Surviving the Evil Gods

〈 Episode 5 〉 Prison City Olphasvet

***

The prison city of Olphasvet was a place where the majority of its inhabitants were prisoners.

But not all residents were prisoners.

Some were free citizens who legally owned property and lived openly in the city.

The innkeeper was one of them, holding a higher status than most, save for the lord’s officials.

Olphasvet, being a frequent destination for travelers, had a high demand for inns. Visitors were often wealthy individuals seeking to indulge in the city’s decadence, so they spent generously.

As a result, the inns were expensive, and meals were far from cheap.

Initially, the innkeeper doubted whether the ragged traveler and the prisoner could afford anything. But when Aslan produced a few silver coins from his belt, the innkeeper served the meal without hesitation.

The meal consisted of a whole roasted bird, a boiled egg, and a vibrant red stew filled with mushrooms, potatoes, carrots, radishes, and a unique root vegetable resembling ginseng.

It was a feast that could be considered luxurious anywhere outside a lord’s table, laid out in front of the girl.

Despite her initial wariness, the girl quickly immersed herself in the meal.

She tore apart the roasted bird, stuffing pieces of meat into her mouth. She peeled and ate the boiled egg, and she practically gulped down the stew, satisfying her hunger.

Her ravenous eating drew sidelong glances from the other patrons, travelers enjoying meals and drinks at the inn, but the girl paid them no mind.

Aslan, for his part, was equally unconcerned with the stares.

Instead, he sat nearly motionless, deep in thought.

A translucent window floated in front of him.

[Ongoing Main Quest]

[Escape with Angela Tale]

It was now clear that the girl was Angela Tale.

The dragonkin pursuing her had called her by that name, and the quest had appeared the moment he saw her.

If she wasn’t Angela Tale, it would be stranger than if she were. There was no need to dwell on that point.

What preoccupied Aslan was why the main quest had appeared after meeting her.

In the twelve years since he’d been trapped in this world, no such quest had arisen.

And as someone who had meticulously completed every sub-quest and main quest in the game before being pulled into it, Aslan found this quest entirely unfamiliar.

There were no hints, no clues, and no plausible theories. Having lived for twelve years without understanding why he had been severed from the main quests, there was no way for him to make sense of this now.

With nothing to grasp, Aslan decided there was no point in overthinking it. The priority was to seize the opportunity in front of him.

The immediate objective was to escape with the girl. To accomplish that, he needed her trust and goodwill.

If buying her a hearty, luxurious meal with a few silver coins could lay the groundwork for that, it was a small price to pay.

Naturally, Aslan had no intention of simply feeding her and letting her go. Closing the system window, he shifted his focus to the girl.

She was a typical prisoner of Olphasvet.

Her clothing, though shabby, was relatively clean, likely because she hadn’t been imprisoned for long. Around her neck gleamed a pristine white restraint collar.

Though her imprisonment seemed recent, her rough and wild demeanor, guarded personality, and thin limbs suggested she hadn’t lived a comfortable life before.

The surname Tale, common among the impoverished of Belus Alphen, made it easy for Aslan to deduce that she was from the slums.

Her hostility toward the dragonkin and her wariness of others were thus unsurprising.

What raised questions, however, was that most impoverished residents rarely left Belus Alphen.

Hoping it might offer a clue to the main quest, Aslan waited until the girl’s eating slowed before speaking.

“Want me to order more?”

The girl shook her head. Her plate was already empty.

“Then, can I ask you something?”

“…Go ahead.”

Despite her curt tone, the girl’s expression was visibly softened by the satisfaction of her meal, and the wariness in her eyes had eased. The hungrier someone was, the more vulnerable they were to food.

“What’s your name?”

“…Angie.”

Angie. A shortened form of Angela, which reassured Aslan. He’d been worried she might not be Angela Tale after all.

“Angie, that’s easy to say and sounds nice. I’m Aslan.”

“…Aslan. That’s easy to say, too.”

“Thanks. So, Angie, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but how did you end up here?”

Olphasvet, at its core, was a prison city.

Though it had industries like services and mining utilizing prisoners, its foundation was incarceration.

Prisoners were often ordinary criminals, but they could also be individuals who had fallen out of favor with nobles or aristocrats defeated by their rivals.

Angie didn’t look like nobility, so Aslan assumed there was some story or misfortune behind her imprisonment.

Judging by her discomfort as she fidgeted with her plate, he was likely correct.

“…I lost and got dragged here.”

She didn’t specify who she’d lost to or what she had been doing, and Aslan didn’t press her further.

Instead, he posed a simpler, more indirect question.

“When you were fighting, were the people with you under the red banner or the blue banner?”

The red banner belonged to Count Warpol, while the blue banner represented Count Shollukund. Both had fought in Nechagni, a conflict Aslan had been involved in.

The two counts frequently clashed over territorial disputes, often hiring mercenaries to fight under their banners in contested regions.

Aslan’s question, assuming Angie was a mercenary, earned a simple response.

“Red.”

“Count Warpol’s mercenaries, then. The banner with the running white horse, right?”

Count Warpol ruled over Nechagni.

In contrast, his rival, Count Shollukund, was the lord of Olphasvet, with Baron Olphasvet as one of his vassals.

Since Angie was imprisoned here, it was already likely she had been aligned with Count Warpol. Still, Aslan knew it was important to listen and let her speak.

From what he observed, though, certain things became clear.

For instance, Angie was unlikely to have been a direct mercenary under Count Warpol.

She was a pauper, likely with little to no formal combat training or experience.

It was almost impossible for someone like her to have worked directly under a noble of Warpol’s stature.

“…Yeah, that’s right.” 

She said, her expression brightening slightly as though recalling the details.

Aslan started piecing together how she might have ended up here.

It probably began with a mercenary company visiting Belus Alphen.

The mercenaries would have been recruiting new members, and the ignorant, impoverished residents of Belus Alphen would have been prime targets.

Promises of combat pay, weekly wages, and the chance to leave Belus Alphen to roam with a mercenary company would have seemed like a lifeline to some. Angie likely joined the company under those circumstances.

‘But they must have lost. And seeing as none of her fellow mercenaries are here…’

Aslan refrained from voicing his assumptions and instead prompted her.

“So, where are your comrades? You seemed like you were part of a mercenary company.”

Angie’s expression darkened at Aslan’s question. She bit her lip tightly, and her silence spoke volumes about the fate of her mercenary group. Likely, they had either fled or been completely wiped out. Since she was the only one here, Aslan made a simple guess and spoke before she could.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Though the girl’s expression turned uncomfortable at his words, she eventually relaxed after a brief internal struggle.

She was a prisoner. Olphasvet was a place where prisoners were always in demand, so whoever captured her likely handed her over for a modest ransom.

Aslan mentally organized what he’d learned and what he could infer.

‘Still, none of this connects to the main quest.’

She didn’t seem like someone significant enough to trigger a main quest, nor was there any apparent connection to a pivotal event.

Yet Aslan had seen her name clearly in the quest window.

Considering how the game’s first main quest had also been centered around an escape, Aslan wondered if it was just that simple. But that reasoning felt far too arbitrary.

If it were true, it would mean the girl before him was the protagonist.

As he shook his head to dismiss the thought, the inn’s door suddenly burst open.

“…So, you were here.”

A deep voice resonated through the room, silencing the laughter and chatter in an instant.

As all the travelers’ gazes shifted toward the entrance, Aslan noticed Angie’s expression harden. He turned to see who had entered.

“I wondered what sort of traveler would bring you to an inn. So, it’s true.”

It was the dragonkin warrior.

The same one who had pursued Angie and told her to submit to him.

Standing in the doorway with several subordinates behind him, the dragonkin quietly fixed his gaze on Aslan and the girl.

“Whatever this traveler has offered you, don’t accept it so easily. You needn’t degrade yourself in a city like this for protection. I, Harod Claw, protect those who are rightfully under my care. There’s no reason to seek shelter in such corruption.”

Introducing himself as Harod Claw, the dragonkin stepped into the inn.

Standing slightly over two meters tall, his presence immediately stirred the room. Several travelers seated near the entrance quietly slipped outside, unwilling to get involved in trouble. Only the innkeeper’s face soured at the sight of losing customers.

“And you, traveler. Whatever desires you’re trying to satisfy with that girl, I suggest you reconsider if you have any sense of decency.”

Aslan’s expression darkened slightly as he realized Harod’s words were directed at him.

It seemed the dragonkin believed Aslan had lured Angie with food and money to satisfy some lecherous intent. While it wasn’t an incomprehensible assumption, many travelers to Olphasvet were like that, it was still offensive.

“…How tiresome.”

Though the accusation had no basis, being misunderstood was still unpleasant. Rising from his chair, Aslan gestured lightly for Angie to remain seated before turning to face Harod.

“So, ganging up on a single girl with multiple men is acceptable, but showing compassion and buying her a meal is not?”

Aslan’s gaze met Harod’s as he spoke. Harod’s eyes twitched slightly at the comment, and he stepped closer.

The sound of his tail dragging across the wooden floor filled the room, stopping a short distance from Aslan.

Harod’s brow furrowed as he replied. 

“Traveler, there are things you simply cannot understand. As a visitor, you can’t possibly grasp our way of life.”

With those words, his tail subtly lifted. Aslan’s eyes tracked the movement, narrowing slightly.

“If you won’t step aside, I will have no choice but to use force.”

Harod assumed a combat stance. Aslan, observing the dragonkin poised to throw a punch or kick at any moment, lowered his gaze and reached toward his waist.

There, a flail hung at his side.

The travelers watching from the sidelines reacted with surprise.

Until now, none of them had noticed the weapon secured at his belt.

Not even Harod Claw, who stood before Aslan, ready to fight.

Aslan, still with his gaze lowered, spoke.

“Go ahead.”

The words, spoken softly, carried a chill. It wasn’t a threat or an overt show of killing intent, it was a cold, measured warning.

Though Aslan disliked fighting and had no love for taking lives, he never hesitated when forced to act.

The calm, chilling resolve in his words carried more weight than any display of rage or aggression. Harod Claw, seasoned warrior that he was, flinched at the unmistakable aura of menace.

Harod was a warrior.

The name Claw was granted to the warrior class in Belus Alphen, and those bearing it were trained as warriors from a young age.

A skilled and experienced warrior could assess the strengths of an opponent and judge the likelihood of victory.

And Harod’s warrior’s instinct, sharpened by years of battle, told him the odds were heavily against him.

Looking into Aslan’s cold teal eyes, Harod swallowed hard.

The tense standoff between Harod and Aslan plunged the inn into silence. Even the grumbling innkeeper now watched the two with anxious eyes.

It was Aslan who finally broke the silence.

Still keeping his hand on his waist, he said.

“Angie is under my hire. But I promise you this, nothing will happen that goes against your sense of decency.”

Under hire.

Paying a fee to the local lord to temporarily employ a prisoner during one’s stay in the city.

With the lord involved, there was nothing Harod could do.

Harod stood silent for a moment, casting a measured look between Aslan and Angie, before turning and leaving the inn.

Only then did Aslan remove his hand from his waist and adjust his cloak, hiding the weapon beneath it.

*

Outside the inn, Harod Claw wiped his brow and exhaled deeply.

The long-held breath, expelled from his massive frame, came out in a great gust, carrying with it the faint tension that lingered in the air.

A bald subordinate who had followed him out glanced back toward the inn, catching a glimpse of Angie still seated inside. Turning to Harod, he asked. 

“Why did you back down, Sir Harod? For a warrior of your caliber, that man should be—”

“No.”

Cutting him off, Harod looked down at the hand that had wiped his brow.

Dragonkin did not sweat, yet it felt as though a cold sheen of sweat had been on his skin.

He shook his hand dismissively and spoke, his tone contemplative.

“If we fought, we would all have died.”

The subordinate widened his eyes in surprise at the blunt statement. Harod glanced back at the inn as he started walking away.

“I don’t know where someone like that came from… but since he’s only hired her temporarily, it won’t last forever. We’ll wait for another opportunity.”

The subordinate, his expression sour, said nothing further.

After they had left, Aslan considered the situation.

I really do need to arrange the hire before they come back.

***