Paladin of the Dead God-Chapter 444: The World After the Ending (2)
Tuhalin stared intently at the mural he had carved.
But in truth, what he was seeing was not the mural itself.
His gaze was fixed on the last sight he had witnessed before hiding in this hole.
Aside from Isaac and the Lighthouse Keeper, he had been the closest to the unfolding events.
Tuhalin had been waiting for an opportunity to retrieve Mistilteir, as instructed by the Thunder Artisan. He hadn’t known exactly what Mistilteir was—until he saw Leonora.
At that moment, he was certain.
That thing was essential for reviving their god.
But then, the Mother of All Gods had appeared—and everything fell apart.
The Lighthouse Keeper had desperately struggled to bring down the Millennium Kingdom.
Through the Mother of All Gods, he carved a great wound into the heavens, allowing all divinity to spill onto the earth.
Thus, all beings would become immortal, and the rule of the Codex of Light would last forever.
And now, Tuhalin no longer cared about Mistilteir.
The only thing that occupied his mind was the final sight he had witnessed—
The sight of Isaac, a mere human, challenging the Millennium Kingdom and dragging down the Lighthouse Keeper.
"A mere human dares to defy divinity?"
No… could he even be called a mere human?
Isaac had been loved by gods, blessed, and had shattered countless trials.
He had already transcended human limits—yet he had begun as a mortal.
And in the moment he pulled down the Lighthouse Keeper—
Tuhalin shuddered and held his breath.
He couldn’t forget it.
The golden robe, unraveling like a divine coronation—
His form, shifting into something indescribable—
It was as if a new god had taken the place of an old one.
The angels who had followed Isaac, who had blessed and praised his journey, now offered their adulation to a new king.
"That’s right, Tuhalin. That’s how I returned."
Tuhalin had been carving this mural—engraving the memory of that moment into stone.
He didn’t fully understand what he had been drawing.
But when the battle between Isaac and the Lighthouse Keeper reached its climax—
The world had been torn apart into thousands of pieces.
Isaac had been pulled toward the Outer Boundary, while the Lighthouse Keeper dissolved into the radiance of the cracks.
Where they had gone, Tuhalin did not know.
"You don’t need to know, Tuhalin. Your task is here."
Tuhalin lifted his hand and tapped the wall.
He didn’t even understand why he did it.
Truthfully, the moment he was trapped in this hole, he had barely been sane.
He hadn’t known what he was drawing or why—he had simply kept going, as if compelled.
It was like a priest transcribing divine scripture after receiving a prophecy.
And finally, his work was finished.
Now, he was only adding annotations—trying to record as much as he could before his memories faded.
"Take this."
Tuhalin suddenly felt a compulsion to bring the mural.
"Why?"
Only after deciding to bring it there did he even question the reason.
After some thought, he found a reasonable explanation:
Since the Archangels were silent, perhaps the craftsmen could help interpret the mural.
But why had he already made up his mind before thinking of a reason?
He had no answer—and he was too exhausted to think deeply.
Tuhalin looked up.
Eidan was watching him with a look of concern.
"Stop just standing there and help me up."
"Ah! Y-Yes! Everyone, pull up Sir Tuhalin!"
At the sound of Tuhalin’s voice, Eidan’s face brightened, and he extended his hand.
As soon as he was pulled up, Raullok and the Lycantrope warriors eagerly embraced him.
Tuhalin, however, simply stared wearily at the hole where he had been trapped for days.
"Eidan, I’d like to take this mural with me if that’s alright. If you need my help, I’ll do what I can—so could you help move the stone?"
"Of course, Tuhalin."
"Thank you. Then..."
Tuhalin mumbled something unintelligible, then collapsed on the spot—immediately snoring loudly.
His body had shut down the moment his tension faded.
The Lycantrope warriors carried him to rest, while Eidan descended into the hole to carry out Tuhalin’s request. ƒrēenovelkiss.com
As a seasoned captain of the Salt Council, Eidan had some knowledge of archaeology.
But the drawings that Tuhalin had carved bore no resemblance to any known artistic style, code, or ancient script.
The language was Dwarven, but the numerical inscriptions were incomprehensible.
"Is this... supposed to depict angels?"
Eidan could only guess at the vague outlines.
No, that’s not an angel, Eidan.
It’s a god.
A realization hit him—
This was a depiction of a god.
He didn’t know why he was so certain—but he was.
"Take this mural to Daehwaroro. For Isaac."
Eidan decided that fulfilling Tuhalin’s request was more important than figuring out the mural’s secrets.
For Isaac.
"Thank you."
***
Feltrein wanted to die.
But from the moment he had devoted himself to the Red Chalice, his life was no longer his own.
Even if he wanted to die, he could only do so if the Dukes of Blood, who had granted him their blessing, allowed it.
And at this point, even if the Dukes of Blood ordered him to commit suicide, it wouldn’t be possible anymore.
"I am a devotee of the Red Chalice! We’re supposed to be allies!"
For the hundredth time, he pleaded with the orcs dragging him by the neck-rope.
For the hundredth time, they ignored him.
Even the Imperial Knights who had once been shocked at his confession now only glared at him in disgust.
"Send an envoy to the Kingdom of Wallachia! Tell them you have Commander Feltrein of the Imperial Knights! The Dukes of Blood will pay my ransom! That’s what you want, isn’t it?"
"Your fate will be decided by our Khan."
"Tch… Like I even need to hear it. That eunuch will obviously—"
Feltrein panted, then shut his mouth when he caught the orcs’ gaze.
By now, he had realized something.
The Millennium Kingdom had descended, and in this new world, no one could die.
But the orcs had found ways to make death seem preferable.
After half a day of being dragged behind a horse, Feltrein saw something.
A lower half of a body, crawling across the ground, stretching its tentacles toward the horizon.
He almost lost his sanity just looking at it.
"L-Look, what I meant was—"
"Seems like his mouth is still intact. Tie his ankles and drag him instead."
Here is the translation while maintaining accuracy, formatting, and the names from the name list:
Feltrein froze at the orc’s stern command.
At that moment, a familiar whistle echoed through the air.
Whirr, whirr—it was the hunter’s signal used in the Kingdom of Wallachia.
From the cracks between rocks, sand, and jagged ridges, figures clad in red armor emerged like a mirage.
The orcs instinctively raised their bows, but by then, they were already surrounded.
Thunk.
A flagpole was planted on the ridge.
Emblazoned on the banner was the image of three impaled humans skewered on stakes—
The symbol of the Skewer Legion, the Kingdom of Wallachia’s most elite forces.
"I am César Erelda, Battalion Commander of the 3rd Regiment, 16th Division of the Holy Skewer Legion,
servant of the most beautiful, noble, and divine Queen Sageya Roanoke of Wallachia!"
A strikingly handsome man, clad in ornate red armor, called out from the ridge.
The orcs, momentarily shaken by the ambush, quickly reassessed the situation.
At first glance, the Wallachian soldiers appeared slender and weak, tempting the orcs to fight back.
But then, they remembered the most famous trait of the Skewer Legion.
The Skewer Legion never lost to the weak.
Before the strong, they fled without hesitation.
And most importantly—
They never revealed themselves unless they were certain of victory.
If they had shown themselves, it meant they were already confident in their absolute victory.
The orcs begrudgingly recalled that they were allied with the Kingdom of Wallachia.
And that they were currently holding an Imperial Knight who claimed to be a distinguished guest of the Red Chalice.
"We are a reconnaissance unit under Khan Atlan’s command.
On the day the sky was shattered, we were tracking deserters when we found some Imperial Knights.
One of them claims to be a devotee of the Red Chalice. Do you know him?"
"A devotee of the Red Chalice? Is his name Feltrein Sevan, by any chance?"
The orcs immediately turned to look at Feltrein.
They had heard his name enough times to recognize it without question.
With a smug grin, Feltrein stepped forward.
"I am Feltrein Sevan, servant of the Dukes of Blood.
I was carrying out my mission in Holy Land Lua when things went awry and I was captured."
The red-armored commander, César Erelda, scrutinized Feltrein before whispering something to a young officer beside him.
The orcs, sensing they were being excluded from the conversation, grew irritated and shouted at César.
"Hey, bloodsucker! We don’t know if this guy is truly a guest of the Red Chalice, but right now,
he’s our prisoner—no, Khan’s prisoner.
If you want to take him, you’d better show some proper sincerity!"
The orcs were notorious for looting allies without hesitation.
However, as a gesture of diplomatic goodwill, they were willing to negotiate a ransom—
Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that they were completely surrounded.
César tilted his head.
"Is there no shaman among you?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing… hmm, doesn’t seem like it. Then that’s fine."
César clapped his hands together and smiled.
"Very well! As a sign of goodwill, we shall only take the human prisoners and Feltrein."
"Praise the benevolence and mercy of Her Majesty the Queen!"
"What? Wait, I don’t think you under—"
Before the orcs could finish their sentence, the Wallachian soldiers fired their crossbows without warning.
The orcs were pierced instantly, as if the idea of negotiation had never even existed.
As arrows rained down, César watched indifferently as the orcs collapsed.
Once he was sure that none of them could resist, he casually rode down on horseback.
The White Tiger Captain, who had led the orc reconnaissance team, had barely managed to shield his face and remained conscious.
"You… you dare strike Khan’s army and think—"
César dismounted and kicked him square in the face.
A true follower of the Red Chalice—
He had no reservations about attacking fallen allies.
"We’ve captured a few of your kind before for experiments."
César crouched, looking the orc in the eye.
"Turns out, if something is lodged inside your body, your regeneration slows down.
You just keep dying and coming back… until it’s removed."
"What…?"
César smiled, standing up.
"That’s why…
Don’t you think the Skewer is the perfect weapon for the Millennium Kingdom?"
Before long, the orc corpses were impaled on seven stakes, driven into the ground like grotesque banners.
Their tentacles twitched, struggling to mend the wounds—
But it was useless.
Blood dripped steadily, pooling into buckets prepared by the Skewer Legion.
There was no malice or sadistic pleasure in their actions—
Only the cold efficiency of gathering supplies.
As the legionnaires went about their work, César approached Feltrein.
With a charming smile, he patted Feltrein’s shoulder.
"Sir Feltrein! You’ve been through a lot.
Though the results weren’t ideal, the Dukes of Blood highly appreciate your efforts.
Especially… how you reduced the number of priests."
Feltrein didn’t understand why that was so highly valued, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Thank you."
"Well, we’ll discuss details on our way back… but what should we do about them?"
César gestured toward the Imperial Knights—
The prisoners, who had watched the orc massacre in horror, only now realizing they were being addressed.
Feltrein could feel their hatred and disgust—
But he simply smirked bitterly.
"They are my subordinates. It would be best to bring them back to the kingdom."
Not because he cared for them—
But because, once they reached Wallachia, he would need as many skilled allies as possible.
If they converted and received the blessing, former Imperial Knights could easily become skilled human hunters.
And if they were on the same sinking ship, they would have no choice but to adapt.
César nodded.
"Very well! We shall do so.
By the way, do you still have the Leather Heart?"
"Ah, of course…"
Feltrein paused.
Something was wrong.
The Leather Heart—
A heart sewn together from the remains of the Archangel Pallor, once used in life.
It had been secretly given to him by the Dukes of Blood—
A valuable tool to block angelic interference and conceal their schemes.
Feltrein moved to restrain César with his shackled hands—
But César’s aide was faster, stabbing him from behind.
As Feltrein flinched, César leisurely searched his body, pulling out the Leather Heart.
With a grin, César ripped open Feltrein’s chest and plucked out his beating heart.
"The Archangel Pallor has chosen you for incarnation."
"Despite your failures and disgraceful defeat,
you should be grateful for this divine honor."
Then—
He shoved the Leather Heart into Feltrein’s open chest cavity.
"All the blood spilled by the Red Chalice shall now flow through this heart."
