Paladin of the Dead God

Isaac hadn’t invented a convenient time-travel device that allowed him to alter history whenever he pleased.

Just activating the Lighthouse of the Watcher consumed enormous amounts of divine power and stamina. And right now, this was merely a “simple history” occurring until it caught up to the “present.”

If Isaac failed to create a sufficiently plausible sequence of events or made a history absurdly favorable to himself, it would instantly be dismissed as something that “never happened.”

That would mean he’d be back facing Dera Heman in the secret archive immediately.

‘It means I shouldn’t use Urbansus to undo the Emperor’s excommunication or attempt to assassinate the Pope.’

In Isaac’s view, altering Urbansus was a dangerous double-edged sword. The fact that the god of the Salt Council tried to make a change and ended up buried under the salt desert is telling enough.

It’s too easy to provoke the intervention of angels from other faiths. Isaac, who was struggling to deal with even one angel, had nothing to gain by drawing unnecessary attention. Most importantly, altering Urbansus required finding an angel whose goals aligned with his.

What if the angel chosen as the “author” betrayed him or didn’t act as he wished? It could lead to the worst-case scenario. Therefore, Isaac could somewhat foresee what the future held.

There weren’t many opportunities to change history due to plausibility and timing constraints.

This time, the two disguised as confessors easily accessed the underground prison. Since the “confession” work for the Emperor’s faction’s nobles and knights was already underway, no one stopped them.

“…We’ve arrived so easily. I can’t believe it. Isaac, it’s all thanks to you.”

Bashul murmured as they descended deeper into the underground prison. As merely a possessed body for Ashen, he seemed unaware of the process of altering history. It made sense, given that he was similar to Laella from before.

This thought made Isaac realize just how earnest Bashul was about revenge.

“Why are you suddenly looking at me so pitifully?”

“…It’s just that, like Gebel and you, it’s sad how old men like you have nothing left but revenge. If you had a family, you would have returned to them.”

“Why the sudden provocation? Are you bragging because you’re married? You know paladins are usually celibate, right?”

“It’s just something I thought of. I won’t stop you from taking revenge, but if you have nowhere to go after it’s over, come to the Issacrea estate. Gebel is there too, so the two of you can talk it out, and maybe take care of some war orphans together.”

“Why orphans? I’m not good with kids.”

“I thought the same about Gebel, but it turns out he’s good at it.”

Bashul scoffed at Isaac’s words. Still, he seemed to be considering Isaac’s words more than he let on.

Those obsessed with revenge often think this way. They plan up to the point of revenge but don’t consider what comes after.

That’s why avengers often suffer from emptiness afterward, saying things like “revenge is meaningless.”

Even while seeking revenge, one should make friends, find hobbies, and search for new connections or happiness in life to feel a sense of relief after the revenge is done, like finishing old laundry or finally relieving a week-old burden.

How could anyone not feel emptiness after dedicating their entire life to a single task, only to have it end?

Isaac didn’t want Gebel or Bashul to end up that way.

Both had lived their lives consumed by revenge, so he hoped they could find some enjoyment in life, even in their old age. Seeing Gebel find joy in teasing new recruits, Isaac believed Bashul might also discover new pleasures in life.

“…Isaac, you said you had business in the secret archive, yet you prioritized rescuing the Emperor. Thank you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll hold them off, and you take the Emperor and escape. The Emperor will be at least some help against the Olkan Code.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m counting on you, Bashul.”

Isaac replied cheerfully.

In truth, Isaac knew that problems were inevitable.

He knew that at least the same or more dangerous level of hardship would need to occur for it to be accepted as “real history.”

***

“Halt. Who goes there?”

As they reached the underground prison where Waltzemer was held, two paladins bearing the Golden Lion emblem on their armor blocked their way. Unlike other prisons, it seemed they had a higher level of security, given the presence of paladins on guard.

Isaac lifted the sleeve of his confessor robe and answered.

“We have orders to interrogate the apostate Waltzemer.”

“His Holiness the Pope ordered that no one is to lay a finger on Waltzemer, nor is anyone allowed to visit him. We’ve neither heard of nor received any orders, so leave.”

As expected, the paladins responded with unyielding firmness, leaving no room for negotiation. Even the tips of their spears, aimed at them, showed no signs of wavering. Isaac sighed and pushed forward the cart filled with torture instruments.

“Can’t you see here? The order signed by His Holiness…”

The moment the paladins’ gaze shifted to the cart, Isaac and Bashul simultaneously lunged forward, striking with their swords. The paladins quickly raised their spears to respond, but it was difficult to stop the two who had attacked with such preparation.

Isaac used Kaldwin’s acceleration ability to instantly pierce through the gap beneath the paladin’s helmet, preventing him from shouting. Meanwhile, Bashul left a trail of ash and, in the next moment, had already swung his sword, tracing a dusty arc, and beheaded the other paladin.

It was Bashul who was more surprised than the paladins.

He looked at his ashen hand with a shocked expression. Then he met Isaac’s gaze and was even more astonished.

“You knew?!”

“I happened to find out.”

Isaac refrained from mentioning the “erased history.”

Ashen, having already revealed his identity, seemed to have decided there was no need to hide and used his powers. Having an angel as an ally was reassuring, but Isaac didn’t intend to use that power recklessly.

Waltzemer’s prison, of course, was sealed shut. But when they used the Luadin Key, the seal was easily broken, and the lock fell away. It was the carelessness of the order not to anticipate an infiltration by someone wielding the Luadin Key.

Creak.

As the door opened, the dimly lit view of the prison was revealed.

The prison’s condition wasn’t as bad as expected. Though filled with straw, there was a bed and even a toilet to maintain some semblance of dignity. Yet, compared to the environment the prisoner was accustomed to, it might as well have been a pigsty.

In the corner of the prison, a man sat crouched.

He was a man who had nearly grasped the entire world in his hands before falling into the abyss.

“Your Majesty the Emperor.”

At the sound of Bashul’s voice, Waltzemer slowly lifted his head.

***

Waltzemer was recalling a memory.

He was around twenty years old.

He fell seriously ill without any apparent reason. It wasn’t unusual for him to fall sick from time to time, as his brothers often bribed the servants to poison his meals.

Although he always survived, this fever was severe.

His entire body felt like it was burning, and the priests and doctors who visited him several times could only shake their heads in defeat.

In his feverish daze, Waltzemer imagined that he was being tempered by fire.

The world’s forge would someday give birth to a god from its flames, and that god would be the true Codex of Light.

Waltzemer imagined himself as the Codex of Light being reforged within the forge to be reborn. The fire that tempered the god beneath the earth was surely much hotter and more painful. Such poison was nothing compared to that pain… he thought.

It was a blasphemous thought, but his suffering left him with no room to consider such things.

His flesh melted away, his bones disintegrated, and his spirit evaporated into the air. Then, his flesh was hammered and tempered, his bones reassembled, and his spirit condensed and flowed anew.

In the visions of being broken and reassembled repeatedly, Waltzemer saw his body being forged into the shape of a stag.

The stag had a mane made of flames and antlers radiating heat.

Waltzemer was mesmerized by the beauty of the stag. But the stag was not yet complete. It was still weak and couldn’t even stand on its own.

Waltzemer eagerly awaited its completion.

Then, a servant entered. It was the servant he cherished most, someone who had been a friend since childhood. He could trust and consume anything given by this servant.

The servant entered with a grim expression, spreading oil around the room and drawing a dagger.

The servant aimed the dagger at Waltzemer, who lay on the bed stricken by fever, intending to finally end the persistent assassination target who wouldn’t die from poison, and to set the place ablaze. Waltzemer tried to scream, but his hoarse throat couldn’t produce a sound.

Just as the dagger touched his throat, the room was filled with a brilliant light.

It was a dazzling radiance, as if the sun itself had descended into the room. A single brilliant pillar of light quietly watched over him from the center of the room. The mere presence of this light filled the room with heat, causing the flowers to wither, and setting fire to the curtains and dry floors. The flames quickly spread throughout the room via the oil, and the assassin wielding the dagger was reduced to a pile of ash in an instant.

Waltzemer stared at the angel amidst the flames. Instinctively, he knew who it was, not merely by the voice but by the quietly expressed will of the most renowned Archangel.

[I will be with you.]

The Lighthouse Keeper whispered softly to Waltzemer.

The flames rapidly spread throughout the mansion. Screams, cries, and sounds of things shattering erupted all around. Though Waltzemer was at the center of this great fire, he felt no heat. It was as if being amidst these flames was the safest place for him.

That night, Waltzemer was reborn as a vessel filled with miracles, a sacred body.

It was the day he truly decided to become Emperor.

***

Waltzemer looked at Bashul with blurred eyes.

Unlike the thoughts he had just been lost in, this dark and dismal place made him feel weak and feeble. But he couldn’t mistake the voice of Bashul, the knight-guard.

Bashul hurriedly approached Waltzemer and helped him up.

“Can you move? We need to hurry.”

“Bashul… it really is you. What possessed you to come here? If you were alive, you should have fled.”

“There are still many debts Your Majesty owes me. I won’t let you die peacefully until I collect those debts.”

Waltzemer was silent for a moment. Then suddenly, he shook off Bashul’s support and sat back down.

“I… I deceived you. I am not worthy of your help.”

“Your Majesty, what’s wrong?”

Bashul asked in surprise, but Waltzemer continued to refuse his assistance.

“I promised to help you get revenge against the Codex of Light. I accepted it with the thought of exposing the sect’s weaknesses and seizing some of its authority.”

“I know that. We only agreed because our goals aligned…”

“That was a flawed purpose from the start. I said that humans should rule the earth, and gods the heavens, but I was wrong. I believed I could be the one to represent both the earth and the heavens.”

What difference would it make if Bashul dealt with the blind sentinels? Perhaps if the next person in power went through continuous reform, there might be a chance.

But Waltzemer didn’t intend for that. He simply wanted to become the ultimate authority, with human and divine power combined. He thought it was the duty and right of the human chosen by the Lighthouse Keeper.

Of course, there might have been philosophies and ideologies for the people, for governance, and for the future in his goals. But when the Lighthouse Keeper appeared, it was revealed to be an impossible dream.

“I deluded myself into thinking I was the human chosen by the Lighthouse Keeper. But now I think the Lighthouse Keeper appeared not to guide me, but to fuel my arrogance and vanity.”

Waltzemer murmured in a voice filled with desolation.

“In the end, I threw away the Emperor’s authority and entrusted everything to the Lighthouse Keeper. I wanted to carry the heavenly authority on my back. I effectively nullified the Licht Treaty myself.”

“Your Majesty.”

“In the end, I betrayed my servants, my subordinates, and my followers who believed in me. I merely tried to become a blind sentinel holding imperial power.”

Waltzemer muttered with a despairing expression, scratching at his face.

“If I were to challenge the heavens, I should have done it with my own strength, as I have done until now… I should have challenged them with my strength alone, without relying on an angel!”

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