Paladin of the Dead God

“As you may know, the Issacrea Dawn Army is not made up of my subordinates, but rather a coalition of allies. In order to prevent a division within this alliance, I had no choice but to discipline the inquisitor for his insults. However, I do apologize for the fact that His Holiness’s missive was cast to the ground in the process.”

Isaac’s humble and respectful demeanor as he addressed the situation left a deep impression on the paladins, a sharp contrast to Soltnar. Here was a man regarded as one of the strongest paladins in the empire, standing before them with such modesty. It was, by all accounts, the behavior of a model knight.

Yet, Dera Heman showed no reaction to Isaac’s humility. With a neutral expression behind his golden lion mask, he simply gestured in silence.

Isaac interpreted this indifference positively. At least Dera Heman wasn’t easily swayed by the inquisitor’s words.

“The commander says he has no authority to judge this matter,” the aide translated, though he too seemed impressed by Isaac.

“His only orders are to take command and oversee the operation as a substitute. Anything else should be brought to His Holiness’s attention. Are you ready to comply, Holy Grail Knight?”

“Of course.” Isaac nodded confidently.

“However,” Isaac continued, “I’m not sure if my allies are equally prepared. Surely, you didn’t come all this way to lead a fractured and hollow shell of the Issacrea Dawn Army, did you?”

The aide raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

“I propose a contest.”

Isaac’s eyes locked onto Dera Heman’s.

“Prove that you are a better paladin than I am. Show that you are more capable, more virtuous, and that you can lead this coalition with greater fairness and wisdom than I can. If you can do that, everyone will agree to follow you.”

The word contest cast a heavy silence over the group.

For a few moments, the air was thick with awkwardness until a soft snicker broke the tension. From that snicker, laughter quickly spread among the paladins.

“A contest? Surely you aren’t suggesting a duel, Holy Grail Knight?”

“Ha! You’ve spent too much time with those Elil knights. Their penchant for dueling has rubbed off on you!”

Most of the laughter carried the tone of mockery, as if saying, “A novice like you challenging Dera Heman? Ridiculous.” Isaac, however, welcomed their laughter. The more they laughed, the better. He simply smiled, without reacting to their jeers.

The only ones not laughing were Soltnar and Dera Heman—the latter’s expression concealed behind his mask.

Soltnar, however, saw through Isaac’s ploy.

While he didn’t fully understand Isaac’s game, he knew better than to let Dera Heman fall into his trap. Soltnar thought it would be much better for Dera Heman to continue with his rigid approach, sticking to the assigned duties without entertaining Isaac’s provocations.

“Commander Heman, this is nothing more than a heretic’s foolish trick. There’s no need to dignify this with a response,” Soltnar warned.

“Worried, Inquisitor? Don’t be,” Isaac said, smiling provocatively. “At least Dera Heman won’t get beaten like you did.”

Soltnar’s fists clenched, but he restrained himself from lashing out. Just then, Dera Heman moved.

The laughter died down as Dera Heman rode his massive warhorse closer to Isaac. The beast, at least one and a half times larger than a normal horse, loomed over Isaac, who could feel his throat tighten.

It wasn’t just the physical presence of the horse. Isaac could feel the surrounding holy energy being drawn toward Dera Heman, as though the very air was being consumed. His lips felt dry, and his mouth parched as if the vitality was being drained from him.

Dera Heman circled Isaac, his gaze never leaving the Holy Grail Knight. He scrutinized Isaac from head to toe as if weighing him, assessing him. After completing the circle, Dera Heman returned to his original position.

In the silence that followed, Dera Heman raised a hand and made a brief gesture.

The aide, momentarily surprised, composed himself and translated the message.

“Very well. The place?”

The paladins, shocked, fell into another stunned silence.

“Commander Heman!” Soltnar stepped forward, unable to contain his frustration. But before he could reach Dera Heman, several paladins grabbed his collar and tossed him to the ground.

Soltnar, now covered in dirt, groaned and struggled to rise.

“What is the meaning of this…?”

He started to protest, but as he looked up, he found himself staring into the steely eyes of a dozen paladins, their expressions cold and unyielding. Dera Heman, meanwhile, didn’t even glance in his direction.

The aide turned to Soltnar and scolded him.

“Inquisitor, your duty is to investigate heresy and deliver His Holiness’s commands. That is the extent of your authority. If you continue overstepping your bounds, there will be consequences. We obey our commander, and nothing more.”

A chill ran down Soltnar’s spine.

Paladin orders were like self-contained societies, often insular and close-knit. Unlike priests and clergy who traveled to various churches, cathedrals, and monasteries, paladins were raised in their orders, often from childhood, and remained together for life.

It was this closeness that sometimes led entire orders to turn if a single paladin went rogue.

Within such an order, the commander was akin to a patriarch. While grumbling among themselves was one thing, outsiders meddling in their affairs was an entirely different matter.

‘Damn these people,’ Soltnar cursed inwardly.

Both Isaac and Dera Heman were beyond the reach of his authority as an inquisitor. They didn’t fear him, nor did they fear the Codex of Light.

And it was clear that, at least here, no one cared about Soltnar’s righteous anger.

Isaac, satisfied with Dera Heman’s response, turned his gaze toward the sea.

“I have the perfect location in mind.”

***

As Isaac had predicted, Dera Heman accepted the duel.

The paladins of the Golden Lion order were surprised by the decision, but none of them believed that their legendary commander would lose to a mere Holy Grail Knight.

Though Dera Heman rarely left the capital, his reputation was nothing short of mythical among his comrades.

Still, when the aide saw the location Isaac had chosen for the duel, a sense of unease crept over him.

“Milishar Monastery? Isn’t that place abandoned?”

“There weren’t many other suitable places for a duel without outside interference. And surely, the Golden Lion Paladins need a place to stay as well, do they not?”

Isaac’s deliberate choice of Milishar Monastery was not lost on the Golden Lion Paladins’ aide. Having served Dera Heman for many years, the aide knew all too well the significance of this place. He was aware of Dera Heman’s duel with Kalsen Miller and the wounds it had left, even if they were never openly discussed. He worried that this place might stir up old memories for Dera Heman.

But as always, Dera Heman’s expression was hidden behind his golden lion mask, unreadable.

Not long after, they arrived near the monastery, only to find an unexpected group awaiting them. Shalok, Leonora, and a small force of mercenaries stood nearby. Leonora approached with a warm smile.

“Thank you for coming all the way out to this remote area. I am Leonora Bessia, Vice-Leader of the Golden Idol Guild. We’ve made some preparations for your stay, including refurbishing the facilities and stocking supplies for your convenience.”