Aslan took a deep breath. The general standing before him was, without doubt, the most formidable enemy he had faced so far. In terms of physical strength and combat skill, this general ranked among the world's elite. Had he wielded a holy sword or enchanted blade, he might one day rival the legendary Knights of the Round Table.
The only way Aslan could guarantee victory against such a foe was through the endless versatility of the fairy words. With the forging hammer in his hand and the magic he'd mastered, wherever that hammer struck, a blessing of fairy runes would follow.
Fairies used these runes only to forge weapons or armor. But Aslan was different. If forced to fight, he wouldn't be limited by tradition or honor. Fairy words could create traps, unleash alternative magic effects, and much more.
First—strike the ground with the hammer!
Strike first, strike hard!
Aslan launched the attack without hesitation. The opponent was more experienced; if Aslan allowed him to move first, he might never get a chance to counterattack. This surprise strike was his best shot at seizing the initiative and preventing suppression.
The fairy text imprinted on the ground shifted shape. Long stone pillars like fences erupted rapidly, enclosing the general in a tight cage. The confined space was too small for the general to unleash his full strength.
Aslan struck the ground again, closing his eyes and focusing his mind on shaping the next creation. Soon, a six-barreled machine gun materialized before him. Though unfamiliar with its mechanics, Aslan modified it to channel magic power.
Trapped, the general twisted and turned, swinging his mace wildly. He had fought in cramped spaces before. This was his final battle—there was no time to hold back. With all his might, he battered the stone cage.
The alien general's muscles ached and strained as he forced his way out. Looking up, he spotted the strange weapon Aslan wielded. Though he couldn't identify it, a vague unease stirred in his heart.
What is this weapon?
I don't understand it… but I won't hesitate!
Charging forward with mace raised, the general aimed to crush Aslan.
Aslan placed his hand firmly on the back of the machine gun, pouring in a surge of magic power. The barrels glowed, then unleashed a barrage of magical bolts—like shooting stars—toward the general's chest.
One magic missile after another pierced his armor. The general's eyes widened in shock at the first hit. Still, gritting his teeth, blood flowing from his mouth, he pressed forward and slammed his mace against his own chest, breaking through the onslaught.
Though Aslan's hastily forged firearm packed power, it was crafted from low-quality materials and lacked fine tuning. The attacks were mere condensed magic, less potent than a cursed bullet.
Sacrificing the weapon, the general finally reached Aslan and swung his mace upward, smashing the six-barreled machine gun to pieces.
"Ah—!!!"
The weapon shattered, falling away just as the general raised his mace to deliver a crushing blow.
But Aslan met the strike head-on, raising his forging hammer to clash with the mace. The instant they collided, fairy words engraved themselves onto the mace.
The runes granted destructive power—the weapon would collapse after the next swing.
Ignoring the weapon's imminent destruction, Aslan drove the hammer into the general's knee.
There's a saying: a warrior's fate can change when struck in the knee by an arrow.
Now the general had been hit not by an arrow, but by a hammer infused with explosive magic. His knee buckled backward, ending any hope of victory.
Staring at the broken mace, the general half-kneeling before Aslan, memories of fallen foes flickered through his mind—their faces greeting him one last time.
"Hmph… is this the end?"
Aslan grabbed a nearby soldier's weapon and clashed it against his forging hammer. Fairy words shimmered briefly on the mundane blade. Though a single-use enchantment, it granted sacred power enough to honor the general's final journey.
"Have a nice journey…"
With a swing, Aslan's enchanted sword struck down, breaking into fragments with the killing blow.
Morgan raised a hand, eyes fixed on the remaining magicians, ready to incinerate them with fire. One of the magicians tried to speak—but it was too late.
Suddenly, a massive surge of coke appeared in the room.
Morgan's virtual persona frowned. The other soldiers were insignificant; what truly concerned her was something forgotten.
Aslan glanced toward the window at the still-standing magic barrier and frowned.
He turned to Morgan. "Can you do anything about this barrier?"
Morgan studied the shimmering magical waves and shook her head.
"This barrier is a system completely different from the magic barriers on the British Isles. Even if it can be removed, it will take time. Perhaps what the magician wanted to say was: after you kill us all, no one will open the barrier for you."