Aslan quickly realized something: the girl's mechanical production differed greatly from his own. Her methods relied on elves working together to automate equipment and weapons, whereas he had condensed his father's dragon spirit, reforged it, and embedded it into the Supreme Masterpiece, turning it into a highly intelligent autonomous mecha.
From this alone, it was clear she shared a close bond with the elves under her command. If she intended to continue on this path, she would eventually need to guarantee their survival. That meant using her own magic to support and bind them.
But that wasn't such a problem. After all, wasn't this the same as Aslan raising Melusine? Estee Lauder had not met her destined dragon, but she had instead found elves willing to follow her. That, too, was a kind of adventure.
Thinking further, Aslan smirked to himself. In some other world, perhaps a version of him might wander until he tricked Merlin into joining his travels — essentially kidnapping the magus from King Arthur's side. Would that count as theft? Or abduction? Either way, the thought amused him.
But if such a detour ruined Arthur's mission, that world would eventually collapse. And wasn't that the case here as well?
The divine aura in this land was unmistakable. Combined with Estee Lauder's words, it became clear: in this world, the gods still existed. Aslan realized immediately that such a reality was unstable. Eventually, it would be pruned away.
While Aslan considered this, Estee Lauder busied herself, replacing her hands with machines to continue the massage before quietly slipping aside. But Aslan was no ordinary man. His half-dragon blood gave him senses far sharper than hers. He caught the faintest shuffle of movement.
A dagger dropped in front of her feet. Estee Lauder froze, forcing a bitter smile.
"I have no intention of letting you leave," Aslan said calmly. "I'm new here, and I need information. You'll provide it."
The crying blonde girl turned back toward him, trembling. Aslan's smile grew. It was rare to meet someone who understood the state of this world. Why would he let her slip away? He wasn't asking for her life, only her knowledge. That was hardly unreasonable.
Estee Lauder covered her face with her hands, then collapsed to her knees. What was pride worth? Could dignity outweigh survival? She had grown up an orphan, long since accustomed to hardship. To live, there was nothing she could not abandon.
"Brother! What do you even like about me? Can't I change?!"
Even her pride, her identity — these could be discarded when necessary.
She had seen too much. She had watched humans reduced to the gods' playthings. Once, she had traveled with a companion — vibrant, full of spirit. A year later, that same companion was a hollow shell, lifeless as a puppet.
The gods, when they wandered, preferred to take "pets" that shone brightly, using them as living ornaments of power and beauty. If her companion — once so strong — had been considered among the best, then she could only imagine what the others looked like: broken, empty husks.
Estee Lauder's choice was clear. Better to fight now, even if it meant dying here, than to live on as a slave without freedom.
Aslan frowned. He could feel the determination radiating from her. The smile on his lips widened. If the version of himself in this world had been a coward afraid of death, he would have destroyed that "self" without hesitation — regardless of gender.
"What is it?" Aslan asked lightly. "Do you mean to die here?"
Estee Lauder's forging hammer flared as she poured her magic into it. The weapon swelled, becoming massive in her grip. At the same time, she unstrapped the box on her back, releasing mechanical puppets powered by elf cores. They marched forward in rows, their eyes glowing.
She raised her head, her voice firm. "If living means becoming a dog of the gods… then kill me here!"
At her command, the puppet soldiers charged toward the Supreme Masterpiece, each carrying strange storage devices whose contents were unknown. Meanwhile, Estee Lauder herself rushed forward, wielding her giant hammer, eyes blazing with conviction.
It was almost comical — such a small girl charging headlong with such a colossal weapon.
Aslan sighed inwardly. Too young. Too hot-blooded. Only a youth would choose to stake everything in a single desperate battle. If it had been him fifteen centuries ago, he might have done the same. But now? If he ever faced an invincible foe, he would not waste himself in vain. He would flee, bide his time, and strike back later.
Immortality allowed patience. Revenge required survival.
And truthfully, with his current strength, there were few beings in existence that could truly overwhelm him. As long as the Crowns and Beasts did not appear, he had little to fear.
Looking at the girl charging forward, hammer raised, Aslan drew his weapons. But not his holy spear or sacred sword — those were far too much against a child. Instead, he summoned an ordinary forged sword and shield from his magical armory.
Still, a flicker of curiosity stirred within him. What would it look like, seeing "himself" in this world reduced to tears after being beaten down?
He coughed into his hand, suppressing the thought.
Raising his shield, he braced against her blow. The giant hammer slammed down. At the instant of impact, Aslan felt the power surge through the shield. It was a force he knew well — fairy script.
And in that moment, the letters inscribed themselves into the shield, rewriting its very structure.
-End Chapter-
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