Paladin of the Dead God

“The performance of Ciero’s Dawn Army has been utterly disappointing.”

“……”

Pope Horma Kmuel glared at Cardinal Rohen Otter with a displeased expression. Beside him, newly appointed Cardinal Amila Endec clung close, openly displaying his allegiance.

Juan had been absent from meetings for weeks, using a medical leave as an excuse, but no one paid attention. After all, the Codex of Light Church was merely a puppet of the Watcher’s Council, so it hardly mattered whose side you were on. Even the Pope was no more than a mere accessory to the Council’s will.

Previously, they had at least maintained a facade of respect, but now it seemed they no longer bothered.

“I had hoped that Ciero’s momentum suggested the potential of a ‘false prophet,’ but at this rate, even naming him would be an embarrassment. We’d better incorporate them into the main Dawn Army before they collapse.”

“…Weren’t you the one who proposed using Ciero?”

The Pope finally lost his composure and snapped. Rohen smirked in response.

“I’m willing to use anything for the Codex of Light.”

The story of Rohen Otter’s nephew being captured by the Orcs of the Olkan Code was well known. It had served as a perfect example of how even high-ranking officials were willing to sacrifice their kin for the cause of the Dawn Army.

“You needn’t worry about my nephew. Overcoming trials like these is necessary if one wishes to step into the Watcher’s Council. I believed Ciero could overcome similar trials too.”

Ciero had a unique talent for inciting crowds and spreading falsehoods. A priest who could sway the masses with his inexplicable charm was just what the Church needed to stoke the flames of fanaticism.

But charisma in incitement did not translate to tactical skill.

The moment the Dawn Army began its campaign, this became painfully evident, and Ciero’s popularity plummeted.

“I intended to ‘replace’ him before things went south.”

Rohen sighed and covered his mouth with his hand.

“But Ciero was more cunning than expected. He evaded every attempt. Because of that, the person I planned to position in his place moved first.”

Rohen moved a piece on the celestial table. A piece bearing a white cross on a purple background advanced rapidly southward day by day.

The Pope’s expression twitched.

“The Holy Grail Knight? You intended to put him in charge of the Dawn Army?”

“No ordinary charisma can command a horde of hundreds of thousands of misfits. The Holy Grail Knight possesses the talent to do so, with an added penchant for valuing human life. I hoped that as the bodies piled up around him, he might grow desensitized.”

By modern standards, Isaac’s moral code was at best average—slightly worn down but still virtuous by the era’s standards. For a paladin, such morality was not necessarily required; both the Pope and the Cardinals agreed on this. Yet the Pope found it difficult to reconcile with the idea that the tens of thousands of troops from Ciero’s Dawn Army could have been handed over to Isaac.

“He doesn’t have a good reputation. Isn’t there talk of him following the teachings of the Owl?”

“Did Your Holiness not learn from it as well?”

“That was when I was young, foolish, and without power. But if someone like the Holy Grail Knight, who has influence, power, and fame, were to follow those teachings while leading an army, it would endanger the Church, wouldn’t it?”

Rohen chuckled.

“No angel would ever allow that.”

The catch-all phrase that refuted all logic left the Pope speechless.

“And binding the Holy Grail Knight to the Dawn Army has another interesting effect. It also binds the Brant Duchy in the north.”

Rohen had already half-figured that the Waltzemer throne had fallen into the hands of the Brant family. Only the Brant family could hide something so securely. Although they were currently lying low, who knew when they would show their claws again?

But what if Isaac were embedded within the tens of thousands of the Dawn Army?

Even as the commander of the Dawn Army, a single “You’re excommunicated” from an angel would be enough to bring upon Isaac the same fate that befell the Emperor.

The Holy Grail Knight, who values human life, would be forced to surrender. The Brant family, not wanting their son-in-law to suffer such a fate, would be compelled to remain subdued.

“Duchess Freya Brant. The heroine from the Kingdom of Elil. She has managed to bind the northern alliance back together, which I had worked so hard to tear apart. It’s necessary to ensure she continues playing chief there.”

“I see. But hasn’t the Holy Grail Knight already established his own Dawn Army? Doesn’t that complicate things?”

Isaacrea’s rapid march had already echoed throughout the Empire.

The sight of the Kingdom of Elil and the World’s Forge advancing under the Codex of Light banner brought back memories of the legendary first Dawn Army.

Ciero’s pitiful and disorganized army only accentuated the contrast.

Elil’s knights had torn through the Orcs of the Olkan Code, while isolated villages and cities in the mountains, cut off from aid, were liberated by the Dwarves. Following that, the army that proclaimed itself the “Isaacrea Holy Knights” continued to rescue and support those in danger, growing in strength along the way.

“Yes, it seems the Holy Grail Knight has now built his own independent power.”

Currently, the Dawn Army was divided into three main forces.

First, Ciero’s Dawn Army, which departed first and had the most troops. However, it was weak due to the low presence of paladins and priests.

Second, the main Dawn Army led by the Pope, which was set to be bolstered by all the resources the Codex of Light could muster. The Pope was confident this force alone could shatter the core of the Olkan Code.

Lastly, the newly established Issacrea Dawn Army, the smallest, most unstable force comprising a multinational and multi-faith coalition. Yet its momentum was unmistakable, and nobles disillusioned by the religious zeal were beginning to view it as an alternative.

‘Many of the forces that served the Emperor before his excommunication have already taken refuge under Issacrea’s banner.’

But this wasn’t something they could openly attack Isaac over.

Outwardly, Isaac was still obeying the Church’s orders.

The infighting between the Emperor and the Pope had already scarred the Empire deeply. They couldn’t afford to create more unnecessary conflicts within the Church.

“So, what’s your next move?”

“As mentioned, it would be best to merge Ciero’s Dawn Army into the main force….”

Rohen stared at the map of Isaacrea’s divided forces and fell into thought.

“And we need to figure out how to separate the Holy Grail Knight.”

A cold wind blew in through the open window, rustling the chess pieces on the board. Though protected by blessings, they did not feel the chill of the winter breeze.

But the Pope alone felt an inexplicable sense of dread.

***

Who’s the most awkward person to run into at work?

“An ill-tempered boss? A subordinate who defies you despite being incompetent?”

Not quite. Those would be strong contenders, but Isolde had a more peculiar answer.

The answer was “a former Emperor who once ruled the Empire, now excommunicated by an angel, who drove her father to his death, and now crawls in as a guest.”

“It’s done, my lady.”

Jemer, formerly known as Emperor Waltzemer, now reduced to a dependent of House Brant, bowed his head before Isolde.

Isolde nodded with a reluctant expression.

“Good work, Sir Jemer.”

Jemer had shaved his beard and cut his hair short, altering his appearance so drastically that Isolde hadn’t recognized him at first. The glowing horns were gone, casting his face in different shadows. Still, for safety reasons, he wore a helmet when outside, following the good example set by Dera Heman.

Any sense of loyalty vanished when Isolde learned how Waltzemer lost his power.

He had gambled and lost everything, essentially handing over his power to an angel. Important details were omitted, but that was the gist of it. What remained was a fugitive, a ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment.

“There seem to be more soot creatures than before.”

The courtyard of Rougeberg was piled with the blackened carcasses of beasts Jemer and his knights had hunted. These creatures, stuck between human and beast, were corrupted animals transformed by a phenomenon called “soot.” Once rare, their numbers had recently increased, posing a threat to civilians.

Isolde was particularly concerned about this phenomenon.

As a former Inquisitor, she knew the true nature of the soot creatures. They were low-grade divine beasts associated with Urbansus, the light deity of the Codex of Light. Though called divine beasts, they were more akin to evil spirits, unable to withstand the deity’s intense light and leeching off other souls.

They were vicious by nature but powerless against the Codex’s miracles, making them disposable tools. However, to ordinary people, they were a menace.

Typically residing in Urbansus and rarely seen on the surface, except in places like Lichtheim, the increase in their numbers across the Empire was alarming, even in Rougeberg, far from Lichtheim.

“It’s not just the soot creatures; there are reports of divine beasts appearing everywhere. It’s unclear whether it’s due to the religious madness of the Dawn Army or merely the fevered hallucinations of the afflicted.”

“It sounds like things are worsening.”

“One can only hope it’s a temporary phenomenon caused by the appearance of the Lighthouse Keeper.”

Jemer spoke casually, despite being indirectly responsible for the Lighthouse Keeper’s emergence.

But Isolde couldn’t blame him. The entire Brant family had been complicit in the plan; blaming him alone was impossible.

“…I truly hope all these events are just temporary.”

Not just the appearance of the soot creatures but the entire situation—the alignment of forces, the unfolding chaos—she wished it was all fleeting. The Emperor and her father, who had once dreamed of complete separation from religion, were now ruined. The Brant family was merely lying low, waiting for the storm of madness to pass. Had the Church’s spearhead not been pointed solely at the Holy Land, the Brant family would have been destroyed.

Had it not been for guilt and a thirst for vengeance, even Freya wouldn’t have taken Waltzemer in.

“Regrettably, the soot creatures are like shadows cast by the increasing light of Urvansus, so they might grow more numerous as the Dawn Army advances. If the Dawn Army succeeds, they could become a permanent fixture.”

Isolde felt a surge of irritation at Jemer’s casual remark.

‘Does he think I don’t know that? Did he forget I’m a former Inquisitor?’

But seeing Jemer’s eyes through his helmet, she realized he wasn’t just making naive comments.

He was implying that someone needed to disrupt or halt the momentum of the Dawn Army.

Isolde thought of the terrifying march happening in the eastern Empire and the person most frequently mentioned as the one who might conquer the Holy Land.

She recalled a face she hadn’t seen in a long time.

She never imagined when they parted ways outside Isaacrea that it would be this long before seeing him again. He seemed to be moving further away with each passing moment.

Meanwhile, she remained hiding within this sturdy fortress.

Isolde was wracked with a sense of shame at the realization.

“My Lady Isolde.”

One of the guards from the main gate approached Isolde.

“A priest has come to see you.”

“A priest? Again? What are they planning to stir up this time…?”

Isolde was about to lose her temper once more, but the guard’s next words quickly quelled her anger.

“He’s from Issacrea. A priest named Claire.”

“From Issacrea? What did he want?”

The guard hesitated at Isolde’s question.

If anyone else had made such a claim, they would have been dismissed immediately. But this was a priest from Issacrea, the domain of the Holy Grail Knight and Isolde’s husband. They couldn’t be treated carelessly.

“He said he came to deliver some good words…”

Unconsciously, Isolde’s gaze drifted southeast, where the wind blew.

The wind tousled her hair roughly.

***

Isaac opened his eyes.

A sudden gust of wind shook the snow that had accumulated on his head while he had dozed off. As Isaac brushed the snow off and stood up, Hesabel, who had been keeping watch, descended from a tree.

The surroundings were still littered with orc corpses. If anything, the number seemed to have increased since he’d fallen asleep.

Hesabel approached with a puzzled look.

“Why are you already up? You haven’t slept in a while.”

Isaac hadn’t been able to sleep properly for days. To be able to nap in a hidden forest was a rare opportunity. But Isaac stretched contentedly, looking northwest.

“I thought Isolde was here.”

[To Be Continued]