[STEG] Chapter 1 – Encounter (1)

It was a very dark night, with thick shadows that seemed to seep into the skin.

The forest under the old moon gave off a crisp and clean smell, like the calm air that settles before a downpour.

Then a noise echoed through the damp and dark forest.

Clank, clank, clank.

It was the sound of a well-honed whetstone rubbing against a blade. With each stroke, the sound grew gradually grew sharper.

At the center of the noise was a bonfire.

Smoke billowed from the shimmering fire, and a man perched on a fallen tree in front of it busily moved his hands.

As he was sharpening his blade, he picked up a leather bottle filled with water and ran the water over the blade to clean it.

Shards of metal were swept away from the blade as it was being polished and spilled onto the ground.

A subtle thought crossed the man’s face as he sharpened his blade.

He was hired by a mercenary company to fight in a battle that took place on a plain called Nechaghni.

The pay was quite good, and the loot was plentiful, but he wasn’t happy.

He still had to kill people. It was a sensation he could never get used to, a vague understanding that seemed to float around in the back of my mind.

But it had to be done if he was to eat and live.

So he fixed his well-polished blade, held it up, and looked at it. This was his loot.

The blade glistened in the hazy moonlight, reflected in his gazing turquoise eyes.

Aslan stared at the ghastly glow of the blade and drew it down.

Tsk.

Then a sound rang out.

The sound of a dry twig snapping underfoot.

Aslan stiffened and turned his head to look in the direction of the sound.

There was light beneath the shadows of the trees, and beyond that, something was approaching.

Out of the darkness came the sound of something heavy being pulled out, the pulling of a cord, the pointing of a crossbow.

Aslan’s grip tightened on the longsword he was about to lower as such sounds echoed through the sparse forest.

He could guess who it was and why they had come.

None of that mattered, of course, but Aslan had to ask.

He picked up a full leather bag leaning against a log and stood up.

At the same time, he roughly picked up the crude round shield that lay at his feet and quickly tied its straps to his arm.

Then, from beyond the shadows of the trees, more than two dozen figures moved simultaneously.

The clatter of busy feet, the rustle of cloth, and the snapping of leather echoed with the metallic clang of weapons.

From the sound of crossbows being aimed, to the sound of spears being held, and longswords being drawn – all kinds of sounds came from different directions.

They were no longer concealed, but shouting and preparing to attack, obviously confident that if they were spotted, they would be able to deal with him.

Aslan’s eyes scanned the darkness where the sounds were coming from and spoke.

“—What are you here for?”

Aslan’s tired, muffled voice was carried into the forest.

Because of his weary voice and his tattered greaves, the answer came with ridicule.

Four low chuckles, one answer. The direction of the sound was almost straight ahead. Aslan carved the direction into his body as his grip loosened on the leather holster.

“You know all about it, don’t you? The Mushin has put a bounty on your head, and a big one at that. They say that whoever catches you, the representative will make them a priest.”

Aslan sighed as he heard the reason he had already expected.

“This side is over twenty. There are wizards. It’s not like they’re going to eat anything, but if you go with them obediently…”

Instead of answering, Aslan swung his left hand.

As the leather bag left his hand and flew in a circle, the mercenary swung his axe while marveling at the fact that he’d managed to hurl it exactly into the darkness.

Bang!

A sound like flesh popping rang out, and the leather bag burst open, liquid spilling out from within.

It didn’t take long to realize that the man’s entire body was soaked in the liquid.

The foul odor hit him straight in the nostrils. The mercenary with the axe spat out an expletive at the stomach-churning odor and texture.

“What the—.”

Before the mercenary could realize the liquid was oil mixed with rosin, Aslan’s finger was pointed at him.

“Ignite.”

There was a pop, and something shot from the tip of his finger, flying toward the oil-covered mercenary and lodging itself in his flesh.

It was a spark.

A weak trick that alone could not have inflicted any damage, that at best would have caused local burns.

But it was enough to ignite the oil.

The spark turned into a flame, and the mercenary was instantly consumed by it. Suddenly, a towering column of flame burst out, pushing the air, and the gust of wind made the leaves blow away.

The sight of their companion in flames caused the mercenaries aiming their crossbows to panic and lose their aim.

Before they could correct their aim, Aslan shifted his foot and kicked a pot over the campfire, then opened his mouth.

With a clang, the pot tipped over, the campfire went out, and darkness fell around them.

“Shoot, shoot!”

Tut-tut-tut!

They hurriedly fired the crossbow, but no screams followed. They had missed.

As the crossbowmen swallowed hard while holding their breath and reloaded their crossbows, the mercenaries realized their situation.

A night of the old moon when not a ray of light can penetrate the forest.

The mercenaries, their position clearly marked by their blazing companion, and Aslan, who had disappeared.

And the name that followed Aslan.

The Master of battle.

Feeling the morale crumble, one of the mercenaries managed to pull himself together and called out.

“Shields.”

The mercenary’s neck soared into the air. A moment later, his head and body rolled simultaneously to the ground.

It was Aslan who stood next to the corpse. He stood beside the corpse, watching the mercenaries with cold, sunken eyes.

The flames finally died down, silencing the burning mercenary forever and plunging the forest into total darkness.

The mercenaries stared into the darkness, puzzled.

A Group.

A group has to inevitably open its mouth to communicate.

And the moment they opened their mouths to communicate, to command, Aslan moved.

Just as the next ranking mercenary was about to give orders, Aslan jumped in and plunged his sword. The longsword’s sharp blade dug into the nape of his neck and tore it open. The attack was as precise as a lion’s bite.

With a gurgle of blood, Aslan withdrew his sword and bit himself.

Stepping back, he swung his sword, the tip gaping open chest at the blade’s end, and another person fell. The mercenaries couldn’t move easily even though there was someone with obvious murderous intent among them.

They hadn’t worn their armor for the assault, and thus, their defenses were weak.

The quilted armor was not enough to withstand a master’s sword.

But they were not equipped to fight back, and a wrong shot or swing could wound a comrade.

If that happens, they will quickly get scared and attack randomly, eating each other’s flesh. The more experienced mercenaries gulped in realization.

Aslan, on the other hand, this man could finish someone off with a single swing. Even so, he was pouring attacks with such precision with his well-polished sword.

That fact became hesitation, and hesitation became an opening. It was only a momentary gap, but it was enough.

Aslan lunged once more, thrusting his blade through the hilt, and the mercenary fell to the ground with a thud as he was pierced through the heart.

The wizard mingled among the mercenaries, chewing on his lip as the life faded and the number of mercenaries dwindled from over twenty to a handful.

At first, when his companion burned, he thought he could use it as a light, but that was not to be.

Instead, Aslan killed him in the light, demoralizing him, and the fire quickly died down.

He had no choice. He would lose the advantage of a surprise raid and the advantage of not being a target, but if he did nothing, he would be killed by dogs.

The wizard stretched his hand upward, drew magic from within, and shot it upward.

A white glowing orb appeared in the air, revealing the forest that was earlier shrouded in shadows.

As the darkness lifted, the number of mercenaries in sight dwindled considerably. Five remained, including the wizard. Fifteen of the twenty had been slain, sprawled on the ground.

Toward the five that remained, Aslan charged.

“Ignite.”

Aslan muttered as he charged, pointing his finger at the wizard.

Then sparks shot out from his forearm, emitting light. The heat, barely enough to cause burns, flew toward the wizards’s eyes, which were wide open in the darkness.

The wizard’s screams were joined by the mercenaries’ evil cries.

“Fuck! Kill him! Kill him!”

“Son of a bitch!”

As the wizard fell to his knees, clutching at the corners of his eyes, Aslan and the four mercenaries lunged at each other.

Aslan threw his shield as the mercenaries rushed toward him.

Boom!

“Grrr.”

One of the mercenaries quickly pulled his axe down to block the shield as it flew towards him, but before the bounced shield could even land on the ground, Aslan approached and swung his sword.

Clang!

The blade sliced through the nape of his neck, retracting with a handful of blood, and the mercenary staggered back, clutching his neck.

Aslan stomped on the mercenary’s foot and shoved him with his shoulder.

The mercenary, rushing after his companion, let out a muffled yelp as his dying companion fell upon him.

As he picked him up, Aslan’s sword fell from above, splitting his head open.

Bang!

Before he could take a breath, the two men were dead, and the mercenary with the spear behind him froze at the sight of the bodies in his way.

But he offered no resistance to the sword that pierced his eye sockets.

As hot blood dripped to the ground, the last mercenary ignored the corpse, realizing that he had to attack or die.

But Aslan was one step faster. Aslan kicked the corpse, sending it tumbling over the charging mercenary.

As the limp corpse collapsed on top of him, the mercenary lost his grip on his sword and fell to the ground.

“Uh, c’mon, fuck!”

thud!

As the sword was plunged into the head of the fallen mercenary, in an instant, the number of corpses became four.

Over the chopped-up bodies, the wizard who had been holding the blindfold barely raised his head.

He was gasping for air, blood trickling from the corners of his eyes.

There were twenty of them. Though they wore no armor for the night, they were well-armed. Many carried crossbows.

But all of them lay dead. The wizard was troubled by the fact, and pulled the mace hanging from his belt.

Even though Aslan had killed twenty men, there was not a single wound on his body.

There were scratches on his armor and shield, but he was otherwise unharmed.

He was merely catching his breath, but there was no sign of exhaustion either.

For that, the wizard looked very desperate.

He trembled as he held his mace.

As an apprentice wizard who had only learned the basics of magic from the Manifestation School of magic, facing a veteran warrior without any armor was not a winning proposition.

But there was no choice but to fight. The wizard stepped forward, raising the mace in his hand.

The wizard was from the Manifestation School, a school that realized magic by scattering all manner of attributes and unknowns into the world.

His level was not high, but it had served him well enough in the past when he had been forced to trade blows.

It would be the same this time. The wizard reached out, clutching at a last ray of hope.

From its low stance, the outstretched hand gleamed as if it were gathering and grasping the light around it.

A simple little spell, requiring no hands or chanting. A ‘flash of light’ arose from his hand.

Flash!

As the flash of light burst from his palm, cutting through the night, the wizard gripped his mace tightly and twisted his body, imagining victory inwardly.

A flash is a burst of light that bursts forth as soon as the will to manifest is made.

He would have no time to react to the flash in front of his face, as it would blind him if he looked directly at it.

If you’re blind, you can’t avoid the mace. The wizard swung the mace, which he held tightly in his grip, wildly. The angled steel glinted with murderous intent as it shot through the halo of lights.

Boom.

But it didn’t reach. Aslan stepped backward and dodged it lightly.

The smile on the wizard’s face cracked, and he stared ahead with his only eye.

Aslan was there. Aslan, clad in ragged light armor and a cloak, was wielding a chipped longsword.

The man’s eyes were closed and he held his sword high.

The magical aura emanating from his closed pupils was a clear sign that even a novice wizard could recognize.

‘Smell and sight magic—?!

The mercenaries and wizards, dressed only in greaves, crossed the forest and came to Aslan’s camp for a night raid.

Since the distance was not that close, they were inevitably drenched in sweat. There was no way they could hide their body odor.

‘But since when?’

Aslan’s eyes were open when they surrounded him for the night raid.

If magic had been used, he would have noticed it with a chant or a hand sign.

Unless he used that magic before the raid, anticipating the mercenaries’ arrival at this place.

‘I should have known from the start and—.

The wizard’s thoughts were cut off as the blade, raised high, fell.

Pow!

A searing slash to the head. The slash sliced the wizard’s head in half.

The wizard’s body trembled and sagged, and Aslan pushed the wizard down with his sword, sending him crashing to the ground.

With a whimper.

With the wizard dead, the light he had created was slowly fading.

As the darkness crept in like a tidal wave, Aslan picked up the wizard’s mace with a complicated expression and clipped it to his waist belt.

He had intended to stay in the forest for a day and then leave, but now that seemed unlikely.

“There’s a sound.”

From far away, the sound of the main unit of mercenaries moving could be heard. Aslan looked in the direction of the sound, grabbed a few weapons from the corpses, and set off.

To survive.

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(End of chapter……… Thank you for reading…………)

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