Paladin of the Dead God-Chapter 392: The Monster Wearing a Mask (4)

Doubts about Isaac were nothing new.

In truth, anyone who succeeded as quickly as he had would inevitably become a target of suspicion.

Even when the Lighthouse Keeper’s proxy descended upon this land, the Burning Maiden herself had dared to demand proof of faith.

For a saint to be truly recognized as such, they had to withstand the political machinations and envy of others.

Naturally, Isaac was no exception.

Reports suggested that the Codex of Light had tried to manipulate him, but to no avail. There were also claims that he made irreverent statements that contradicted the doctrines of the Codex. Some priests even reported sensing unsettling auras around him.

Despite all this, there was only one reason the Codex had refrained from condemning Isaac.

"Isaac carries out the orders of the Archangels and has earned their approval. Speak no more."

Horhel’s tone was firm as he reprimanded Rohen.

Rohen’s words were not merely irreverent; they bordered on blasphemy and deserved punishment.

Rohen had been a devout servant long before joining the Watcher’s Council, but the horrors of this war seemed to have worn down his faith.

And for good reason. The Archangels’ orders were often irrational.

Rohen let out a short groan before kneeling before Horhel.

"I overstepped. Please forgive me."

"Do not utter such words again," Horhel said, sternly warning him once more.

Still, Horhel understood what Rohen had been trying to say.

What if Isaac truly was the protagonist of this grand stage called the Dawn Army?

What if they were merely supporting characters, destined to fade into the background to highlight the rise of a hero?

And what if the grand plan of the Lighthouse Keeper diverged entirely from their own understanding?

"Is the Watcher’s Council nothing more than a stage prop, Lighthouse Keeper?"

Horhel suppressed a groan as he pressed his palm to his forehead.

A cold sweat broke out.

Up until now, he had believed that no matter how unreasonable the Archangels’ commands were, they were part of a larger plan to bring the Millennium Kingdom to this earth.

He had seen himself as a gardener tending to the garden that was this Millennium Kingdom.

But would the Lighthouse Keeper truly care about the tools it used?

The Archangels had no particular need for the Watcher’s Council.

Horhel knew he had to prove the council’s worth as loyal tools and servants.

He helped Rohen to his feet, patting him on the back.

"But it wouldn’t hurt to be more thorough. When the angels carry heavy stones to build great walls, it’s up to us to fill in the small cracks, isn’t it?"

Horhel’s eyes gleamed with sharp intent.

"...Bring proof that we are more useful than the Holy Grail Knight."

The implication was clear.

If Isaac could be made to appear less valuable than the Watcher’s Council, his position would naturally weaken.

***

The Dawn Army’s strategy remained unchanged.

They continued to ignore the Olkan Code and fought relentlessly against the Immortal Order’s forces holding the Katla Ridge.

The battlefield was littered with Armyes, reduced to fragments of muscle and bone, writhing grotesquely.

The ground itself seemed alive, a repulsive sight, but it was the terrain they had to conquer.

This time, however, there was something different.

As the battle began, dark clouds parted, and a radiant light streamed down.

The sunlight pierced through the gloom, igniting a surge of morale among the Dawn Army.

Amid the brilliance, the Sword of May appeared once again.

The commander of the Paladins suppressed the excitement in his chest and bellowed.

"Baptizers, forward!"

Massive trebuchets, dragged forward by soldiers, came into position.

Instead of the usual boulders for siege warfare, these trebuchets carried large ceramic jars.

The heat emanating from the jars was so intense that even the nearby soldiers instinctively stepped back.

"The Sword of May watches over us! Show him a field of blooming flowers! Fire!"

With a series of deep thuds, the trebuchets unleashed their payload.

The jars soared high into the sky, reaching their apex just as the rusted weapons orbiting the Sword of May moved in unison toward them.

BOOOOM!

The jars exploded mid-air, scattering countless blue flames that cascaded like a waterfall.

The sacred fire spread through the air and descended upon the Immortal Order’s undead forces.

As the undead were engulfed in the blue flames, cheers erupted from the Dawn Army.

Seizing the moment, Dera Heman issued a command to advance.

A lieutenant shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Dawn Army, forward! Let’s erect the Lord of the Graveyard’s headstone!"

The Dawn Army surged forward.

The sacred fire did not extinguish; it inflicted pain even upon souls.

The undead ranks became a scene of utter chaos, but the soldiers of the Dawn Army charged in without hesitation.

Watching the scene unfold, one of Dera Heman’s lieutenants couldn’t help but think, "If we had such a weapon, why didn’t we use it earlier?"

But he kept his thoughts to himself.

In truth, the strongest opposition to using the Baptizers had come from Dera Heman himself.

The sacred fire used in the Baptizers could only be harvested from Lichtheim.

Moreover, it was a holy artifact intended for the siege of Capital Ushak.

Using it here meant diminishing their chances of conquering the impregnable capital.

Even so, they had no choice but to use it to break through the current stalemate.

Despite deploying this trump card, there was little hope that the Immortal Order would crumble so easily.

At some point, Dera Heman drew the Luadin Key.

At the same time, an explosion of frigid air swept through the battlefield, chilling the advancing Dawn Army.

[It’s coming.]

The scent of rotting wood, earth, maggots, centipedes, and darkness filled the air.

Emerging from within the undead ranks was a towering figure, its form composed of hundreds of skeletal bodies intertwined into a single monstrous giant.

"The Lord of the Graveyard! The Lord of the Graveyard is here!"

The giant wielded a massive rusted sword, its size proportional to its colossal frame, and glared up at the Sword of May.

At the same time, the weapons orbiting the Sword of May began to spin rapidly.

The Lord of the Graveyard, King Sarka Noire, let out a rattling laugh, the sound emanating from its head composed of dozens of skulls.

"Will you just keep watching from up there, Arte?"

Even this provocation from a former servant and disciple didn’t faze the Sword of May.

To her, disciples were countless. With every knightly order’s swordsmanship derived from hers, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that all knights in existence were her disciples.

The Lord of the Graveyard, King Sarka Noire, was no more special than any of the others.

So instead of replying with words, she answered with the actions of her many disciples.

Every sword held by the Paladins on the battlefield burst into flames simultaneously. The warmth that dispelled the cold spread through their veins, filling them with vitality and fervor.

Dera Heman was no exception.

He felt as if he had been transported twenty years into the past, brimming with youthful energy and a fiery will to fight.

Leaping into the battlefield, Dera Heman joined the surge of Paladins who overwhelmed their enemies with blinding light.

The Lord of the Graveyard ground its teeth at the sight.

"How revolting. Sending them to fight as if they’ll rise again tomorrow. Even if it’s the Lighthouse Keeper, have you fallen for his lies as well?"

The Sword of May gave no reply.

The Lord of the Graveyard stopped talking to a silent opponent and instead focused on Dera Heman’s golden mask, which shone as he charged forward.

"Pitiful wretches. I’ll liberate you from those wretched chains."

***

"It seems the Katla Ridge front has resumed battle."

"Yes… so it seems."

Ciero nervously fiddled with his teacup, glancing at the person seated across from him.

Once known as Ciero of the Dawn Army, he had been the first to raise its banner and inspire the winds of passion and zeal. He had even been granted the honorary title of Naming Precipice. But now, he served as a Propaganda Priest, far removed from the fanatical fervor of the front lines.

He was assigned to the quieter rear camps, tasked with "indoctrination" of the newcomers. If Isaac were to see it, he might liken Ciero to a propaganda officer or a morale-building broadcaster.

Sitting across from Ciero was Feltrein Sevahn, commander of the Imperial Knights.

"By contrast, this front line is unbearably quiet."

"Yes… that’s true."

Ciero wiped the cold sweat from his brow, wondering why this notorious knight commander had sought him out.

When Emperor Waltzemer had been excommunicated, it was Feltrein who turned against him immediately, capturing the emperor himself. He had even personally thrown a spear to kill Dietrich Brant, one of the most powerful lords.

After that, Feltrein used the intelligence network of the Imperial Knights to uproot rebels who had supported the emperor. For his efforts, not only did he survive but he also became one of the four deputy commanders of the Dawn Army, achieving remarkable success despite his background as a traitor.

Rumors swirled about him — whispers of strange drugs used to enhance his soldiers, or of bishops being bribed.

Ciero could not fathom why this unnerving man had come to visit a mere propaganda priest. But instead of stating his purpose, Feltrein calmly sipped his tea, scrutinizing Ciero in silence.

All Ciero could do was wait, steeping his tea until it turned bitter.

Finally, Feltrein set his cup down, as if he had reached a decision.

"I don’t like it here."

"Pardon? I—oh, you mean this front? The Gehenna Fortress?"

Ciero glanced at the ominous fortress looming across the valley.

It was a grim, foreboding structure teeming with wraiths and malevolent energy, standing in silent confrontation with the Dawn Army across a massive bridge.

No battle had ever taken place here, so it was considered a rear-line post by the Dawn Army.

"Yes. I prefer to fight on the front lines, where I can earn glory. Yet the Codex of Light doesn’t seem interested in reclaiming the Gehenna Fortress, retrieving relics of old saints or angels, or even destroying it to prevent the evils sealed within from escaping."

The Gehenna Fortress was akin to a hidden archive beneath Lichtheim. It served as a prison where the Immortal Order had sealed incomprehensible entities — beings that could not die or those deemed too valuable to destroy outright.

Among them was the Dead December, a notorious Archangel whose body lay in meditation deep within the fortress.

Fear of the Dead December’s reawakening had led the Codex of Light to station troops at the fortress.

Feltrein was their commander.

"But isn’t defending this location crucial? If the Dead December were to emerge..."

Feltrein smirked.

"The Codex of Light doesn’t seem very concerned. If they were, they wouldn’t leave a bunch of fodder troops and propaganda priests to guard it. They’d send at least part of a knightly order."

"Well… that’s true."

If the Dead December unleashed an undead army, the current forces at the fortress wouldn’t last a day.

Feltrein casually raised his teacup to his lips.

"We’re skylarks, Ciero. Our only role is to cry out as we die."

"What… what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I’ll be honest with you, Priest Ciero. I’m after Dera Heman’s position."

Ciero held his breath.

Dera Heman’s position meant the commander-in-chief of the Dawn Army.

Rumors abounded that Dera Heman was just a figurehead controlled by the cardinals, but a figurehead was still a commander-in-chief.

Ciero knew Feltrein was ambitious, but he hadn’t expected him to voice such audacious ambitions.

Yet there were practical obstacles.

"But… but a non-knight cannot lead the Dawn Army..."

"Command isn’t about how many miracles you can perform or how strong you are. It’s about leadership. And by that measure, it’s absurd that a mute figurehead who’s barely seen real combat is leading this army. He’s spent his career behind the safety of Lichtheim’s walls."

Feltrein’s disdain was palpable.

Even if the Watcher’s Council controlled things from behind the scenes, Dera Heman’s incompetence would have hindered the Dawn Army’s success regardless.

"If you think that, why didn’t you say so before the campaign started?"

Feltrein smirked.

"Because I believe the Dawn Army is doomed to fail."

"What? How can you say such a blasphemous thing? Why would you say that?"

Ciero glanced around nervously. As a propaganda priest, he should have reprimanded Feltrein, but he didn’t dare raise his voice against the knight commander.

Feltrein continued without concern.

"The Dawn Army will fail. And it won’t be because of me. It’ll be because of the Holy Grail Knight."