Aslan first began to consider the limits of his human lifespan when he fell in love with Melusine. Although he could leave behind a legend in this era—becoming the strongest blacksmith among mankind and a dragon knight simultaneously—and eventually ascend as a Heroic Spirit, with Melusine as his Noble Phantasm, there was still a lingering reluctance.
In this era, surely there was some way to achieve something like eternal life. Even if true immortality was impossible, at least some form of extended longevity should be within reach.
But such goals required patience and steady progress. Dreaming of them without even mastering magic on a deeper level was just wishful thinking.
After their conversation, Melusine had clearly fallen into a low mood. To her, a hundred years of human life was barely a blink. While Aslan wanted to find ways to extend his limited lifespan gradually, Melusine was anxious to find a solution instantly.
That impatience worried him—almost like inviting trouble.
Still, Aslan knew this mood was only temporary. As soon as something interesting caught her attention, Melusine would set aside these worries and awaken the fierce dragon within, eager to fight for something worthwhile. Wasn't that a good goal?
Whether a hundred years felt like a lifetime to Aslan or a fleeting moment to Melusine, time itself would not change. At least they still had that time.
Compared to those who only seek immortality at the end of their lives, Aslan was already one step ahead.
Since they couldn't find those elusive magicians for now, they would set this matter aside and first attend the Great Britain Sword Appreciation Conference—to see if they could learn new forging methods. You can't hang yourself from a branch before you've even climbed the tree.
Maybe, just maybe, he might meet a magician there. Thinking of this possibility, Aslan hummed happily.
Melusine, hearing his cheerful tune, pursed her lips, a hint of complaint flashing in her eyes. She muttered softly, a voice only Aslan could hear, "It's such a big deal. Why can Aslan act so carelessly?"
If Aslan had heard her words, he would have just smiled and explained: it wasn't carelessness, but rather knowing that worrying without clues was a waste of energy. After all, he was born at the end of the Age of Gods, carrying the blood of the white dragon, granting him a lifespan longer than most.
Perhaps because of Aslan's striking appearance and Melusine's unusual aura, even though they wore ordinary clothes and rode simple horses, they became prime targets for bandits.
Especially with the upcoming Appreciation Conference, many knights and sword owners were traveling toward the lord's castle. Bandits and wandering knights harbored ill intentions—this was their chance to snatch swords or money.
Travelers like Aslan, unprotected and alone, were the perfect prey for such rogues.
Since they set off, Aslan had lost count of how many groups of bandits they'd encountered.
"Stop! Are all young men these days so naive? Do you really think wearing commoner's clothes makes you invisible?" a careless voice rang out.
Aslan groaned silently, covering his cheek. How many times had this line been used to deter bandits?
Honestly, facing this once or twice was a minor nuisance—like fighting mobs on the way to a quest. But having the same task and the same lines repeated over and over would kill anyone's enthusiasm if this were a game.
Now, Aslan had gone from initial excitement to helplessness, boredom, and finally sheer annoyance.
"Enough!"
He drew the forging hammer from his waist, infused it with magic, and hurled it forward.
The explosion of magical energy, combined with the hammer's special material, sent a rushing wind through the air. With a thunderous crash, the helmet of the bandit leader—armored and battle-worn—shattered like a watermelon.
The bandits froze, their hearts pounding. That helmet had survived three wars untouched. For the leader, that armor was a treasure—and the robbery was meant to fund a proper set of weapons.
But now, their treasured leader was finished. All because of a hammer.
Aslan raised his palm, and the hammer returned swiftly to his hand. As it flew back, it shook off the blood from its surface with quick motions.
Without hesitation, Aslan strode forward with Melusine beside him.
The remaining bandits, terrified, parted like the sea. None dared to become the next "big brother."
After all, they were bandits trying to survive—not reckless warriors.
Aslan glanced at the few survivors and chose to ignore them.
Like skipping a battle in a game once victory conditions are met—it didn't matter if enemies fled.
But if something like this happened again, Aslan thought grimly, he might lose his patience and wipe out all the rogues. That would certainly be more fun.
On a nearby mountaintop, a young knight clad in simple armor scratched his head, hesitating before rushing down to help. He sighed quietly. These days, travelers really couldn't rely on anything.
"But… the forging hammer—could that young man be the forger from the rumors? Hey! Maybe I'm lucky. I, Balin, might get a sword that's truly mine in the next few days."
Balin glanced down at the pockets and bags strapped to his body, frowning. No matter how often he counted, he remained as poor as ever. How could he possibly get a sword forged just for him?