Baramunz
Baramunz
"I'll need to think on it."
Frida said it curtly and crossed her legs. Aslan studied her face, then let out a hollow laugh, like it had drained him.
He drew back his outstretched hand, and the beast at her side snuffled at it. Frida watched Aslan and the creature with her single eye and gave a short, humorless chuckle.
"You already know I'm not especially fond of you. To be blunt: I dislike you."
"I'm aware."
"Aren't you going to ask why?"
Aslan said nothing and took a step back. The beast—some amalgam of bear and wolf—bared its teeth and kept snuffling at his hand. Its low-hanging tail swept wide arcs across the stone floor, the sound like a broom dragging.
"I've heard it about four times now."
"Right. That's exactly what I dislike about you. You're a cold bastard."
When someone says they dislike you, that's not the usual response. If he'd played along with a joke, acted wronged, made the slightest effort to mend things, she wouldn't have thought twice. This was a man who'd come to propose an alliance, after all. She'd expected a different reaction. But Aslan's detached, unbothered air took the wind out of her.
Ever since he'd tumbled into Geladrion twelve years ago, Aslan had kept Frida at arm's length—a woman who might have become family. If she disliked him, he seemed to consider that sufficient reason to quietly draw a line.
But it was the glimpses of something else that always stayed with her: the manic light in his eyes, that insane conviction that he would somehow reshape the world. Seeing it, Frida had always thought the same thing. This one doesn't have the makings of a ruler. And at the same time: Nor is he family.
That was why Aslan—for all that he was Budongong's disciple and Frida's sworn brother—was treated like an outsider.
Still, personal dislike and unresolved frustrations couldn't be allowed to spoil matters of state. Frida was a king. A great chieftain. She ruled a tribe of hundreds of thousands.
Her expression cooled. She rested her chin on her hand.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I said I'd think about it because there's no immediate benefit for us. The crisis you're talking about hasn't touched our skin yet. You don't wrap yourself in furs in spring just because you're afraid of the winter wind."
Fair point. But she wasn't finished, so Aslan merely nodded.
"If I could monopolize you instead—bring you into the tribe as a member and make you war chief—I'd grant your request, alliance or no alliance. But the truth is we stand to gain nothing. We stand to lose quite a lot."
A cold assessment. Aslan arranged his face into an expression of polite disappointment.
Right on schedule with the main quest.
He was pleased, actually. If things followed the main quest, the next stage would upend everything anyway.
"Then—"
"Which is why I said I'd think about it."
As Frida spoke, the beast settled its chin on her foot.
"You're an insufferable bastard, and you're insane. True enough. But you're not the kind of man who talks nonsense. I know that much."
Aslan gave a rueful smile, and Frida snorted.
"The truth is, priests are multiplying. We're seeing more monsters near the borderlands, more dwarves wandering around. I'll give your proposal serious consideration. I'll summon the elders and consult with them."
With those words, she jerked her chin. The audience was over. The great doors of the assembly hall swung open, and the damp underground air that seeped in was unseasonably cold. Aslan faced the draft and dipped his torso in a shallow bow, his cloak rippling forward.
"I hope you'll make a wise choice. And..."
Frida, thinking he was about to leave, arched an eyebrow as Aslan straightened and added:
"Might I visit the Master of the Bow?"
"The Master of the Bow? Why him?"
"We're acquainted."
Acquainted. There was nothing strange about that. Aslan was the Master of Combat; he'd accumulated countless allies and an uncountable number of enemies. That his path might have crossed the Bow Master's was hardly surprising.
"Then I suppose it can't be helped. Granted. However."
Frida raised her hand, and the beast rose to its feet and circled back to her. Its low growl was a practiced sound. She'd clearly used the animal to intimidate visitors before. The tattoos covering Frida's body flickered with light, her muscles swelling visibly beneath them. The power and radiance spread to the beast like a contagion, bulking its frame.
A threat, plainly telegraphed. A hollow threat, and both parties knew it. A performance for the benefit of her subordinates.
"If you try anything foolish, alliance or no alliance, I'll banish you along with him."
"...Understood. Though execution would suit me just fine."
Aslan smiled faintly. Frida sighed and waved her hand. That was his dismissal.
She'd already guessed what he intended to do. She'd guessed and let it pass. She watched the party file out, then settled back onto her throne.
"Slippery bastard."
The doors of the assembly hall closed.
*
"A visit... is it?"
The knight in blue iron armor asked, and Aslan nodded. He was making his way to the underground prison.
"Yes. I'd like to see Tiyamal Clo. The Great Chieftain has given her consent."
"In that case... very well."
The beast-man knight led the way despite his obvious misgivings. Torchlight stretched long along the passage. A single knight in blue armor walked at the front, and only one person followed.
One person was enough to put the knight on edge. The claim of being acquainted with Tiyamal Clo was disquieting enough; that the man behind him was the Master of Combat made it inevitable.
The knight was not, by nature, easily swayed by rumors about masters. A master, even a great one, couldn't stand against an army—couldn't cut down hundreds alone. Could fight powerful monsters and priests, perhaps, but surviving an army's full weight was another matter. That was what a master was.
Yet the knight was still tense. Some of the rumors about the Master of Combat happened to be true: hundreds of priests killed, a fortress held against a hundred foes, one infamous monster after another slain. All of it was real.
He guided Aslan in silence, half-expecting him to snap at any moment.
Whatever thoughts passed through the knight's mind, Aslan simply walked toward the prison. His steps carried him through the wavering torchlight.
"...Oh, you came after all."
Tiyamal Clo was there in his cell. A dragon-kin with the enormous frame to match his title: thick arms, broad shoulders, scales gleaming across them. He'd been wearing a blindfold during the transport; now his golden eyes were bared. He wrinkled his nose and spoke from inside the bars.
"I was starting to think you'd forgotten all about me."
The grin suggested he hadn't been terribly worried. Aslan nodded, indifferent.
"Nearly did."
"Ha. Forget a looker like me? You're joking."
Tiyamal barked a laugh, and Aslan's face creased with a faint, wry smile. The joke was a joke, of course. Aslan fully intended to recruit Tiyamal Clo. His extraordinary archery and firepower, his temperament—plainly unsuited to becoming a priest. He was an ideal candidate for a companion. It was almost strange the man hadn't gained wider fame.
Means he's that thorough in his work.
A sniper with the destructive force of siege artillery, firing from extreme range. Without a priest's power, there was no easy answer to that. Small wonder the rumors about Tiyamal himself were scarce. Aslan accepted the logic and glanced at the blue iron knight standing guard. The knight's hand still rested on his sword hilt. Aslan observed the wary posture, then shifted his focus and called up a system window.
[Main Quest in Progress]
[ ! Repel the Priests Attacking the Baramunz Mountain Kingdom]
[Time Remaining: 32 minutes]
Barely over half an hour left. There was a reason he'd let the party rest, given them brief instructions, used equalization to restore his sight, and then come down here alone. Tiyamal Clo needed to earn his merits. He needed to be absolved of desecrating the holy mountain and to demonstrate to Frida why an alliance was necessary.
The blue iron knight was standing right there, listening. Aslan didn't care. He cut Tiyamal off mid-sentence.
"Speaking of which, how did you get your eyes reattached? Even a skilled Restoration School mage—"
"Tiyamal. Remember what I asked you?"
Asked him. Tiyamal caught the implication—escape—and fumbled for a reply.
"Uh... huh? Oh, that... you mean that thing?"
"Yes. Whether you want to get out of here."
"Oi..."
Tiyamal had been deliberately deflecting. Aslan's insistence made him run a hand over his snout and sigh.
The blue iron knight started at the exchange and stepped forward. Before he could close the distance, Aslan's hand flashed. The gleam traced a shallow crescent and then straightened, the light lancing from his lower back straight into the gap of the knight's helmet—and stopping there. The blade had slipped inside without drawing a single drop of blood, but one more motion would spill plenty. The beast-man knight made a choked sound and froze, the sword point precisely lodged in the seam of his visor.
"Don't move. I'd rather not kill you."
"...Lord Aslan...!"
"Uh, are you sure this is a good idea?"
Watching through the iron bars, Tiyamal was genuinely startled. Even his sharpened senses hadn't caught the moment of the draw. It was technique taken to its absolute limit. The instant Aslan's hand touched the hilt, a subtle twist of the hip and a lift of the shoulder—and the sword was out without a whisper of sound.
The precision was remarkable—stopping the blade inside the helmet seam without killing—but what impressed him most was the sheer presence behind it. Aslan radiated a clear and absolute intent: move and you die. His teal eyes poured out a dense killing edge.
"There's no other way. Desecration of the holy mountain is a serious matter. Even Her Highness Frida can't simply release you. The elders would oppose it, and the tribe would revolt."
He was right. There was no easy path to freedom for Tiyamal.
"If you want to be absolved, you need to earn merit. Enough that even a desecrator can't be touched. Put simply... you save the city."
"...Hold on, hold on. Save the city? What are you talking about? This is Bersothof. It's the most developed city in the region—"
"A priest is coming."
Tiyamal sucked in a breath and fell silent. Even the blue iron knight let out a strangled noise.
"We capture the priest. You prove you're useful, not someone to be executed—you prove you're a benefactor to the tribe. And while we're at it, we make clear why my alliance proposal is necessary."
"...Alliance?"
Tiyamal Clo's brow furrowed as he focused on Aslan.
"Yes. Alliance."
Tiyamal remembered the words he'd heard in this very prison: I'll give you your freedom, Tiyamal. I want only one thing from you. Become my companion.
So Aslan was asking Baramunz for an alliance while also trying to recruit him. Tiyamal couldn't quite read the endgame, and his eyes were still wary.
"You... who put you up to this? Who sent you?"
Maybe all these proposals were the machinations of some larger power. Maybe this was about conquering something. Maybe that was why they needed a Master of the Bow and Baramunz's cooperation.
"No one put me up to it. My actions are entirely my own will."
Aslan twisted his wrist as he spoke. The blue iron knight, who'd been inching toward his weapon, went rigid. The blade hovering an inch from his pupil was deeply unsettling.
Tiyamal glanced at the subdued knight. "Then what's your goal?"
Tiyamal was a dragon-kin who lived by his own rules. He'd been a war chief, but he'd surrendered every title and chosen exile. He wandered the world and lived as he pleased. But he had his lines. He would never do something he considered unclean—even at the cost of his life. If a task was something he didn't want to do, he didn't do it. That was Tiyamal Clo's iron law. He wanted to hear Aslan's goal. If the goal was foul, if it didn't sit right, he'd refuse. Even if it killed him.
Aslan watched Tiyamal's posture shifting toward aggression, then tilted his head. His gaze slanted toward the floor, dispassionate. The silence stretched, and both Tiyamal Clo and the blue iron knight were drawn into it, quiet.
Just as Tiyamal was about to press him to speak, Aslan opened his mouth.
"Tiyamal Clo. What do you think of Belus Alpen?"
The question came out of nowhere. Tiyamal's eyes widened. It didn't sound like an answer to his question. He almost didn't reply, but Aslan's lifted eyes seemed to be demanding one, and he couldn't ignore them.
"...It's a good city."
"Why do you think it's a good city?"
"...Do I really have to say it?"
Aslan waited. Tiyamal eventually spoke.
"Well... I understood once I got out into the world. People die so easily. They starve. Surviving day to day is a struggle. Living in a city makes it a bit better, but... even that's not easy. Belus Alpen isn't like that. Even a Tail can make a life there. So... it's a good city."
By the time he finished, Tiyamal was smiling. He hadn't meant to, but thinking of home had stirred up old regrets. Aslan watched him for a moment.
"Tiyamal Clo. What if the entire world became like that? A place where survival is simply taken for granted, like Belus Alpen?"
"...What?"
Tiyamal asked again, not understanding, and Aslan smiled.
"I'm going to kill all the gods. And I want to change the world."
The words were abrupt. They sounded like they belonged to a man who'd lost his mind. A statement too vast to be delivered with a smile—and both the blue iron knight and Tiyamal went still. The massive dragon-kin found himself murmuring.
"...You're insane."
"I hear that a lot."
Aslan shrugged, laughing, and in that unbothered ease Tiyamal felt the weight of his sincerity. The words were too blunt to be a lie. Too incomprehensible to be anything but the truth. Tiyamal chewed on them, and slowly one corner of his mouth crept upward. His grin was broad even by dragon-kin standards.
"Insane... but I like it."
He was a Clo. The warrior class of Belus Alpen. More than that, he'd been the highest of the Clo—a war chief. His station was lower than a Heart or a Head, but he was still a noble in his own right. He knew a noble's responsibilities well.
Still chuckling, Tiyamal Clo looked at the man smiling opposite him and said, "If it's a priest, they're satisfying to shoot. Fine. I'm with you. But I'm supposed to be executed soon—how are you planning to handle that?"
At Tiyamal's perfectly reasonable question, Aslan withdrew his sword. The blade slid free of the helmet's gap without a smear of blood. Aslan sheathed it behind his back with a metallic clack, and the blue iron knight tried to shout something.
KUUUUNG!
[Main Quest in Progress]
[ ! Repel the Priests Attacking the Baramunz Mountain Kingdom]
[Time Remaining: 0 seconds]
He would have shouted, if the prison hadn't lurched violently, throwing him off balance. The blue iron knight stumbled and nearly fell—Aslan caught his arm, steadied him, and in the same motion plucked the sword from the knight's belt. Before the man could react, Aslan gripped the blade and poured mana into it. The blue iron longsword heated with power, and its azure arc slashed toward the cell's iron bars.
SHAEEENG!
Metal screamed against metal, shearing apart. The broken blade clattered across the floor, and the severed bars toppled with a heavy clang. Beyond them stood Tiyamal Clo.
"...You cut through that?"
Tiyamal's voice was thick with disbelief. Aslan handed the sword back to the blue iron knight—what was left of it, useless and broken.
"It served well. A fine blade."
Aslan strode past the knight, who stood gaping, and jerked his chin at Tiyamal.
"Tiyamal. With me."
Tiyamal followed, stepping past the still-frozen knight. "...What now? We're just walking out? Even if we—"
"The city is under attack by a priest right now."
He wouldn't have stopped talking if not for the interruption. But the words cut him off, and Tiyamal found he had nothing to say.
CRACK!
Aslan's sword smashed the lock on the armory. Shredded metal scattered across the floor. Past it, Tiyamal's bow rested. Aslan picked it up. A massive weapon, easily two meters in length, with a heavy spike shaped like a claw jutting from its lower limb. He looked it over and then held it out to Tiyamal. Tiyamal blinked at his own bow.
"Do you have any experience?" Aslan asked.
"What?"
Tiyamal shot back the question, thrown by the vagueness. Aslan answered as though it were obvious.
"Priest hunting."
At those two words, so absurdly grandiose, Tiyamal missed his moment to reply.