Aslan took a deep breath. The general before him was likely the strongest opponent he'd faced so far. Whether in terms of physique or technique, this man was undeniably among the finest warriors of this age. If he had been wielding a Holy Sword or a Cursed Blade, perhaps he might even have rivaled the Knights of the Round Table in the future.
Aslan's only real chance of defeating such a formidable enemy lay in his endless array of fairy runes. With his forging hammer and his refined technique, wherever the hammer struck, it would leave behind the blessing of the fairies' runes.
Although the fairies typically used them only for crafting weapons or armor, Aslan was different. When it came to battle, he cared little for notions of nobility or propriety—fairy runes could be used to make traps or perform unconventional magical feats.
First, he slammed his hammer into the ground.
Strike first, gain the upper hand!
Aslan launched the first attack. The opponent had far more combat experience; if Aslan gave him the initiative, he might not find a chance to fight back at all. So he chose instead to take a bold and unconventional approach—catching his opponent off guard and preventing himself from being overwhelmed from the start.
The fairy rune Aslan carved into the ground was one of morphing terrain. Stone pillars, like tall fences, burst up from the earth, swiftly enclosing the enemy general. The space was narrow—too tight for the general to freely maneuver or unleash his full strength.
Aslan struck the ground again. This time, he closed his eyes and shaped the resulting form with his mind. Before long, a barrel-fed machine gun appeared before him. He didn't fully understand how rotary machine guns operated—but no matter. He could just adapt it to run on magical energy.
Upon realizing he was trapped, the enemy general quickly twisted his body, adjusting his stance. He swung his spiked mace with force. Though the space was cramped, he had fought under worse conditions. The stone pillars may have been sturdy, but this was likely his final battle. There was no point holding back now—he would fight with everything he had.
Even if it meant tearing his own muscles, he forced his way out of the stone cage. But as soon as he looked up, he saw a strange weapon—one unlike anything he'd ever encountered. He couldn't tell what it was or how it worked, but an unmistakable sense of danger clung to his instincts.
What kind of weapon is this?
He couldn't figure it out… but since he couldn't, he would simply charge straight through it!
As the foreign general rushed toward him, spiked mace raised high, Aslan placed his hand on the back of the machine gun. A surge of magical power flowed into the weapon. The barrel glowed, and bursts of condensed magical energy erupted from the muzzle—beams of light that rained down like shooting stars.
And those shooting stars found their mark: the general's chest.
One magical blast after another punched through the general's chest. At the moment the first beam pierced him, shock flickered in his eyes. But even then, he clenched his teeth and pressed forward. Blood streamed from his mouth, yet he stepped closer with resolve. He even raised his mace across his chest as a shield.
Aslan's hastily conjured weapon had immense firepower in the short term, but it suffered in quality. The materials were too crude, and there hadn't been time for precise refinements. The blasts it fired were essentially compressed magical energy—they didn't even match the power of a cursed bullet.
And so, sacrificing his weapon to shield himself, the general finally closed the distance. With a mighty upward swing, his spiked mace shattered the barrel-fed machine gun.
"Yaaahhh—!!"
The general's weapon came crashing down toward Aslan's head, aiming to crush it outright. But of course, he knew it wouldn't end so easily. Just as the mace was about to land, Aslan raised his forging hammer. The two weapons collided—and in that instant, a string of fairy runes engraved themselves into the general's mace.
The enchantment? Collapse.
Not immediate destruction, but delayed—after the next strike, the mace would disintegrate.
Without hesitation, Aslan ignored the weapon now doomed to fall apart and swung his hammer again—this time striking the general's knee from the side.
You know what they say: "There once was a warrior who took an arrow to the knee."
But this general didn't take an arrow—he took a hammer blow, one imbued with bursting magical force. His knee buckled in the wrong direction. With that, the battle's outcome was sealed.
Half-kneeling before Aslan, the general looked down at the shattered remnants of his weapon. Scattered on the ground were fragments of bone and metal—faces of the warriors he'd once defeated seemed to appear among the debris. Only this time, they had come to welcome him.
"Hmph... So this is the end, huh?"
Aslan picked up a random soldier's weapon, then clanged it against his forging hammer. Another streak of fairy runes appeared on the blade. It was a one-time enchantment, but it gave the weapon a brief holy property—enough to honor this worthy opponent.
"Rest well…"
With a swing of the glowing blade, Aslan ended the general's life. The weapon shattered upon the finishing blow.
Morgan raised her hand and turned toward the remaining magi. She was about to incinerate them with fire. One of the magi opened his mouth as if to speak—but it was already too late.
The room filled with the stench of charred flesh and scorched robes. Morgan's virtual persona frowned. The other soldiers in the castle posed little threat—but something didn't feel right.
Aslan turned to glance out the window. The barrier still shimmered, unbroken. He frowned and looked at Morgan. "Can you handle that barrier?"
Morgan studied the magical fluctuations and shook her head. "It's a system of entirely foreign design—not like anything from the British Isles. Even if I could take it down, it would take time."
Perhaps… the magus just now had tried to say that. That once all of them were dead, there'd be no one left to open the gate.