City in Crisis
City in Crisis
The camp was pitched right beside the Giant's Fortress Village. With the Duke leading, Aslan crossed through it and strode into a massive tent. Ereta followed just behind.
"Oh, you're back."
Angie sat at a large table inside the tent, casually biting into an apple. She waved, and Aslan acknowledged the greeting with a slight nod.
"So, did you get all the wraiths?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
She grinned. The Duke nodded his approval.
"Yes, good."
After asking for Aslan's help, the Duke had assured him that he was protecting Aslan's party. Not as a threat—he had genuinely fought alongside them against the wraiths that had attacked the Giant's Fortress Village and was keeping them safe. There had been some fighting, he'd said, but nothing serious. True enough, Angie bore a few visible wounds, but she'd wrapped each one tightly in bandages and looked perfectly fine.
Seeing Aslan exchange greetings with his party, the Duke relaxed. He moved around the table, stepping in front of a draped object on the far side.
Aslan's gaze followed the Duke's motion and landed on the massive shape hidden beneath a cloth. It was angular—the fabric pulled taut over crisp, sharp edges.
With the object behind him, the Duke kept stealing sidelong glances at it. A faint, unmistakable unease flickered in his eyes.
What is that?
If it were merely an item related to the task, or an upfront reward, the Duke wouldn't be so guarded. Irrelevant objects didn't merit this kind of wary attention. Even now, as Aslan paused, the Duke stood with his hands on the table, his expression sour. The discomfort wasn't aimed at Aslan.
It's related. Maybe... a key piece of evidence.
The situation was clearly extraordinary.
A high noble like the Duke hadn't simply sent a subordinate to find Aslan—he'd personally deployed soldiers to track him down. He'd gone so far as to say Aslan was the only one who could save Kardi. A duke with countless mercenaries, elite troops, and skilled subordinates had insisted that only Aslan could handle this task.
That alone meant this wasn't ordinary. An ordinary problem wouldn't have brought a duke in person.
That the Duke had trespassed into another lord's territory to seek him out meant the situation was more dire than Aslan had first guessed.
Dire, special, and requiring him.
A man of influence, capable of tracking the movements of gods regarding the Last Descendants of the Ancient Gods—such a man would only seek out Aslan for one reason.
A god.
A disaster tied to a god.
In that case, Aslan had no reason to refuse. If anything, this was a welcome turn of events.
But first.
"Before that."
"Hm?"
"Your Grace's request to help Kardi—behind it, there's a proposal you've been considering."
"...You're sharp. In that case..."
"Set it aside for now."
The Duke's words froze in his throat. Aslan added, "You must be wondering why I'm saying this. You likely have no idea. But... set it aside. Once I've finished what I need to do and come back, once I tell you I'm ready—then you can make your offer."
The last desperate measure to delay the predetermined main quest slipped from Aslan's lips. The quest's beginning hinged on the Duke's alliance proposal. By refusing even to hear it, he could put it on hold.
"This isn't a refusal. Consider it a temporary deferral. The time isn't right."
As he spoke, Aslan's half-lidded eyes cut toward the tent's entrance. He was dropping a hint—a spoiler—about why priests would one day invade Kardi and strike at the inner castle.
There's a spy around the Duke.
Someone is listening right now, so I can't speak plainly. If I reveal my intent to recruit the Last Descendants here, things will get complicated.
The Duke caught the meaning in that glance and his expression hardened. Aslan, seeing the conversation play out exactly as expected, felt a quiet satisfaction and relaxed his face.
Sharp as ever.
Fitting for the man who had held off both the Kallus Empire and the Mountain Kingdom alone for so long. The Duke nodded his understanding.
"You're remarkable."
"Thank you."
"Thanks are mine to give."
With that, the Duke let out a heavy sigh.
"Then let's talk only about the Kardi matter."
"I'm listening."
Behind Aslan, Ereta beamed, utterly uninterested in the conversation. Angie crossed her arms, her expression puzzled, as if she didn't quite understand the exchange. The Duke glanced at the two of them before continuing.
"Kardi is under attack."
"...Under attack, you say?"
Hearing that Aslan was the only one who could save Kardi had suggested certain scenarios, but an outright attack wasn't what he'd expected. Priests rarely struck large cities head-on. Open warfare and the resulting loss of power made things tedious even for them.
Most power brokers in today's Geladrion were either formidable figures who could consolidate strength even amid the tides of priests and gods, or believers who worshiped the evil gods. Attacking a major city meant attacking a tangled web of interests. That alone made the situation absurd.
If Aslan had already started the main quest, maybe—but under normal circumstances, cities and territories didn't come under siege.
Normally.
"Yes, an attack. A formless assault has isolated Kardi, left it in agony. Many people have died, and we have almost no solid leads."
"You attempted a subjugation? Kardi must have many experts."
"We tried. Mercenaries, mages—we even hired Dragon-kin mercenaries from Belus Alpen and sent out search parties. Most of them died."
The Dragon-kin of Belus Alpen were elite fighters, physically superior to humans on average, with centuries of accumulated dragon-force, unique martial arts, and weapons forged by exceptional metallurgy. He'd hired several of them—and most were dead. This wasn't something ordinary humans could solve.
"I'm a man with a good ear for rumors. Rumors always hold some grain of truth, enough to sketch a rough outline."
The Duke now believed he had no solution left but to hire Aslan.
"The resourcefulness to defeat and recruit the Saintess of Slaughter."
Ereta's eyes went wide at that.
"The insight to locate and cultivate a Last Descendant of the Ancient Gods, whom even the gods couldn't find."
Angie pursed her lips as the talk turned to her.
"Countless slain priests. A second Imperial assassination. Twelve years of skill that have made you the one and only successor the Undying Bolen seeks."
At the long-unheard title of his master, Aslan pressed his lips together briefly.
"Even if only half the rumors I've heard are true, you'd be one of the great heroes history has scarcely ever seen."
"You flatter me."
"With two such living legends beside you, flattery it is not."
As expected—the Duke had recognized both Ereta and Angie. Aslan wasn't surprised, though the two themselves looked taken aback. Despite their suspicion and bewilderment, the Duke leaned over the table.
"I need that great hero. This task can't be done by anyone less."
A problem only Aslan could solve.
He couldn't be certain if that was truly the case, but if the Duke of Hilsinger said so, it was likely true. The man wasn't as extraordinary as Aslan, but he was careful.
"Help me, and I will give you anything. Kardi is in a desperate state."
Genuine torment was written across the Duke's face. Now Aslan understood why he'd come in person.
"So you came yourself. To prevent any harm from befalling your messenger along the way—and to persuade me directly."
The Duke's bitter expression faded, replaced by a faint smile, as if asking, You caught that, didn't you? No answer was needed. Aslan rubbed his forehead and asked, "What's the scale of the damage?"
"Two hundred dead. Still small, but it will grow."
"How much larger do you estimate?"
"Until it consumes the entire city. I estimate up to forty thousand."
Aslan saw no need for further deliberation. The plan might fall apart, and variables might multiply. It could stretch things out, forcing him to take a longer, more winding path forward. But that was all it would be—a slight detour. A small price. A variable Aslan could handle, a change his party could endure. Saving forty thousand lives for the cost of a longer road was a trade he could take without hesitation. It was the right course. And he alone could do it. So the pondering was brief. His teal eyes fixed on the Duke.
"Very well. I accept the commission."
The Duke let out a rehearsed sigh of relief. The relief was genuine, but he also seemed intent on projecting the image of a lord anxious for his people.
"Thank you. Now then..."
As the Duke's gaze flicked behind him again, Aslan looked there too. That object. The unknown thing that had bothered him since entering the tent. Whatever lay beneath the cloth was clearly connected to the force that could wipe forty thousand people from Kardi. And likely connected to a god. Aslan was certain of it when he shot the Duke a look. The Duke turned at that moment, meeting his eyes. A sliver of fear shimmered in his gaze. Something that frightened a man of his rank. A faint thrill of interest stirred in Aslan.
"This may be... unnerving. But take a close look. We only managed to subdue it by throwing it into a furnace."
With that, resolve hardened, the Duke seized the cloth and pulled.
The fabric billowed away with a rippling sound. Beneath it sat a rectangular iron ingot. Thick and massive, as if meant to forge a giant's armor, it was riddled with some unknown foreign substance. The substance was grotesque.
The Duke pointed to it. "What does this look like to you?"
"A monster..." Angie answered before Aslan could. Aslan held his silence, trying to process what he was seeing. It was truly abhorrent. The thing looked as if a human body had been turned inside out: intestines like ropes, broken shards of spine, ribs, and every sharp bone splintered and studded across those dangling ropes of viscera. The only hint that it had once been humanoid was the distinct shape of a skull—but the skull was too small, placed in a bizarre position. It sat embedded in the center of the chest, surrounded by a gaunt, exposed upper body. There was no skin, just raw muscle. Where the head should have been, a split, flower-bud-like maw drooped like a sagging length of gut-rope. Aslan's eyes traced the eight-petaled fissures that scarred its surface. He spoke.
"...What is this?"
"What does it look like?"
Instead of answering, Aslan turned his gaze to the Duke. A rare flash of genuine shock glimmered in his eyes. The Duke watched him for a moment before replying.
"This... was a child. More precisely, something wearing a child's skin."
Aslan fought for composure, studying the shape. The only remnant of its childhood was the smallness of the skull.
"These monsters disguise themselves as humans. They mimic us—eat normally, sleep, hold conversations, wander among us... and then they suddenly turn into this and attack. Two hundred people have died that way so far."
He couldn't remain calm. Aslan had played Eternal Dominion countless times. His total playtime ran into four digits. He'd reached the ending hundreds of times across hundreds of playthroughs. And in all that time, he had never seen anything like this. An unknown monster he had no knowledge of.
A widow's words surfaced from his memory. The being, the one you fear... it only set the trap. It has never once shown itself to you. The warning the God of Sorrow and Death had given him. His heart began to pound. An unknown monster. Its very existence planted a terrible suspicion in his mind.
"This creature belongs to the Formless One. Not the god himself, precisely... his followers. Right now, dozens of these things are hiding in Kardi, concealing their true forms."
The Formless One. Alongside the Twilight Flock, it was a new god that had emerged after Aslan fell into Geladrion. A god whose true appearance no one had ever seen, whose very priesthood was unconfirmed. Aslan had to find out. Was this the entity that had trapped him in this world? Or was it merely a hidden god that had always existed?
The Duke repeated his plea. "Help us. Hunt down the Formless One's followers as they move in secret through Kardi."
A desire to prevent further casualties was one reason—but Aslan now had an even greater purpose driving him toward that city. He steadied himself and closed his eyes.
"Who told you this was the work of the Formless One?"
The Formless One was a mystery: its existence was known, but its precise nature was not. If someone had identified its followers, the reason was obvious. Aslan opened his eyes and pinned the Duke with a pointed look. The Duke nodded heavily.
"Piercingly sharp. We learned of it by negotiating with a priest of the Poison-spitting Dragon."
"As I thought."
Only another god could pierce the Formless One's nature. Aslan shut his eyes again, sorting through the situation. A god that had never shown itself, possibly the very one responsible for his fall into Geladrion. Now it was suddenly on the move, its followers walking the city in human skin. At first glance, it seemed like an impossible puzzle, but the fact of the negotiation was all Aslan needed. He'd found the answer. There were no variables. Victory was certain. When he opened his eyes, his voice rang with conviction.
"I'll complete the subjugation within two weeks. From this moment, prepare the items I'm about to list."