Paladin of the Dead God

The Dead December seemed intrigued, scrutinizing Isaac.

[That oath is known only to the dead now. All who could have spoken of it hang as bones upon his rail. Where did you learn this?]

Isaac didn’t answer. It was all he could do just to breathe in the oppressive atmosphere. The Archangel continued to speak as if simply explaining the situation would be enough to make Isaac step back willingly.

[When Horace was taken captive, Arachel Brant, Supreme Commander of the 7th Dawn Army, offered him a bargain: his life in exchange for a task. They were attempting to establish a sea route to the Holy Land Lua and needed him to lead their fleet.]

It was an unusually bold move for the Codex of Light, especially in those days. At that time, the Codex was so mired in ideological conflict with Elil and the World’s Forge that their banner of the White Empire had become almost meaningless.

Perhaps it was only possible because the Brant family, with its naval resources, held power within the Empire.

[Given Horace’s sense of honor and faith, a simple promise would have sufficed. The Salt Council captains were men of their word. But you of the Codex of Light refused to trust in other faiths. Instead, they forced Horace to swear upon his own faith that he would not leave the Dawn Army until the Holy Land Lua was reclaimed. It was a brutal insult, a slap to his pride.]

‘Or perhaps not so terrible,’ Isaac thought.

He imagined that Horace, at the time, might have simply accepted it with a “Well, that’s how things go.” Salt Council captains had little patience for formalities; they were capable of handling any ship.

[Horace obeyed Arachel Brant’s orders faithfully. Through his miraculous seamanship, he led a fleet of 60 ships, bringing 20 of them through to Miarma.]

Though they lost two-thirds of their ships, Isaac, who had experienced the storm firsthand, understood what a miracle it was that even twenty ships survived.

Horace had successfully completed his mission.

But that was only the beginning.

[Arachel Brant was disheartened and discouraged by the heavy losses. However, returning through the storm was out of the question. They tried to reach the Holy Land Lua by crossing Miarma’s Salt Desert… but their path was blocked by the Lighthouse Keeper.]

To be precise, it was the blazing sun the Lighthouse Keeper had raised over Miarma.

That burning sun continued to scorch the Salt Desert night and day, shining like a lighthouse over a barren, sea-less port. The 7th Dawn Army was caught off guard by its oppressive heat and unending thirst.

There was no moisture in the Salt Desert, no life to be found. Monsters from the Netherworld constantly ambushed them, while the undead of the Immortal Order watched from a distance, amused and unaffected by the searing heat.

[Desperate, Arachel Brant prayed to the Lighthouse Keeper, begging him to lift Miarma’s curse, to allow them to fulfill their mission…]

The Dead December’s voice held a hint of pity.

Isaac suddenly realized that he spoke as though he’d witnessed the events himself. During the 7th Dawn Army’s campaign, the Dead December may have watched, like other undead, as his Archangel destroyed the faithful from afar.

[But the Lighthouse Keeper ignored them.]

The Lighthouse Keeper only cared to maintain the city’s cursed, lifeless state.

To him, preserving the dignity of the dead city was more important than saving the lives of believers.

[Arachel Brant, his soldiers, his Paladin Order… they all slowly succumbed to madness. Finally, before the 7th Dawn Army was wiped out, Arachel, clutching onto his last scraps of sanity, ordered a retreat. The vow to die at the Holy Land Lua was long forgotten.]

Ironically, they realized that their god had abandoned them only in the face of a miracle.

[Yet, when everyone accepted the order to retreat… one man, blazing with fury, refused the command.]

Isaac’s blurry vision shifted from the Dead December to Horace, the captain beneath him.

[‘You told me I couldn’t leave the Dawn Army until the Holy Land Lua was reclaimed. Now you would drag me here only to break my oath?’]

Horace’s voice rang in Isaac’s mind, a fierce, unyielding echo.

In ancient times, a Salt Council captain had broken his vow to the Lighthouse Keeper and fallen to ruin.

The brilliant Holy Land, Miarma, had been reduced to a ruin, its faithful scattered across the world. And once again, Horace was being pushed by the Codex of Light to break an oath.

[Yet the 7th Dawn Army knew they couldn’t survive the storm without Horace. So they took his crew hostage, chained Horace himself to the ship, and dragged him out to sea, ensuring that if the ship sank, they would all drown together.]

At this, the Dead December’s voice was laced with satisfaction.

[It was a needless measure. Horace never hesitated.]

The undead Horace at the helm, and the countless skeletons hanging from his ship’s rails, told the story well enough.

[The moment they reached open sea, Horace sank the entire fleet off the coast of Miarma. The 7th Dawn Army was annihilated.]

With an almost tender gesture, the Dead December reached out to stroke Horace’s head. But it was an illusion, felt only by Isaac. Horace, deeply focused on his navigation, remained unaware of the Archangel’s presence.

[I pitied him, that man clinging to his oath even as he lay dying. I granted him mercy and a second chance. Though the Codex enforces law and order without mercy, we offer second chances, even in death.]

Thus, Horace became an admiral of the Immortal Order’s vast fleet.

He had sworn to reclaim the Holy Land Lua as part of the Dawn Army, but now he served the Immortal Order. The Holy Land Lua was under the Order’s dominion, and Horace’s duty, by their standards, had thus been fulfilled, albeit in a twisted way.

He was no longer part of the Dawn Army.

He had become a symbol of mockery.

Isaac’s mind flashed again to the Paladins hanging from the rail, degraded into decorations.

The “deserters” Horace had smashed as they dangled from the railing were none other than the soldiers and Paladins of the 7th Dawn Army, the very ones who had attempted to flee.