Paladin of the Dead God

“Something she shouldn’t have seen? What was it?”

Beshek raised his head to meet Isaac’s gaze.

[Everything and nothing. It is here, yet nowhere. It exists, but it cannot manifest. It is desired, but no one wishes for it.]

Isaac mulled over Beshek’s cryptic words, suspecting they might be an allusion to Midas’ Hand. There were too many parallels to ignore.

But why would Beshek go out of his way to speak in riddles instead of naming it directly? Perhaps the true nature of Midas’ Hand—or whatever "it" was—differed vastly from what Isaac had always believed.

[A bit abstract, isn’t it? But if it were something that could be spoken of easily, it wouldn’t be something one shouldn’t see. The Lighthouse Keeper appeared in the Holy Land Lua, the White Sand Plague began, countless lives were lost, and I pulled the Netherworld into this place. Do you think anything that emerges there would be ordinary?]

Isaac understood all too well that Lua was far from normal.

A land where angels were born became a holy site for pilgrims. A place where gods were created became sacred ground for worship, where the veil between Urbansus and reality thinned.

Holy Land Lua? Even before Beshek tore down its boundaries, the place had already been abnormal.

[More importantly, the artifact her parents sought wasn’t an ordinary one. I’d call it… not a relic, but a demon artifact.]

“What happened to her parents?”

Beshek glanced at Angela, who was still poking the campfire with a stick, seemingly disinterested in their conversation.

[Not something worth speaking about in front of her.]

Angela seemed blissfully detached from the discussion, but Isaac forced himself to calm his rising anger and refocused on Beshek.

“So, is that your ultimate goal? To turn all humans into undead? Is that what you want?”

Beshek chuckled softly at the accusation.

[Not at all.]

His voice carried a faint warmth as he replied.

[I still respect the Codex of Light. I no longer expect anything from it, but I understand that its presence is necessary for the world I dream of. I want people to be born under its gentle sun, to grow, and to thrive.]

His gaze rested briefly on Angela, and his tone grew almost paternal.

[And when they face despair within their finite lives and limited circumstances, I wish for them to come to me, seeking a second chance.]

Though the words sounded kind, Isaac felt a chill run down his spine.

Beshek respected the Codex of Light not out of reverence but because it was necessary to perpetuate life—life that would eventually die and feed his order.

The Codex was a nursery, a system that cultivated life only for Beshek to claim it later.

It was no more than a farm.

“Angela’s no exception, then.”

Isaac’s voice had dropped into a casual tone, almost slipping into informal speech. He wasn’t even aware of it himself.

Beshek tilted his head, as though Isaac’s words were self-evident.

[She was used by her parents, nearly burned by priests, exploited by the Golden Idol Guild, and dragged into war. The only way she can ever truly escape her curses is to become undead.]

He added with a touch of humor,

[Of course, her bones need to grow stronger first. Children’s bones are far too fragile. I want Angela to grow into a healthy adult before that happens.]

Isaac’s response was instantaneous. He drew Kaldwin, its blade ringing sharply in the tense air.

***

The soldiers around them snapped to attention at the sound, their gazes darting to Isaac and Beshek. The sudden shift in atmosphere caused the soldiers to reach for their weapons, and a few sprinted off, likely to alert others.

[Can’t you set aside your revulsion for the undead, even for a moment?]

Beshek regarded Isaac calmly.

[People’s fear of the undead stems from their appearance. All humans harbor a deep fear of death, and the undead are a constant reminder of it. It’s only because of the accumulated prejudices within Urbansus that this revulsion persists.]

“Then stay buried in some corner and stop crawling out.”

[Consider a life free of carnal desires and the terror of death. Desire and fear are the two tools gods use to manipulate humanity. Only by escaping them can humans advance to the next stage of existence.]

Isaac sneered, tilting his head as he retorted.

“Without desire, there’s no achievement. Without fear of death, there’s no bravery. Be honest, Immortal Emperor—”

Isaac’s voice sharpened as he delivered his cutting question.

“In the entire history of the Immortal Order, has a single undead accomplished anything after turning? Or do you just collect heroes who’ve already made their mark?”

Beshek offered no reply, and the silence was damning. Isaac’s words had struck at a truth Beshek could not deny.

Isaac knew this from experience. He had cleared the Immortal Order’s ending in the game and understood its core flaw.

The Order was full of talent—geniuses and legendary figures gathered over centuries. But they had all stagnated the moment they became undead.

Their swordsmanship might grow refined, and their artistry might perfect itself over endless years, but it was all repetition, deepening what already existed.

There was no creation. No true progress.

An undead could join as a hero, but no new heroes were born among their ranks. Even the angels of the Order had only been chosen because they were already worthy before their conversion.

It was a painful truth, even for the Immortal Emperor himself.

Beshek opened his mouth to respond, but Isaac cut him off with another jab, twisting the metaphorical knife.

“Do you honestly think the world has gotten even slightly better since you dragged the Netherworld into it?”

It was a brazen provocation to throw at a god.

Isaac held Kaldwin tightly, his senses fully locked onto Beshek, ready to act the moment he moved.

Then, suddenly, Isaac’s stomach churned violently.

“Ugh…”

He staggered, nausea overtaking him.

Isaac quickly realized the suffocating sensation wasn’t unique to him. The surrounding soldiers collapsed to their knees or retched uncontrollably. Some clawed at their armor, gasping for air.

He pinpointed the source: an infrasound, so low in frequency it was almost imperceptible to human ears, yet powerful enough to disrupt the body’s equilibrium.

Determined, Isaac swung Kaldwin at Beshek’s head.

The blade cleaved through empty air. Beshek shimmered momentarily like mist before reforming, unscathed. The nauseating sound ceased, but the Immortal Emperor stood unperturbed, gazing at Isaac as though nothing had happened.

[A harsh truth, Isaac. I see you’ve taken an unusual interest in us.]

Beshek’s tone was laced with amusement.

[You truly do resemble the White Owl, even in that regard. Yes, we cannot create heroes. That is why we need someone like you.]

Isaac scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Thank you for your generous offer, but I must decline. I sincerely hope the opportunity to collaborate never arises again."

Though his words were essentially a dismissal, Beshek showed no sign of irritation.

[Then you now understand why I wanted to save you,] Beshek murmured sweetly.

[You are too precious to become seafood’s meal, too valuable to be reduced to ash, or to serve as a discarded weapon for warmongers. Your talent—and that of all humanity’s heroes—should be used for eternity, not squandered.]

Isaac didn’t bother with subtlety.

"Apparently, I wasn’t clear enough."

This time, he unleashed a strike imbued with Kaldwin’s divine energy. The holy blade’s arc tore through Beshek’s body, scattering it like mist. He vanished without leaving so much as a trace.

And yet, Isaac felt no relief. Beshek’s presence hadn’t diminished; it had intensified.

Isaac looked to the sky.

Stars gathered in the pitch-black heavens, coalescing into countless eyes. Clouds and wind twisted into the form of an immense shroud. Beshek loomed above, his unbroken presence suffocating the living.

He was the Immortal Emperor, ruler of the Netherworld, a god who mocked the divine itself.

Just meeting his gaze forced mortals to endure an eternity compressed into a single moment. They saw their deaths reflected back at them with a horrifying clarity.

***

Within Beshek’s dominion, each soldier saw their end.

Some were pierced by swords; others suffocated in desert sands. Still others froze, their bodies preserved in frost, unable to rot, cursed to remain where they fell.

Isaac, too, faced his demise.

He saw his own body wrapped in blackness, sagging like a deflated balloon. His skeletal frame was gone, his flesh thin and hollow. The only thing inside him was Chaos, writhing and pulsing as if trying to escape.

Then it began.

Starting with his left eye, grotesque forms poured out—not creatures, not objects, not even gas, but fractures.

Tears in reality itself, each fragment consuming the world around it, leaving irreparable scars on existence. The fractures spread over Isaac’s body, eroding his form and devouring the fabric of the world.

They were formless, eternal Chaos—things that had never existed and never would.

As the tendrils of Chaos clawed their way out of him, they began devouring the world, corrupting it from the inside out. Only eternal beings could withstand the sight, bracing themselves against an infinite, horrifying future.

[The Nameless Chaos watches you.]

"Haaah…!"

Isaac stumbled back, clutching his face.

Though it was only a vision, he felt as though his body had been torn apart and flooded with tendrils. His left eye, despite not activating the Eye of Chaos, began to leak faint tendrils of darkness.

Panicked, Isaac gripped his face harder, commanding the Chaos within.

"Get back in!"

The tendrils hesitated before retreating, vanishing beneath his skin.

Isaac looked around, but no one seemed to notice his struggle. The soldiers were trapped in their own visions, writhing or lying unconscious. Even Tuhalin and Edelred, who had rushed to investigate the disturbance, had succumbed.

I can’t let this continue.

Isaac tightened his grip on Kaldwin, focusing his will.

A brilliant white light erupted above him.

Isaac had activated the Lighthouse of the Watchers. The divine energy pushed back the suffocating darkness, anchoring reality with the Codex of Light’s church.

The vile aura of "undeath" was fractured, but the strain on Isaac was immense. His head felt as if it were splitting, his vision blurred, and his thoughts burned under the sheer effort of opposing Beshek’s power.

Still, it was enough.

"Thunder Artisan!"

The cry came from Tuhalin, the first to recover. He slammed his hammer into the ground, releasing a deafening shockwave that rippled through the earth. The blast jolted everyone awake, the heat and energy reigniting their spirits.

His eyes burned with a fiery red glow, and his skin radiated with the heat of molten steel. Everyone recognized the change: the Archangel Thunder Artisan had descended upon him.

"Elil, your battlefield… is here!"

Edelred’s voice rang out, as he bit down on his tongue to dispel the lingering haze. Holding Kaldbruch, the Holy Sword, green armor began to grow around him like sprouting leaves. The scent of fresh wood and the rush of a gentle breeze spread through the air, clearing the minds of the knights.

Wearing a lion-shaped helm, Edelred stared directly into the darkness, undaunted by the Immortal Emperor’s overwhelming presence.

The Archangel Lion Knight had arrived.

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