Paladin of the Dead God

Isaac could have captured Linde or crushed her outright.

He didn’t. He let her retreat because she showed a willingness to engage in dialogue.

Isaac hadn’t come to obliterate the Avalanche Knight Order. This was a deeply personal expedition aimed at resolving Gebel’s vengeance and uncovering the truth behind the tragedy. Until he discerned whether the order had been victims or heretics, he wouldn’t consider purging Linde.

‘I still don’t know if the Avalanche Knight Order was betrayed or if they betrayed others.’

Gebel claimed the order had been betrayed, while Bashul said they were sacrificed under angelic orders. Yet, the Linde Isaac encountered was openly hostile toward Gebel and the Dawn Army.

This realization opened a new line of thought for Isaac.

‘What if Commander Linde led the entire Avalanche Knight Order into heresy?’

Isaac’s suspicion stemmed from Kalsen, who had similarly converted his knight order to the Immortal Order. Kalsen’s ultimate goal had been to ascend as a god and claim the seat of the Nameless Chaos. Failing that, converting his order could have been his contingency plan.

Perhaps Linde had chosen a similar path, sacrificing her knights’ faith to avoid their unjust demise.

It could be a vital clue to understanding the motives of the Codex of Light’s angels.

‘Either way, I’ll need to speak with her directly to uncover the truth.’

Isaac observed Linde and the Avalanche Knight Order as they reappeared. Her armor was still battered, but her skeletal frame had already regenerated, appearing as whole as ever.

Her glowing blue eyes betrayed no hint of her thoughts.

“Commander Linde used to despise Death Knights,” Gebel murmured beside Isaac.

“She called them the filthiest of creatures. Not because they were hard to kill or powerful, but because they had to be killed three times.”

“Three times?” Isaac echoed, puzzled.

A Death Knight that had to be killed three times wasn’t unheard of, but Gebel’s tone suggested a deeper meaning.

“Once when they die. Again when they return. And a third time, when they return only to turn on you.”

Her disdain for Death Knights had been absolute. She never even entertained the possibility of sparing or leaving them be. That statement alone spoke volumes about the pain she must have endured.

As an aging commander of the knight order, Linde must have watched countless comrades turn to the Immortal Order. Each time, she would have had to kill them in her heart and in reality.

She would have mourned their passing, resented their inability to rest, and, finally, severed ties with those who had become her enemies.

The loss of someone close leaves a deep scar, even in the workplace. For Linde, it wasn’t merely colleagues but her comrades, mentors, and pupils who became the undead.

To survive, she had likely killed parts of herself over and over again.

And now, she had returned as a Death Knight herself.

What had driven her to this?

“Would you do the same, Gebel?” Isaac asked, his gaze shifting to him. Could Gebel kill his comrades three times over?

Linde’s philosophy of triple death signified an unyielding resolve to cut down her comrades regardless of their form or words. Did Gebel possess that same fortitude?

Before him stood the Avalanche Knight Order, his comrades from a lifetime ago. Only he and Bashul had escaped. Perhaps the others had decided it was better to die together than leave anyone behind.

To a knight, the order was family. Isaac could easily guess what emotions churned within Gebel.

A question surfaced in Isaac’s mind.

‘Gebel, do you have a Blue Rose Petal?’

Isaac swallowed the words. The Avalanche Knights began to move.

Instead of asking, he shouted, “Prepare for battle!”

***

‘So they’ve chosen not to talk after all.’

As the Avalanche Knights charged down the ridgeline, Isaac clicked his tongue. They had seemed willing to negotiate earlier—was that just an illusion? Had Linde decided his strength made battle inevitable?

But if that were the case, wouldn’t avoiding combat be wiser?

The ideal tactic would have been to sow discord among the Dawn Army, shaking Gebel or Rottenhammer’s faith and isolating Isaac.

That was the Immortal Order’s usual strategy. Bringing back the dead to whisper doubts into the living—about their faith, their pain, or the eternal relief of undeath—was highly effective.

Even priests and paladins were not immune, let alone common soldiers. The deeper the Dawn Army advanced, the more they faced this temptation.

But instead of employing such methods, Linde had chosen to attack.

“All units, hold!” Rottenhammer’s commanding voice echoed.

Though fewer in number, the Death Knights outclassed the Issacrea forces in quality. It seemed the Avalanche Knights had forgone regular infantry entirely, favoring speed and maneuverability at the cost of defense.

“Spears ready!”

As the Avalanche Knights drew closer, Rottenhammer gave the order. The traditional countermeasure against cavalry was the spear—a formation that could halt even a charging knight.

But the enemy’s mounts were no ordinary steeds.

Just as the spears were about to strike, the phantom steeds leapt skyward. Ghostly horses soared into the air, casting dark shadows over the Issacrea knights. As the Death Knights passed overhead, they hurled spears downward. Several soldiers fell under the assault.

Rottenhammer, however, remained unfazed. His experience in the Dawn Army showed.

“Offer your prayers with fire!” he bellowed.

A wave of holy flames erupted from the paladins’ blades, aimed skyward. The blazing heat and divine power sent phantom steeds screeching in agony. Some lost their footing and crashed to the ground.

The Avalanche Knights quickly abandoned their aerial tactics, splitting into two groups that veered toward the left and right flanks of the Issacrea formation.

Isaac recognized this as a deliberate maneuver. A frontal assault against the prepared paladin line would have been unwise. By disrupting them from above, the Death Knights had created an opening to strike the vulnerable flanks.

It was a brilliant tactic, one only the Immortal Order could execute.

The real battle was about to begin.

As expected, the Avalanche Knights wheeled their mounts around and charged the flanks.

“Rip them apart!”

Rottenhammer quickly reorganized the formation to brace against the oncoming charge, but in such chaotic close-quarters combat, command structure rapidly lost significance.

What followed was a savage and merciless melee.

***

The ordinary soldiers, who were of little use against Death Knights, had already retreated to the rear.

This was a battle for the paladins—those who wielded the powers of divine authority. Against such supernatural foes, there was little the average human could contribute, save for one vital role: ensuring that neither side’s dead rose as undead.

“You filthy bastard!”

Ian, a paladin of the Issacrea Order, snarled as he clashed with a Death Knight.

It was his first time facing one. The Issacrea Paladin Order, which had inherited its swordsmanship from the Brient Order, emphasized precision. Their techniques focused on striking a target’s exact weak points, following the principle of water wearing down stone drop by drop.

It seemed a counterintuitive style for someone like Rottenhammer, who wielded a massive hammer. Yet, his strength was such that he could land a single devastating blow on any weakness, obliterating it. Anything less, and even he couldn’t sustain his strength for long.

Ian executed a masterful strike, deeply carving into the interior of the Death Knight’s skull. He even felt the bone fracture under his blade. But instead of falling, the Death Knight merely hesitated before ramming its head forward and swinging its sword at Ian.

Ian barely dodged, losing his grip on his weapon. Just as he scrambled backward, Rottenhammer’s massive hammer smashed into the Death Knight’s chest, crumpling its armor and dropping the undead warrior to its knees.

“On your feet!”

Rottenhammer grabbed Ian by the collar and hauled him up. Ian quickly recovered his sword from the Death Knight’s fractured skull.

“Their weak points are the neck and spine! If the head’s severed, they can’t control their body! Stop fighting them like they’re still alive!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

Following Rottenhammer’s instructions, Ian adjusted his tactics. Suddenly, the fight felt much more manageable. His refined techniques, designed for precision, made it easy to target the Death Knight’s weak spots. He exploited even the smallest openings or created new ones through relentless strikes, finding success where brute force alone had failed.

Other paladins reached similar realizations and began overwhelming the Death Knights of the Avalanche Order.

But the true strength of the Avalanche Knight Order revealed itself too late.

As soon as their formation solidified, the previously faltering Death Knights unleashed an ear-splitting roar and charged like an unstoppable avalanche.

The Issacrea Order’s formation, painstakingly built for defense, collapsed under the onslaught.

“Damn it!”

Paladins caught in the breach were swiftly cut down by the charging Death Knights. Even Rottenhammer, roaring with rage, seemed powerless to halt the avalanche’s momentum.

The frontlines teetered on the brink of disaster—until, suddenly, the avalanche faltered.

Something had disrupted their charge, like a lone tree standing defiantly in the path of a landslide. The Death Knights’ relentless advance hesitated, their ferocious energy briefly subdued.

[Gebel!]

One of the Death Knights bellowed, swinging its blade at the paladin.

Calmly, Gebel parried the attack, countering the follow-up strike with precision.

As the former chief knight of the Avalanche Order, Gebel knew the vulnerabilities of their tactics. His perfectly timed intervention fractured the momentum of their charge, slowing their assault.

The weight of each clash brought memories flooding back. Through the crossed blades, Gebel identified his opponent’s weaknesses and tendencies, as if he had stepped back in time to his days in the order.

[It’s me, Gebel! Why do you stand against us?]

Brother Delé, subdue your hatred. Working together is more important than killing efficiently.

[Have you sided with those damned fools? Do you not know who abandoned us?]

The lower guard… still weak. You never fixed it, though you’ve tried.

Gebel remained silent, unable to answer. He himself didn’t fully understand why he was here, opposing them. His presence felt like inertia—a habit. Alone with Linde, who knew what choices he might have made?

Yet he continued to swing his sword.

The more he fought the undead remnants of his comrades, the more something within Gebel crumbled.

He had thought his heart long since worn down, incapable of further damage. Yet here he was, discovering fresh wounds in the emptiness he thought he’d filled.

Then, someone stepped beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

It was Isaac.

“You said the Avalanche Order’s swordsmanship is designed for group tactics, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then let’s give them a real demonstration.”

Isaac raised Kaldwin, seamlessly matching Gebel’s movements.

Gebel quickly realized Isaac wasn’t merely imitating him—he was exceeding him. Every slash, parry, and counterstrike from Isaac wove perfectly with Gebel’s, as if they’d trained together for decades.

It was more than synchronization. Isaac was leading him, guiding Gebel to a new level of mastery.

Isaac was teaching him.

Gebel felt a surge of awe. To think that he still had something to learn, and that Isaac—his former pupil—was the one guiding him to that higher plane.

‘I taught this boy?’

What had happened in the years since Isaac had left the monastery?

Isaac fought with a transcendent skill Gebel had never witnessed, yet it was not unfamiliar. Amid Isaac’s slashes, thrusts, and parries were the indelible marks of the Avalanche Knight Order’s techniques.

Gebel knew, without doubt, that Isaac would be remembered as a hero.

And alongside Isaac’s name, the Avalanche Knight Order would endure—not as heretics, but as the mentors and predecessors of a legend.

Faced with this possibility, Gebel suddenly felt the weight of his personal grudges and regrets diminish to insignificance.

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