Paladin of the Dead God

Sadraza quickly extended his senses, reaching far beyond his physical form.

This was the sanctum of the Salt Council, a place Sadraza had called his stronghold for a thousand years. His expanded awareness unfurled like a web, stretching out over Miarma, past the city walls, beyond the surrounding towns and villages, until, several kilometers away, he finally detected some of the Issacrea Dawn Army.

There was no way they could have fled such a distance in the brief moments since the sun went dark.

‘Could they have… pulled back their forces in advance, anticipating my betrayal?’

He knew Isaac was powerful, as were the allies he had brought, capable of overwhelming even strong foes. But when the creatures of the Outer Boundary began to invade, Sadraza had assumed Isaac’s forces would have no choice but to defend themselves, possibly even serve as hostages if necessary.

He had thought they’d die fighting the monsters out of a sense of duty to protect the soldiers.

But Isaac had preempted him by withdrawing his troops early.

‘Then… who were the soldiers I saw?’

Before he started the ritual, he had clearly seen Aidan, Isaac, and a small contingent of soldiers. Even if Isaac had pulled back the main forces, did Isaac himself believe he could escape the horde of monsters?

It made no sense.

Creak, bang, rumble…

“Silence!” Sadraza snapped.

The sounds of the Outer Boundary creatures savaging the Fisherman’s House grated on his already frayed nerves. The house, which had survived a thousand years beneath the cursed sun, now faced an unprecedented assault.

Finally, a few of the monsters breached the barriers and began flooding into the pyramid.

“These… wretched beasts dare…”

Sadraza’s form rippled, transforming as his divinity began to reshape his body into a form befitting his status. He surged up through the throat of the pyramid and emerged outside in a flash.

Just as one of the monsters crossed the clearing and entered the dark pyramid, it found itself face-to-face with another monstrous figure.

Rumble! The Fisherman’s House collapsed with a deafening roar, and from within the billowing dust emerged a mass of tentacles.

The form was grotesque—a chaotic assembly of scales, feathers, fur, teeth, claws—all seemingly crushed together into an unsettling shape.

It looked like a colossal octopus adorned with remnants of the creatures it had consumed over the ages.

It was no longer something one could call a follower of the Sea Order.

It looked more like one of the beasts of the Outer Boundary, a creature that had long forgotten any semblance of order.

Sadraza crushed the monster he had seized in his tentacles, bursting it with a sickening crunch.

The sensation of power, of something utterly lightweight in his grasp, thrilled him.

Over a thousand years, Sadraza had slowly performed the Thirsty Feast ritual, replenishing his strength bit by bit. His transformed body and his continued survival were all thanks to this ritual.

Yet, Outer Boundary creatures had never been so easily dismissed. Now, however, they were crumbling under his tentacles like ants.

Sadraza shuddered with the rush of power and omnipotence. Was this divine authority? Was this the power of an angel?

If a ritual built from Armyes and remains could grant him this strength, how much more would he gain if he devoured a god?

Even now, overflowing with immense power, Sadraza felt his thirst growing more intense. Below him, more creatures surged into the ruins of the Fisherman’s House.

To Sadraza’s eyes, they looked like a lavishly prepared feast.

[Yes, I’ll devour you all!]

And as his final course, he would sink his fangs into the soft, defenseless flesh of the god trapped beneath the Salt Desert. Only then might he feel truly sated.

***

Behind the black pyramid.

After Sadraza had scattered the Outer Boundary creatures in his vicinity and they began following the enticing ‘scent’ emanating from him, the area around the Fisherman’s House fell silent. Now that there was hardly any divine energy left within the black pyramid, the monsters had no further interest in it.

And in that quiet, a dark veil slowly lifted.

Out of the shadows emerged Isaac, Aidan, and the Salt Council sailors disguised as soldiers. As soon as Isaac lifted the “Hidden Rite” concealment, he focused on sensing Sadraza’s presence.

“His attention is completely elsewhere. Let’s move quickly.”

The Hidden Rite, capable of isolating them from any detection, had worked perfectly for concealing their presence. Although Sadraza seemed to have temporarily attained power akin to that of an angel, even he hadn’t been able to detect Isaac within his own domain.

Aidan looked up at the ruins of the Fisherman’s House with a pained expression. To him, it was a grievous sight; a revered elder from a thousand years ago had betrayed the “Dreamer,” the prophesied savior, and committed blasphemy against the divine.

“You don’t seem surprised at all, Isaac,” Aidan remarked.

“Well… I had a feeling all along,” Isaac replied.

The reason was simple.

Humans couldn’t live for a thousand years.

In those ancient times, before even the Immortal Order existed, only beings who harbored divinity could survive for that long.

“So… Sadraza was an ancient god?”

“It wasn’t certain,” Isaac said, his voice steady. “He might have been an exceptional holy body with an extended lifespan, or perhaps the last Archangel chosen by the Caller. But it’s more reasonable to think that rather than being granted every exception, Sadraza may have resorted to human sacrifices and the theft of divinity to gain power through shortcuts.”

He could have found a method by exploiting the chaotic worshippers in the aftermath of Miarma’s collapse. That would explain why, even when everyone else perished or disappeared, he alone survived.

It was a logical explanation, though Isaac hadn’t been fully convinced. After all, there could still be exceptions, and he hadn’t wanted to recklessly accuse a priest who had guarded a temple for a thousand years of being a monstrous usurper of divinity.

“For the same reason, it was difficult to tell you. Revealing that a priest who’s kept vigil for a millennium was actually a monster feeding off stolen divinity would’ve been cruel.”

“So that’s why you led me around in circles, dropping hints,” Aidan replied.

He didn’t seem deeply disappointed; Isaac’s subtle guidance had made him suspicious enough to prepare himself mentally.

If Sadraza hadn’t betrayed them and had completed the ritual successfully, Aidan would have even been willing to apologize for his ‘misjudgment.’

But now, that possibility was gone.

“Let’s go. We need to finish before Sadraza returns.”

“Yes, sir.”

The followers of the Salt Council moved toward the entrance of the pyramid in a somber silence.

The sins committed by a member of the faith could only be rectified by another of the same faith.

Sadraza may have thought that by betraying them all, he would claim the entire feast for himself, but he was wrong.

Now, the only path left to him led to ruin.

***

[Don’t desecrate this sacred land, you filthy wretches!]

Sadraza, intoxicated by power and fury, lashed out with his tentacles at the invading monsters.

In truth, he was doing far more damage to Miarma than the monsters were, but he didn’t care. The more buildings he destroyed, the more creatures he crushed, the more exhilaration he felt.

This cursed desert, this cursed city, this cursed order, and those impotent angels.

But most of all, he loathed himself, that pathetic creature who had once scraped along the bottom just to survive. His indulgence in violence was a means of erasing his past self.

All the resentment and anger pent up over a thousand years now flowed from his entire being in an explosive release.

But the monsters fought back with equal ferocity.

“■■, ■■■■, ■!”

Amid the horde, he heard unholy words that, roughly translated, meant something like ‘putrid filth,’ ‘reeking stench,’ and other such slurs. Even as they watched their kin be crushed around them, the monsters clung onto his tentacles, tearing and gnashing at him.

It was like ants swarming a fighting cock. Though the cock could crush or toss them with a kick or a flap of its wings, the ants had no fear or hesitation and focused only on biting.

And the Outer Boundary monsters didn’t even seem to care if they were dead or alive. Even when reduced to pulp, they continued gnawing at his tentacles with whatever remained of their jaws. If Sadraza was a monster who had attempted to attain divine form, they were bottomless beasts who reveled in mindless chaos.

These creatures would throw themselves into the mire to drag him down.

The greatest difference between Sadraza and the monsters of the Outer Boundary was that he still maintained some semblance of humanity, however thin. And that gap was gradually closing.

Sadraza began to feel a weariness creeping over him.

The realization that he felt tired shocked him.

‘Already?’

Divine power, the authority he wielded, came at a great cost.

This was why angels, when descending to the mortal realm, either used a mortal’s body as a vessel or unleashed their powers swiftly before retreating.

Sadraza scanned his surroundings.

The ancient city that had endured for a thousand years was now a complete ruin. Blackened Armyes and bodily fluids flowed through the streets like rivers, but more monsters continued to approach.

With no end to the horde in sight, Sadraza felt a cold fear rising within him.

[You filthy beasts! How dare you invade this place!]

Sadraza crushed another monster under his tentacle, but he winced as he felt a sharp pain in his limb. A creature with especially sharp teeth had bitten down on one of his tentacles, embedding its fangs deep as its head burst.

And still, the monsters came.

[These… these creatures that couldn’t even dare approach the city when the sun was out…]

Sadraza found himself pathetically yearning for the sun he had once cursed and despised. But it had been his own hand that extinguished the Cursed Sun.

Without the return of the Lighthouse Keeper, that sun would not rise again.

Sadraza began to retreat slowly.

It wasn’t fleeing. Enough blood had now been spilled in the city. The pyramid’s throat was likely filled with blood—perhaps more sacrifices than he had seen in the past thousand years had been prepared.

‘If I perform the Thirsty Feast ritual again and absorb all that power…’

No, he would descend into the depths and consume the Caller’s power directly. Then he could repeat the Thirsty Feast ritual using the Caller’s body itself.

Imagine absorbing the flesh of a god, making it his own. Where else could he find greater power and authority?

Thrilled by his plan, Sadraza retreated back toward the Fisherman’s House.

But when he saw the black pyramid, his face froze.

He sensed traces of an intruder. A place that for a thousand years had admitted none but him and Armyes now bore the marks of another’s steps and sanctity.

And within, he could feel the telltale signs of a familiar ritual being performed.

[No!]

Sadraza thrust his face down into the throat of the pyramid. His grotesquely enlarged form made squeezing through the entrance difficult, even with his mollusk-like flexibility.

But Sadraza couldn’t stop.

His senses told him that the ritual being performed in the depths was the “Thirsty Feast.”

Only this time, instead of drawing power for himself, the ritual was intended to slake the Caller’s thirst and shatter the Salt Desert.

[No! You must not awaken him!]

His words betrayed a twisted irony as he forced himself further down the passage. Then, from the darkness, a blade flashed.

Sshing, crunch. At first, Sadraza didn’t even realize what had happened. But then he recognized the familiar pain and screamed.

His howl reverberated through the entirety of Miarma, and he yanked himself back violently. Above him, the Luadin Key blazed with a blinding white light.

Isaac, clinging to the blade, twisted it deeper and murmured,

“Seems Luadin’s key still disciplines traitors best.”

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