Paladin of the Dead God

It wasn’t just the Salt Council’s fleet that was moving. A dragon, Nel, and Hesabel descended like a storm, landing with a force that shook the monastery, already weakened by the harpoons. Though the monastery’s fragile structure teetered dangerously, the winged beings had no trouble remaining steady.

But for the paladins gathered in the courtyard, the situation was different. They recoiled, uneasily watching the crumbling building around them.

Nel did not roar or cry out. Hesabel, too, didn’t raise her voice to decry the injustice unfolding. Instead, she coldly surveyed the paladins, as though indifferent to the authority of the angel presiding over the scene.

Soltnar, however, was furious at this brazen defiance.

“How dare these heretics commit such blasphemy before the Codex of Light!” he shouted.

“Does the Codex know no fairness?” Hesabel retorted icily.

“I have served my master and learned the Codex’s teachings of fairness, discipline, and restraint. Yet everything I witness here runs counter to those principles. Are you truly going to defile the outcome of a duel fought in the name of the commander’s honor?”

Of course, Hesabel had never learned any such values from Isaac—such lessons would be beneath his notice. Her statement was a lie, delivered smoothly in the hope of stirring the paladins’ guilt.

But they stared back at her with puzzled expressions, unmoved.

It was Dera’s Commander who shot back sharply, “If the Holy Grail Knight is a heretic, then it’s right to execute him, regardless of the duel’s outcome. Did you really think a duel would lead to a fair judgment? What’s the issue here?”

“…”

The response, though blunt, was logical in its own way, leaving Hesabel momentarily speechless. These weren’t the paladins of Elil, who attached divine significance to duels. Elil had split from the Codex precisely because of the Codex’s underhanded tactics.

For these paladins, Dera Heman’s duel had been a mere formality—an execution disguised as combat. Since the execution had failed, they would simply resort to another method. The angel’s arrival only served to legitimize this course of action.

“Your actions only confirm the Holy Grail Knight’s guilt! Stand down!” the Commander ordered.

“We cannot! Is it right for a chosen saint of the Church to be executed in secrecy by a handful of conspirators in a secluded place? Elil, the World’s Forge, the Salt Council, the Golden Idol, and the Codex of Light’s own righteous followers—all are watching!” Hesabel declared.

As chaos erupted around them, Isaac managed to regain some of his strength. He struggled to his feet, though barely able to stand, gripping his sword for support.

Once again, the Burning Maiden turned her fiery gaze on Isaac.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, milady, but I’m afraid I must be going—” Isaac began.

[You are a man who should have died.]

The Burning Maiden reached out her hand once more. Her movements, compared to Dera’s swordsmanship, were slow and riddled with openings. Yet Isaac knew he couldn’t deflect her touch.

He recalled the miracle the Burning Maiden had created in her lifetime—the very same miracle Isaac had once experienced through Abbot Yevhar, the Proof of Faith. It was a miracle that plunged the body into the heavens, burning those whose faith was lacking.

Isaac had survived that test once, but this was different.

This was a simple, deadly touch meant to burn him to ashes.

Just as her fiery hand approached his cheek, a familiar voice whispered in Isaac’s ear.

‘Accept me.’

Isaac recognized the voice immediately. Without hesitation, he nodded.

At that moment, Isaac swung his hand, swatting the Burning Maiden’s grasp away.

***

*Slap.*

The sound echoed through the monastery, silencing the heated argument between Hesabel and the Commander. The only noise that remained was the indifferent crashing of the waves against the crumbling walls.

“How dare…”

Soltnar’s face twisted in disbelief. The word “dare” had become so ingrained in his mind that he could scarcely utter anything else.

Someone had struck away an angel’s hand. It was an act of defiance that Soltnar, or anyone present, had never witnessed.

Everyone braced themselves, expecting Isaac to face divine punishment, but when they looked at him again, their minds went blank.

Around Isaac’s head, ancient swords floated like a halo, revolving in slow, deliberate circles. His entire body, armor, and even the strands of his hair had turned an ethereal white, glowing softly. For the first time, the paladins witnessed something nearly impossible—two archangels standing together in one place.

The Sword of May, Saint Arthe, the teacher of all paladins, had manifested through Isaac’s body.

And the Commander suddenly realized what had just happened.

The Sword of May had struck away the Burning Maiden’s hand.

‘An archangel… had intervened in another archangel’s judgment?!’

Few in the highest echelons of the Church knew that archangels sometimes clashed in secret. Most followers of the Codex of Light only saw the aftermath, unaware of the power struggles that took place among the heavens.

It was an unspoken rule that archangels never openly displayed discord before the faithful. Such conflicts, if known, could provoke unnecessary division or theological confusion.

Realizing this, the Commander immediately bowed his head. His urgent hand gestures quickly communicated the message to the other paladins, who also dropped to their knees, pressing their faces to the ground. They pretended not to have seen or heard anything, knowing that if the archangels wished to keep this quiet, they might very well kill everyone present.

It was their only chance of survival.

The Sword of May, undeterred by the paladins, focused solely on the Burning Maiden.

Both archangels knew better than to air their conflict before the faithful. They communicated silently, their wills locked in a quiet exchange.

[You have no place here, Isboseth.]

The Burning Maiden tilted her head in confusion, her finger pointing toward Isaac.

[That one is an abomination. A half-blood. He reeks of chaos.]

From his position just behind the Sword of May, Isaac felt a cold sweat break out as Isboseth continued speaking. As the first Inquisitor, she was quickly unraveling all of his secrets.

[And more than anything… he smells of the White Owl. Could it be? Did the White Owl leave behind a child?]