.
The most public face, the name known far and wide, had been the Saintess of Slaughter — Ereta. Which meant her identity would inevitably be exposed if they set foot in Bida.
The only uncertainty was whether she'd be recognized by Bidan nobles and soldiers, or by priests of Cosmic Inevitability sent to eliminate Ereta and dispose of Aslan.
Neither outcome was good, and the Margrave's face clouded with disquiet.
Aslan read the man's concern and smiled faintly. A smile that revealed almost nothing.
"I know."
"Then why head for Bida at all? The Baramunz Mountain Kingdom would be far safer..."
There were many reasons.
But trust didn't prevent leaks, and Aslan couldn't afford to endanger him.
If one of his few allies were killed by a priest simply for sharing intelligence, that would be a problem. Aslan gave him the most surface-level answer.
"Because I'm confident."
The Margrave let out a baffled "Hah," but didn't press further.
He knew there was no point trying to stop a man who had already hunted a high priest and was certain he could do it again.
In the end, the Margrave gave up with a heavy sigh.
"Then nothing to be done. If it were up to me... I'd hoped you might meet my daughter while she's traveling in Baramunz, but it seems your stubbornness won't bend..."
He swallowed the rest and gave Aslan a meaningful look.
"I wish you luck. Until you depart, consider this place your home and rest comfortably. And don't slip away without a word like last time."
Aslan merely gave a faint smile instead of answering, and the Margrave chuckled dryly.
*
Two weeks.
That was how long it took for Aslan to regain basic mobility.
Until then, he'd had to move with an awkward limp.
And wherever he limped, Angie followed.
Or rather — he had let her follow.
One day, after walking ahead for a while, he glanced back over his shoulder at the girl who kept checking on him.
"Why are you trailing me around?"
In truth, the pattern was closer to Aslan following her lead, but the girl didn't bother with such details.
"Uh, to protect you?"
From what? The question was clear in his look. The girl grinned.
"I'm all healed up, and you're not. So I should be protecting you, right?"
There was no one in the Margraviate who would harm him, yet the girl seemed genuinely convinced, her smile deeply satisfied.
Every time Aslan set off somewhere, she asked where they were going and took the lead.
She walked ahead, claiming she'd check for danger with her own body first, and occasionally glanced back at him.
Aslan wasn't sure how useful any of that actually was, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to refuse the kindness.
Part of it felt like taking a puppy for a walk. The girl seemed that restless.
And it wasn't annoying, so he let it be.
She wouldn't be like this forever, after all.
Two weeks passed. Aslan recovered enough to manage minimal travel, gathered Ereta and Angie, and left the Margraviate.
They departed from Saingirus, the Margrave's city, heading east.
Along the road slanting toward the Kingdom of Bida's territory, Aslan led his party without hesitation.
He hadn't fully healed, and his body ached after walking too long, but his high Fighting Spirit kept him on his feet.
Angie, with her high Health, never tired at all. So when the party stopped, it was mostly for one reason.
Ereta, who was no longer a high priest.
Whenever she collapsed from exhaustion, Aslan set up camp and lit a simple fire.
Not long after the flames caught, Ereta slipped quietly into sleep, leaving only Angie and Aslan to stare into the fire.
Two days since they left the Margraviate. No pursuers. Aslan let himself feel some relief.
'At least things haven't gone too far off the rails. Not yet.'
If the game's original progression had held, the protagonist was supposed to meet a Warrior Monk — a priest of the War God — in the Margraviate.
What happened after that meeting was entirely up to the player.
Defeat the Warrior Monk and protect the Margraviate. Use the Margraviate as bait to flush out the priest. Or abandon the whole region and flee.
Regardless, once the quest was resolved, the protagonist had to choose a path forward.
Head to the Kingdom of Bida, or to the Baramunz Mountain Kingdom.
Originally, the choice made little difference. It only changed the region and which god you'd face next.
But Aslan hadn't encountered a Warrior Monk. He hadn't even run into an ordinary priest.
He'd met a high priest of Cosmic Inevitability — the Saintess of Slaughter.
A Saint who, by all rights, shouldn't have appeared until the mid-game, somewhere around Chapter Seven, had revealed herself right in front of him.
Events had already twisted deeply from that point on, but at least the quest had been manageable.
The problem was what came after.
Cosmic Inevitability had three high priests. Now it had one fewer.
The Fire-weaving Spider had taken a blow to its divinity and retreated.
Which meant the divergence from the game was only beginning.
What kind of ripple effects would these events produce? Aslan couldn't guess.
Would they appoint a new high priest?
Would the new high priest belong to the Fire-weaving Spider?
Or to one of the other two gods?
What became of the Fire-weaving Spider itself?
He couldn't begin to predict. Perhaps Cosmic Inevitability would be permanently weakened.
The gap between the gods might widen, and the tripartite god might simply fade away.
Or it could be absorbed by other gods entirely, shattering the power balance among divinities for good.
Whatever happened, one thing was certain: the advantage Aslan had drawn from knowing the game was about to shrink.
He had to act before that happened. Or prepare. The best course was to devise countermeasures for every possible scenario.
He was still deep in that rumination when Angie approached.
"Hup."
She settled beside him, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and leaned in. The sudden warmth against his side made Aslan start.
"Angie...?"
She sat close enough that their shoulders touched and let out a long, lazy yawn. Her golden eyes blinked sleepily, then fixed on him.
"What're you calling me for?"
She actually looked faintly disgruntled, as if he were the one acting strange.
Aslan, caught off guard by the sudden proximity, managed a sheepish expression.
"What's this about, all of a sudden? You're awfully close..."
Angie rubbed her eyelids with the back of her hand, entirely nonchalant, and shrugged. Her scarlet hair whispered against his leather armor.
"We're companions, so what's the big deal. Besides, I get cold easily. If I'm cold I can't sleep."
She yawned again, utterly unguarded, and pulled the blanket higher. High enough to hide her mouth, maybe out of embarrassment. The face still visible was faintly red.
Angie wasn't a good liar. Aslan caught several clear tells and simply watched her in silence.
What could make her want to cling to him so badly that she'd lie? He turned the question over.
The girl scratched her cheek awkwardly under his stare. Then her gaze dropped, and she mumbled a confession.
"I mean, come on... you've been frowning to yourself nonstop, how am I supposed to not worry? I just wanted to... y'know? Tell you not to carry it all alone. That I'm right here. And I wanted to say that but it's kind of embarrassing so..."
After rambling for a while, Angie pressed her lips shut tight and rapped his shoulder with her fist. Even with her Strength of seven, the punch held no pain at all.
"Ugh, forget it! I'm just cold, so take it or leave it!"
She tried to gloss it over like that. Embarrassed, yes, but she didn't move away.
Aslan sat wordlessly for a moment, turning the girl's kindness over in his mind, then let out a soft laugh. He really had been brooding too long.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
The campfire flickered quietly through the small commotion.
*
The fire had died. The sun was barely tinting the sky indigo when Ereta and Angie stirred awake.
"If you're up, pack your things. We've got a long road ahead."
Aslan, awake long before them, set the two women to their tasks. Ereta packed in silence. Angie packed with brisk energy. Then he led them onward.
They walked toward the rising sun. The low, sprawling grass looked as though brushed with a pale blue shimmer.
Aslan led the way across that grass. Angie followed with a bulky pack on her shoulders. Ereta trailed behind, head lowered and somber.
The wide grassland thinned gradually as enormous trees rose on the distant horizon, eventually giving way to bare, flat earth. Closer to the great trees, the ground grew damp and sticky.
'Something's off.'
By the time Angie was shivering at the feel of mud clinging to her boot-soles, Aslan had already noted the wrongness.
If the main quest had proceeded as it was meant to, soldiers from the Duchy of Hilsinger should have found them by now.
But no such presence stirred. The long, flat plain stretched out in eerie silence.
As though something had happened to those soldiers.
The thought had barely crossed Aslan's mind when the scent hit.
Thick blood-smell, wafting thickly between the great trees.
The odor of human bodies torn into pieces. It drew different expressions from the three of them — Aslan at the front, Angie, even Ereta.
Aslan's face was the most severe. He stopped and signaled to the party. At his gesture, they lowered their stances and crept toward the treeline.
The closer they got, the denser the blood-smell grew, until it mingled with a different stench altogether.
Like human flesh, but undercut by something powerfully rank — gamey and foul.
At the point where the odor peaked, Aslan could see between the trunks.
Scattered, chopped-apart corpses. And a pack of monsters.
'So this is why they never arrived.'
Several huge creatures feeding on the dismembered soldiers, and a giant robed in something like vestments.
It was already enough to be certain, but Aslan turned his gaze toward Ereta.
Her expression wavered between hope and dread.
Hope that she might be recognized, rescued from this situation. Dread that she might truly have been abandoned.
Reading that hope, Aslan knew with certainty that the giant beyond the treeline was a priest of the Ground-Breaking Giant — one aspect of Cosmic Inevitability.
With that certainty, there was no reason to hesitate. Aslan drew his two-handed axe.