Paladin of the Dead God-Chapter 421: The Immortal Emperor (3)

"We are all waging a war, prepared to die at any moment.

In this world, death does not end with death. It manifests in heaven through faith, devotion, miracles, and divine revelation.

That nameless boy, too, must have thought of heaven the moment he joined the Dawn Army. He probably believed he could reach the gates of that radiant heaven instead of wallowing in this miserable land."

Isaac understood that Leonora’s choice was "efficient," but he neither sympathized with nor approved of it. Instead, he swung the Luadin Key, piercing straight through the boy’s torso.

As soon as the mercenary, startled, let go of the boy, his body burst into flames from within, burning to ash in an instant.

Leonora silently watched the scene unfold.

"Next time, before asking if something is ’efficient,’ you might want to first consider if it’s something that ’should’ be done," Isaac said, approaching with a smile.

"And what if that boy had been carrying a monster inside him? I know someone who casually pointed a sword at a kid and ended up being swallowed whole."

"What nonsense..."

Leonora furrowed her brow, attempting to retort, but her breath caught when she met Isaac’s gaze. For the briefest moment, something seemed to wriggle out from under his eyelids—something like dark crimson fingers.

Unconsciously, Leonora’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground.

Isaac, now closer, was silhouetted against the burning remains of the boy’s corpse, which cast a harsh backlight. Only the eerie glow of his violet eyes pierced through the shadow.

The once-gentle and seemingly kind Holy Grail Knight now felt unfamiliar and alien.

Leonora suddenly realized he might be hiding his true nature. Perhaps the gentleness and kindness he displayed were merely an effort to mask what he truly was.

"Lady Leonora?"

As Shalok moved toward her, Isaac extended his hand first. Startled, Leonora recoiled, choosing to brace herself against the wall rather than take his hand.

"Those who deal with devils for profit never meet a good end. Be cautious, Leonora."

Isaac passed by her, disappearing into the corridor ahead. Behind him, the Knights of Issacrea followed in silence.

Shalok muttered under his breath, watching Isaac’s retreating back.

"What’s with that guy? Is he saying he’s done with us now that he’s shown the way?"

"Well, isn’t he? What can us mercenaries do in a battle between the Holy Grail Knight, the Holy Knights, the Immortal Emperor, and the Eclipse Army? Cheer them on?"

Leonora ignored the mercenaries’ idle chatter.

Her mind was racing with calculations, re-evaluating the potential profits and dangers.

In this battlefield teeming with monsters and angels, the Golden Idol Guild could only rely on one thing—trade.

***

The blade fell heavily, splitting the helmet apart.

The orc screamed, clutching its face as it rolled to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, the Dawn Army soldier attempted to drive his sword into its chest. But the orc, convulsing as if in a seizure, tackled the soldier with its massive body.

The soldier hammered at the orc’s back with the hilt of his sword, but its thick hide rendered his efforts futile. With a guttural growl, the orc sank its sharp teeth into the soldier’s abdomen.

Screams and curses filled the air. Writhing in agony, the soldier flipped his sword, gripping the blade with his hands, and stabbed it into the orc’s back. The blade pierced through its torso and emerged from its belly. The orc twitched violently before collapsing.

But there was no time to celebrate this minor victory. The soldier struggled to free himself from the orc’s grasp, but the beast’s stiffened corpse held on tightly.

Suddenly, an eerie sensation swept over the soldier.

Not even ten seconds after its death, the orc’s body began to convulse. Its jaws opened, and a voice—high-pitched like that of a young girl—echoed from its throat.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

The grotesque mimicry was chilling on the battlefield. Then, the orc’s neck twisted unnaturally, and a guttural voice rumbled out.

"Boil that one too! We’ll have an extra pot ready!"

The malevolent spirit had latched onto the orc’s body, reenacting memories from its life and screaming fragments of its last moments.

But soon, the creature noticed the soldier in its grasp. With savage glee, it buried its face into him.

The soldier’s agonized scream tore through the battlefield.

Crunch.

A spear suddenly shot through the orc’s skull, the force so great it nearly severed its head from its neck.

“Even with just the left shoulder remaining, it’s still functional,” thought Feltren grimly.

Thanks to the miracle of the Red Chalice, he remained standing. Though not as blessed as the Dukes, Feltren had survived with the grace of the Archangel.

He approached the soldier to retrieve his spear. The man was gasping for air, but it was already too late. The soldier’s entrails were being dragged across the ground by the orc’s lifeless jaws.

Even before the man’s final breath, malevolent spirits swarmed around, clawing at his body to claim it.

Feltren swiftly decapitated the soldier to prevent him from becoming a threat.

But even that wasn’t enough.

The man’s corpse writhed as it dragged itself forward, pulling its entrails along the ground with unnatural speed.

“Form up! We must stick together!”

Some knights desperately tried to rally the troops, but Feltren knew it was futile.

He had already attempted to organize the shattered formation, hoping to create some semblance of a front line. But in this chaos, even identifying the front and rear of the battlefield was impossible.

Especially in such a pandemonium, distinctions like frontlines and backlines became meaningless.

“Don’t group together! If you cluster, you’ll all die!”

A different, desperate knight’s voice rang out, equally valid.

Clustering only made them easy targets. All it took was one possession, and the afflicted would tear through the ranks, biting and stabbing their comrades.

Even a single misfired arrow from an orc could lead to possession.

"Kill yourselves! Suicide is the only way to reach heaven!"

Someone cackled in a high-pitched tone, yelling nonsensical words.

It was madness.

A soldier, possessed by an evil spirit, ran naked across the battlefield, screaming incoherently. His body was already so mangled—exposed bones and spilled entrails—that merely witnessing the scene was enough to drive onlookers insane.

The orcs, by contrast, were in a slightly better situation. Protected by their shamans, their ranks had yet to break. They continued to hold their ground, fighting against both the Dawn Army and the evil spirits.

But even as the Dawn Army soldiers were being slaughtered indiscriminately by orcs and undead alike, the angels remained indifferent.

Rumble.

The Sword of May clashed violently against Atlan. Empowered by the immense force of Netherworld, the angel Pallor tore gaping holes in the sky with staggering power. Even the airborne Sword of May struggled to maintain its advantage under the weight of the attack.

Elsewhere, the Burning Maiden unleashed fierce pillars of flame against the walls of Holy Land Lua. While the heat from her firestorms scorched Lua, they contributed little to the chaos of the battlefield.

Even the Lighthouse Keeper could not completely seal the rift in the sky. All he could do was burn away a few of the descending dead, powerless against the onslaught.

“Or is he choosing not to stop it?”

Feltren found himself questioning the Lighthouse Keeper’s actions.

There was no way his strength was limited to what he was displaying. A man like Feltren, who had thrived on schemes and deceit, instinctively sensed that the Lighthouse Keeper was plotting something.

But as a mere "fallen human," Feltren could no longer fathom what that plan might be.

"The Dawn Army has already lost. Angels fighting amongst themselves won’t change that. So what are they trying to achieve?"

Feltren surveyed the battlefield with a bitter smile.

The scene before him defied the expression “hell on earth.” This was worse.

A war where no respite was allowed. Where soldiers killed and were killed endlessly, without a single moment of peace.

Hundreds of thousands of Dawn Army soldiers would perish here, their remains destined to never return home—just like all the Dawn Armies that came before them.

And to think that Feltren was the one who had lured those soldiers into this hell. From that perspective, this was a triumph of the Black Empire Alliance.

"The irony that I’m now stuck here, at risk of dying, is almost laughable."

Feltren wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but his lips refused to move. In a situation like this, even escape was impossible. To run, one needed to know where to flee—but with angels already trampling upon their stronghold...

That was when the sound of a deep, resonant horn echoed across the battlefield.

Feltren’s gaze snapped toward the source.

Compared to the deafening roar of the angels’ clash and the chaotic cacophony of the battlefield, the horn was faint. Yet its distinct, solemn tone cut through the din like it didn’t belong in this hellscape.

The horn sounded repeatedly. Then came the thunderous rumble of galloping hooves.

A force charged forward, wreathed in radiant halos.

Some of Khan’s troops tried to intercept them, only to scatter like grains of sand against a rushing river.

Feltren shuddered at the sight of their fluttering banners.

There were lunatics in this world who found joy in battle and sought heaven on the battlefield.

They were rushing forward, unwilling to let this war unfold without them.

“The Elil Kingdom Army!”

***

“Get lost!”

Boom.

The hammer of Tuhalin struck the ground like an anvil, sending out a low-voltage surge of lightning.

The shockwave scorched the possessed in its radius.

In many cultures, the blacksmith’s hammer carried sacred significance.

Tuhalin’s hammer, imbued with the power of lightning, exorcised evil spirits within tens of meters instantly, scattering them in all directions.

“D-Dwarf? A Thunder Artisan?!”

The soldiers, barely holding their line against the orcs and the possessed, exclaimed in disbelief as they caught sight of Tuhalin.

To them, a dwarf—especially one as coarse and gruff as Tuhalin—was a far more unfamiliar sight than the undead they’d been fighting yesterday.

When Tuhalin scowled and approached, one of the soldiers instinctively raised his spear.

“Idiots! Do you not recognize an ally and dare to point that toothpick at me?!”

Tuhalin roared, his voice booming like thunder.

“The mere sight of your pitiful weapons makes me angry! Get rid of them!”

The soldiers flinched but then seemed to remember something at the mention of "ally." They glanced behind Tuhalin and spotted the soldiers and banners that followed him—white flags emblazoned with a vivid purple cross.

“I-Isaacrea Dawn Army!”

Word of the Isaacrea Dawn Army’s achievements had already spread among the soldiers. Especially through tales of the Holy Grail Knight from the Ciero Dawn Army, the soldiers quickly lowered their weapons and erupted into cheers.

“The Holy Grail Knight! He’s come to save us!”

“The Isaacrea Dawn Army is here! We’re saved!”

Tuhalin allowed himself a bitter smile.

"The Holy Grail Knight isn’t even here."

He gestured for the soldiers to move. Without hesitation, they scrambled into the sanctuary created by the Thunder Artisans’ exorcism wards.

The rhythmic hammering reverberated softly, gradually soothing their battered and weary minds.

Tuhalin turned his gaze to the distant Elil Army, watching as their cavalry moved into position.

After Isaac’s departure, Tuhalin and Edelred had split their roles.

Tuhalin, along with the World’s Forge and infantry, steadily absorbed the remnants of the Dawn Army, holding ground and advancing methodically. Meanwhile, Edelred and the Elil Army used their mobility to disrupt Khan’s forces. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

Though it seemed like dividing their forces, Tuhalin could hold his own against the possessed as long as the angels didn’t intervene. The real threat on this battlefield remained Khan’s troops, and the Elil Army was equipped to decimate them, especially their cavalry.

"I’d crush the heads of those damn orcs myself if I could."

Tuhalin smirked wryly as he watched the dust clouds stirred by the Elil Army’s charge.

"But for now, they’re better suited to slaying orcs than I am."