Paladin of the Dead God

The crew aboard Eidan’s ship held their breath, nervously scanning their surroundings.

Beyond the gray fog, they could only see strange ships. The fact that such vessels had surrounded them without making a sound sent shivers down the spines of the Salt Council’s sailors. If those ships had intended to attack, they could have done so at any moment.

They wouldn’t have even had the chance to call for help or escape.

Now, they understood how the ships that disappeared in Nightmare Strait had met their end.

Thud. Just then, Isaac walked toward the railing, his footsteps breaking the silence.

The crew snapped out of their daze, watching Isaac as he moved calmly toward the nearest warship. Hanging from the end of the Luadin Key he held was the skull of the ghost ship’s captain.

“Hey!”

Isaac’s voice, as if casually calling out to a friend, made the sailors feel as if they were trapped in a surreal dream.

Could it be that Isaac knew someone on board? Had they planted a spy in advance?

But the sailors’ faint hope was crushed when they saw the ship approaching through the fog.

The ship’s hull bore the symbols of the Codex of Light and the wave emblem of the 7th Dawn Army. Like the other ghost ships, the ship and its flag were suspiciously well-maintained, despite the long years they must have spent beneath the sea.

The railings were adorned with countless hanging skeletons, which clattered noisily whenever the wind blew. Barnacles clung to the bones, and crabs and lobsters scurried between the seaweed draped over their remains.

“Hey, is anyone there?”

Isaac’s nonchalant voice, as though he saw nothing unusual, contrasted sharply with the crew’s rising fear that the skeletons might suddenly come to life.

And just as they feared, a presence stirred beyond the ghost ship’s railing.

[Who dares?]

A voice, carrying the eerie resonance unique to the undead, echoed from within the skulls. Isaac lifted the captain’s skull and called out.

“Isaac Issacrea, Count of Issacrea, Lord of Issacrea, Holy Grail Knight, the Saint of Resurrection, the Grand Warrior of Elil, the Dreamer… and so on.”

[Hah, it’s been a while since I met such a boastful fool. Never heard of you.]

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t. Anyway, I need you to guide us through here.”

Isaac spoke as if he were making the most reasonable request, and the voice on the other side fell silent, as if momentarily at a loss for words. After a pause, another voice, more serious and weighty, responded.

[Why are you here? Do you have a death wish?]

“Is this the captain? I’m on my way to reclaim Holy Land Lua. I’m finishing the job you couldn’t, so be grateful. That’s all the introduction you need.”

The Salt Council’s sailors wanted to clamp their hands over Isaac’s mouth. While they questioned Isaac’s sanity, a faint mental wave, filled with amusement, rippled out from within the ghost ship.

The undead had started to laugh. Even the skeletons hanging from the railings began to rattle with laughter.

[Hahahahaha!]

The sailors were horrified to realize that the skeletons they thought were mere decorations were all actually living undead. At that moment, an undead figure dressed in a captain’s uniform appeared on the ghost ship’s railing. With one swift blow from his club, he shattered the skull of one of the laughing skeletons.

[Stop laughing, you deserters! You have no right to laugh at that!]

The skeletons’ laughter quickly died down.

The captain, still standing on the railing, looked down at Isaac and asked:

[What did you say your name was?]

“Isaac. Isaac Issacrea.”

[I am Captain Horace Casho.]

At the mention of his name, murmurs began to spread among the Salt Council’s sailors.

“Horace? The legendary pirate captain?”

“So the rumor about him guiding the 7th Dawn Army in exchange for a pardon was true…?”

Whispers about Horace circulated—how he had once plundered the followers of the seven other faiths, how he was the only one to ever break through the Nightmare Strait, and how he had once been chosen by the Archangel. But Isaac paid no attention to these stories.

Though the Salt Council had fallen, heroes were still born. Horace was a raider and explorer who had truly earned his title of hero. If even half the stories of his exploits were true, he may well have been chosen by the Archangel.

But in a world where even the gods were trapped beneath the Salt Desert, such speculations were meaningless. Especially since Horace himself had long since become one of the undead.

***

[Isaac Issacrea. I will remember that name. But what do you mean by ‘finishing the job we couldn’t’? We haven’t given up on the Dawn Army yet. The Orca Fleet is still intact. In fact, our numbers have only grown. We’re merely delayed by a storm.]

“If it’s been 180 years since your expedition set out, most would consider that a failure by now. We’re already on the 13th Dawn Army.”

[180 years? Has it really been that long?]

“Yeah, more or less.”

[180 years is nothing. A thousand years would mean little for the divine plan.]

Horace shamelessly responded, his tone unwavering. Isaac chuckled briefly before speaking again, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“By the way, Captain Horace. If the Dawn Army is still ongoing, where are the commanders and Paladins who led the 7th Dawn Army? Duke Arachel Brant was the Supreme Commander, and the White Eagle Paladin Order was the main force, wasn’t it?”

For the first time, Horace, who had been responding arrogantly, fell silent at Isaac’s words. Isaac calmly surveyed the surrounding ships and continued speaking.

“I am the Supreme Commander of the Issacrea Dawn Army, a significant pillar of the Dawn Army. It feels beneath me to discuss serious matters with a mere guide like you.”

On the sea, the captain might be king, but it was different when it came to the religious Dawn Army. The captain could not “dare” to act as Isaac’s equal.

[They are all faithfully fulfilling their roles,] Horace replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

[Follow me, and I’ll show you, junior.]

A commotion began to stir aboard Horace’s ship.