That day, Aslan was leading Estee Lauder through the mountains and forests in search of rare minerals. These would serve as reinforcement materials for her small robots, further improving her combat effectiveness.
It had to be said—after human activity was severely restricted, the entire Western continent, even stretching into the Middle East, brimmed with untouched natural resources. The air was pure, the wilderness lush, and materials once thought scarce could now be found in abundance. Aslan even discovered ores he had long sought in vain, perfect for strengthening and modifying his supreme creations.
This world, untouched by human hands, was truly a treasure trove.
Anyway, Aslan thought, before the humans of this era begin developing, I might as well take advantage of the untouched land and harvest what I need. If I'm truly going to rebel against the gods, it'll ultimately benefit the people who will live here one day. And with the Western world already collapsed into ruin, who's going to miss one or two precious materials?
Perhaps, even if he managed to save this world, it might one day be severed again. But at the very least, as long as he remained alive, he would push it forward for a time.
Aslan had just finished collecting from a particularly rich vein of minerals when he heard voices from above—screams of despair mingled with the mechanical cry of a divine messenger. Another group of humans had been caught. Aslan was familiar with this scene by now.
He drew the holy spear from its dormant form at his neck, letting it expand to full size. Then he raised it as if preparing to throw a javelin. Melusine soared skyward, keen eyes locking onto the enemy's position. She called out with sharp chirps, guiding Aslan's aim.
Closing his eyes, Aslan began simulating the messenger's flight path in his mind, reconstructing every trajectory from the sound alone. His dissections of these divine mecha had given him an unparalleled understanding of their structure and movement. Without that knowledge, such a simulation would have been impossible.
Aslan was, quite literally, the only one who could listen to the sky and calculate a divine messenger's exact course.
Once the model in his mind was complete, he let fly. The silver spear streaked upward like a meteor, tearing the heavens in reverse—ground to sky.
A thunderous impact split the air. The messenger's wings shattered under the strike, and the machine reeled, spiraling downwards. It was the perfect opening to free the captives.
With a flick of his wrist, Aslan recalled the spear. It spun back midair, reversed its angle, and then plunged straight through the falling messenger's head. The holy weapon skewered the mecha back and forth before returning obediently to his hand.
The divine envoy collapsed in a heap of sparking ruin, body twitching with arcs of lightning before falling utterly still.
Aslan's gaze shifted toward the cage it had been guarding. The prisoners inside were battered from their fall. He raised the holy banner, letting its light spill over them. Warm radiance soothed their terror and hastened their recovery. The holy light may have been misleading in its associations, but it was undeniably the best balm for frightened souls.
The captives calmed quickly. One man, trembling, lifted his eyes toward Aslan.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You shouldn't have saved us! This is a trap!"
His words had barely left his mouth before an arm snaked out from behind him, clamping around his throat. The grip tightened with deliberate cruelty.
"How disobedient. Why would you ruin my surprise?" A mocking voice chuckled. "Humans are curious creatures. To survive, some will throw even their companions into the jaws of a trap. Yet others, even at death's door, cry warnings to strangers. Amusing, isn't it?"
Aslan's eyes narrowed. He lunged forward, spear thrusting at the intruder's chest. The figure slipped back at the last instant, metal screeching as divine steel met sacred weapon, sparks cascading from the clash.
With a casual sweep, the stranger tore open the cage, freeing the captives as if they were worthless debris. And indeed, in his eyes, they were. Ordinary humans had no value.
Only Aslan, spear in hand, caught his full attention. Strength recognized strength. Between prey and prize, there was no question where his interest lay.
Aslan steadied his grip and looked directly ahead. A pair of mechanical wings spread wide, forming into a shield. In one hand, a sickle of searing heat gleamed ominously.
Perseus had arrived.
Of all Zeus's children, Perseus was not the strongest. But he was cunning, and that was enough to earn his father's favor.
His reasoning was simple: whoever could defeat a divine messenger must be linked to the messenger's activities. And what were the envoys doing lately? Collecting humans.
To Perseus, those who roamed outside Olympus's cities were nothing more than free-range stock. Did anyone truly believe Zeus was ignorant of their existence? Hardly. He allowed it—if only because their desperate survival offered occasional novelty to the gods.
Thus, the man who destroyed a messenger had to be rescuing humans. And so, by following the trail of captured mortals, Perseus had arrived exactly where he expected.
The loss of a single divine envoy meant little. But if Perseus could deliver the one responsible, Zeus would not be angry. On the contrary, he would be pleased.
Small sacrifices for great rewards—such was Perseus's creed.
-End Chapter-
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