Paladin of the Dead God

The Holy Land is a region imbued with deep sanctity, intricately linked with gods or angels. Each Holy Land holds a unique significance, such as Elyon, where Elil’s tomb lies, believed to be the birthplace of a new sun in the future; Lichtheim, where the Lighthouse Keeper’s body still burns; and Miarma, where the god of the Salt Council is buried. Many Holy Lands exist, each with its own level of importance and reverence.

However, when someone speaks of “the Holy Land” without specifying a name, everyone thinks of one place.

Lua, the Holy Land where countless faiths originated and where saints and angels are buried—a cold desert city now turned into an impregnable fortress by the dead.

It’s a place that every believer of the Codex of Light, as well as anyone interested in theology or history, wishes to visit, yet no one alive has ever reached.

Isaac was suggesting they go to the throne where the living god, the Immortal Emperor Beshek, reigns.

After a moment of silence, Tuhalin clicked his tongue loudly in disapproval.

“So that’s what you were getting at—talking nonsense with a straight face.”

He picked up his hammer, looking as if he might leave immediately.

“I thought we finally had a sane paladin from the Codex of Light, but it turns out you’re just another fanatic talking about the Dawn Army and whatnot. Seize the Holy Land, restore order, and bring about the Millennium Kingdom? Even if I conceded that your plan was sound, why should I be the one to clean up after the Lighthouse Keeper?”

“I shall join you. That is the very reason why my knights crossed the sea in the first place.”

“Well, damn.”

Tuhalin clicked his tongue again in disbelief, but Edelred continued undeterred.

“The great war has already begun. Elil wishes for his followers to regain their honor and glory on this battlefield. Raising Elil’s banner high in the frozen deserts of that Holy Land would bring us no greater joy.”

Edelred smiled, touching his lips.

“Can you imagine anything more satisfying than if Elil’s knights were to set foot in Lua before the Codex of Light? The Kingdom of Elil does not shy away from this battlefield.”

This was expected. Although it wasn’t the grand conquest Elil had dreamed of, the World’s Forge had finally set foot on the continent, meaning all the faiths had now entered the war. It was no exaggeration to call it the greatest war in centuries.

The Codex of Light fought to reclaim the Holy Land, Elil for honor and glory, the Salt Council to resurrect their god, the Golden Idol Guild for the scent of money, the Olkan Code for the Great Raid, the Red Chalice to find a way to survive this chaotic struggle, and the Immortal Order, as always, for eternal life.

The only uncertainty was the World’s Forge.

From Tuhalin’s perspective, there was no reason to expend the lives of his people and believers on a distant land across the sea. However, choosing not to fight meant staying stagnant while everyone else chased after change—an implicit refusal to adapt in a world that was rapidly evolving.

“Are you sure about this, Tuhalin?”

“What do you mean?”

“No matter what you say, the Lighthouse Keeper has broken the Licht Treaty and transformed the Empire into a Holy Empire. They’re even saying this is the largest Dawn Army since the first one. The Olkan Code has staked its faith on the Great Raid, and other religions are gradually changing too, all preparing for what comes next.”

Tuhalin’s face twitched.

He was aware that all faiths were undergoing rapid transformations, each pursuing their own objectives. Even on the isolated island of the reclusive hermits, these changes were noticeable.

“Are you planning to remain cold and indifferent while everyone else is fervently evolving?”

“You bastard….”

The World’s Forge, despite its old-fashioned image, actually emphasizes change and futuristic values.

Their most important doctrine is that “The Codex of Light has entered the World’s Forge, and the current Codex of Light is a falsehood. The Codex of Light yet to be born will bring about a new order.”

“Up until now, you’ve been waiting by the side, warming yourself by the embers, hoping the Codex of Light would be reborn. But surely, by now, you must realize that waiting endlessly is meaningless?”

This was why extremists like Ulsten, who believed in “creating a god instead of waiting for the rebirth of a god,” had emerged.

And Isaac, having seen the World’s Forge ending, knew that Ulsten was right.

In the World’s Forge victory declaration, the player, having grown powerful, throws themselves into the Forge to awaken the flesh of the god—a savior who will break the shell of this incomplete world and establish a new order.

The Forge Masters are the midwives and caretakers of this god, who is still in its infancy.

“You arrogant brat, how dare you speak so insolently!”

Tuhalin finally lost his temper, unable to hold back his anger. Isaac stared back at him calmly, saying nothing.

“Do you think the Forge Masters have been sitting idle, just enjoying the warmth of the Forge? While you primitive savages were clashing swords like barbarians, we were uncovering the secrets of the world and divinity! So that when the god emerges, we can adorn even his fingertips with rings!”

Isaac, of course, knew this. The technology of the World’s Forge was so advanced that it bordered on over-technology, even by modern standards. The only reason Tuhalin hadn’t brought it out was that its use was strictly prohibited.

That technology was meant to be wielded by the god alone.

“Do you think a few pretty baby clothes will guarantee a healthy birth? We’re in a time of great upheaval. If you do nothing, you’ll be forced to watch as the false Codex of Light pretends to uphold order forever.”

Edelred looked at Isaac in shock at his bold words. While the provocation was intentional, it was hard to believe that such language was coming from a paladin of the Codex of Light. However, Tuhalin was more enraged by the implications of Isaac’s words than by the words themselves.

He roared in fury, raising his hammer, and brought it down right in front of Isaac.

Boom!

Thunder erupted from several dozen paces behind Isaac, striking the ground and scattering in all directions before dissipating.

Isaac didn’t flinch, continuing to stare at Tuhalin.

The two glared at each other for a long time, until Tuhalin finally turned and walked away.

As Tuhalin disappeared into the forest, Edelred felt a pang of anxiety.

“…Teacher, I trust your abilities, but wasn’t that a bit too provocative? What if Tuhalin leads his warriors back to the Svalbard Archipelago?”

“He won’t go back.”

Isaac spoke with certainty.

“A proud warrior like Tuhalin would never leave his duties to someone else. If I had coddled him instead, he would have thought, ‘What is this deceitful brat talking about?’ and left for sure.”

***

Had Tuhalin heard this, he would have slammed his hammer down again in outrage, but Isaac’s assessment was accurate.

As Tuhalin descended the rugged slope with heavy strides, he felt himself wavering in the wake of Isaac’s words.

‘Damn Paladin.’

Tuhalin was an old dwarf, a devout believer who had never doubted that he would witness the breaking of the world’s shell in his lifetime. But only after hearing Isaac did he realize that, despite waiting so long for the birth of a god, he had never truly imagined what it would look like when it happened.

Even considering the long lifespan of dwarves, he was well into his twilight years. The odds of him witnessing the birth of a god were growing slimmer with each passing day.

Yet, whenever those more radical, extremist voices clamored for awakening the god, or even creating one by force, he had never hesitated to swing his hammer at them.

The world is an egg, and beneath that shell, a god is growing.

‘Don’t they understand what happens if you forcefully break an egg’s shell?’

The mother bird’s only task is to keep the egg warm and care for it. Anything beyond that is presumptuous and harmful, even to the god destined to be reborn.

But Isaac’s words had shaken Tuhalin nonetheless.

Everything must be heated, hammered, and cooled. All births happen within the crucible of change.

Why should it be any different for a god?

Luadin had been an ordinary Lighthouse Keeper until he ascended the pyre and burned to become the first Archangel. Elil had to rebel to become a god, and the Thunder Smith only became the Archangel of the World’s Forge by burning himself with lightning and etching his divine name into iron.

‘It’s not as if a god will just wake up one day, without warning, and cry out, “Here I am!”’

The thought almost brought a smile to Tuhalin’s lips, but he quickly composed himself, his expression hardening like that of a stern Forge Master.

Suddenly, Tuhalin came to a halt.

With a deep sigh, he sat down on the ground, gathering the surrounding dirt and pebbles. He formed a small, shallow pit, which he then filled with leaves, creating a simple, makeshift hearth. With a few flicks of his fingers, flames began to flicker to life.

It was a modest altar.

‘This isn’t something I can decide on my own. The duty I received from the Thunder Smith was to repel the Olkan Code and exact a bloody price for the stolen technology. If I wish to pursue another course, I’ll need to seek permission.’

Tuhalin stared into the small, crackling fire and quietly listened to the whispers of the Forge.

***

Time passed, but the World’s Forge did not come to smash Isaac’s head in, nor did they flee back to the islands. The fact that they were still deliberating brought Isaac some relief.

In truth, Isaac knew that his proposal was utterly absurd. Asking the dwarves who had crossed the sea because of the Olkan Code, “Since you’re here, why not join me in conquering the Holy Land?” was outlandish at best.

If the World’s Forge felt compelled to do something, they could certainly find their own way to go about it. They had no particular reason to join Isaac in his endeavors.

“By the way, Your Majesty Edelred, if you’re planning an expedition to the Holy Land, won’t you be leaving the kingdom unattended for quite some time? Are you sure that’s wise?” Isaac asked.

Edelred responded with a slightly embarrassed expression.

“General Mors Gideon has expressed similar concerns. However, the kingdom is more unified now than it has been since the days of Elil. Thanks to you, the Witch Hectali has been hiding in the marshes for some time, the Georg family is cooperative, and Lady Rosalind even lent us ships for the expedition.”

From Elil’s perspective, this was a rare period of peace, one that hadn’t been seen for centuries. Moreover, the one who had brought this peace was the young king who had personally traveled to Urbansus to face Elil. Support and loyalty to Edelred were strong and unwavering.

Despite this, Edelred looked at Isaac with a worried expression.

“To be honest, I’m more concerned about the Gerthonia Empire—or rather, the Holy Empire—than the Kingdom of Elil. Originally, the expeditionary force was going to pass through Rougeberg and head to Ultenheim. It seemed wise, given that we would be a foreign army entering another nation’s territory. But just before we were set to depart, news came that Emperor Waltzemer had been excommunicated.”

“…”

Hearing Edelred’s words, Isaac couldn’t help but think, *Who’s worrying about whom here?*

Was he really in any position to worry about the Kingdom of Elil?

Right now, the Gerthonia Empire was in far worse disarray than Elil had ever been during its civil war.

With the Emperor ousted, much of the system had collapsed, and as the power of the priests grew, the influence of the nobility weakened. The priests tried to take over the roles of the administrative officials who had awkwardly fled, but aside from the Dawn Army, nothing was functioning properly.

‘I repent for my arrogant attitude in mocking Elil’s struggles…’

Isaac had once mocked his neighboring kingdom, thinking it was on the brink of collapse, only to find that it was actually his own country that was falling apart. He almost felt like crying.

Still, there was a silver lining—thanks to the chaos, foreign armies numbering in the thousands could cross the border without anyone batting an eye, a fortunate outcome for Isaac.

In fact, with the orc raiders threatening to pillage the Empire, no one cared about Elil’s knights or the dwarf craftsmen. They’d likely be treated more like angels (as long as they didn’t cause trouble).

Clang, clang.

When Isaac and Edelred returned to the monastery, the sound of metal being hammered echoed from a forge that hadn’t seen use in a long time.

Isaac thought it might be Ulsten working, but as he approached, he saw Tuhalin at the anvil, hammering away.

Ulsten was standing nearby, watching the work with a humble demeanor.

Despite his age, Tuhalin was forging a sword with swift, decisive strokes.

There was no need to heat the metal in the forge—Tuhalin’s hammer alone was enough to heat the blade until it glowed red, allowing him to shape it like clay. Even as Isaac arrived, Tuhalin did not glance up from his work. Finally, satisfied with the shape, he grasped the hot blade with his hand, smoothing it down.

As he did, impurities followed his touch, rapidly cooling the blade into its final, perfect form.

Even to Isaac, who had no particular eye for swords, it was clear this was a masterpiece.

Tuhalin casually thrust the sword into the ground beside several others just like it.

Finally, Tuhalin looked at Isaac and spoke.

“I have a question about something in the depths of your estate. Whether or not I join this battle depends on your answer.”

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