Surviving the Evil Gods

〈 Episode 3 〉 Encounter

***

It had happened not long ago.

After Aslan, who had temporarily joined them, left, a martial monk came to the mercenary camp as if pursuing him.

Standing nearly 3 meters tall, with six arms, each set holding either a massive shield or a spear, the martial monk, clad in a glistening carapace that matched his enormous frame, made a proposal.

If the mercenaries tracked down Aslan and delivered him alive, the martial monk promised not to harm them. Furthermore, he offered to make one of their members a priest and reward them handsomely.

But if they refused, he would kill them all.

Yones Tale, the leader of the mercenaries, did not refuse.

More precisely, knowing full well the terror that the martial monk inspired, he could not refuse.

If the martial monk so desired, he could easily wipe out the mercenaries, all forty of them.

Yones Tale realized how right his decision had been as he stood among the corpses of his entire mercenary company.

“…So, didn’t I say? If you captured him, you’d live.”

The one standing tall among the corpses spoke.

There was a faintly inhuman noise mixed into his voice, leaving an uncanny, unpleasant impression on anyone who heard it.

Yet no one voiced any complaint.

More accurately, no one could voice a complaint.

Standing at 3 meters tall with six arms, the monstrous insect-like being was not someone one could protest against, especially given that Yones Tale was the only one left alive.

As the six-armed monster casually swung the spear held in three of his hands, the blood-soaked fabric clinging to the blade fluttered limply and fell away.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d fail after promising to capture him, but it’s all for the best. To rest in the embrace of the War God, what greater honor could there be?”

The martial monk’s lower jaw clicked and clattered as he spoke, but Yones Tale did not respond.

The martial monk’s earlier explanations had made brutally clear what it truly meant to “rest in the embrace of the War God.”

Yones Tale couldn’t respond, anyway, as the spear in the martial monk’s hands began to move.

“Be offered in tribute.”

Without a sound, the spear sliced through the air, severing the mercenary leader’s neck. Moments later, his head fell, followed by his lifeless body collapsing to the ground.

In the spot where the mercenary leader’s corpse now lay, countless other headless bodies were scattered.

Their heads, every last one, were stuffed into a bundle hanging from the martial monk’s waist.

*

Aslan fled.

After escaping from the Frostwood Valley, where he had been locked in a brutal battle with the mercenaries, he headed steadily southeast.

The reason was simple.

Aslan had no intention of encountering the martial monk, the priest of the War God, while unprepared.

The martial monk and the War God were far from ordinary priest and deity.

In truth, none of the gods and priests of this world, Gelladrion, could be considered ordinary.

In this world, there were two types of gods.

One was the ancient gods, those who had been defeated and killed, once worshiped in Gelladrion as the original deities.

The other was the transcendent beings who had torn apart and slain the ancient gods.

After the ancient empire that had worshiped the ancient gods and ruled the world fell, these transcendents became the objects of worship, and people came to call them gods.

The martial monks served one of these gods, the War God.

This grotesque god, with a form like a fusion of a giant insect and an octopus bristling with countless eyes, had once been an existence devoid of intellect or desire.

When it first descended upon Gelladrion, it killed the king of the ancient gods, the deity of war and knowledge.

As soon as the ancient god perished, the War God feasted on its brain and soul, becoming what it is now.

From then on, the War God developed an insatiable hunger for human skill and technique.

It devoured masters who had honed their craft to perfection, absorbing their knowledge, and displayed their cherished weapons in its armory.

The martial monks were beings created solely for this purpose and had received the War God’s blessings.

The god had granted them insect-like bodies, both sturdy and powerful, as well as weapons and techniques perfectly suited to their forms.

These monstrous beings, imbued with the skills of masters, faithfully hunted down other masters, severed their heads, and offered them to their deity.

These masters were known as ‘the greats,’ but even among those on the kill list, few knew the truth.

Aslan, one of the few who did, had no intention of fighting a martial monk while unprepared.

This was why he avoided engaging the main force of the mercenaries and fled.

Spending time and energy fighting the main force would leave him vulnerable to the martial monk, should they arrive afterward.

‘Sure, if luck’s on my side, I might win. But I’m not about to gamble my life on it.’

Aslan knew he wasn’t ready to face a martial monk.

He lacked sufficient weapons, and his magic reserves needed replenishing.

If victory wasn’t guaranteed, there was no reason to fight. Especially given his lack of enjoyment for combat to begin with.

For Aslan, there were only two possible places to escape to.

One was the city of Tegar, located east of the Frostwood Valley in the barony of the same name.

The other was Olphasvet, a prison city far to the southeast in the mountains.

Tegar, in Aslan’s view, was not a good option.

The path to Tegar was mostly through open forest, with well-trodden roads that made the journey quicker compared to the mountainous terrain leading to Olphasvet.

This ease of access would make it obvious to the martial monk that Aslan might head for Tegar, and if Aslan followed that predictable route, he would likely be caught.

Facing the martial monk in the forest or worse, encountering more than one martial monk, would significantly diminish his chances of survival.

Aslan sought to eliminate that possibility altogether.

Even if it required more effort, heading to Olphasvet along an unexpected route seemed the better choice.

For this reason, after traversing mountains and cutting through forests, Aslan arrived at the prison city of Olphasvet a week after leaving the Frostwood Valley.

Olphasvet was a city within a mountain.

Carved into the mountainside, the city was perpetually dim, its dismal atmosphere lit by countless hanging lanterns that gave it an eerie, grim appearance.

Olphasvet had many nicknames: the City of Sin, the City of Decadence, the City of Pleasure. Such titles seemed excessive for a city with barely 200 years of history.

Yet its brief history was steeped in shadow.

As Aslan entered the crimson-hued city, he felt its oppressive nature.

He quickly noticed the sights that marked Olphasvet’s character.

Women throwing flirtatious glances at passersby.

Men gathered in alleys, glaring at travelers as if evaluating them.

Even children with wide, gleaming eyes staring intently at travelers’ bags.

All of them wore faintly glowing collars around their necks and dressed in rags.

This was the reality of Olphasvet.

A city where most residents were prisoners and slaves. A city teeming with poisonous marshes, monster nests, and mines producing rare metals within its bowels.

Such was the prison city of Olphasvet.

Aslan sighed as he looked around the city.

He hadn’t wanted to come. But with the martial monk on his trail and his need to resupply, he had no choice.

He needed to replenish the scrolls for his spells, sell the loot he’d obtained, and purchase essential supplies.

With food running low, he also needed to stock up on preserved rations. Leaving the city without restocking wasn’t an option.

Even so, Aslan had no intention of staying long. Adjusting the straps of his bag, he ignored the prisoners’ watchful eyes and pressed forward.

Intending to locate a blacksmith first, Aslan moved deeper into the city.

He hadn’t gone far before he stopped.

Ahead, several stalls had been overturned, and a noisy commotion was drawing a crowd. Beyond the throng, a ruckus was unfolding.

Despite knowing that getting involved in such chaos wouldn’t benefit him, the crowd laughed and shouted as if enjoying the spectacle.

Hearing their cries, Aslan found himself blending into the crowd.

“Look at her! Moving like a little rat!”

“Can’t catch her? Put in some effort, you idiots!”

Shouts like these continued, all with the same mocking tone. The men jeered and taunted as they cheered on those involved in the scuffle.

Aslan pushed his way forward through the crowd with his imposing build. Most of the onlookers, being prisoners, quickly stepped aside when they saw his armored figure and weapons.

When he finally reached the front of the crowd, Aslan saw it.

Thwack!

“Ugh…”

A girl with crimson hair, glowing like the city’s lights, had just kicked a man hard in the groin.

As the man collapsed, clutching his groin and convulsing slightly, the girl stomped on his bald head.

“Y-you dirty little coward! How could you do that?”

Another man shouted in shock, his voice filled with disbelief.

The girl let out a fierce laugh and retorted loudly. 

“Coward? That would be you!”

Pointing a finger at him, her defiant gesture made the man grit his teeth.

“You three came after just me, and I’m the coward?”

Just as she said, the man who had collapsed clutching his groin had two companions.

Among them stood a particularly unique figure.

“And you, a noble dragonkin, deigned to step in yourself, yet I’m the coward?”

The girl’s sharp words were directed at a towering figure with blood-red scales, a thick tail, massive arms, and bulging muscles. His face resembled that of a lizard.

He was a dragonkin.

The dragonkin scowled at the insult and gestured with his chin. But the girl didn’t cower. Instead, she picked up a rock that had been lying on the ground.

“Why don’t you try making some sense, you shameless bastards!”

Growling as she clutched the rock in her hand, the girl stood her ground while the dragonkin’s subordinate slowly approached her. She raised her arm, gripping the rock tightly, unflinching.

She was more than spirited, she was wild.

Watching this bold girl hold her own against the larger men, Aslan was reminded of a beast’s ferocity.

Yet even such ferocity couldn’t overcome the disparity in size and numbers.

This was the consensus among the crowd watching the scene unfold. For Aslan, though, there was an additional thought in his mind:

Should I help?

Even if it was just a fight, the sight of several grown men ganging up on a young girl was unpleasant.

Aslan hesitated, recalling that such a scene would be unacceptable back on Earth, where he once lived.

While Aslan lingered in indecision, the gap between the girl and the man closing in on her narrowed.

When they were finally within striking distance of each other—

[Ongoing Main Quest]

[! Escape with Angela Tale]

A quest window appeared before Aslan’s eyes.

***