Paladin of the Dead God-Chapter 391: The Monster Wearing a Mask (3)

Contrary to what the Olkan Code believed, the Codex of Light had not been ignoring them at all.

In fact, the Codex of Light’s leadership was on the verge of internal collapse due to their presence.

The only reason this internal unrest didn’t affect the fanatical zealots at the front lines was that the fervor of the soldiers was unshakable.

"The Lighthouse Keeper lights the way to Heaven! The path leads to the Holy Land of Lua!"

A priest, standing atop a boulder, shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse and broken. His glassy eyes glowed with a strange radiance, so intense that his pupils were no longer visible.

Archers from the Immortal Order shot arrows toward him, but the distance was too great for any to hit.

"Behold! The Lighthouse Keeper protects me! Forward!"

"Oooooooh!"

With a thunderous war cry, the Dawn Army surged forward, running beneath the priest’s feet. The priest, gripped by religious ecstasy, waved his scriptures frantically, reciting its verses at such a rapid pace that it sounded less like a prayer and more like a chaotic song.

Amidst a torrent of blessings, the Dawn Army clashed with the Undead Legion for the seventh time that day.

The soldiers on the front lines, who lacked even proper rags to cover themselves, died in an instant.

Thousands of soldiers perished in mere moments, but not one of them displayed pain or despair.

Instead, their faces were filled with blissful ecstasy.

Their lives had been nothing but suffering and terror.

But through this death, the gates of Heaven would finally open to them. Life in Heaven would not be as wretched as the one they had known.

Of course, the Immortal Order had no intention of letting them reach Heaven so easily.

Suddenly, a chill swept across the battlefield.

Every soldier on the field, even the priests in the rear, felt the same hallucination.

It was a suffocating darkness, as if they were trapped in a narrow, airless space.

The stench of decaying earth and rotting wood filled their nostrils. The sensation of maggots and centipedes crawling over their bodies was overwhelming. They couldn’t move their limbs.

It was a coffin.

A coffin that served as a mirror, revealing the truth to them.

"Lord of the Graveyard! It’s the Archangel Lord of the Graveyard!"

A bishop’s scream rang out as he began to chant a hymn with all his might. The priests joined in, their voices rising in unison, driving away the hallucination induced by the Lord of the Graveyard.

The Lord of the Graveyard’s illusion only lasted a brief moment, but it was enough to shift the momentum of the entire battlefield.

Somewhere on the battlefield, the Lord of the Graveyard lightly twisted his fingers.

In that moment, the thousands of soldiers who had just died all rose at once.

"Gaaaaaah!"

The soldiers, who had just been charging toward the Immortal Order, rolled back their eyes and turned to attack their former comrades.

However, their bodies had already been crushed from behind and torn to shreds from the front. Not one of them could move properly.

The Dawn Army soldiers, having seen this countless times before, responded with practiced precision.

They dismantled the zombies with ease.

They pinned them with spears, hooked them with scythes, and hacked them with axes. The dismemberment was over in an instant. The following surge of tens of thousands of soldiers trampled over the Armyes, ensuring they wouldn’t be resurrected again any time soon.

At that moment, a radiant light appeared in the sky.

A burning halo, swirling around a blazing winged eye, gazed down upon the battlefield.

It was the Archangel Sword of May.

The Sword of May gathered the countless weapons scattered across the battlefield, collecting them to form a radiant halo around itself.

The soldiers, Paladins, and priests alike gazed upon it with awe and reverence.

The Sword of May did nothing but watch from the sky. Yet that alone was enough to lift the spirits of the Dawn Army.

Emboldened, the Paladins charged in with renewed ferocity, breaking through parts of the front lines held by the Immortal Order.

A priest’s voice echoed like thunder.

"Behold! The gates of Heaven are opening! The Sword of May is opening the gates to Heaven!"

The Sword of May remained still, silently observing the battle.

But that didn’t stop the Dawn Army from crying out in religious ecstasy, shouting, “The Gate of Heaven!”

Sadly, what awaited them on the other side of that "gate" was not Heaven.

It was a massive skeletal dragon, slowly rising from the blood-soaked mire.

A soldier, his spirit bound to his shattered body, lay in the swamp of blood, gazing up at the sky through his crushed skull.

It was such a clear, sunny day.

But the angels still hadn’t opened the gates of Heaven.

Even after the fighting had stopped, the main camp of the Dawn Army was still filled with the sound of hymns and prayers.

There were far more people chanting in manic devotion than there were people in their right minds.

But for them, it was a means of maintaining sanity.

They hadn’t been this fanatical from the start.

As they bore witness to the ceaseless, brutal, and meaningless pain and death throughout the Dawn Army’s campaign, the soldiers had no choice but to seek out a "reason."

Why is this world so cruel and unjust?

The answer, they decided, was that all the suffering in the world was preparation for their eventual entry into Heaven.

Life on this earth was mere penance, and true reward awaited them in the afterlife.

If they failed to enter Heaven, what meaning was there in the deaths of their brothers, friends, parents, and siblings?

And to bring forth the Millennium Kingdom, they had to seize the Holy Land of Lua.

They sought justification for their actions after committing them and clung desperately to an unfounded goal.

If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have been able to endure.

***

Inside the command tent, however, it was deathly silent.

Unlike the ordinary soldiers, the Dawn Army’s leaders couldn’t simply trust everything to God.

They had to think at least a little more rationally.

But none of them could offer an explanation for the disaster they had witnessed that day.

After a long silence, Rohen Otter spoke.

"We’ve finally succeeded in drawing out the Lord of the Graveyard. Now, we just have to defeat him."

At those words, Dera Heman, who had been sitting quietly, crushed the cup he was holding.

He rose from his seat, his finger stabbing toward Rohen Otter, his whole body trembling with rage.

He didn’t say a word, but everyone knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Horhel stepped in to mediate.

"Calm yourself, Dera Heman. You’re right. Had we dealt with the Khan’s Army first and stabilized the battlefield, we wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to draw out the Lord of the Graveyard. But this was all necessary."

Dera Heman whipped his head toward Horhel, glaring fiercely.

But even he couldn’t bring himself to point his finger at Horhel, the Pope’s Proxy and leader of the Watcher’s Council.

With a loud thud, Dera Heman slammed the shattered cup onto the table and stormed out of the tent.

A moment later, Rohen asked cautiously.

"Should I go and bring him back once he’s calmed down?"

"No. Brother Dera Heman is wracked with shame over being nothing more than a figurehead commander. Not a single strategy or tactic goes his way, so it’s only natural for him to be angry."

In truth, all command authority lay with the Watcher’s Council — or more accurately, the Archangels.

When one of the Archangels appeared to issue orders, the Watcher’s Council did nothing but ensure those words were enacted on earth.

"But he is a true believer. He would never defy the words of His Holiness, the Pope."

Dera Heman wasn’t the only one reduced to a mere figurehead.

Even Pope Horma Kmuel remained completely bound to the Pope’s palanquin. With Cardinal Juan serving as his advisor, it was impossible for anyone not part of the Watcher’s Council to participate in key decision-making. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Although the Pope had fought alongside the Dawn Army in the past, the carnage of this battlefield was horrifying even to a battle-hardened veteran.

"But Brother Horhel, over 10,000 martyrs died today, and we still failed to cross the Katla Ridge. At this rate, we won’t have any soldiers left by the time we reach Capital Ushak."

Rohen Otter spoke cautiously.

"We have the Scorched Ones, do we not? Over a thousand new Scorched Ones were born today alone. It means the gates of Heaven are opening steadily."

"We are preserving the Scorched Ones’ strength, but..."

The Scorched Ones were a new rank of soldiers that had emerged during the Dawn Army’s campaign.

Their skin, hardened like metal and impervious to flames, made them a fearsome force. Rumors had already spread within the ranks that the Scorched Ones were chosen by God to enter Heaven.

"...But the Scorched Ones are not immortal. Some have been captured, and if they reappear as Undead, it will cause unrest among the soldiers."

Horhel remained silent.

Rohen continued, his voice careful but firm.

"Right now, we are surrounded on three sides — the Lord of the Graveyard holding Katla Ridge, the Dead December in the Gehenna Fortress, and the Khan’s Army to the north. Of the three, the only ones we can negotiate with are the Khan’s Army."

"That’s true."

"Then shouldn’t we establish a pact with the Olkan Code? My niece is currently ’stationed’ with them. She could help deliver our holy decree."

Horhel was well aware that Rohen’s niece was a hostage.

Neither of them had any real desire to negotiate with heretics, but if it would make the Dawn Army’s progress easier, it was worth considering.

However, before they could make such a "reasonable decision," there was still one major obstacle.

"Then we should consult with the Archangels and ask for their guidance."

***

Rohen left the tent and waited outside for Horhel to finish his prayer.

The interior of the command tent was set up like a small temple, with a quiet and solemn atmosphere where the voices of angels could be heard more clearly.

Standing silently and holding his breath in such a space was taxing, so Rohen chose to wait outside.

After a while, Horhel emerged with a weary expression.

Rohen immediately approached him.

"Who did you speak with?"

"The Lighthouse Keeper came directly."

Rohen’s eyes widened.

The direct will of the Lighthouse Keeper was seen as the most pure and unfiltered expression of the Codex of Light’s will.

"What did he say? Did he allow us to stabilize the rear?"

"...The strategy remains unchanged."

Rohen barely managed to contain a shout.

He swallowed the scream rising in his throat and silently reminded himself that he was a faithful servant of the Codex of Light and a member of the Watcher’s Council, tasked with carrying out the will of the Archangels.

After a long, awkward silence, Rohen cautiously asked again.

"Does that mean we are to continue attacking the Immortal Order? Are we to ignore the Gehenna Fortress and the Olkan Code as well?"

"Yes."

For a brief moment, Rohen felt a surge of rebellion bubble up within him. The words, "Does the Lighthouse Keeper want us all to die here?" nearly escaped his lips.

What stopped him from speaking was Horhel’s next words.

"It seems the Holy Grail Knight has vanquished the Archangel Pallor."

Rohen’s face contorted with shock.

He stammered, struggling to form coherent words.

"The... Holy Grail Knight? Vanquished? You mean that Archangel Pallor? He destroyed it?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible? A mortal destroying an Archangel? Pallor is no weak angel, either!"

The skeletal dragon that had decimated an entire unit of Paladins earlier that day had been the work of Pallor.

Pallor had even used its grotesque creativity to transform the Holy Land of Lua into an impregnable fortress.

"It is a joyous occasion. It means that our fight is not in vain."

But despite his words, Horhel’s face showed no signs of joy.

Rohen’s expression mirrored his own.

The church to continue attacking the Immortal Order was clearly an attempt to keep the Immortal Order’s forces occupied.

It was a strategy to prevent them from focusing on the Issacrea Dawn Army led by Isaac.

Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of soldiers would continue to die every day, and they were not even the protagonists of this story.

"The Holy Grail Knight... is Isaac Issacrea really one of our knights?"

Rohen’s words came suddenly.

When he heard that Isaac had defeated the Archangel Pallor, his first reaction had been shock. But his second reaction was something far more dangerous — blasphemy.

Horhel stared at Rohen with sharp eyes.

"What are you trying to say?"

"How can a mere human ’dare’ to harm an Archangel? Are we sure he is even human?"

Isaac was recognized as a Holy Grail Knight, chosen by the Sword of May, and declared a saint.

Elil supported him, and the Lighthouse Keeper had blessed his crusade.

But despite all of this, Rohen harbored clear doubts about Isaac.

Perhaps he was driven by jealousy, resentment toward the man who had been chosen for greatness while he himself remained a mere follower.

"There have been multiple reports and suspicions of him contacting heretical entities. Inquisitor Soltnar Culvain also submitted similar reports."

Rohen didn’t bother to hide the bitterness and anger in his voice as he whispered.

"Are we sure we aren’t being deceived by a monster wearing a beautiful mask?"